Before I die I don't want to die

We created bucket lists in my grade five classes this week.  Each student made a small paper booklet with three things he/she wanted to do before dying.  Our target vocab for the lesson was "I want to..." which fit perfectly with the project. 

Their desires ranged from mundane -- Before I die I want to go shopping -- to accidentally profound -- Before I die I don't want to die.

Quite a few kids wanted to be rich/win the lottery, and I also had a surprising number of wannabe zookeepers.  I want to fall in love was another popular one, complete with little pink hearts and smiling stick figures -- both boys and girls.

My students' bucket lists highlights

I want to taste food from every country.
I want to meet (insert name of popular K-Pop boy band).
I want to be bitten by a shark.
I want to raise every kind of animal in the world.
I want to fly in a plane.
I want to eat plankton. (???)
I want to fly in a fighter jet. 
I want to visit Canada.
I want to visit New York.
I want to meet Hillary Clinton.
I want to be president.
I want to go bungee jumping.
I want to go into a pothole. (Yes, I was used to translate this one.)

**

I was recently talking to someone about how we're taught to dream big as kids, but the minute we get out of high school/college, we're told how important it is to make money, settle into a career, create stability, forget our band, our art, our big ideas. 

**

My co-teacher, 22, dainty and adorable, has a slew of male 6th grade admirers.  From said devotees, she has received love notes, Ferrero Rocher chocolates, and phone accessories.  (Actually, these were all from one particularly enthusiastic admirer who used to come by our classroom every afternoon, open the door, giggle, and run away. Ah, puberty.)

I, on the other hand, attract strangeness.  Always.  A few days ago, I was sitting at my desk, working on my computer.  I looked up to see one of my students wearing a sweater fully zipped over his face (like the picture below except the face zips up to complete a monkey, not a skeleton).  He stood by my desk and bobbed up and down, slowly waving his arms in the air. 

I burst out laughing, and another student pointed at him "Monkey!" then she pointed at me "You beautiful! Monkey you love!" 

So, to recap: SH's admirers bring her chocolate.  Mine do faceless monkey dances. 

Here is a poem that makes you realize you don't know ANYONE.  Enjoy.

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The Invisibles

I love surrealism.  This is an oil painting called "The Invisibles" by Yves Tanguy.

 

 His subconscious saw imaginary beings and he painted them.  What would the world be like if everyone had the technical ability to paint their thoughts, imaginings, dreams? 

Overwhelming, I suppose.

Artists can color the sky red because they know it's blue.  Those of us who aren't artists must color things the way they really are or people might think we're stupid.  ~Jules Feiffer

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On being grateful -- This will be cheesy

I thought I was going to die.  It was painfully hot.  My backpack -- almost as tall as me -- was digging into my shoulders.  Our water supply was low. We had miscounted our distance and missed a checkpoint.  We huddled in the shade of an indent in the mountain, and started to write our wills.  Occasionally one of us blew the whistle that was supposed to bring help.

**

Throughout high school I was in a hiking program called International Award (IA) in which we learned to navigate with maps, rely on teammates, and camp out with only the items we carried on our backs.

During the three+day hike, each team had a map with various checkpoints we had to hit, ending in the campsite which all the groups shared.  Each day consisted of over 10 hours of walking through desert, wadis, and mountains, with our backpacks stuffed with clothing, food, stoves, tents, and sleeping bags.  Everything was a team effort -- deciphering the map, figuring out the route and how long it would take, the breaks we could afford -- and group bonding was inevitable. We slowed down to accommodate different paces, we invented and sang songs, we carried each other's supplies and bandaged each other's blistered feet with moleskin.

In preparation for this hike, our instructor/leader (also our PE teacher), prepped us on what to expect and how important the team mentality was.  She ended with these words:

"Don't complain.  One person complaining will affect the mood of the whole group and bring you down in ways that will affect you deeply."

It was simple, obvious advice, but it resonated with me.  And I saw how accurate it was, when, as we slogged through endless hours in unforgiving sun, the mood of our group managed to stay fairly positive.  We were hot, we were hurting, we were unused to the physical strain of our gigantic packs; but we were in it together.  Nobody brought up how tired or hot or slow we were.  We just kept going.  Sometimes we were silent, sometimes -- after a rare break -- we sang, conversed, smiled.  If someone had spent the days complaining, it would have added to my burdens, reminded me of my complaints, and made the trip generally intolerable.  It would, indeed, have brought the whole team down.

When we hit the low point I described earlier -- several hours off the map, low water supply, completely fatigued and discouraged -- we got through it.  (Jokingly starting to write my will was quite fun...)

It's crazy how one person can affect the moods of those around him/her.  It's an odd responsibility we have in life -- the responsibility to remember that our actions and words have an impact on those around us.  We are not islands.

**

When I was 14, I went to a music camp in Pennsylvania which was filled with enough extremely talented musicians to make me feel sufficiently untalented.  But it didn't matter, because they made such beautiful noises with their breaths and hands and fingers.

A counselor pinpointed a verse "Do everything without complaining and arguing..." and challenged us to try it for a day.  A day of accepting, working with things, smiling when frustrated.

Try it.  Try to go a day without complaining or arguing.  Don't get me wrong -- arguing/discussing is how I process, and complaining also has a time and place.  But, try it.  It was startling to me how often I complained and argued about unnecessary, unimportant things.  How the negativity spreads, even silly negativity, and impacts the people around you, hangs in the air, lingers on chairs and counters.

It was similar to when I decided to be conscientious of how often I misused the word "like".  Scary.

Moderation.  

**

A couple months ago, some of my new friends were doing a Gratitude Project on Facebook where they made brief lists of the little things that they were grateful for that day.  These ranged from simple pleasures -- hot cocoa on rainy days -- to big things: friends who accept me for myself.

The gratitude was contagious.  It almost wasn't a choice for me: I started making my own daily lists and posting them as statuses.  It probably seemed obnoxiously Pollyanna of me, but the truth was that making the lists was helping me see all of the good and beauty in my life.  I did it for me, but wanted to share with others, because speaking truth and positivity into people's lives is as powerful as complaining.

And even more powerful is taking the negative aspects of your day and putting them on a list of gratitude... 

I'm grateful for:

I'm grateful that my non-heated classroom allows me to wear cute hats and gloves allthetimealways.

I'm grateful that distance allows me to appreciate my loved ones in ways I couldn't if I were around them constantly.

I'm grateful that when I feel out of control I know that I'm not meant to be in control.

I'm grateful that I don't have a piano because it's forced me to practice guitar.

I'm grateful that when bad things happen to me, they help me relate to others who have gone through the same.

I'm grateful that I'm uncertain of so much, because it brings into relief what I am certain of.

I'm grateful for the horrifying things that my kids do that turn into great stories.

**

On Thursday, my friends and I shared a Thanksgiving dinner.  The 12 of us seeped into the corners and surfaces of a small apartment, and we went around the group sharing what we were thankful for.

These 12 people were all friendships I had made in the last seven months.  And they have enriched and impacted my time in Korea such that I cannot imagine living here without them.  Actually, I can; I did it for a month when I first arrived -- and while I enjoyed becoming acquainted with Korea, and with myself, my life here would have been extremely desolate without them.

Five of the group eating on the bed.

And it's not that I know them all on a deeply personal level.  Some of them I do, but others I know only a laughing, bantering, goofball level -- and it's still beautiful.  Company, laughter, time spent, occasions shared: these are also important friendships.

Everyone had thoughtful, humorous, kind things to be thankful for.  Many of them mentioned our dinner club (we meet weekly) and the friendships within.  One friend said she was thankful that we couldn't time travel because it meant we always had to live in the present.  Another friend had written out a speech -- yes a speech -- which he read (which I will not repeat here, as it including a few minor faux pas I may or may not frequently commit).

It got to me and I mumbled something about family, friends, and health.  Or something.  I'm not too excellent with words in real life.  Especially when I'm feeling sentimental.  But I love them all so much.  I don't even know why.

I want to shrink them all down and put them on a keychain to carry with me around the world. 

**

When I try to count my endless blessings, I am inevitably reminded that they are not of myself.  That's why they are blessings -- they have been given to me.  Gifts.  And when I remember this, I want to give back.

Maggie Doyne is a girl who took a gap year after high school, traveling across the world, and ended up moving to Nepal, starting an orphanage/school and changing lives.  Her story is amazing:





Thanksgiving.   Sometimes I get hung up on where or how to give.  But the following two places are run by honest, crazy hard working people, and I have no qualms about sending them money. 

Maggie Doyne's home.


The Indian orphanage my brother volunteered at.

$10 buys a kid a backpack with school supplies...$75 feeds a kid lunch for a year. 

**

And now, I will go spend some time reading 1000 Awesome Things.  You should too.

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Bhutan, Questions, and Bucket Lists

When I first heard of Bhutan -- a small country in the Himalayas which was a closed country until recently (and is supposedly still difficult to travel to) -- I immediately wanted to visit.  A tiny, fiercely protective kingdom nestled in a mountain range; it sounded like something out of an old story.

I suppose that makes me a romantic.

**

My desires often seem to revolve around unattainable or mysterious places and events.  It's funny how anticipation drives me -- the promise of beauty, of fulfillment, of pleasure -- how I am so drawn to the future, the answers, the potential of it all.  A good friend once told me he thought that the mysteries of life were purposeful, that they give us reason to move forward and explore.  I thought the sentiment was lovely: instead of focusing on questions and uncertainty, appreciate the beauty of not knowing, the future gifts waiting to be unwrapped. 

Perhaps the reason I often dwell in the future is because I love the present so much.

(I frequently make connections in my head and speak the end result without guiding my listener through the process.  It's not a particularly thoughtful way to talk, but sometimes I don't want to hold hands.  I want to run and hope that you'll keep up...or pass me.  I try to be clearer with my writing, to let the natural filters stop the mess; but sometimes mess makes sense.) 

**

The first few months of my bus rides here, I was caught up in various novels, and barely noticed my 20 minute commute.  Then my Kindle died.  (Dear Amazon...)  I was left with my thoughts.  It's strange the lengths people go to avoid their thoughts.  The inside of my brain is like a McDonalds play area--the netted rooms with the red plastic balls. Goofy, unhygenic, lots of weird people clashing into each other.  Exactly.

I started listening to my ipod.  Transportation often equates to waiting in my mind.  Waiting to arrive at school, at home, at a friend's house.  But when I used the transportation as an excuse to read, think, or listen to my new album, it became a means in itself.  Now, when the bus pulls up, I'm usually frustrated that I'm in the middle of a song that I want to finish.   

When waiting becomes meaningful, everything makes sense.  Living in the now future.  Being currently fulfilled won't make the future less stunning.

**

Everyone should label themselves a realist.  If you're truly a pessimist or truly an optimist, then you think the world runs a certain way and that is how reality looks to you.

Things work out for me.  It's a promise I forget.  I stumble into wonderful people, situations, ideas, circumstances all the time.  And it's not because I see wonder where there is none.  It's there.  I'm a realist.

Pain, destruction, suffering, depression...these exist.  But then an orange leaf falls, a child dances, the wind stirs...these exist smaller and louder.

"Life is pain, highness.  Anyone who tells you differently is selling something."

So let's fight in masks with swords and conquer a castle, avenge a father, jump from windows onto horses.  Let's live happily ever after.


**

I love community art projects.  An awesome one I read about/saw, was a collection of blank sheet music that was filled in by random people.  The artist left the blank sheet music in places around the city, taped to poles and walls (I think).  People randomly wrote really interesting things on them...bits of lyrics, odd thoughts, and occasionally melodies.

And, more recently, I discovered the Before I Die art project -- a sort of public bucket list.  It consists of big black boards with the words "Before I Die" written all over it.  Passerby can pick up chalk and finish the sentence.

Some of the answers include:

"Before I die I want to hug a baby elephant."

"Before I die I want to go to Never Never Land."

"Before I die I want to immerse in total love."

"...try all alcohols in the world."

"...travel the world with myself."

"see my birds fly happily away."

I always wanted to set out blank notebook pages (a la geocaching)  across a city, with the question "What is love" written on them.  I thought it would be an interesting bunch of answers to compile.

My sister and I once walked around asking people about love, and taking photos.  We were going to make a coffee book "What is love -- Sweden".  It never materialized (mostly because it was too cold to carry on with the wandering interviews), but we got some interesting answers.

Love is sitting on a dock with coffee after you've been sick.

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Silly happenings

"Teacher!"
"Student!"

This exchange occurs around 7-10 times daily.  Most of my kids have difficulty pronouncing my name, so they call me teacher.  I return the favor with the appropriate label.  The students who know what student means - which is sadly not the majority (yes, I occasionally question my value here) - always think it's the funniest thing ever.  Almost as funny as when I attempt an occasional Korean word.

Today the exchange went beyond the name to name greeting.  (Or label to label greeting, as it were.)  One of the fifth graders who cleans my classroom every day -- the kids all have an area to daily clean -- loves trying to talk to me as long as it's outside of class (her class time is reserved for doodling and chatting).

"Teacher!" she said, brandishing a small broom.

"Student!"

"I love you!"  she smiled huge. 

"I love you."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"Wedding?"

I laughed and she cracked up.

"No!  I like men!"  I yelled.

It's probably a good thing that nobody really pays attention to what I say to the kids.


Spreading Thanksgiving


I teach one after school English class per week.  It's an opportunity for me to choose whatever I think the students should learn that isn't included in their curriculum.  Naturally, I've used the time to force my musical preferences on the kids by having them decipher Beatles' lyrics.  And The Monkees.

This week was our last lesson, and I decided to do a slightly early Thanksgiving theme.  I went through a powerpoint about Native Americans and Pilgrims which they ignored until I reached the food slides.  Apparently mashed potatoes are the most exciting thing ever ever ever.  We then sat down and created Turkey hand outlines to place on "Thanksgiving cards" which they possibly now think is a thing.

I took a few pictures of their Thankful Lists, and some of the card decorations -- for some reason the boys decorated the card fronts with a bold caption: "THE X FILES" and mysterious looking symbols.  Maybe I should review that Pilgrim powerpoint.

One of my boys wanted to see the pictures I took, and I scrolled through a few on my phone.  I accidentally went one too far and he saw this:

face mask night

A picture of my friend wearing a face mask on a recent girls' night.  I jerked the phone away and put it in my pocket, but not before he had burst into hysterical laughter.  The rest of the 5th graders begged to see the photo, and one of them ended up rolling on the floor, out of breath from laughter.

It's hard, as a teacher, to pretend to be serious in moments like these.  I joined in (not on the floor), and it lasted a few minutes.  Laughter at the unexpected.  Laughter at the absurd.  Laughter at how weird face masks are.

These moments.  They add and multiply and create a pattern that etches itself onto the small part of me that is Korea.

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