Trekking along, and a note to my future self

I had a blog where I posted almost daily for a year.  I actually think the yearly posts were over 365 because I often posted several times a day.

I was unemployed.

Actually, that's not entirely true.  I was unemployed for a few months, and then part time employed.  I think the key to consistent writing, though, is just that: consistent writing.

Today, though I have nothing exciting to say, I thought I'd post anyways, if only to try to be more consistent in my output on here. 

So:

My time in Korea is winding up.  I have less than three months left in the country, and only a month or so of actual classes to teach.  This year went by so crazy fast, that I cannot help but wonder if it will one day be a smudge on my memory -- a blurry snapshot of a pleasant, odd time.

Of course, that won't be the case because I'll have a ton of awesome blog posts reminding me of my experience.  Including today.

Dear future self,

I have chosen, at random, this day to memorialize.  You're welcome.  I wonder if your humor will have evolved to a point to find this completely stupid.  I hope so.

This morning I almost missed the bus because I didn't get out of bed until 7:30, which is technically the time I like to walk out the door.  I managed to get out at 7:40, and actually looked quite presentable.

In the afternoon we had the first real snow of the year, and the kids went crazy pointing and yelling out the window until we had to close the curtains to start class.  (After I too got a good look).  I always forget how magical snow is until it makes its first yearly appearance, blanketing everything in a layer of white and frosting the trees, glittering the air, making everything soft and light.

Enjoying the snow.

It was Wednesday today, which meant I taught three classes, totaling two hours of the total eight I spend at school.  I tried to be productive with my free time, and I got a few lesson plans done, before deciding to work on a personal writing project, before deciding that my fingers were too cold to be removed from my gloves.  So I sat, wearing my hat, mittens, three layers and a massive down coat, and I watched Freaks and Geeks on Youtube.

We were let out an hour early and I walked to the bus stop in time to see my bus pulling away.  I ran and yelled like a proper character in a movie.  I then waited 45 minutes in the blizzard, watching various buses come and go.  None of which were mine.  The bus machine that tells you when the next bus was coming was broken, so I wasn't able to leave for fear of missing the next bus.  I eventually got home later than I do on normal days.

At night I had band practice.  We were all a bit run down from the week, but still managed some weird jokes (Peanut butter?  No...) and got some music in.  Music Music Music Music, would I miss you if I were deaf?  Would I look at everyone singing and swaying and feel a sense of loss, deeper than missing out on normal sound?  Would I read the words and feel the poetry and wonder how it would sound spoken...sung?

OK, that's about all for now.  You're looking good.

-- Past Siobhan

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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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Patchworks and Metaphors

A former boyfriend loved metaphors.  He used them dramatically and unironically.  I loved that he loved them, that he shared my passion for words and language.  I too love metaphors - little truth nuggets.  They tend to break down, though;  metaphors and analogies.  They have a nasty habit of driving you somewhere and dropping you off to either get caught up in distracting scenery or tossing you away from points being made.  What?

I had a nasty habit of tearing down his metaphors.  That's right.  Even though it was a quality of his that I admired, and even though I love that metaphors, by nature, are imperfect.  I couldn't help myself.  It's easier to tear down than build up, and it's easier to find faults than accept hard truths - If you lie down with dogs, you get up with fleas.  Well yes, but what if there aren't fleas?  Or what if you're covered head to toe in body armour?

Let it be.

I miss his metaphors.  (Also, the way he always interchanged "fajitas" with "tacos".) 

**

It's hard to be sarcastic with a) children, b) non-native speakers, and c) really genuine/non-sarcastic people.

Sometimes I wonder how non-sarcastic people deal with it - with life - without being shielded by some excellently timed ironic humor.  I wonder this because I'm a forgetful person.  I forget constantly and completely how different we all are.

“Don’t use words too big for the subject. Don’t say ‘infinitely’ when you mean ‘very’; otherwise you'll have no word left when you want to talk about something really infinite.” – C. S. Lewis    

For writing, I think this is terrific advice.  But what about for living?  What if each sunset you see makes your head spin with the knowledge that this is the bestsunsettohaveevergracedtheland?  Does that make the next, utterly perfect sunset less significant?  Is it a matter of living in the moment vs. living with a grander perspective? 

I always thought it was obnoxious when people referred to things as "the best ever" or "the best ___ in the world."  Really?  Did these phrases seep into our vocabulary to perpetuate our cultural obsession with everything instantly awesome all the time always?  But then I started saying it.  "This is the best song ever."  Initially I didn't mean it, which I hate.  Insincerity.  But then I really started feeling it.  It really was the best burger I'd ever had.  Was the language shaping my emotion or had my emotions always been there but cowering?  I often let them cower.  Nobody really likes intense people. Not on a daily basis.  Who wants to think and feel and be and touch and taste and who am I where am I what is this wallpaper what's the deal with alligators have you thought about that lately huh all the time.

It gets complicated though. Because when you clump time together and stop looking at it linearly (why would anyone do that?), you are creating contradictions every time you make flippant value observations.  

 Perspicacity is one of my favorite words.

**

I teach a 7-year-old boy called Jisu.  Everything is dramatic to a 7-year-old.  I must play this game at this moment or my world will be destroyed.  Cake? Cookies? Life is so perfectly wonderful and I may never get to eat these again so I better make the most of this moment. Bedtime?  When I'm such a big boy and there's light in the hallway and I don't feel tired at all, really I don't.

He has extremely limited English and no clue as to what I'm saying half the time.  But he stares and squidges his eyes and nods his head and tries really hard to repeat what I'm saying when he thinks that's what I want.

People who try.  That's a gift.  I should probably only ever teach P.E. or drama where I can give grades based on effort.

When he does understand what I'm saying, I watch his eyes light up and I smile at his excitement over our connection.  Our body language and laughter are no match for our connection through words.  Words are the aim.  He still doesn't understand when I ask "How are you?" and I have to encourage him with "Are you happy?" (big smile) "Or sad?" (trace a fake tear).

We worked on a craft project today and he decorated the front and decided to write some words.

"Spelling? English?"

"What do you want to spell?"

"Spelling?"

I nod.  "What do you want to spell?"  I point to the desk.  "Desk?"

"Spelling...English."

I don't know how long it took before I realized he wanted me to spell English.  Too long for a college graduate.

We play a lot of games, Jisu and I, and he has appropriate dances for winning, losing, and the shades between (almost winning, watching me almost win, etc.)  When he does his victory dance, throwing his head back, balling his fists, and gleefully waving his arms...my heart bursts.  Really.  It explodes and flies all over the room in a mass of pulsating red weirdness.  I don't know how I can have so much love for a kid who I barely know and can't talk to.  I don't know how mothers and fathers can daily walk around with an even more extreme love hanging onto their limbs, tugging at their hearts.  What a weight.

Do I really love him so intensely?  Is it another sunset?  Will I stop noticing them?  I already have, sometimes.

**

My brother is an atheist.  I am not.  He is beautiful.

We recently had a conversation about the beginning of the world.  I said that a person who believes that the earth was put together by insanely random chance is still believing something quite astonishing.  He said any atheist worth his salt would agree with that statement.

Would they?


**

I am highly unashamed of my love for Taylor Swift.  I don't care that she's very high school or that her music resonates with millions of people so it must be selling something or cheap or too poppy.
 
"I think it's strange that you think I'm funny cause he never did."

It's the simplest of lines, but it's so so so good.  (Like overused metaphors that you take for granted. ) Dating someone who doesn't get your humor is dating someone who doesn't get you.  I wonder if sarcastic and non-sarcastic coupling is a combination that shouldn't happen.  Like smokers and non-smokers.  And vegans and cowboys. And...?

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Interesting Google Search Suggestions

 You know that moment when you go to Google something and it starts suggesting random goofy things and you completely forget what it was you were trying to search for and decide to take a bunch of screen shots of different combinations of Google suggestions instead?  Yeah, that one.  Well if you want to avoid that moment, I suggest refraining from typing in questiony search terms, especially ones like "is it ok to..."

Here are the results of a few different searches on Google.kr.  I'm not sure if the searches are different in other countries, but I imagine they are.

Apparently there are a lot of concerned pregnant zumbaers. 

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Strange things happen here

My co-teacher has decided to extend her duties to include acting as my personal PR rep. - her latest mission has been cultivating an aura of mystery around me.  Allow me to explain.

I'm at school for 40 hours a week, from 8:30-4:30.  I teach 23 lessons a week (40 minutes each).  This means that over half of my time is free for lesson planning and, more often, desk-warming -- a term we use for being paid to sit at our desks and - you know - look pretty. (Or dishevelled as the case may be.)

20+ hours of free time has provided me with excellent opportunities to chat with friends/family, read articles, blog, and generally allow my soul to be sucked online.  In spite of the enormous productivity of this spare time, I welcome any break from the glowing portal of information.  Which means when my kids come to socialize with me after school, I'm always receptive to their goofy attempts at interaction. 

For example: yesterday I was perfectly willing to let them "interview me."  Which, as it turns out, means recording a minute and a half of my reaction to a tinny version Gangnam Style on one of their cell phones.  Even if I still liked Gangnam Style (and indeed I still wonder about how it would feel to be one of the yoga girls on that video...like what are they eating for breakfast now?  Is it a point of pride to have been in that scene? Do they hide it from their conservative grandparents?), a cell phone is not the ideal medium to share it.  Being the culturally sensitive person that I am, I smiled swayed my shoulders a bit as Psy shared his thoughts. 

A word on Gangnam Style: Yes, I've heard it.  Thank you, American friends, for sharing it with me, emailing it to me, posting it on my wall.  I understand your concern that it might not be popular in Korea and that I am somehow missing out on America's obsession with my faux hometown.  Trust me, I've heard it.  And thank you, Korean students, for your concern that after threemonthsofithasbeenplayingnonstopeverywhere I might have somehow missed Psy or his charming horse dance.  I have, in fact, not missed these things.

Proof?  Here:

Scheduling appointments with Stewart Teacher

Yesterday, as I sat blogging during my freetime, two fifth grade girls came to the classroom door.  SH went to the door and spoke with them quietly, and then called to me across the classroom.

"They want to talk to you."

I straightened up and adjusted my hair for the possibility of a third cellphone video interview.  Actually, that's not true.  I was zoned in on my typing, and nodded or mumbled something affirmative, until SH said "I don't want for them to come in."

Deciding not to mess with her power play, I headed to the door. 

"$#%#$ee   #$%#$%uh   %$*ee," the students said excitedly.  I smiled and shrugged.

"They want to play with you," SH translated.

I looked at her, a bit confused.  They generally just came in and struck up stunted conversations and games with hand movements.

She read the question in my eyes.  "I told them they cannot come without an appointment. Do you want to play with them?"

Cool.  I'm important.  "Sure." I said. 

"When?"

"Any time."

This statement did not aid the aura of mystery that she was trying to cultivate.  She looked at me, and her eyeballs told me to try again.

"Uh.  How about Wednesday?" I have no classes this Wednesday.  SH knows this.

Some of my 5th graders

"What time?"

"Any time."  Eyeballs.

"How about 3:30?"

"That's great."

"$#*&&ee    *#$&uh  #$%ee!" the students were jabbering again.

"What game will you play?" SH asked.  "I don't want you to play running game." (Last week we played dodgeball in the classroom.  Fair enough."

The kids butted in.  "#$%*(ee   $%*uh   $^*ee  Mario!"

"They want to play Mario," she translated.  Give me some credit SH.

"You do?" I asked.

They squealed. 

I thought about it.  All of the Mario games were full of English vocab questions.

"You want to play an English game?"

"#@(*!  Yonga (*$#?" she translated.

"NE!  NE!" (this means "yes" in Korean, and it actually sounds like "nay" but I can't bring myself to type it like that.)

"OK.  We will play Mario game."  This was me talking.  My English abilities tend to try to meet SH in the middle.

As we walked back to our desks, SH mentioned again that we are very busy.  "I have a lot of free time," I replied.  Which is probably not something I should admit, but she has yet to give me busywork.  "Yes.  But I am very busy."

So, yes.  I am now available by appointment only.  Also, apparently some of my kids want to learn English in their free time. 


**

SH sometimes talks to herself in English, which is about the most confusing thing she could possibly do. 

It seems pretty natural for me to assume that the things she subconciously mutters would be in her language, and the things she wants to share would be in ours.  Ours.  We're a beautiful couple.

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Off to Everland!

This Saturday, I went with a group of friends to Everland, South Korea's largest theme park (with a high annual attendance, ranked at 13th in the world).  It's a mix between Sea World, Knott's Scary Farm and Disneyland -- with a zoo, water park, kid's rides, animal show, and two large rollercoasters.  Oh, and three dollar churros.  Everland also has an American Adventure section, complete with a flashing disco area and walls with old US movie posters, as well as the only burger place in the park.  (Which was a cleverly disguised Lotteria.  Sneaky Korea, sneaky.)

Everland (which unfortunately makes me think MJ's ranch before Peter Pan ) is a mad crazy crowdedlikeastreetinathirdworldcountry place to be on a Saturday or a holiday.  We went on a Saturday.  This means that more than half of our time was spent standing in lines.  Actually the ratio was probably much worse - 2 hours in line to 2 minutes on a ride - but I don't want to think about that.

Asrune and Steve pretending to be happy

We traveled to Everland from Geumchon, and it took us about three hours to navigate trains and buses.  The day after I returned, I told a Korean friend about our adventures and she told me there is a daily direct bus from Ilsan that takes an hour and a half. 

Life advice: Always consult with a local before embarking on a road trip.

Some of my favorite photos:

I took this across a crowd, but apparently they noticed.

This is what the inside of my brain looks like.

Bunny ears abounded.  Yes, all Korean children are this cute.

He blew at bubbles for 15 minutes.

Evening Everland haunted parade.



Everland gets Halloweenified during October.



I love these girls so muchos.

This makes me laugh.  I will one day convince a man to match me down to the rips in our jeans.



Care for some peanut butter roasted squid?



There were a lot of giant bows.

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Curriculum Craziness

Over the last seven months of teaching in Korea, I've had to teach some strange words and sentences to my students.  At the beginning of each lesson, we listen and repeat and memorize the vocabulary and phrases, which means that my students have committed some really odd things to heart.

This includes phrases like "I'm going to go inline skating" and "What is this?" "It's a sensor."

One of my favorites was the video dialogue about the "house of the future" in which the characters exclaim: "Look! The robot is cooking."  "What a surprise!"  I honestly had more of a problem with forcing my kids to memorize "What a surprise!" than "Look, the robot is cooking!"  If there was a situation in which a robot was cooking, I can imagine someone might actually use that sentence.  But I cannot picture anyone I know using the phrase "What a surprise!"  To add insult to injury, the actors in the video spoke this phrase in the dullest, least whatasurprised monotone possible. 

I can only assume that someone was trying to directly translate a Korean phrase for being surprised - like "Quelle suprise!" in French, and they didn't want to say "Wow".

My plan for this post was to come up with a list of the funky things I've had to teach - including conversations about appearances "He has curly hair and a big nose", which, in the video are accompanied by characters emitting red hearts from their eyes.  So I asked my friends to add some of their bizarre curriculum to the list.  And I suddenly felt very, very good about my curriculum.  Here are the samples they gave me (these are mostly from my friend Asrune who has a great blog.)

I didn't know they had it this bad.

List of words/phrases my friends and I have had to teach in Korea


- "We will see a future house." and "I go to school on foot."

- "The doughnut shop of sweet is next to the book gallery."

- "We're going to have a Halloween party. Don't forget to carve a Jack-o-Lantern!"  "Would you like to come to a snack party?"

- "Don't use the elevator, use the stairs. The elevator is for old and weak people."

-"Do you want the king of steaks or the super sweet pizza?"  (To be fair, the pizza here tends to have sweet sauce.)

 "Today is Arbor day. What day is your birthday?"

-"Don't run! Because they're wet and slippery!" (No explanation as to who are wet and slippery here.)

-"Let's make a happy school"

"I want to clean the windows" (Chapter title)

" I want to play and have dinner with you."

"Be careful! Owls eat snakes and snakes eat grasshoppers."

-Student 1: "You are very strong." Student 2: "Of course, I am stronger than you."

- "Who's calling please? This is David. Lucy and I will have a badminton party. Can you join us?"

- "Can I get on the bus? Sure you can! But you must line up first." (In the video, she is the only person there.)

- "Hallasan is higher than Jirisan." (taller?)

-"Come to my movie party! We'll have pillow fghts and sing a song."

-Student 1: "Can I come to your house?" Student 2: "Ok, come in."  (As my friend pointed out - doesn't this imply that he is already at said person's house?)

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The phenomenons of living as an expat in Korea

Today I will be describing a few of the mysteries inherent in Korean expat life.  (No, I won't be discussing fan death.)

The Truman Show Effect

stalker shot

It happens all the time -- when talking to a local shop owner, bus driver, or waiter, struggling to use my rudimentary (read: practically non-existent) language skills, the Korean I'm talking to will suddenly break into some very decent English.  Apparently they enjoy watching me flounder, but can only take so much. (In Sweden, most expats complained about the opposite problem - Swedes hearing your non-native Swedish and immediately switching to English, not allowing you to practice. Ever.) 

Or, more commonly, when engaged in a letmemakethenoiseoftheanimaliwanttoeat difficult conversation, it won't be the shop owner/bus driver who flips an English switch -- sometimes a complete stranger will swoop in with flawless English.  This phenomenon is what my friends and I have dubbed "The Truman Show Effect" -- when we are lost or confused or engaged in one of the aforementioned conversations, and suddenly a stranger from the background (an extra), pops in and helps us out.  This only happens in dire circumstances though: our everday/mundane failings are generally ignored.

Case in point: I live in a small rural town.  The communication currency I exchange consists of stares, smiles, and head nods.  Nobody talks to me.  When Typhoon Bolaven  hit, the creators of my show decided that my gruesome death would not make excellent television, and two different Koreans came out of the silent woodwork to tell me something in perfect English.

Extra #1: (construction worker, fixing wind damage). "You'll have to go around that way."

Extra #2: (random pedestrian lady, sees my umbrella snap in half in the wind). "You need to get a new umbrella."  (I bet she was fired). 

**

Time Space Fabric Issues

This one is pretty simple.  Time here is weird.  You simultaneously feel like you've been away forever and are brand new. 

The time space fabric stretchy weirdness directly correlates with the Spastic Expat Response effect wherin an expat is completely comfortable with many odd situations, but one random thing will make him/her snap.

It is best described with the following scenario: A teacher wakes up and goes to her bus, ignoring the spit in the elevator and the crazy bus madness they call driving.  Look how adapted she is!  She has fully accepted her limited cheese access and soaking bathroom floor.  She's so native!

And then, when she walks down the street towards her school, she senses a couple of people turning all the way around to watch her pass - a common enough occurence - and for some reason she snaps.  Why does everyone stare here? What is the problem? etc. 

It's not that the teacher doesn't like this country or hasn't adapted.  It's that she's been here a long time and feels settled - almost at home - until something reminds her that she still doesn't belong here. 

**

There are worse things than not truly belonging.

 

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You know you're in Korea...

 A couple months ago, I was inspired to handwrite some comicy type stuff that happens in Korea.  As it turns out, this isn't my skillset.  But, I recently found them again, and thought I'd share.  Just because.

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Seoul Writer's Retreat

Retreats are glorious.

I belong to a creative writing group in Seoul called the Seoul Writer's Workshop.  It meets every week (alternating between poetry and fiction), and has been a great way to meet other writers and give and receive critiques, and generally slow the brain atrophication process that set in after graduation.

Atrophication.

This weekend/week is the Korean holiday of Chuseok which is generally described as a Korean Thanksgiving - a three day holiday for families to gather and eat.  Or, for expats, a three day holiday to travel around Korea/Asia; in my case, on a writer's retreat in Jeungpyeong-gun, a couple hours southeast of Seoul.

And so it was that I found myself nestled in a pension surrounded by breathable air, rocky streams, and mountains filled with broccoli trees.  The renewing effect of nature, of solitude, of friendly company -- of writing -- is...nice.  We rented two small pensions (vacation cottages) for our group of 16, which meant half of us slept on thin mats and fat blankets on the heated floors. Each pension had a couple of bedrooms, a common area, a bathroom, and a kitchen (or two).  And writers.

Writers are interesting creatures.  We had some great discussions, including one on when/why we decided to start writing.  It's not something I think about often, because it's an urge that feels so natural to me, like breathing or watching Firefly -- it's always been there.  I never classified myself as a writer for the same reason I never called myself a breather - it never needed a descriptor.  Also, titles=pressure and standards.  It's strange for me to remember that some people dislike writing and find it tedious and unnatural, that some people process through different outlets.  Some people are actually living their lives. :P

**

Four or five of the retreat attendees were dealing with breakups.  The sense of losing the investment of time, emotion, effort.  The realization that breaking up with someone does not make you a quitter or that you will one day fail at marriage.  The transition into thinking of yourself as a single entity - the removal of his/her armchair in the corner of your mind.  And the opening of doors.

**

Our activities included free writing, prompted writing, and group discussions, though the majority of the time was unstructured and we were left to wander, write, read, and meet people on our own.  Night meant sudden temperature drops and grilling meat and vegetables.  Morning meant splayed bodies and scrambled eggs.  Our group represented America, England, Canada, New Zealand, and Korea - with the majority being American.   Our ages ranged from 22-50's. 


I managed to forget my fancy photo taking device and instead snapped a few iphone shots.  Enjoy.

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Sports Day Whoo Whoo

Today is Sports Day.  This means a day filled with music, races, parents, cotton candy, balloons, and an entire-school Gangnam Style dance bonanza. 

I forgot my camera.

However, I do intend to get some snazzy iphone footage of the socutecanitakeyouhomeplease first and second graders running around.  Maybe get a shot of the 5th grader wearing the "ATHEISM COMMUNISM AND FREE LOVE" (Reed College motto) shirt.  That's a lot of worldview statements for a 10-year-old to be sporting.  To be fair, he wears it with a big smile and lots of energy. 

In Korea, Sports Day doesn't just happen.  You spend a week practicing for it/making shirts for it/thinking about it.  On Tuesday, classes were cancelled for a school-wide rehearsal, which basically meant a few races, some dancing, and an innumerable amount of students running up to me and pointing at my legs. 

"Teacher!  Long!  Wow!"

**

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Sarcasm, Autism, and free rides

Last Thursday I finally realized that sarcasm doesn't easily cross language barriers.  Unfortunatly, I discovered this while being broadcast on classroom TVs across our entire school.  Let me explain. 

Twice a week, I oh-so-slowly read a children's book on camera, and am broadcast live to all the students in their homerooms.  Three fifth graders are in the recording room with me, interacting with the story by listening and repeating and answering questions like "How many fish do you see?"

I am currently reading "Brown Bear" to the students, which is a simple book aimed for native speaking four-year-olds.  It goes like this: "Brown bear, brown bear, what do you see?  I see a red bird looking at me.  Red bird, red bird, what do you see? ..." etc.  After reading the first two pages on Thursday, I looked up and questioned the students.

"What color is the bear?"

"Brown." They replied with confidence.

"No!"  I said.

Just like that.  No.  My co-teacher, who monitors my TV appearances for just this sort of situation, gave me a strangled, pained, whatswrongwiththishuman look.  The kids stared.

"Just kidding!" I smiled. More blank stares. I mentally noted to teach that expression to all of my classes.

**

There's an autistic kid in one of my fifth grade classes.  You can't tell by looking at him - average height, glasses, short dark hair - and generally well behaved, if spacey.  For the purposes of this blog, I will call him Jay.  At the beginning, I didn't realize he had a disability, and tried to help him with his in-class work, until SH told me to leave him alone because he ... "has a handicapped?" (we have many great naver translation conversations).  I'm not sure what the learning approach is for him in other classrooms, but apparently nobody cares about his English levels. 

I left Jay alone after that; I've barely heard him speak Korean, let alone English.  We had one incident where he became upset over a new seating arrangement involving him sitting by a girl, but besides that he blended into the class as shy, awkward 10-year-old.  His behavior was so reasonable - and so preferable to my ADHD kids - that I was convinced he had Asperger's, a highly functioning autism.  Until Thursday.

We were in the middle of a class game which involved students competing against each other and "evolving" to different parts of the classroom.  I was walking from station to station,making sure the target language was being used, when I heard a commotion behind me.  I turned to see Jay shouting and lunging at other students.  SH tackled him from behind with a bear hug, pinning his arms to his side as he wiggled and kicked furiously.  If you recall, SH is tiny - 5 ft, size 0 tiny - and I froze, uncertain how to help.  Two or three of the students grabbed his wrists and feet, and I started to pull them off, trying to avoid a fight.

"No, let them!" SH said.  "Please control the class. I will watch him."  I nodded, unsure how she thought the game was going to continue as usual with a kicking, screaming kid in the middle of the room.  None of the students seemed too bothered by it - many of them were smiling.

"We are sorry teacher.  Sorry."  Two of my kids started apologizing to me for Jay's behavior.  Eventually his homeroom teacher came in and calmed him down.

Later SH explained that the kids knew how to help Jay relax; they were used to his outbursts and were allowed to help physically restrain him. 

I have no idea how autistic kids are treated in American public schools, but I have a feeling it errs more on the side of avoiding lawsuits (ie. don't let students physically step in).  Honestly, the Korean system feels family oriented - it felt like the kids were his siblings.  Kind of cool.

**

There's a lady, a science teacher I believe, who has started giving me rides home after school.  She speaks minimal English, and doesn't make any attempts to converse.  So we sit in silence, sharing yawns and dried mango pieces.  Occasionally I say something like "Are you tired" and she says yes and we laugh, and I feel better as though I have fulfilled my conversational duties. 

I fear I have stumbled into a giving war with her.  I bought Dunkin Donuts for a couple of teachers, and made sure to deliver one to her room in the morning.  A few days later, she offered me a Korean equivalent of a Malomar (a cookie made of marshmellow, biscuit and chocolate), and insisted that I take another one home.  I'm pretty sure it's my turn next.

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