Dear Diary . . .

It's been pointed out many times that once you try to analyze exactly what it is that makes something funny, the humor of the thing begins to dissolve. That said, I'm not going to try to analyze the specifics of the funny thing I'm going to discuss in this post, but I may attempt to touch on the generalities. Sorry, I can't help it. 

So. It's pretty much always funny when someone garbles a language that's not their own, yes? A lot of people don't like to admit this, because they somehow think it's not politically correct, but the fact of the matter is, people of every race, every background, and every native language will horribly screw up a new language that they are learning at one point or another, and the results are hilarious. It's half of what makes David Sedaris funny. It's all of what makes Everything is Illuminated funny (sorry Jonathan Safran Foer, but I'm still jealous of your very young literary success). 

The thing is, it's not the person's failure to grasp the correct usage of the language that's amusing. It's the language itself, with all of its rules and exceptions to those rules (and Lord knows English has too many of those) that we laugh at. Suddenly, without realizing it, someone is breaking those rules, and the language can do absolutely diddly squat about it. Now that's funny. 

Just the other day, I was trying to properly say goodbye to one of my coworkers (there's more than one way). Instead:

-Annyong Kyeseyo!

-Ah, no, you just said "Son of a Bitch." 

Whoopsie. 

The annoying saying that "rules were meant to be broken" works especially well for language. When someone knows a language like they know the back of their hand, they can twist and bend it almost to the point of breaking, and as a result they often communicate better than those who follow the rules. When someone breaks a language rule without realizing it, it can be sheer delight for the listener, like overhearing a secret conversation you know you should just walk away from. "Take that language!" you think. "I knew those months I spent in eighth grade diagramming sentencing weren't a waste!" I broke at least two rules of English grammar in this last paragraph, just for you smart alecs who were going to point that out.  

After that extremely long preface (yes, that was a preface), I'll get to the point of all this. Almost all of my students have "diaries" that they are assigned to write in periodically, and I'm just in stitches after reading and correcting them, so I thought I would share. As these are not technically real diaries, hence the quotation marks earlier, and as I am not their doctor or psychiatrist, I don't think I have any confidentiality issues here. I didn't tell them I was going to do this though. . . so let's just keep this our little secret. 

These are all written verbatim, for your enjoyment. 

1. 10/16: Study by Observation

I went to study by observation.

We're going to Seoul Land. So get

elated. But We're ride on play

structure.

I so angry so, I satisfying

friend. Now. I think severe.

Then A Bee fly to me so I 

kick a bee. however.

Bee is die.

My friend with surprise.

I don't see a bee. 

There is something oddly poetic about this entry. He starts with an expectation of elation, but then the poem ends in an unexpected death by his own hand (foot). That's beautiful. 

Here's another little piece of poetry:

2. 10/9: pomposition

today is the Korean alphabet day.

So, I wrote pomposition at school.

It is boring and angry.

I wrote this. contents.

Subject is fall.

red dragonfly is beautiful. . . . . .

Maple tree is beautiful. . . . . .

fall sky is blue and high!

So, Fall is beautiful!

The End.

Again, how can you deny the poetry here? Is the pomposition boring and angry, or is school boring and it makes him angry? We may never know. 

This next entry comes from a diary that I myself assigned one day after a class discussion about extra-terrestrial life. It's written by the same student who asked me what my blood type was, to give you some context.

3. 10/14: Would you like to meet an alien? why why not?

No, I wouldn't, but I want, because I wonder 

alien, alien. . . so wonder

So I want to meet.

I want to look them. 

You are--alien!

(heart) 3 (heart)

When I tried to explain to her that she was actually correct in calling me an alien since I am from another country, I think I frightened her a bit. She may now believe that I am from Neptune. That's what I get for trying to assign something interesting. 

This last one actually concerns me a bit. It comes from a very good student in a class of otherwise unruly boys. 

4. 10/17: Homework

I was every day come and go

English, math, etc. Academy.

I was laborious. However put up

with becaus cannot help and, It 

is my life.

I think 'Everyone has my life

as'

But, I don't put up with homework.

I did my homework rest time.

I want rest Academy. one month. 

I think this poor kid is verging on depression; at the very least he is overworked. And he's only ten years old. 

Which brings me to the unfunny part of these diaries. This is not the only diary I've read over that talks about the stress of homework and academy. I know all kids complain about homework, but I think these kids actually have something to complain about. The Korean school system is still somewhat of an enigma to me, but I'll try to explain what I understand so far. 

Every Korean child who is in the middle class or above goes to at least 3 separate schools, though often more. Most of these schools are referred to as "Academies," where they learn math, science, etc. After Academy, they head to the hagwons, or English language schools, which is where I work. After the hagwon, they might head to yet another sort of extracurricular Academy, to learn piano or violin. 

With this alone, you're looking at a school schedule of about 8am to 6 or 7pm. This is for children under the age of 12, not including the mountains of homework they have to complete once they head home. I've asked many of my students what time they go to bed, and most of them say somewhere between midnight and 2am. Once they hit high school age, many of the students go to school until midnight, then go home and complete their assignments. Oh, and they go to school every other Saturday, too.

Is it just me, or does this seem like an absurd system to anyone else? I was a complete little nerd at that age, but even I didn't study that much. I'm no expert on this stuff, but I don't think kids should be getting burned out by the age of 10. There's got to be a bit of leg room somewhere, or else Korea is just going to turn out a whole bunch of violin playing, long division completing, English speaking robots. 

Okay, I'll get off my high horse now. Many of my students have managed to develop fantastic personalities despite this stifling system. So maybe it's just my own outsider's judgement of the other. I still have a moral struggle every day at the end of class when I am supposed to assign the homework, though. 

I'm going to go kick a bee now, and think severe.  

Cameras, Theme Parks, and Cartoons, Oh My!

I have heard a few complaints about the lack of photographs in this blog thus far. I feel your pain, reader, I do. Not enough to make a concerted effort to post any this time around, but I promise that I will definitely think about putting up some pictures the next time I write. 

Honestly, though, I'm a bit insulted. Is my writing not vivid enough for you? Do my words not paint a sharp enough picture of SoKo in your mind? Here's the deal: if a picture really is worth a thousand words (hey, Anon said it, not me), then the reverse must be true as well. Surely I have logged a couple thousand words at this point; it should be a few photos' worth. I don't have cameras in my eyes, people (would that I did...), and I frequently forget my camera on photo-op-perfect outings. So I'm sorry. 

The last week and a half have been been rather event-filled, so I'll try to fill you in on the highlights.

1. Lotte World

or South Korea's answer to Disneyland

Last Monday, Angela and I were told to arrive at school at 9:30am rather than our usual clock-in hour of 11:30am (those readers with real jobs may now take a 30 second reading break to shake their bitter fists in my general direction). In a gesture not unlike those of secret societies, we were told that we were taking the kindergarten on a field trip, but not how we were getting there, where we were going, or when we would return. Their last field trip, which I did not attend, had been a picnic in a park, so naturally I assumed something along the same lines was in order. 

I have got to stop assuming things. 

Turns out, we were headed to a magical land cryptically named "Lotte World." Now, Lotte World is not just your average amusement park. First of all, it is located in the middle of Seoul, a colossal city that really doesn't have any business sticking an amusement park right in its craw. How do you solve this problem? Build the amusement park inside of a mall. That's right. Lotte World is actually a part of a much bigger money vacuum, which should be (but is not) christened "Lotte Universe." Lotte World is located inside of an enormous building which also contains "Lotte Department Store," "Lotte Mart," a Lotte casino, and a Lotte hotel.  Why would you ever leave to breathe the sweet, fresh air of the outside world when you have all of this in one convenient place? 

I will admit that while Lotte World lacks the immensity of Disneyland as well as those time-honored cartoon characters from my childhood, it holds a certain charm all its own. It probably didn't hurt that I was wandering its fried food-scented paths with 40 starry eyed three to six-year-olds in tow, but I was just a little bit enchanted by the faux hot air balloons gliding on tracks across the ceiling, mechanical monkeys swinging from palm trees, and rides promising "good happy times." We rode through "The Adventures of Sindbad" and explored the Korean Folk Village. The kids had a blast, and I had to acknowledge that I had a pretty good time, too. 

That's the thing about amusement parks--at a distance it's easy to dismiss them as the artificial entertainment that they are, but once inside they can really suck you in. Damn you corporate bigwigs for forcing your fun upon me!

2. No Country for Old Sarcasm

One of the highlights of my teaching week involved a cartoon, a phrase that could possess two meanings, and four highly perplexed Korean students. 

While teaching a lesson to one of my favorite classes, we came to a crossroads. I know I probably shouldn't have favorites (doesn't that rule only apply when they're your own children? Well, I'm still a fake teacher at this point, anyway), but this class is hyperintelligent, speaks English well, and has a wicked sense of humor. However, humor comes in many shapes and sizes, which became especially apparent during this lesson. 

The cartoon we were reading was meant to demonstrate how to use the word "should," and involved a date between a well-meaning woman and a man full of regrets ("We should have made a reservation," "We should have picked a different movie"). At one point, it begins to drizzle, and the man says, "Oh great, now it's raining!" 

-Teacher, why "Oh great"?

-Well, he's being sarcastic. 

-Teacher, what is sarcastic?

Oh boy. How to explain, how to explain...

-Okay. Sarcasm is basically when you say one thing, but you mean the exact opposite. So when he says "Oh great, now it's raining," he actually means "Oh no! It's raining!" 

-Teacher, why?

-Well, it's funny. It's like a joke. 

-Teacher, not funny.

-It would be like if you said, "Oh, Teacher, I am sooo happy you gave us so much homework." Do you understand?

-Yes. But not funny, Teacher. Not funny.

I realized then and there that, while these students might now understand the definition of sarcasm, they may never understand the humor in it. Which is fine. Sarcasm may be a dominant feature of the humor of the Western world, but I can't say I've encountered any in South Korea. I lose a good percentage of my own comedic value over here, but luckily they think other things about me are funny. Like the way I speak. 

On a side note, I would like to add that this same class asked me today what my blood type was like it was no big deal. This may have made sense if we had been discussing medical terms in English, but we were, in fact, discussing crop circles. Truly. 

After the initial surprise wore off, I realized to my own shock and amusement that I have no idea what my blood type is. I turned the question back on them, and each of them rattled off their blood type like it was his or her last name. 

I have a lot to learn about South Korea. 

 

White Like Me

Any time you move to a new country, you have to expect to stand out a bit. Even if you can manage to physically blend in with the rest of the populace, you will inevitably give yourself away as a foreigner by your accent, your ignorance of local customs and manners, your means of interacting with people, or all of the above.

Moving to South Korea, I presumed I would be a bit of an oddity. There's no disguising the fact that I am distinctly not from around here. Still, I'm used to the U.S., where even in relatively small towns, there is usually some amount of diversity. 

Not so in Bucheon. Here, I am not just a minority, I am THE minority. Everyone who lives here is Korean. Strolling the sidewalks of my neighborhood, I am a white giant. And everybody notices. 

The stares had an interesting novelty to them in my first week or so. There's no tiptoeing around the issue here--glancing at someone from behind a newspaper, pretending to look at a spot just beyond the person--just blatant, unabashed gawking. 

Children lock their eyes on you and walk backwards until you are out of sight. They grab their mother's hand and point, saying "Mikuk, Mikuk!" 

Adults are worse. I have caused near car accidents, pedestrians come close to being roadkill, people bump into each other because they seem to forget their powers of peripheral vision when I am view. 

It is an uncanny feeling, to say the least. 

I am an alien here, in all senses of the word, an interterrestrial not to be missed once spotted. I know there are other English teachers living and working in Bucheon, though I never see them either, so considering the homogeneity of the area, it all makes sense. Realizing this does little to lessen the feeling of being a sideshow attraction, though. The stares are rarely sinister, merely curious. Those who speak even a word of English get quite excited at the prospect of practicing. 

-Hello!

-Hi.

-Where are you from?

-Oh, the U.S.

- . . .?

-America.

-Ha, ha, America! America, very good. America.

End transmission. I have this conversation at least four times a day. 

It's a different story in Seoul, which is about as international as a city can get. In certain areas, there are more foreigners flitting about than Koreans. People don't look twice at me in Seoul, which is a nice break from feeling like the Paris Hilton of Bucheon. I've been to bars whose patrons are all ex-pats of one sort or another, which is equally strange. They all seem to glom together for comfort. Sometimes there are almost too many Americans around in Seoul. There's a U.S. army base right near a very touristy area called Itaewon, and I can't seem to walk two feet without running into an American soldier there. It is nice to find people from home here, even if none of them are from my actual home. I get quite a lot of "ORegon! I hardly know where Oregon IS!" And this is from Americans. 

It's always been my theory that people have the capacity to get used to pretty much anything if they're given enough time. I'm not accustomed to the ogling yet, but I'm sure the time will come when it all seems routine. Until then, eyes forward, one foot in front of the other, and picture the gawkers in their underwear.