End Times: Part II

Pictures of some of my magnificent students and selected goodbye notes:

Heidi, Laura, and Sally from Rabbit Class.

Dear Erin teacher.

Hi! Erin teacher. I'm Amy. Don't go to America. because I'm you. come back korea. I hope to see you. take care

bye! bye!

-Amy-

My wonderful Story Time class.

dear Erin, teacher

Hi Erin teach--your going U.S.A.?

Erin teacher. Don't get flu

please come back korea

Goodbye teacher

patrick

Again, with my Story Class. So smart.

To, [heart] teacher

Hi, teacher

I'm Lily.

I'm sad

becase teacher is leave

I'm sorry

I don't have any present

very very sorry. [heart]

from Lily

Good bye.

Shine and Amy. They loved finding out differences between America and Korea.

To. Erin teacher [heart]

Erin teacher I love

you. and very very

thank you. Teacher

yo to study? me to.

I love you~[heart]

From. Juliet.

Albania class. I gave them their own song and taught them how to mime. I like to think this is them saying, "Peace out, Erin Teacha."

Erein teache...

Erein teacher

Hi~my name is 

Lara~

teache see you ne

xt time~

teacher love you

bye bye

-Lara-

My Story Time class reads a page from their book.

 

Tiger Class performs a song and dance I taught them to keep them entertained on Fridays.

 

Erin teacher

I Love you [heart]~

and remember

me [drawing of Erin teacher]

I'm sad. Don't forget

me Sue I'm am miss you

Good-bye!

name: Sue 

you are so beautiful

from Sue

love you

End Times: Part I

"Nothing is a waste of time if you use the experience wisely."

So says Auguste Rodin. 

Today is an anniversary for me, blog readers who may no longer exist due to my perilously long absence. I have been in South Korea for exactly, exactly one year today. I completed my teaching stint four days ago with many a farewell to students, coworkers, and books such as English Land 3. I waved goodbye to free lunches and dinners five days a week. I packed up my apartment, leaving a few surprise tokens behind for the next tenants. Soap. Christmas decorations. A lint roller. 

So it seems like an appropriate time for some reflections. Reflections are simpler, though, when an experience has been wholly enriching and transformative. When you can look back and sigh with satisfaction at something accomplished, something to take pride in. It gets trickier when an experience has been almost entirely frustrating and sometimes just downright miserable. 

How can I, as Mr. Rodin suggests, use this experience wisely? I had very few expectations for South Korea when I came here--in part because I knew so little about the country. In a way, this was good: no expectations=no failed expectations. Good for me, I approached another country with a clean slate. Tabula rasa. I was a modern John Locke. 

My blank slate, however, was soon to become an Etch-a-Sketch of disorder (just go with it, the metaphor section of my brain has become a little fuzzy from the lack of opportunities to speak English here). I feel rather as if I fell through the rabbit hole one year ago and plopped down into an alternate universe where logic and reason are reversed and everyone is a participant in one long Caucus-race. My school was--is--a mess. I refrained from writing about this for a long time for fear that if it was all recorded concretely somewhere I would see the madness of it all and be unable to return to work. It just kept getting curiouser and curiouser.

I saw the signs in my first few days of work, but ignored them because of culture shock, jet lag, ignorance . . . any number of reasons could suffice. I had no training. None. Zip. Zilch. Thrown into a classroom with a book like Daniel in the lion's den. Eventually I learned methods of teaching children who spoke a vastly different language than myself, but it took several months and mind-boggling amounts of trial and error. I never once received direction on how or what to teach, and never heard a word of feedback. 

Most of my coworkers barely spoke to me except when they absolutely had to. This could be put down to cultural differences, but I eventually realized that it was because most of them simply spoke fairly poor English. At any other job, I could have been understanding. I don't expect the whole world to speak English well. I don't want them to. English is an exceptionally difficult language to learn, and the world would be transformed into one giant suburbia if everyone spoke the same language. If teaching English is your job, however, I do hold people to certain standards. I can't help it. I love the English language. I love it. If not the most beautiful language in the world, it is complex, varied, playful, and wonderfully descriptive. The intricacies of the language are what make it so hard to learn. I couldn't help but cringe every time one of my students would make the same mistake I heard coming out of my coworkers' mouths. Because I was a foreigner and therefore not a legitimate source of information, my students often did not believe me if I tried to correct a wrong their Korean teacher had passed on. If you think I'm being overly critical, you may be right. But these were not just the reasonable mistakes of a non-native speaker. Many of my coworkers would forgo the plural as if the number of things being talked about could just be inferred, and articles were ignored outright. Most painful was the feeling that anything that I felt I actually accomplished with my students would be undone by the teacher who shared the class with me.

The building itself was a disaster. The windows leaked so that rain swept into the classrooms during a downpour. The walls lacked insulation, and during the frigid Korean winter, students and teachers wore coats, scarves and mittens to class, but could still distinctly see the white clouds of their breath inside. Tiny gas heaters in the corners did little to expunge the winter winds. Textbooks were shared between teachers, and frequently there would not be enough per teacher per class. Half of the CD players in the school were broken, so the listening portion of the lesson could frequently not be completed. All of this could be excusable, perhaps, if I was describing a school in a poorer country, or even a public school with low funds. But Korea is no longer a poor country, and parents pay scads of money every month for their children to attend this hagwon. 

My boss disappeared almost completely four months ago. He was present nearly every day for the first several months I was here, and then he began to slowly vanish, like the Cheshire cat. Where did he go? If anyone had any idea, they never told me. As far as I can tell, no one has been running the school for the last few months. 

In our last week, the absent boss tried to get away with not paying Angela and me for the five days of vacation we took earlier this month, though our contract specifies fifteen days of paid vacation, most of which we did not take because there is no backup plan if a teacher is absent, not even if he or she is sick for a day. His excuse? "Oh . . . we tried to change your contract at the beginning, but we couldn't . . ." 

There is no plan, there is no organization, it is chaos, and not the organized kind that can be fun sometimes. 

For a time, I thought (as you may, too), "Well, that's just how it is teaching in Korea!" Until I began talking in depth to fellow English teachers about my experience here, and found out that it was not the norm. Sure, some aspects are similar, and I realize that teaching in another country will never be the same as teaching in your own. However, I believe it was after I spoke to someone who has been teaching here for over ten years who remarked, "Oh yeah, I've heard all about your school. It's terrible," that I realized I was not just being a whiny foreigner. Well, maybe just a little bit. 

Suffice it to say, I've been ready to get out for a long time. I never wanted to admit it to myself, but I have not been very happy here. I am tired of being an English-speaking puppet. I am tired of feeling owned by my school, which was the only reason I had housing or a legal reason to be in this country. I am tired of being isolated by my coworkers and stared at like a disfigured being by the community around me. 

And yet. Last Friday, twinges of sadness overcame me when I said my goodbyes to my students, many of whom did not understand until then that I was not coming back. The students, as any teacher will tell you, are of course what made the experience worthwhile. Many of them followed me around all day like a pleasant swarm of mosquitoes, hanging off of my arms and legs as I attempted to move through the halls. I received several small gifts, cutesy in a way that only Korean (and perhaps Japanese) gifts can be, as well as a multitude of handwritten notes that made some sort of sense in English.

While I taught my last few classes, a few of my students overwhelmed me with frustration, because it seemed that, though I had been working with them for a year, their English skills had not improved one bit. But those students were in the minority. Taking a close look at the majority, I noticed that most of my students had indeed improved as speakers, and were better able to communicate their thoughts to me. Whether I contributed anything to this, or whether it was simply their own fierce work ethic, I can’t be certain.

What I do know is that many of them really did like me, and I them. I will miss being greeted every day with shouts of “Ereen Teacha!” I will miss certain students’ excitement in telling me about their weekend, even if the string of words they put together was practically incomprehensible. I will miss making up songs with them while we were supposed to be studying the lesson.

Frankly, I’m not sure if I used this experience wisely. Maybe that comes later, though. For now, I think I can be content knowing that I completed a year of living and working in another country, and I did not set fire to my workplace even when I wanted to, I did not accidentally enter North Korea to be put in a labor camp, and I did not throw any of my students out the window as I so often threatened.

Success?

Xena: Phobia Princess

Welcome to Korea: land of kimchi, hanbok, fake designer bags and OH MY GOD! IT'S A FOREIGNER! PUT ON YOUR FACE MASKS! GATHER YOUR LOVED ONES! RUUUUUUUUN!!!

Xenophobia. You gotta love it. 

The above scenario may be a tad hyperbolic, but the sentiment is not. I returned last week from a trip to China (more on the trip in the next post) only to enter into another sort of hiatus from work--what I like to call my "Quarantine Vacation." 

You see, one week before my scheduled departure date to the People's Republic, my boss approached me, and the following conversation ensued:

-I really don't think you should go to China.

- . . . ?

-The swine flu is really bad there.

-I could get swine flu in Korea, too.

-But there is more of the swine flu in China.

-Uh huh. 

-[Long sigh] I really don't want you to go.

-Hmm. 

-I wish you wouldn't go.

-Well, everything has already been paid for . . . 

It went on like this for a while, until eventually he conceded, but ONLY on the grounds that Angela and I would not return to work for an entire week after we returned from Swineland and that we would get checked by a doctor before returning to work. 

Hence: Quarantine Vacation! 

Good for me, not so good for Korea's PR. Apprehension over swine flu is a reasonable reaction, but Korea has taken its fear to an unreasonable level. Swine flu has been cast as a "foreigner's disease," a thing of evil carried into the country by the outsiders. Kind of like the Europeans bringing smallpox to the Native Americans, but without all the maize and beads. 

On some level, this is true. Considering the fact that the most heavily fortified border in the world sits on its shoulders, South Korea is essentially an island nation. What comes in must come from elsewhere. 

The more troubling aspect of the Swine Flu Reign of Terror is that much of Korea doesn't seem to believe that a Korean could bring the flu into the country--only foreigners. The reasons for this are complex, but one of the biggest ones, honestly, is kimchi.

That's right. KIMCHI. The traditional Korean dish made of pickled vegetables and red chili peppers. Other than being extremely healthy for you, kimchi helps boost grades, improves Taekwondo skills, maintains youthful looks, and prevents homosexuality. Oh, and it protects you from diseases like SARS and swine flu. Or so many Koreans would have you believe.

A while back, a woman whose son I was tutoring told me, "The reason swine flu has not come to Korea is because kimchi has special property that stops it." 

That was back in May. As of August 9th, over 1,700 cases of swine flu have been reported in South Korea. Many of them Koreans. 

All kimchi superstitions aside, what the fear really boils down to is the Korean aversion to admitting that there could be anything wrong with their country, even if that "something wrong" is the uncontrollable force of a pandemic.  

Maybe it has to do with the fact that for such a very long time, Korea was a nation dominated by other countries, and now, despite having quickly evolved into a prosperous country in the past few decades, it still sits in the shadow of its neighbors, China and Japan. A very competitive nature exists in the big-name Asian countries, each claiming to be superior to the others, and South Korea longs, perhaps somewhat hopelessly, to be crowned king. Kimchi is a prize that, throughout all of Asia, only Korea can claim as its own. 

Coming from the wealthiest, most powerful country in the world, gaining an understanding of this mindset took some time. It doesn't excuse the finger-pointing and the widespread concern that the foreigners here will bring about the destruction of Korea through what is really just a bad strain of the flu. It does offer, at least, an explanation. If Korea really wants to become a global force, however, it needs to stop perceiving foreigners as the enemy. 

I'll keep eating my kimchi, though. Just in case. 

Ancient Greece Would Be Proud

This past weekend, I experienced a bacchanal of greater proportions than I ever imagined Korea could provide. Dionysus wishes he had been there. Maybe not Dionysus. Agamemnon, at least. 

I speak of the Boryeong Mud Festival. (Look! It has it's own wikipedia entry!). 

My companions and I were shuttled off from Seoul at 7:30am (a time these eyes have not seen in some time, let me tell you) down to Boryeong, a beach town on the west coast of Korea, to take part in a yearly festival that is mostly based on dousing oneself in mud and running around in the ocean. 

 

First, however, we had to partake in some "Korean military training," which involved executing approximately 20 jumping jacks, rolling around in the mud, and playing a game that was almost, but not entirely unlike rugby. Check out the camo.

The worst human pyramid ever constructed.

There was a parade! I did not see this. I stole the picture from someone else. But look! What's that yonder? The ocean! Or is it a sea? Does it matter? I have not seen saltwater in so very long!

The "Mud Prison" was just one of many mud-based activities available at the beach. Also present: mud slides, mud wrestling, mud races, and mud baths.

The mud is supposed to be enriched with special minerals that are good for the skin. Only after I realized this did it make sense to me that such an event would be held in modest, staid Korea. Koreans are obsessed with health, and will talk about it to such a nauseating extent that sometimes I am tempted to whisper softly in their ears, "Someday, you too shall die." But I refrain. 

I slathered that wellness mud on my body and watched as what I can only imagine is the normally sleepy town of Boryeong turned into a teeming jumble of muddied foreigners and Koreans alike. 

Though Koreans attend the event, it still felt a bit like the Foreign Invasion of '09. Which is actually how Korea often feels, despite the vast amount of foreigners currently living here. For all the globalization Korea has undergone in the last decades, xenophobia still runs rampant in this country. 

All that mud still doesn't cover up the fact that I'm a waegook.   

And Dead Astronomers 'Round the World Roll Over in Their Graves

Another addition to the innumerable mind-boggling conversations I have at my place of employment:

[Scene opens as the subject of Pluto's demotion from "planet" to "dwarf planet" has been broached]

JACKIE: Why is it not planet anymore?

ME: Well, it's kind of silly. Astronomers finally decided to define what a planet was, and Pluto didn't quite fit.

JACKIE: But Erin, do you think Pluto might have special thing? Like oil or gold? Something precious?

ME: No.

JACKIE: Are you sure?

ME: Yes.

JACKIE: But it might! They don't know!

ME: Yes. Yes they do. 

[Jackie offers look of great skepticism. End scene]

 

Guess Who?

The title of this blog is not to be mistaken for a reference to the 1967 classic starring Sidney Poitier. Or the horrific 2005 remake starring Ashton Kutcher. 

Rather, it is a reference to the most excellent Milton Bradley board game entitled (what else?) "Guess Who?" 

Let's play a game, readers. Our very own Korean version of "Guess Who?" starring quotes from my workplace. 

The goal of the game? Identify whether each statement was directed at me by a coworker or a student. Guess correctly? Eat one piece of kimchi. Misguided guess? Throw back a shot of soju and relinquish your bimbimbap to the player on your right. 

Here we go:

1. "Vulture is national bird of America, is that right?"

2. "You have Pinocchio nose!"

3. "Do all American rabbit have blue eyes?" 

"I'm from America. Look at me. What color are my eyes?"

"Orange!"

"Yellow!"

4. "Grizzly bear is gray and lives in Antarctica."

5. "You are crazy!"

6. "You are very beautiful."

"Oh, thank you."

"But, you look too Western. Your face is like Greek statue."

"Um . . . Thank you."

"Really? Thank you?"

"No?"

"No."

7. "Your eyes! Scary!"

8. "In America, do all children go to school in yellow bus?"

9. "Ugh. Japanese."

"You don't like the Japanese?"

"No."

"Why?

"Because . . . just . . . Japanese."

10. [In the fall] "Someone took leaves from trees and put them on ground."

11. "'Stuffed animal' is when you put things inside dead animal, right?"

"No, that's called taxidermy."

"Aren't they same thing?"

"Um, no."

Answers:

1. Teacher

2. Student

3. Student

4. Teacher

5. Student

6. Teacher

7. Student

8. Student

9. Student

10. Teacher

11. Teacher

Confucius Says . . .

In the manic rush of everyday life in modern Seoul--narrowly avoiding being mowed down by a sidewalk scooter, barely squeezing into a car on the subway--it can be easy to forget that Korea is a country that has been in existence for thousands of years, with traditions that date back further than the Ptolemaic universe and Leif Ericson's "discovery" of North America. 

Coming from a country where church and state are allegedly separated, it can be bewildering to live in a nation where religious values hold together the very fabric of society, if in subtle, unnamed ways. 

Korea is considered by many to be the strongest bastion of Confucianism in Asia, though it is more a part of the psyche of the Korean people than it is a dinner-table topic. You'll never hear a Korean walking around spouting fortune-cookie language ("Confucius says . . . "), but Confucianism nonetheless determines all relationships in the Hermit Kingdom. 

More a set of ethical guidelines than an actual religion, Confucianism lays out rules for the Five Relationships: between ruler and subject, father and son, husband and wife, old and young, and between friends. Every interaction is defined by where you stand in the hierarchy of society. Coming to an understanding of this has been my key to demystifying much of Korean life. Family comes before the individual, education defines status, and men and women have separate roles. While most Koreans don't meticulously follow these rules, it is easy to detect their influence in everything from a trip to the grocery store to how students react to the sight of a teacher (I am still startled every time one of my students bows to me in the hallway. BOWS!). 

Alongside Confucianism, Buddhism, Taoism, and Shamanism remain formidable religious contenders in Korea, all peacefully coexisting within the nation. Christianity, however, has recently surpassed all of these as the most practiced religion in the country. Though most Korean Christians likely practice out of a true passion for the religion, I can't help but see this as a form of colonialism--the West's attempt to drown out the traditional practices of a people and replace it with their own. Still, having grown up in a Christian environment, I must say that even the Christianity here seems foreign to me: red neon crosses blaze across the landscape of Seoul, illuminating the faith in the way only Asia can. 

Away from these glaring beacons of Westernization, I recently attempted to get in touch with the roots of Korean spirituality on Inwangsan Mountain, a spot teeming with Buddhist and Shamanist shrines at the northernmost edge of Seoul. 

Klaus and I hiked up the mountain to be greeted by Bongwansa Temple, the doors at the entrance painted with the guardian kings of heaven who protect Buddhists from evil and harm.  

A massive bell stands to the left of the temple, whose tolls marked the rest of our progress up Inwangsan. 

We continued on to Guksadang, Seoul's most famous Shamanist shrine, just in time for a Shaman ceremony. Though I felt a bit like an intruder on an important, private moment, it was just as difficult to walk away as it was to slip off my shoes and enter the shrine while the ceremony took place. I waited and watched at the doorstep, surrounded by the abandoned shoes of those inside. 

Shamanists were laying out offerings on the altar for the spirits--fruit, candy, and even soju (the standard Korean liquor). Small candles flickered by the walls, and the mudang (shaman) began to ring bells suspended from the ceiling. A cat slunk over to investigate, as if she understood what the bells signaled. The shaman let out a slow, low, inhuman wail, and began to convulse as though she were possessed. Soon, tears began to slide down her face, and she broke out into a feverish dance, moving about the room, grasping the faces of the other shamanists, and gazing at the altar. It was like witnessing the most sensational kind of theater. After several minutes, the wild energy of the ceremony passed, and we went on our way, though not without a few suspicious glances from the shamanists inside the shrine. 

Next, we came across the "Zen rocks," which are said to resemble shrouded monks.

We marched farther up the hill, guided by undersized stone steps that appeared to have been fashioned by gnomes. "In the Hall of the Mountain King" played a continuous refrain in my head. The mountain feels ancient, despite the clear view of Seoul that spreads out below. Little temples filled with candles, lanterns, and statues crouch under the shade of the trees just off the path. Of course, as we entered one of these temples, a place so sacred that wearing shoes inside is considered irreverent, we were startled by the sudden jangle of a Korean cell phone and the familiar, "Yoboseyo?" Even a buddhist on the mountain won't go without a "hendepone" in Korea. The clash of the ancient and the modern. 

The next day, in my continuing quest for understanding Korean spiritualism, I set off for Jogyesa, the largest Buddhist shrine in Seoul. In the center of Seoul, Jogyesa stands as the headquarters of the Jogye sect, which focuses on Zen-style meditation and the study of Buddhist scriptures. 

Three massive, almost menacing, gold Buddhas sit in the center of the temple as worshippers perform a ceaseless dance of bowing and prostrating themselves on soft mats. 

A small pool filled with candles stands to the left of the temple, where people light incense sticks and place them near an obelisk-like construction said to contain remains of the Buddha himself. 

I left the temple without achieving enlightenment, but I felt a few steps closer to comprehending the labyrinth of Korean society.

TOKI!

It has come to my attention that I occasionally make rash decisions. Prime example: within a day of finding out about the opportunity, choose to spend a year teaching in a country that I know little to nothing about. 

Example #2? Purchase a baby bunny in said country from an old woman in a subway station. 

Yes. About a week ago, while sauntering through Singil Station with my friends Angela and Klaus, I happened upon an adjuma (old Korean woman) crouched in the middle of the transfer walkway tossing bunnies from a cardboard box like enticing, furry water balloons. We pushed our way through the crowd, just for a look-see, mind you, and I found myself drawn to a particular little bun who kept trying to make a break for it. And who wouldn't, considering his current home was a concrete tunnel in which wrinkled, gnarled fingers continuously hurled him from his warren of bunny friends to attract customers such as myself? 

With a little encouragement from Klaus and Angela, I purchased the little bunny and carried him home in a shopping bag stuffed with strips of newspaper, only to realize that I had no place to house the little creature. 

Bunny and me, getting acquainted

This is the sometimes problem, sometimes indulgence of living in a foreign country: in a land that feels like an alternate universe, the rash decision occasionally seems like the reasonable one. Would I have made the same split-second choice in the U.S.? Would such an option have even presented itself to me there? 

Goods of all sorts are sold in the subway stations here, and on the subway trains, as well. Cardigans, lipstick, cell phones, school supplies, pets--all these can be purchased in transit. It is the quintessential example of the sort of consumerist culture that exists here in Korea: No need to stop! Just see, buy, and scurry on. 

He is so small, he fits in my hand

And in this way, I have succumbed to being a Korean consumer. My unplanned purchase, however, led me to realize how very much I have missed having an animal companion in my 9 months here. Having left my beloved cat at home, and achieving pathetic amounts of contact with the pets of Korea, I have rediscovered the glory of having a little bundle of fur of my very own. 

From Google-imaging pictures of baby bunnies, I'm guessing mine is about a month old now, though there's no precise way to tell. It seemed fitting to give him both an English and Korean name, so he is officially dubbed Tobias, or Toby, (English, after characters on two of my favorite television shows) and Toki (Korean . . . for rabbit. Yes, I am a creative mastermind). At least I think it's a "he." That's another detail that the internet tells me will be difficult to identify for several weeks yet. Anyway, I tend to just address him as "Bunny" or "Bun-bun," though I felt I should give him a real name so he didn't struggle with too many identity issues.

Bunny squatting behind a pig I once received for free from a bar

I bought him a cage, a water bottle, and plenty of alfalfa and bunny pellets from my local E-Mart (Korean equivalent of Wal-Mart, but without all those underpaid workers), and he seems quite happy with the arrangement thus far. When I'm home, I let him scamper around my apartment, which he has been using as his own personal bathroom. He explores the nooks and crannies, runs around my faux-wood floors at break-neck speed, and comes to sudden, sliding halts where his legs slide out from underneath him and a very surprised expression appears on his face as if to say, "Oh dear, how did this happen again?" 

Korea! Once again, you have drawn me into your clutches, and the result this time is that I now have the responsibility of caring for a live creature even when I'm off the clock. Let's hope he fares better than my plants.

Feeble Festivities

May is "Family Month" in Korea, packed with special days that focus on the importance of interpersonal relationships in this country, which gave this waegook (foreigner) some extra insight into Korean values. 

May 5th is "Children's Day," otherwise known to teachers such as myself as "The Day of NO Children!" A national holiday in Korea, kids are allowed this singular day off from school to romp about and/or quadruple the amount of time they normally spend playing computer games (11 hours and counting . . . ?). Is it a coincidence that the word "singular" is so anatomically similar to the word "single"? No, it is not. Just as you American readers are thinking, "Hey, I never got a day off of school just to celebrate my childhood!," remember that this is one of the few days off that these children will have all year. I am currently gearing up for a battle with my boss to gain more than the three days of summer vacation he has planned for my hagwon. A day off from what is normally a 12 hour school day for most of these children? Yes, Korea, it's the least you could do. 

In the paper the next day, I saw pictures of children at amusement parks with their parents and learned about the tradition of giving gifts on this holiday. Still, in my somewhat impoverished area, I found that most of my students merely stayed home on Children's Day, few received presents, and some even studied all day. As I so often do, I felt sad for them. Creating a day to celebrate children almost seems a mockery when the majority of the time they are treated as little learning machines. 

What all children should look like on "Children's Day"

On the flip side, trying to explain that, in America, the 5th of May also calls for celebration was a comical experience.

-What special holiday is it tomorrow, class?

-[Chorus of voices]: Children's Day!

-Yes! Very good! Do you know that it's also a holiday celebrated in America? We call it Cinco de Mayo!

-Not Children's Day?

-No, we don't have a Children's Day in America.

- . . . ?

-Cinco de Mayo is actually a Mexican holiday that many people celebrate in America. It means "The Fifth of May" in Spanish.

- . . . ?

-It's really fun! We eat Mexican food and listen to music and celebrate Mexican culture!

-Teacher . . . why?

A difficult thing, explaining the blending of cultures to a group of students whose only regular contact with non-Koreans is their odd American teacher who tries to teach them Spanish phrases on occasion to mix things up. 

"Parents Day" fell a few days later, on the 8th, which provided more opportunity to baffle my students with my strange cultural practices: "Well, in America we actually have two separate days for parents . . ."

The most anticipated holiday for me, however, was "Teacher's Day" on May 15th, especially exciting because it fell the day after my birthday. I had heard tale of this day since I arrived in Korea, and, like so many things that are built up over time, the day was a bit disappointing. At first, I found it flattering that a day for teachers was included in Family Month, though not surprising considering the obsession with education here and the fact that students probably spend more time in the company of their teachers than they do with their blood relatives. 

On the day itself, I acted like the narcissist that I am and proclaimed,

"It's Teacher's Day! What did you bring me?"

Most of my students looked at me blankly, a few remarking, "Oh, I forget."

A bit difficult to endure, considering my friends at other schools were lavished with fancy purses, bottles of wine, shirts, and chocolates. 

Once again, I found that Korea and I were equally at fault for my dashed hopes--I should not expect much from students who do not receive anything themselves on their special day, and Korea should not make a hullabaloo about a day for teachers if the day is treated like any other!

Still, a few of my glorious students made some incredibly sweet gestures that made up for the seeming indifference of the rest of them. 

One of my favorite students, Juliet, presented me with a beautiful potted flower for my birthday (which I have already managed to kill) with a note attached that reads,

5/11 to-Erin teacher-

Hello! teacher~I'm Juliet [smiley face] teacher I love you teacher~[heart] and happy birthday to you~teacher I like backpack* and backpack song I love it teacher Today I'm happy! Why? My mommy and me danceing. I'm very happy! ha ha ha teacher bye bye and happy birthday to you~.

from-Juliet~[heart]

My favorite part is how she ends almost every sentence with the word "teacher." Later, when I tried to thank her mother (who teaches in the kindergarten) for the plant, she said, "No, Juliet!," which led me to believe that Juliet bought me this plant with her own money when she is all of 8 years old.  

*"Backpack" is the book we use in Juliet's class, and we begin each class by singing and dancing to the song at the beginning of the CD. 

Another student from the same class, Alexis, brought me these lovely scarves that I have absolutely no idea what to do with:

One of my kindergarten students brought me a cold coffee drink from the Mini-Stop next door because she knows how much Erin teacher likes coffee.

Another gave me a box of Korean pastries which look and taste like walnuts with a note that says (mostly in Korean, she's only 6),

Sansaengnim, sahranghaeyo. 

Gamsah Hamneedah.* 

I love you, 

Annie

*Translation: Teacher, I love you. Thank you.

Yet another student from the same class as Juliet and Alexis (I've heard teachers talk about having a special bond with certain classes and this one is MINE) made perhaps the most endearing gesture of all. At the beginning of class, Danny walked up to me with the Korean equivalent of a Bic pen and, handing it to me, said in perfect English,

"This is my small birthday present for you." 

I was extremely touched. 

So, most of my students could care less if I never showed up at school again. But a few like me enough to buy me presents out of their own pocketbook. For me, I think that's enough motivation to keep going back. 

The Incompatible Expat

I've fallen into the habit of stealing my coworker's English newspaper every day in order to complete (butcher) the crossword on my break. Sometimes I'll poke my nose into the nooks and crannies of the actual content of The Korea Herald, which is how I recently came across an article in the "Expat Living" section of the paper--there are enough of us to merit such a section--entitled "What do you like most about Korea?" A top 10 list, essentially, taken from an informal poll of expats such as myself. There aren't many items on the list that I brazenly disagree with, but what startled me when I spotted the article was this: I almost laughed when I read the title. Why? I've been struggling for a few months now with something that, to an outsider, might appear to be a small thing, but has been a source of inner discord for a while:

I don't particularly like Korea. 

Don't get me wrong. I don't hate this country. I don't denounce every aspect of its being. For quite some time, however, the cons have been outweighing the pros in my book. Because of this, I feel that I have failed in some way. I have always thought of myself as an accepting, open person--someone who could enter into another culture without expectations, without an immediate rejection of another way of life. Someone unafraid of venturing out into the world. I feel that I accomplished that when I came here. The problem is holding steady to that mindset. 

I've lived in another culture before. I spent four months in England in the spring of 2007. The duration of my stay was much shorter, and it was in a culture that is viewed as not so "different" from my own, but I still felt England was another world. And I still loved it. 

So why the friction with Korea? There are a lot of explanations, probably. First, I set about looking at those pros, and questioning why they aren't enough. 

Here is the top 10 list from the Herald, with my own additions, of course, and a five-star rating system. It's like a day at the movies:

1. FOOD *****

"Food was the only thing mentioned on every single list, and rightfully so." Rightfully, rightfully so. I have become completely obsessed with Korean food, going a bit stir-crazy if I don't get my daily fill. If I could eat bulgogi slathered in a bit of chili paste, topped with garlic, and plopped into a fresh leaf of lettuce every day for the rest of my life, I would be a happy camper. The food here is healthy, but flavorful, with side-dishes galore, and all at a relatively cheap price. It is astounding that Korean food is not as widely known as its Japanese and Chinese counterparts, though I have been hearing whispers about a Korean food craze emerging in cities like L.A.  

No complaints on this front. 

2. PUBLIC TRANSPORTATION ****

" . . . the urban subway systems, as well as the bus and train networks across the provinces, are cheap, well-run, and easy to use." This is mostly true. Though I live outside of the city itself, I live within a five-minute walk of a subway station and several buses stop right on my street. You can take the subway from Seoul all the way to Incheon, which, for those of you not in the know, is an entirely separate city. The subway, however, closes at midnight, while the doors to bars and clubs in Seoul flap open and shut as late as 7am. Luckily, taxis here are inexpensive and ubiquitous. Busses are a gamble, and if you don't find yourself a seat lickity-split, you will be forced to assume a triple-threat position in order to avoid being hurled into fellow passengers due to the erratic driving techniques the bus drivers employ. 

3. CONVENIENCE ***

" . . . within a five-minute walk of my house are three drycleaners, 20 restaurants, two supermarkets, three produce stands, and so forth: many of them run 24 hours. Restaurants deliver, and even utilities often give same-day service for repairs." Convenience in Korea is undeniable. If you speak Korean. By now, I know enough Korean to survive. I can ask for directions, put in a simple order at a restaurant, and buy things from stores. I can express my nationality. I can berate my students. It's not Korea's fault that I don't speak the language fluently. I made the choice to come here knowing how to say "hello" and "thank you." Culpability aside, convenience diminishes in direct correlation with lack of language, and I am frequently reduced to feeling like an infant who cannot do anything for herself. The innocence of childhood is a hoax. I want to be able to go to the doctor without asking for help. 

4. BEAUTIFUL WOMEN **

"Beautiful women, everywhere you look, ranked next on the list, possibly because many of the respondents were male. For both genders, one of my first impressions of Seoul was surprise at how well everyone took care of their appearance." It is almost troubling how much importance people place on appearance in Korea. Certainly, no one should be admonished for taking care of their hygiene. Sometimes I really appreciate the good grooming of the citizens of Seoul. Occasionally it even inspires me to look like I didn't leap out of bed 20 minutes before I need to be somewhere. And yet, there is something disturbing about the ever-present heels on the women, the perfectly combed hair of the men. Koreans get surgery to make their eyes look more "western." It's like Pleasantville, and it only adds to the homogeneity of an already homogeneous culture. I miss the variety of a torn pair of jeans, of a tangle of hair. Put away those compacts for a few minutes, ladies. Step away from the reflection.

5. JIMJILBANG AND SAUNA ***

" . . . cheap, amazingly relaxing, loaded with a day's worth of easygoing activities." While I have yet to venture into these relaxation centers and public bath houses in Korea, I did take advantage of the Japanese version--the onsen--whilst in Tokyo. Being a prudish American, it was startling to walk around in a room with so many naked strangers, but taking a dip in a pool of scalding hot water leaves even your bones feeling relaxed. I have plans to visit one of these legendary hubs of Korean culture, but again, the whole "not being Korean, not speaking Korean" thing is an obstacle. Where are these jimjilbang and saunas? Like so many destinations in Korea, I have a hunch they are hidden inside the boxes upon boxes of buildings that make up this metropolis. 

6. PEOPLE **

" . . . the surprising, unexpected encounters, the energy, the attitude, the relationships, the variety and the sheer number of people in Korea keep the country interesting and fun." Maybe it's me. I mean, really. Maybe it's me. And, not to be redundant, but maybe it's the language barrier. But I have had an extremely difficult time finding Koreans that I can relate to. It doesn't help that I don't meet many Koreans that I can have a real conversation with. I live in a poorer area, and few people speak English here. They can't help it; I can't help it. And yet, where is this energy? This attitude? I feel a distinct lack of these things here--I long for vibrancy and passion; I encounter stoicism and restraint. Again, I feel that I have failed in not locating these aspects of Korean culture. 

7. OLD VS. NEW ***

"Korea's long history, especially held up next to modern Korea's amazingly quick social changes, combine to create an intriguing country where there's always more to learn." The culture here is complicated; there is a lot built in that would take years for an outsider to learn. Every day I learn new details. One minute I will be strolling past skyscrapers, and the next I'll find myself standing in front of a Buddhist temple, incense burning, worshippers prostrate on the floor. 

8. LANDSCAPE **

" . . . the mountains, the seasons, the lakes, the plant life, the countryside and especially the hiking trails are great." If you've been following this blog for a while, you know my opinion of Seoul's landscape. It is an ugly wasteland that rivals the writings of T. S. Eliot. Admittedly, I have not had a chance to explore the countryside, though glimpses of it seem promising. I have ambitions to go hiking at some point and briefly escape this concrete jungle. The spring cherry blossoms really are lovely, though. 

9. SAFETY *****

" Most expats rarely feel threatened or targeted by criminals during their time here . . . " I feel comfortable walking down dark alleyways at night. In fact, I live in a dark alleyway. I have never once felt the prospect of danger from another person the entire time I have been in Korea. That's quite an accomplishment. I don't worry about leaving my purse unattended in a corner while I dance with my friends at a club. I'm not concerned about pickpockets on the subway. Dozens of children walk the streets completely unattended. It's such a non-issue here that even thinking about it seems silly. 

10. INTERNET ****

"Amazingly fast, amazingly cheap, amazingly available, amazingly everywhere." One convenience that I don't need to speak Korean to enjoy. There are approximately two PC bangs (internet rooms) per block in Korea. 'Nuff said. 

Even as I typed up this list, I found myself feeling some affection for Korea. I'm likely in for a big dose of reverse culture shock when I return to the states. I will probably miss things that seem insignificant currently--the free snacks provided at bars, the gamble of whether or not a public bathroom will be a squatter or a western toilet. 

Yet I feel a bit like Henry Higgins at the end of My Fair Lady when he sings "I've Grown Accustomed to Her Face." I've grown accustomed to Korea's face. What a cop-out, though, Henry. Is that all you can say about Eliza by the end of the musical? Well, it's all I can say about Korea at this point. You never know. We could be in for an unexpected reprise in the coming months. 

Riddle Me Rodents

Today, while headed to class, I noticed a gaggle of students gathered around a girl whose hands were clapped together like a homo sapien clam. The children waved me over, and when I was in position, the girl sprung open her hands to reveal . . . 

A TINY HAMSTER. 

It looked a lot like this:

The workings of the Korean student mind are vast and mysterious.

3, 2, 1 . . . Konglish Time!

Konglish: n. the use of English words (or words derived from English words) in a Korean context. 

In an attempt to draw a line between Korean chit-chat and English studies, I tend to shout out a countdown at the beginning of class to warn my students of the imminent approach of "English time." Some of my lower level classes, however, decided to more accurately change the countdown to "3, 2, 1 . . . Konglish time!" in yet another successful attempt to undermine my authority. 

What is Konglish?

The phenomenon of Konglish is so omnipresent in South Korea that the country would almost be unrecognizable without it. Imagine San Francisco without the Golden Gate Bridge. Rome lacking the Colosseum. Giza sans pyramids. 

For South Korea, Konglish acts as a verbal equivalent of these architectural beacons of culture, shining an amusing, if sometimes garish, light onto a society that obsesses over English but regularly twists it into puzzling incarnations. 

Like any language, the best way to learn Konglish is to experience it. Enough students ask to see your "hen-du-pone" and you eventually realize they'd like to take a look at your cell phone (see: handphone). A taxi driver will refuse to take you to an apartment, but will gladly shuttle you to your "apaht-uh."  In the sweltering summer, air conditioning will do you no good, but "ay-oh-kon" will work wonders. 

T-shirts bear slogans such as "I am son of bambino" and department store windows display sentiments like, "I wish you were in Heaven" (think about the implications of that one for a second). 

The magic of the internet even provides ways in which to test your knowledge of Konglish. Take this quiz and see how well you fare. I scored 100%. KING ME! 

A prime example of Konglish dropped into my hands recently when one of my students brought me a gift after traveling to Thailand [sidenote: giftgiving is rampant in this country, and it is common to give someone a small gift to celebrate occasions both great and small]. Oddly enough, the gift was most certainly made in Korea, and (to my delight) is congested with Konglish. 

Take a look at the cover:

Yes, the images are backwards, I realize this. It is your mission to hold a mirror up to your computer screen to decode the messages. Interactive blog time! See, it is not just a diary (planner), but, rather, a "romantic" diary. Perhaps the bound equivalent of a love potion? 

Its pages hold romantic secrets, such as: 

"I like khaki colors, Romantic Khaki"

and

"I love you, Smile Bluish Green"

A close examination of a map tucked into the back pages also provides some interesting results:

Not only is Greenland stationed just west of North America, but China has turned into Korea! The advancements in geography in this part of the world, I tell you . . . 

The biggest problem with Konglish is that it gets in your head and stays there like an 80s pop song. I find myself responding to my students' Konglish with Konglish of my very own:

-Erin teacher tired?

-No! Erin teacher very happy sun day! 

These words really do pour out of my mouth involuntarily at times. 

On an almost completely unrelated note, here is a picture of my tiger hat: 

Probably one of the best purchases I have ever made. Note the attached paws. Korean children run around in these as if attempting to transform into the wild beasts that lurk deep inside. 

Slouching Towards Gallantry

This blog will return to its regularly scheduled program shortly, but first:

A PUBLIC SAFETY MESSAGE FROM THE SOUTH KOREA CENTER FOR WELLBEING:

To quell concerns about Michelle's condition, I am happy to announce that it is generally believed that she is going to be fine, though she will need some plastic surgery when she is older to repair the damaged area. 

I am not completely certain about this, as it can be difficult to get direct answers from Koreans at times. Straightforward "yes" or "no" questions are all too frequently answered with "maybe." (Is there a post office nearby? "I don't know, maybe." Did you have a good weekend? "Mmmm, maybe." Is today Wednesday? "Maybe..."). All signs point to recovery, though.

It is also advised that all kindergarteners henceforth wield blunt, soft writing utensils such as crayons or tubes of lipstick. 

We now return to the program:

Now that I've been acting the part of "teacher" for over six months, I've decided to take a close look at my performance and assess my skills. To do so, I will recount certain teaching exploits in the style of a Goofus and Gallant cartoon, a wonderfully antiquated comic intended to teach children manners. I considered creating sketches to go along with each incident, but decided that the mental images conjured up by my descriptions would be more powerful. I am also too lazy to do so. 

So, for the first time ever, Asia Marginalia is proud to bring you:

GOOFUS AND GALLANT IN EFL-LAND

1. On Patience:

Goofus Erin Teacher speaks in rapid-fire English at her students and grows increasingly frantic when she is faced with a classroom of furrowed brows.

Gallant Erin Teacher speaks slowly and clearly to her students and is happy to repeat phrases and explanations three or more times.  

2. On Presumptions:

Goofus Erin Teacher assumes that all of her students should be more advanced according to their level placement and punishes them with disappointed sighs when they do not meet her arbitrary expectations.

Gallant Erin Teacher recognizes that teaching methods as well as learning processes are widely varied and approaches each new challenge with a spring in her step and a song in her heart. 

3. On Presentation:

Goofus Erin Teacher bores her students by sticking to the dull textbook for the entire class period because she cannot think of innovative teaching techniques.

Gallant Erin Teacher performs impromptu, rousing renditions of "America the Beautiful" and "The Star-Spangled Banner" upon request and only has to mumble-sing a few of the lyrics. She then explains the meaning of "national anthem" and encourages her students to sing Korea's. 

4. On Discipline:

Goofus Erin Teacher practices newly acquired Korean phrases on students during English conversation class and urges them to teach her new words and correct her pronunciation. 

Gallant Erin Teacher enforces a strict "English Only" policy in all classes at all times. 

5. On Student-Teacher Relations:

Goofus Erin Teacher responds to a student who announces, "I don't like you, Teacher," with "I don't like you either. Moving right along . . . "

Gallant Erin Teacher treats all students with respect and carefully masks the fact that she would enjoy tossing a choice few out the second-story window. 

6. On Enthusiasm:

Goofus Erin Teacher stays up too late watching television on the internet and lacks sufficient energy in the classroom the next day.

Gallant Erin Teacher dons a siberian tiger hat with attached paws and dances like a robot to begin class. She also learns the dance moves to Korean pop songs and executes them with aplomb while students sing the English portions of the songs (remember: Gallant Erin Teacher will not allow them to sing in Korean). 

7. On Preparation: 

Goofus Erin Teacher completes crossword puzzles at her desk instead of preparing for class. 

Gallant Erin Teacher researches fun and educational language games online in her free time. 

8. On Tact:

Goofus Erin Teacher writes, "WHY DON'T YOU EVER USE ARTICLES?!?!?!?!" with angry strokes of the pen at the bottom of particularly poorly written student diaries.

Gallant Erin Teacher jots encouraging comments on student work and occasionally gives her own responses to diary prompts.

9. On Perseverance: 

Goofus Erin Teacher considers giving up and going home when her workplace becomes a discouraging den of incompetence and disarray. 

Gallant Erin Teacher strives on and on and on . . .