Laurie Johns Weblog

off to school

We’re referred to as waygooks here in Korea. It’s not pejorative; it’s just the way it is, like lots of things that we ex pats come to accept. I realized just recently that I have become somewhat serious here and maybe it’s a result of all the fighting I have to do here to make my needs known. My friend from England, Bryan, says “no one’s got your back, chief,” and I have come too close to the truth of that statement this past week, when I realized that my greatest advocates were living 7,000 miles away in Toronto.

There has been no heat in my classroom and it is very cold. In fact, in Korea they don’t heat the schools whatsoever, only the individual classrooms and offices are heated…except mine. This past week I was told that the students would not be coming to the English classroom for English, but that I would be traveling to their individual classrooms, due to flu. We have 15 cases, and 5 more will force them to close the school. Because I had been dressing for my own classroom (I actually wore 2 hats, fingerless gloves, two scarves, two pair of pants under my skirt, and my down coat which was once white) I was actually peeling off layers as I taught in the other classrooms and freezing in my own. Finally, when it became unbearable after school to do the mandatory desk-warming in my own freezing cold classroom, I simply left. Leading to a reprimand from my co-teacher and an obligation to greet the principal upon my arrival. My response: “if you want me to stay in school, you must turn on the heat in my classroom.” By Friday, I had gotten some attention.

I have always considered myself somewhat hardy and certainly flexible, however I do not respond well in situations where I am not given a choice and where it seems that my needs are the last to be recognized. So, I have spent the past month fighting two battles where my health is ultimately at risk and it is oh so very tiresome to have to say “I do not wish to be subjected to noxious fumes in my living space, nor do I expect to catch the death of cold in a school where all the classrooms except the English classroom are heated.” I am beginning to understand what it means to be in the minority in a place where there is no one, besides me, advocating for my rights.

fall in Sunchang

I learned a lot about my apartment house this weekend. Including that it is inhabited by students, me, the apartment owner and his wife, and his family. The Hagwon is on the main floor, the students and I are on the second floor, parents on the third and the owner and his wife (and 6 month old) occupy the roof. I am uncertain about the source of that gasoline smell, whether they were cleaning with gasoline, storing gasoline, or parking the motor bike inside the building, but I have not had a problems since Friday when I gasped and ran out of the Hagwon beneath me.

The “study” that the apartment owner’s wife was interested in doing with me, was not a portrait study as I suspected (what would you think, “my wife is a painter, she wants to do a study?”) but an “English study” together. She will help me with my Korean and I will help her and the Hagwon/apartment owner (her husband) with their English. We set up a meeting for Sundays at 2:00.

I spent an interesting afternoon with them and I fear that now having a friendship with people living in such close proximity may be a bit problematic, but I will practice being assertive and direct. The directness wont be a problem given my rudimentary language skills.

I arrived downstairs at the Hagwon at 2:00 as planned.  Dong jin was cutting fruit (asian pear, persimmon, and tangerines) and preparing tea while her husband Chang yeol and I sat on the floor on cushions at the table. He set a large English/Korean dictionary next to me and its counterpart next to himself. I also discovered it was much easier for him to write the words instead if speaking them which he did with surprising precision (the writing). We had a nice conversation and I was able to ask many questions about things I was curious about. On the walk back from Dorimsa temple last week, I had found a large yellow/green fruit that I had never seen before. I stopped in a restaurant on the way home from my temple visit and asked the owners there what it was. Moga, I was told. “You dont eating, cutting, sugar, wait 2 moths, hot water–make a tea.” I have seen the large glass jars of candied fruit in the grocery store. Sam explained to me on our visit together that you add a large spoon to a cup and mix with hot water. I am assuming this fruit, Moga (quince) is one of the ingredients. But I am not that fond of sugary drinks so it is unlikely that I will ever purchase any.

Temple path (images courtesy Brian Deutsch)

During our conversation I mentioned how great it was to get into a car with Suhyun and Young Sook to see some of Korea that I was unable to see by taking buses. So Chang Yeol heated up the car (it nearly snowed here yesterday) and took us to Gangcheonsan Temple in Sunchang close to Jeollabuk-do’s southern border. Jeollabuk is the province just north of our Jeollanam-do. The drive was lovely and the fall scenery breathtaking.

Following our hike to the temple, we stopped at a roadside restaurant for a snack of bbq chicken on a stick and a large bowl of soup which we shared (literally out of the same bowl) with tofu and something called Odaeng that I loved. Odaeng is a kind of fish cake. It is made of ground fish. This fish cake is skewered and soaked in boiling water along with radish and green onions. This popular dish is especially loved during the cold winter months.

When they took me home I made a large cup of tea and within 10 minutes they knocked on my door again to invite me upstairs to Chang Yeol’s parents apartment (his father was the one in the pajamas when I rang the bell at 3:30 AM–their friends were the couple who came knocking on by door one evening and “ran away”). I wished so to decline the invitation, but said I’d be up in 5 minutes (so I could finish my tea).  I wasn’t hungry but tried to act interested in the meal. His mother sent me home with an asian pear, two persimmon, an apple and a large stainless steel container of kimchi she had made. She was worried about me, Chang yeol explained, as I was alone in Korea away from my family and without a husband. When Chang yeol then inquired about what time I would be jogging in the morning so his wife could join me, I had to put my foot down. Running is something I like to do alone I explained. I could sense her disappointment. but though I very much appreciate their generosity and interest, it was beginning to feel burdensome to have made friends with the apartment owner and his family. The bell rang again 20 minutes after I came home the second time and Iam afraid I was neither assertive, nor direct; I simply did not answer.

Korean Hangul

Param–wind. Sori–sound, or traditional Korean singing. Wind sound (or song)

I left the house at 9 AM to get to my Korean lesson at the Gwangju International Center by 10:30. I had been given mis-information on all buses, so I spent much of the day asking questions. Luckily the Tourist Information is directly opposite the International Center and I met a very nice woman there who is willing to help me with all sort of things, including finding a Jjimjilbang (bathhouse) and a spa. There  are about 10-11 students in the Korean class, mostly Americans and Canadians and one woman from the Philipines. I felt a bit lost at first as most of the students are already able to read Hangul, but I’ll memorize the alphabet and sounds before next Saturday’s class as it is likely the teacher will not spend anymore time on it. It was a good class for the most part aside from the fact that Brandon was flirting hopelessly with the teacher, some students were doing their best to behave like our Korean students for comic effect, and the Filipino woman sitting next to me insisted on making the sounds with the speaker on the cd during listen and repeat, robbing me of the opportunity to hear the Korean speaker. It will be a toss-up next time whether to sit next to her (she was really pleasant and likeable) or with the students who seem to be more at my remedial level.

Following class, I boarded another bus to meet with Juyeon, who wasn’t feeling well, for our English lesson. She had purchased two copies of  The Little Prince for us to read. I suggested in our last meeting we should read a story together. She had many Korean sweets and fruits for me as usual including the largest apple I have ever seen. I have not tried it yet, but Juyeon claims it is delicious. It was really fun talking to her because she is feeling more comfortable and discloses all sorts details about her life to me. Her situation is very traditional. She is a 30 yr. old woman living with her parents until her marriage. I am very curious about her and ask lots of questions. She did not tell me I looked prettier this time, in fact, she said, “you looked MOST pretty last time.” Somehow a language deficit reduces us to the most basic of truths. I make myself understood with language so rudimentary that I sometimes wonder why we need to form full sentences at all except out of a need to be polite and formal. I am sure that will all change when I start to learn more.

The language is coming to me from a, for lack of a better term, “soft” place. I noticed on the bus yesterday while listening to a conversation between a young couple behind me, that I had a very keen sense of the “feeling” of the conversation without understanding a single word. I was able to really get into the essence and fabric of the conversation…to detect the questions and the nature of the responses. It was lovely and I enjoyed the experience very much. I also find the approach to teaching the language very interesting. The order and rhythm of learning is really dictated by the characters themselves and the sounds they make. I asked the teacher about the placement of the letters in words because visually the characters are not always written in the order of the sounds they make. For example, and I am just making this up because it is not the actual case with the word “story” but I am going to use it as an example, when writing the word s t o r y, the letters might not appear in that order–they might be arranged so the “o” precedes the “t” (and remember, I just made that up). So I asked, do you place the letters according to some sort of aesthetic, fitting them together in lyrical, visual fashion?  And the teacher’s response  helped me SO much, because the answer is that the words were drawn originally inside a box. So however the characters fit together nicely in the box, is how they are written and for someone who is visually oriented, this is really good news. It makes learning the language more fun for me, because god knows, I am not going to spend much time in “memorization.”

Young Sook and I

Following my meeting with Juyeon, I got back on a bus to meet Suhyun and Young Sook at the Young Poong bookstore in the main terminal. I had never met Young Sook before, but we liked each other immediately. She had an earthy elegance that appealed to me. She studied commercial art in college and is now a professor of Art Therapy at a University in Gwangju. I was so happy that she had a car because it gave me an opportunity to experience some things I never would have. She drove us to Damyong (even offered to take me back to Okgwa which I thought was immensely generous, however I refused) to the countryside, a place called Gisil Village. It was the most beautiful place I have seen yet. The fall is gorgeous here and the drive was so much fun. She took us to a very special restaurant called Param Sori (wind sound) where there was no menu because they just bring you whatever they are serving that day. It was delicious and I tried everything.

dinner

tea

After the meal, they brought us chrysanthemum tea served in the most awesome tea bowls. Suhyun purchased a set for 80,000 Won (about $70) and Young Sook drove us back to the bus terminal. We made plans to visit a temple in the north during the winter vacation and Young Sook suggested a hot spa to me where they heat the water with wood and not gas –Pulkama Sauna. It is in Shinandong. I havent been able to find its location yet, but I have the friend I made at the tourist information to assist me.
Annyong!

Wowie.

When I got home from school today, the smell in the bathroom was bad enough to call the apartment owner. I actually rang what I thought was his bell at 3:30 AM this morning only to disturb a little elderly man in his slippers and pajamas. It was almost worth waking him, just to see the site. He was very cute. Anyway, the apt. owner of course could not smell a thing and kept asking me “very bad?” to express his incredulity at the fact. He finally went to get two students (who I know from Okgwa elementary) to investigate the smell. You see, he also runs the Hagwon (private school) downstairs where they attend after school. So there they all were, in my bathroom with their street shoes and if you know anything about Korean bathrooms, they are the shower, too. There is no designated shower space, you just use the whole thing as your shower. This takes some getting used to and the last thing you want are pebbles and dirt under your feet. I wanted those children out of there. Also, I had just returned from my busiest day of teaching, 6 classes back to back and being a teacher of English as a foreign language is somewhat like being a performer–exhausting. Plus, they kept picking up any manner of thing and declaring it the problem–the soap, the shampoo…you see I use very earthy things…I am sure Koreans have no idea what they are.

It was all too much. It was Friday. On Friday I have a beer and catch up on John Stewart and The Colbert Report. Finally I put on my coat and said I had to go, just to get rid of them. When we got downstairs, the owner of the Hagwon invited me in…WELL, I stepped one foot in that place covered my mouth and nose and said…no no no, that is it exactly! That is the smell! But, honestly, no wonder he couldn’t smell the fumes in my apartment, the ones in the Hagwon were ten times as bad. That place reeked so badly of gasoline, I am surprised parents allow their children to go there. I began to picture my little bar of  co-op soap they placed outside the bathroom and in the hall; it made me laugh. So, he explained in very broken English using the words, partner, bicycle repairman (I think he meant motorbike, the way he was turning his wrists) gasoline,  just cleaned the floors. I have no idea what the hell is going on, but I am fairly certain he does. I said, well, now we know we have a problem…goodbye.

When I returned from the store he came over immediately wondering if the smell had dissipated–it had– and to tell me that his wife is traditional Korean painter and wants to do a study of me. We set it up for Sunday. Maybe she’ll even give one to me! So, Juyoen, again was right–agony/ecstasy, they don’t exist without the other. Time for a beer and The Daily Show!

Saturday Morning Addendum
On my way back from my run I saw the little old mad whom I awoke yesterday boarding his motor bike. It is quite possible that the apt. owner said “father” instead of “partner” as I thought. In time the story reveals itself.

I’ve been speaking English on Saturdays with a young women (Juyeon) in Gwangju. She recently explained to me that you cannot have happiness, without also experiencing misery (we used a lot of hand drawn pictures and gestures to get there). She also told me that in Korea there is a saying “in the Fall, we read a book. This is good news to me, because I have read 5 books since arriving. I am happy that the lessons are going both ways.

I am having some difficulties getting attention on the issue of the toxic smell in my apartment. I have pinpointed it to a narrow shaft in the bathroom through which, I believe, some sort of exhaust travels. Last Friday I woke up with a massive headache feeling sick to my stomach, so I called the school and said I was sick from the smell. I thought that would get their attention. The school is responsible for providing an apt for me. It turns out my students were being tested that day and would not have Engrishee anyway (they never tell you these things, but expect you to go there and warm your desk for 8 hours) so I did not miss anything.

My co teacher expressed concern, wanted to take me to the hospital and I refused. I asked her to please bring the apt. owner over to identify the smell. She arrived at 1:30 in the afternoon with the owner (and the school nurse); I was doing yoga and the smell had dissipated. The nurse said in a concerned and questioning way, “you are sensitive?” If they had arrived 5 hours earlier, it would have taken little sensitivity to detect that smell. Anyway, I got the number for the apt. owner and said I would call the next time it happened. The problem is, as now, the smell is most acute at 3:30 AM.

Thursday (yesterday) I awoke with the same symptoms and feeling awful But I couldnt call the apt. owner or the school because I had left my bag (with the phone numbers) on the bus earlier that day on my way back from Dorimsa Temple (another post). I boarded the bus for Ib Myeon feeling terrible and when I arrived, went straight to the nurse. She gave me two large white pills, something warm she called “chinese medicine” (I think it was ginseng sweetened with maple syrup) and put me to bed in a fluffy bed with an “aries” themed pillow and a full length heating pad which I turned up. The warmth was lovely and I fell asleep.

I woke up in time to get back on the bus and travel back to Okgwa to teach one section of 3rd grade. I was finished teaching by 2:30, but am contracted to stay until 5:00, so I worked on my plans for next week in a freezing cold classroom. When I arrived home later, I took a very hot shower and went back to bed leaving the hot water heater on to heat the floor (the hot water heater doubles as a heating system as the pipes run under the floor). When I awoke, I set out my yoga mat and did hot yoga in my lovely heated studio. So Juyeon was right, you must experience misery to have happiness too. I’m just hoping I can fix this toxic smell issue before it proves fatal. If I die here, please sue. The problem is in the bathroom.

Ganesha

I didn’t dread Thursday at Ib Myeon as much this week, possibly because I was deeply engrossed in something at home and suddenly realized I needed to get on the bus, so I didnt have time to even think about what I was doing or where I was going. Do you ever study something so much it makes you sick? Like the feeling of being over-prepared is almost the same as being under-prepared because the emotional turmoil to get to either of those places is similar? Both states are anxiety producing but from opposite ends of the spectrum. Well, I wasn’t under or over prepared. I had decided even before stepping a foot into that school, that I needed to make friends with those guys–the two English teachers at Ib Myeon–Mr Cho and Mr. Jeong and that my success at the school depended more on our cooperation than any of our abilities to be good teachers. This was a major step for me, because I am so much more inclined to put product before feeling. I saw this in myself most profoundly when designing things for people, how the end result mattered to me more than if others got their feelings hurt.

Anyway, my first encounter at the school was with Won (pronounced One). She is the special education teacher who rescued me from the steps last week when I left Mr. Cho and Mr. Jeong’s classroom and invited me into hers. I think they called her and asked her to detain me because Mr. J was so afraid I’d leave him. Won wanted me to know how nice it was to meet last week and to tell me what a good first impression she had and how, again, “beautiful” I was. Koreans have said this enough to me to get me really thinking about it. Now I was downright nasty last week at that school. I remember sitting in Won’s room wondering what the hell I was doing there, suffering her smiles and her questions…what was my impression of Korea? WHAT WAS MY IMPRESSION OF KOREA..??? I was fuming, madder than i’ve been in a long time…and she wanted to know what my impression was of Korea? The schools are noisy, I finally said.

So yesterday when Won stopped me to tell me she had a good first impression, I was stopped dead in my tracks…what was it that the Koreans were really seeing in me beyond my anger, beyond my fashion challenged appearance, beyond my bad hairstyle, and beyond my inability to see what was fascinating about them aside from their peculiarities, and then it hit me…maybe the Koreans have the ability to see into me, toward my innate goodness. Maybe she could see that my anger towards Mr. C and Mr. J meant that I cared about making it right. I dont know, but when I walked home from school yesterday one of the cabbies (the one who always speaks English to me) offered me a free ride, and the day was warm and clear, so clear that I could see more details on the mountains than ever before, and I had gotten a lovely package from home with this picture of Ganesha, and Jen made me laugh as usual, and the lessons went well, and the world felt right and good again. So however I was conspiring against myself, the universe stepped in to show me that  life really is pretty incredible when we “let go and let love,” or some cliche like that.

I am going to leave you with a story of coincidence that I re-told to Jen this morning.

Bjork and Chet Baker’s Let’s Get Lost.

One day a student gave me an article on Bjork because she knew how much I liked her. My friend William, at the same time recommended that I listen to some Chet Baker (to satisfy my need for romance?), specifically the soundtrack from the film Let’s Get Lost. Well, I discovered two albums of the same name and was having a difficult time figuring out their differences—at the same time I was listening to Bjork tracks online. So I was doing two things at once, but just those two— searches for Chet Baker—searches for Bjork—and voila on my BJORK search appears the name Chet Baker. That’s weird. What I discovered was even weirder—when I clicked I got an image of Bjork and cds strewn across her kitchen table, 10 of them and below the picture, a list (in order) my 10 favorite cds with an explanations of each. Number 10 was Chet Baker—the soundtrack—and her text explained the difference and her preference. I bought the one Bjork preferred, of course.

The point is that things happen when you open yourself up to the grace of life. When you are not in a state of over-preparing or fretting about you lack of preparedness, when you are just casually investigating two things at once that serendipitously collide or intersect. I know what it means to survive hardship, and though it may make you stronger because you learn to survive in the harshest of circumstance, hardship makes you brace yourself or to close yourself off. It is better, I think, just to jump in, not with a splash, or scuba gear, but just to get in, walk slowly let it come up to your knees, your feet, your abdomen, your shoulders–just get in a float. And if this is starting to sound like the soundtrack from a Walt Disney film, just immerse yourself fully to drown out the sound.

The Seasons

The Kindergarten teachers in Gokseong asked me to teach the seasons. I dont mind reinforcing their curriculum, but I dont have materials, so I have to make my own. I nearly forgot to put something together, but had purchased pastels on one of my Gwangju outings and decided to put them to use the night before. I quickly drew the seasons with minimal details so we could add other visuals later, like an umbrella perhaps. I made other little laminated cards of clouds and mittens etc. so I could I ask the questions “When do we use mittens,” and they could reply “in winter” placing the mittens on the picture. Well, I have gotten so many compliments on those materials. The questions range from “did you draw those?” to “what did you do for a job in Canada” (most teachers coming to this area–Jeollanamdo province are from Canada). It makes me think I should develop curriculum and materials for Korean kindergartens void of cartoon characters. Maybe I will pose it to Juyeon a woman who owns a Hagwaon (private school) in Gwangju who I meet on Saturdays to speak English with. Her father is a principal and perhaps they have some idea about how this process works.

I love Wednesdays because of the kindergarten. I teach only three 30 minute classes (10-11:30) . Adam told me I could hike to Dorim temple from Gokseong so I attempted that today, only I turned a bit too soon, missed the road entirely and ended up on a trail that took me past a tiny village inhabited by farmers. Farming and getting things to and from market is the greatest activity here in the south of South Korea. I ride the bus with many farmers each day, tanned and chatty. I always give up my seat to these women (they are mostly women) and I imagine what they talk about. I looked toward their dwellings on that hill just outside of Gokseong and thought about how I could live there amongst the chickens and crops. I wondered if any of those tiny houses had wood burners and if the Jeollanamdo office of education would find me a hillside hut (the office of ed. pays for our housing) if I requested one. Sometimes I think I need a little physical hardship to keep me balanced. I know how good my lentil soup (I make a pot every week) would taste cooked over a fire that I had made myself.

Zito helps us learn English

It’s been a crazy couple days, so bear with me. It started Thursday morning when I arrived at the school in Ib Myeon.

8:40 Mr. Jeong hands me a note that reads:

Dear Lorie

I cannot speak early. and I am sorry.
As it was hard to explain fate, I wrote to a sentence.
There is today a study recital to the fifth period.
We shall study four grade to the fifth period.
I talked directly to whether I put Okgwa elementary school on the phone with a teacher.
The section which a Lorie shall take charge of Listen and repeat.
study seven or eight minutes degree
focus on pronunciation revision of students and repetition.
encouragement of learning C. Ltd. parents come.
If Lorie helps it, a successful class can work.
If I call you then you start the study
I ask a favor.

“Mr. Jeong,” I ask trying to wriggle out of what he is asking me to do (if you had been living in Korea for over a month, you would get his note too), “what time is fifth period?”

Mr. Jeong: 1:40
Me: Sorry, Mr. Jeong, I cannot help you, I have to teach 3rd grade in Okgwa at 1:50.

He points to line 5…ah, he has already spoken to Okgwa and re-arranged my schedule for me. I can see that the guy wants my help, but honestly I had never even met any of the students in the 4th grade at Ib Myeon, and frankly I didnt want to stay at that school any longer than necessary because I actually cant stand going there. I dream about all the things I could instead do, including a love affair (believe me that would be an impossibility of the greatest sort) on my walk from the bus stop to school in that tiny little town.

I can see I have no choice. So I agree to help him. To be fair, Mr. Jeong is a brand new teacher. They have placed me, on Thursdays, at this school with him and Mr. Cho. So, for each lesson there are 3 of us in the classroom. The first day I was there, I watched them blunder through the lesson while the students: talked constantly to each other, combed their hair, leaned back in their chairs, stood on their chairs and behaved basically disrespectfully (there is a chasm between generations here, but that is another post). The only thing the students seemed to enjoy was “listen and repeat” so they could shout at the tops of their lungs in ENGRISHEE. I found the entire scene nauseating.  Then they turned to me and said “have you prepared something?” It was my first day at the school, I didnt even know what page they were on in the text, but I stood up there and suffered their abuse with as much enthusiasm as I could muster. Following the lesson, Mr. Cho said “You must prepare something.”

Thursday was my third visit to this school.  I had decided that someone needed to take charge and that I shouldnt wait for them to do it. So I had my lesson and began using the same techniques that have been working for me in the other schools. Somewhere around 20 minutes into the lesson, Mr. J and Mr. C, who should be helping maintain order (I mean I dont really need them to help teach English) are whispering to each other about 3 feet from me and pointing to the text. I was concentrating on my lesson, but I was pretty sure they were talking about me. So Mr. C  interrupts me in the middle of a sentence to say “Ok, you teach 20 minutes and now we will teach 20 minutes.” At that point something in me snapped. I grabbed my things and said “fine, I’m leaving…you teach, these students behave like animals anyway.” And I stormed out the door.

Well of course they chased after me and Mr. J was really worried that I wouldnt help him during the 5th period when all the suits would be observing, so I told them I just needed some time to cool off and came back to teach 3rd and 4th periods. After lunch, they expressed their concern. I wasnt following the text and they needed to follow the text. Ok in all fairness to them, I get it, they teach an additional day without me and this makes it harder for them. So I explained to them that I was actually smarter than the text and they would need to back-off and just help me get the kids in line. They would just have to trust me. That I had been hired by the office of education because I had lots of experience. I think I may have also insulted them by saying that any monkey could follow the text and “why didnt they just do it, and what did they need me for.”

After this discussion we waited for 5th period and our “presentation” which was postponed and postponed and postponed again. It was so late by this time that I could have gone to Okgwa and back and never missed seeing my 3rd graders. In the end, I apologized to Mr. Cho and Mr. Jeong and they asked me some questions about religion and church and admitted that my answers made me sound an awful lot like Jen.

Falling asleep wasn’t easy that night. I knew that the bad feelings I already had about the school had greatly influenced my response to Mr. Cho and Mr. Jeong. I wasn’t proud of my behavior. My dad had accused me of ethnocentricity in an email and I knew he was right. I wasnt really giving the teachers much credit or treating them very kindly. Caleb even said “don’t insult them, show them.” So maybe that is the problem, that I would rather complain about it than do the hard work of “holding myself to the highest standard.”  Maybe I need to talk to those teachers more and work out a plan together. Maybe I need to smile more and stop taking myself so seriously. This job isnt as hard as I want to make it sometimes. Even Jen says, “try to take it for what it is, laugh at it, relax, and have some fun.” And though my inclination is to run far from Ib Myeon, Mr. Jeong and Mr. Cho, I’m going to try to use my challenges to maximize my potential and take the high road in order to discover what is to be found there. And maybe the greatest intelligence can be found in the mixed up sentiment of Mr. Jeong: “If Lorie helps, a successful class can work.”

Every day in Okgwa

A former student of mine went on after high school to St. Johns University in Maryland. It was the perfect place for her and would have been for me too if I had any inkling whatsoever when I chose (and I use that word lightly) a college. What I remember most about her experience was a story about her roommate’s father. Heather, my former student, remarked that she respected this man because he held himself to the highest standard. I try to remember that when I want to judge harshly this culture. Jen says she hesitates to recommend anything because of my high standard, most people think I am impossible to buy gifts for, and another friend thinks I posses an elevated sense of decorum that no one can achieve–which leads eventually to my own disappointment. Okay, I am well aware of  the notion that when you point a finger, four others are pointing back at you, so I will proceed with caution. But excuse me for a moment while I try to understand just what in the world is going on here.

I’ve recently begun saying, “In my country, we don’t do that.” And I use it probably to the point of frustration for the Korean students. I am not sure if they feel judged, or they just think I am really odd but I use this phrase to justify why they cannot, in my presence: hit one another, yell at the tops of their lungs when we are doing “listen and repeat.” run into my classroom, talk incessantly to one another during class, follow me home and ask to come up…I think I really just want somehow to hold myself apart. Not to mention, again, that these behaviors are driving me mad. Ok, the following home is somewhat cute, but seriously, by the end of the day, I am longing for some quiet time alone.

My co teacher Ms. Kim explained a log I would have to keep in order to receive reimbursement to which I was entitled for traveling to 3 other schools. She explained I would need the principal’s, the vice-principal’s, and someone else’s (this someone else was unclear to me, but I figured they could figure it out because the title was there in Korean hangul) signatures in an official looking black book that she gave to me. So each time I visited a school, I took the log with me to gather the signatures. When I would take the thing to the principal etc. they would first look it over in puzzlement, then call others into the office, then question some of the signatures already written, sometimes sending me to another office, other times they would cross names off (from other schools) and write their own. This went on for 3 weeks, each time with the same results. It made me insanely frustrated because I knew I would have to keep this up for the entire year and they didnt seem to be letting go of their charade. I was beginning to believe that I was living in the film Ground Hog Day. Finally I went to Ms. Kim declaring something terribly wrong with the document since Koreans couldnt even seem to figure it out. That is when she explained that it was only my principal in Okgwa who would have to sign, so we started over from the beginning. But the seed had already been planted. I had already observed something in the Korean character that I had heard referenced many times…this notion of saving face. I am just beginning to understand that “saving face” is code for telling lies. If you can’t figure something out, for god sakes, don’t let on, just muddle your way through and hope that no one figures it out. It seems to be the case at the school in Ib Myeon also, where they have placed me with at least 2 other English teachers for every class. Each waiting for the other to take charge while the students run the show. I put up with that for exactly 5 minutes.

Something of this laissez faireness is expressed in the way that “old” meets “new.”  I knew I was coming to a village, but the village actually looks like a rather run down section of any large city in the US where foreigners are living. And once you step out of the downtown area it gets pretty old. You might even believe you were in the countryside except for the garbage  heaped on the side of the road sometimes contained in nothing (certainly not a rubbish bin) and loaded  on trucks like overworked donkeys too weak for the job. People are also constantly burning things that are toxic. Jen explains it this way:

…the thing about Korea is that while much of the country has developed at an unbelievably fast pace in the last twenty years or so…they have not developed in thought. They may have computers and cell phones and big screen tvs and all of the plastic and waste that goes with it but they haven’t gotten themselves there. Their thinking is way behind. They are nowhere near understanding the sort of environmental consciousness that has taken western societies many decades to begin to develop. New meets old in a crazy way. Like, you will see some farmer burning plastic on the side of the road and really he’s doing it the traditional way, except it’s not like, wood, it’s this stuff (think of it as a metaphor for technology) that has been dumped into a village that he has never left… so he just burns it and really has no idea what it is…..

So I try not to judge because are we not somehow responsible for this? I also struggle to recall Heather’s respect for the dad “who holds himself to the highest standard,” when I find myself driven mad. But shouldn’t we really being doing something about this problem? I look around Korea and sometimes feel that I can see from one end to the other…all wooded mountains, people settling in little vallies between (you rarely find structures aside from Temples in the hills) and I think I understand the denseness of its habitation and can sense the magnitude of its waste problems and there is a part of me that cant get over my own incredulity at their adolescent, simple-minded ways. Because now would be a perfect time to prevent the spread of unhealthy practices. Now would be the time to say no to plastic and particle board.  Now wold be the time to hold onto “old” sustainable ways. But its like they are children in a candy store. Plop an Ikea down in the middle of a field and watch this happen over and over. Why must we always go so far in the opposite direction, just to come back home?

Since I arrived in Okgwa one month ago, I have spent almost every morning on a little cement (it’s only painted to look otherwise) track a few minutes from my door.  Someone from home recently remarked, “you must be in great shape.” But that is not necessarily true. I dont run hard and I dont run far. I do it because it gives me a reaon to be outside at the time of day I love the most because its quiet and foggy. If you were sensitive to noise and worked in a Korean school, you would understand. Also it is a time when my creativity reins free. Practicing yoga does not do the same for me. It does not give me immediate access to my creativity, though it helps me to access deep concentration when I need it and it keeps my body open and my spine long. Mostly I practice yoga for the long-term benefits and because I know what it feels like to NOT practice. It is a discipline from start to  finish, where with running, the only thing I must be disciplined about is getting my shoes on and walking out the door. While I am running my mind is free to roam.

The other day while running I was thinking about the illusion of symmetry in the body. From the outside, the body is, for the most part, symmetrical, while on the inside the body is not. The organs especially lack symmetry, even the heart’s left and right ventricles are not the same. We are unique and wonderous creatures, less like machines, more like organisms with flawed and particular cells.  I cant say how, exactly, this put me in touch with my divinity, I can only say it has.

Just like the things we were meant to be, there are certain mistakes I think that we were meant to make–mistakes that urge us toward our potentials. It is my mistakes that move me most, not the moments of shining or elation. If we are honest with ourselves, we don’t trust in these moments anyway because only we understand the folly of their constitution. We move quickly beyond our accomplishments never allowing them to become a meaningful gauge of our worth. It is the moments where I have failed myself and others that bring me closest to myself.

When Caleb was old enough to have his own money and to purchase his own gifts for Christmas, Ailee and I took him to the mall. He was very excited to find one of those booths where they sell little glass figures of animals and he bought me three. I had a suspicion about what he was up to and I recall (to my embarrassment each time) how I tried to discourage him from making that purchase. I am surprised how painful these words are to write, because that act of discouragement is a betrayal that I can’t, and will never, forget. Whenever I think of it, I am sorry for myself and sorry for him. Sorry for not celebrating in his joy and trusting in his freedom. I still have those figures with missing limbs and parts: a penguin, a cat and a fish and they are more precious to me because they represent a flaw in myself which I must live with. A mark, not of something beautiful or symmetrical, but one that is raw and gnarly and you have to work hard to love those parts of yourself.

I have another such story. Ailee and Caleb both loved to dress up when they were small. We had all kinds of costumes, most of them handmade. For a Swedish festival I constructed something for Ailee to dance the maypole dance. While my mom was visiting in Madison one summer, Ailee put the costume on to her grandmother’s dismay. If I were to remind my Mom of this story, it’s quite possible that she would not even remember, and I hope that Ailee wouldn’t either, but I do. Because I wanted to please my mom, I suggested that Ailee find something else to wear, she refused, and I didnt really care, so she wore the costume out. And when we arrived to wherever we going (shopping I believe) Ailee began to squirm and fidget self-consciously and when I asked her what was wrong she said she felt silly in her costume and wanted to go home. Her little self-conscious act nearly broke my heart because I knew I had failed her. Failed to stand up for her freedom and failed to believe in her right to choose. And that moment of failure, too, has not left me.

So while I am running– and the fog helps me to feel that I am no where in particular, and my organs remind me of my lack of symmetry, and my mind wanders into the crevices–I feel myself in my flawed perfection  in a way that I may have just failed to even explain.