Ganesha

I didnt 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 stormed out of 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 these people 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.

What kind of hat you asked…this hat, the kind that cost less than 1/2 lb of coffee. That isnt the phone behind me…its the intercom…and a beautiful red heart and calendar.

I know Im not making this up…I read it in a botany book somewhere, but there is a phenomenon whereby a dying fruit tree is stimulated internally to put out fruit in order to carry on the strain. Like its last big hoorah. Well, I feel like that fruit tree. Not because I am dying, but because I am slowly losing my ability to bear fruit. This makes me ripe with the need to put out fruit. Its crazy, but it gets stronger with each new cycle. Today I thought I was going to burst…so what’s a gal to do in this situation? Well, for me, the answers was to buy a new hat. A hat that, in fact, cost less than 230 grams of coffee in Korea. Somehow, buying that hat made me feel better.

smock

On Wednesdays I travel to Gokseong (a little bigger town–maybe 25,000) to teach Kindergarten and to do my banking. I sent more than 1/2 my pay home this month, so buying a hat that cost less than 230 grams of coffee was a splurge (I havent told you yet how much coffee cost in Korea…or cream…real cream for that matter). I really love the Kindergarten because the classes are big and I use a room that would make a great yoga studio…it might even be real, not simulated, wood on the floor. We sit all of us (about 30 of them, two teachers and me)  on the floor and sing and laugh and dance and speak English. And we will do yoga eventually, probably after I teach some animal names. So far I have worn my Linen Apron each time and one of the teachers remarked today “I cant believe you are not married” and “you are like Maria (Julie Andrews) from the sound of music. I have been compared to actresses before (Mrs. Robinson for example), but Julie Andrews…its got to be this austere linen smock.

I also bought 2 books today: Norwegian Wood and The Reader. I started the reader on the bus and I like it so much that I am forcing myself to plan my lessons for the morning, practice my yoga, finish this blog post and make my bed (which I forgot to do in my ripened state this morning) before I allow myself to read it because I am sure I will finish it this evening. It seems I dont sleep much lately anyway.

Speaking of harvesting things, I thought I should share how the rice is done around here. It is much easier with pictures…so here you go.

rice field in Okgwa

rice drying

I’m pretty sure its just bagged right there on the side of the road, but I didn’t witness this. I dont know where it goes next or what happens to it.

The fields are now being cut and I’ll be watching them to see what happens next. The chilies are dried in this same manner with trucks, cars, buses etc. whizzing by. Most of the work is done by little old ladies with dark rough skin walking at right angles. I’ve been teaching my students to “lift their hearts” to prevent this from happening.

Madison, WI circa 2004. Image courtesy Sweet William Images

Caleb attended a Montessori school in Madison Wisconsin for a year when he was in Kindergarten. I recall this conversation we had on the way home from school one day:

Me: What did you do in school today?
Caleb: We played married.
Me: How do you do that?
Caleb: Well, it’s when you are swinging next to each other and you get going the same…you go up at exactly the same time, and back at exactly the same time, and then you are married.
Me: I see!
Caleb: I married all the girls and then they all married each other.

I loved the insightfulnes of his 5-year-old mind. How being in synch, means being connected, joined…married. Sometimes you get out of synch, but with attention and intention, you can control the direction and the rhythm.

Rosemary, Lemon Thyme, Spearmint

Saturday, on the way to Gwangju

I realized I haven’t  included a portrait in a while, so this is what I look like now that I am settling into my life here in Okgwa, South Korea. I have a routine that helps me stay balanced. I am already feeling pretty comfortable in my job, so I don’t have to spend all my time thinking about it. There is plenty of time during the work week (refered to as desk warming here, at least amongst ex pats) to plan my lessons and prepare materials. It might be fun to take this gig on the road and see how far that gets me. Sonya (in Marin) suggested I come back and start a small school there. I’ve already done the numbers because I planned it while I was there. UC Berkeley, opening a school, permaculture classes, Yoga Garden–I’ve got my sites on northern California–that’s probably not going to change.

My schedule here looks like this:

So as I settle into my life, I settle into myself and I’ve noticed a shift in my focus. Yesterday I managed to see the beauty in my immediate surroundings and that surprised and delighted me. It was like knowing a place or a person for a long time and then suddenly they change. Only they dont really change, just something in you does. Barbara Ehrenreich has written a new book (Bright-Sided: How the Relentless Promotion of Positive Thinking Has Undermined America) that I dont agree with. I think everything depends on the way we think about it. You could walk past the same rose every day and not be moved by it, but when you tend it, care for it and feel compassionate about it, it is changed. The Little Prince taught me that. Something in my heart was lighter and I was able to find beauty in the following things:

An apartment on my walk to school

Meat truck

Corrugated rhythm

You may not find these things at all beautiful, as I didnt at first, but something happened when I wasn’t looking for it to happen and it surprised me and this has made me very happy, or did the happiness come first?

what it the chicken, or the egg?