Laurie Johns Weblog

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?

Lentil Soup

I dont know Eva and I dont know Jen, but I am so grateful to have them in my life. Jen makes me laugh during our facebook chats and there is some kind of strange predictability to her words, and Eva supports me in my environmental sensitivities. Not to mention the loads of help they offer dealing with my teaching  job here in rural Korea. Eva and Jen are my predecessors. It seems the office of education has combined their two jobs and given me a combination of their tasks. So they know all the players and are showing me the ropes. And if you recall, they left me lots of things that I use every day.

Last night I made a lentil soup with some of their supplies and, somehow, that soup was the best meal I’ve had. I ate it with thick slices of French bread with butter. Butter is not eaten by Koreans making it an expensive luxury I have, so far, allowed myself.

I have nearly finished my first full week of teaching. I travel to 4 schools during the week. I like this because it allows me to see the countryside and also affords a bit of freedom. This job so reminds me of my first teaching job in Iowa where I traveled between 4 schools on my bike teaching 3rd, 4th, 5th, 6th graders German. It was exhausting at first and I recall coming home every day after school and going to sleep, leaving Rick with most of the dinner and bedtime tasks. The thing that tires me most here is the noise.

Two girls from Ib Myeon attend the Hagwon (private after school) that occupies the first floor of my apartment building. Today they attempted to follow me up the stairs with my bag of groceries (mostly vegetable for my soup and a dark beer that wasnt half bad) and couldn’t really understand my hesitation to invite them in. I finally had to tell their teacher, “look, I’m flattered, but now is my time to relax.” I will be good at seting boundaries by the time I leave this place.

Just beneath my window is the street where the taxi drivers line up. They’ve gotten used to the smell of cooking coming from my window in the early evening sometimes glancing up. I wish I could bake something (like chocolate chip cookies) to take down to them, but I have no oven (most Korean households do not). They all know me like every child in this town.

I’ve learned to close the doors to the bathroom and to keep them shut as I’ve pin-pointed it as the source of the toxic smell, but I still need to get someone over here to tell me what it is. It comes and goes and my fear is that Koreans are somewhat immune, as Eva and Jen report, to fumes that could kill. Apparently the children even run behind the big trucks spraying for mosquitos in the summer. How will the inhabitants of this developing country survive without access to half the cells that occupy their brains?

love note from a 4th grader

I got my first love note today, even before class was over An Yeong came over and handed it to me all folded up. I have seen this sort of adoration before; in the former East Germany kids asked for my autograph. They were not my own students, however, and I am not interested in maintaining celebrity status here, because I have earned the right to be much more than beautiful or adored.

Recall my first day in school when the level of noise confused me; gave me a headache? Not the same headache I get from the burning of toxic materials that happens outside my door, or the headache I get from an exhaust seeping through the ceiling of my bathroom, or the headache I get from riding inside a bus with windows that don’t open. But a headache from trying to think through the noise. I have heard a phenomenon called “bar ears” where bartenders can cut through the cacophony of sound and listen to any conversation they choose. I do not have that ability and am unable to detect the ever so slight difference between vowel and consonant sounds, not to mention that I am not accustomed to the contortions of the mouth and tongue required to speak the Korean langauge. When I ask a child his/her name, I want to hear it well and I want, to the best of my ability, to reproduce the sounds. Just as I want to be able to listen to their English pronunciations and have them hear mine.

Ok, so Korean kids are loud. They are loud because they’ve been allowed to be loud. And also there is nothing to absorb the noise–no wood or carpets or drapes. But even if it meets with resistance, they must be made to quiet down and I am just the right person to do it. I am not young or cool and I don’t really even care if they like me, but maybe that is just because they all do. But also I am the foreigner, so already I am different.

So how do I do it? Well, I started on the first day using my Montessori techniques (thank you Montessori de Terra Linda!). Because I didnt want to seem like too much of a tyrant, I decided to do it in a friendly way, taking the opportunity to, you know, teach them some etiquette as well as some English. How do we come into the classroom? Do we run? No, we walk. How many legs does this chair have? How many legs of this chair are touching the floor? How many legs should be touching the floor when you are sitting in it? When I am talking, what are you doing? Listening, teacher! When I am talking, what are you doing? Listening teacher! Ok, then, what are you doing (and doing most of the time by the way)?. And when all else fails, I wait. Wait for them to make the right choice, because nobody wants to disappoint. So after day two of teaching I think we have an understading, because I will, teach them English even if I have to channel my fifth grade teacher Mrs. Johnson. I think I have earned the right to be stern and finally appreciate the usefulness of that.

Kimchi pots at the Temple on the Hill

Gwangju is known as the kimchi capitol. Kimchi is, for those of you who don’t already know, a traditional Korean pickled side dish made of vegetables (most commonly cabbage) and varied spices. The main spice is a paste made from red chilli peppers, which , incidentally, can be seen drying on many of the streets here in Okgwa on long mesh tarps. Kimchi is served everywhere. It has been cited as one of the top five “World’s Healthiest Foods” for being rich in vitamins, aiding digestion, and even possibly reducing cancer growth. In late October there is an annual Kimchi Festival in Gwangju.

 According to Ayurveda, Pitta (that’s me) should avoid fermented foods. We like warm and wet not too spicy, salty or acidic. I like the kimchi in small doses. Actually, I have been able, really, to eat just about everything so far, but have lost my appetite a few times at school wondering if the meat could be dog. Adam assures me that one will never find dog in the school lunch as it is a delicacy, but one will always find kimchi!

Art Street, nice street in Gwangju where one can purchase art supplies. The cobblestones are more beautiful than that kitsch above.

Week one at school was a sort of orientation, though I did teach 3 5th grade classes using many of the same techniques as when I taught German. The difference is the materials. It’s either that times have changed drastically, or that the Korean population has been hopelessly influenced by cartoon characters. I am much more fond of a pragmatic approach to language, real situations, real (not cartoon characters) people and voices. I find the text silly and the public schools cling to it, possibly because, in an environment of change, (English teacher come and go) it is a constant. Even Korean teachers are moved every 4 years to a new school which explains why none of the teachers at my school live in this town (Okgwa).

I will only be in Okgwa 2 days (Monday and Friday) a week. On those days the teaching load is heavy. The other 3 days I travel to Ib Myeon, Osan, and Gokseong by bus (the office of Education pays me an additional $20 per day to travel–the bus costs about $5). On Wednesdays I travel to Gokseong to teach Kindergarten. I visited the school on Friday with my new Canadian friend Adam who invited me to spend the night in Gokseong and to travel to Gwangju (5th largest city in South Korea–population 1.5 million) on Saturday with him and his wife Sophia.

The Kindergarten in Gokseong was lovely. Kindergartens here are private and this one was run by a very elegant and wiser looking woman. I discovered however that I will be provided with no teaching materials and will have to make my own. I think of all the beautiful materials I developed to teach children German in Iowa (my first teaching job) and I know the enormity of the task. Teaching those 3 Kindergarten classes could be a job unto itself and that is only Wednesday! I suspect on Tuesdays and Thursdays I will be teaching one section each of 3rd, 4th, 5th and 6th grade, though I have not been informed yet.

Friday night Adam and Sophia took me to their favorite restaurant in Gokseong and Adam introduced me to Korean beer (Hite). It wasnt as bad as I heard it would be. The meal was spectacular–Korean BBQ; my favorite were the leaves of the sesame tree used to wrap the meat and other stuff in. I ate and ate and then Adam ordered more.

Sophia, Adam and our lovely dinner.

On Saturday for $2.50 we took the bus to Gwangju. It was a 40 minute ride that made me sick. They introduced me to “The Underground” a Canadian imported food market run by a fellow named Michael. I bought some smoked oysters and some Oatmeal, but at double the price, I’d really rather do without. The cheese was enticing, but I’ll find other things to eat. The big news is, I was able to find sheets at a Wal-Mart type store (E Mart) which were also over priced $44 for 2 pillow cases and one flat sheet, but they are washed and hanging on the drying rack in the kitchen window next to a nightgown that has, sadly, lost its scent of home. I think I purchased fabric softener instead of soap, but I figure there might be enough soap already in my clothes to last until this bottle runs out. Some things like laundry soap and toilet paper have prices that make me wonder…but I think I’ll put it all together one day and I suspect it has something to do with rapid growth, industrialization and a relentless western influence.

Anyway, I’m happy to be home in my little town with the confidence that I could get to Gwangju on my own to visit the Bienalle.