Teachable Moments

I suppose that, as I am a teacher, my life should be filled with teachable moments, those tender and heartfelt exchanges of wisdom that are so often chronicled in after-school specials. Alas, after almost 15 months of teaching, I have realized that in some classes, especially upper-level reading skills, I should consider myself lucky if everyone stays awake. The program design for these classes leaves little room for conversation in the strict regiment of skill-practice-review-practice-review ad nausem. For example, yesterday's topic for the three-hour class was distinguishing between fact and opinion. An important ability, yet not something that's easy to get fifth and sixth graders excited about.

Yesterday, one class's perpetual quest to take us on a tangent (a practice I don't quite discourage) broached yet again the topic of the Presidential election. At first I had been surprised by the number of Barack Obama supporters among these Korean students. They are young and are likely to be getting their opinions from their parents, a group that I don't always find to be accepting of things considered "different". Initially, I had shied away from discussing my personal views with the students, thinking that they should be free to form their own opinions, however, I have since changed my mind. Korea is largely affected by what goes on in the US, and I now think that in my role as cultural liaison, that they should know how a real American thinks.


Anyway, despite overwhelming Obama support, one student mentioned, "He talks like a white person". Now, as far as diversity in Korea is concerned, I am the diversity. At least in Daejeon white Americans and Canadians make up the majority of the foreign population. There is a smattering of other races mixed in, especially around the universities, but not many that my students would encounter.

Suddenly, I found myself in Teachable Momentville. I would like to think that I handled the situation as responsibly as, say, Danny Tanner, although I would tend to think it was far less graceful. We deconstructed what it means to "talk white" or "talk black" or "talk Korean" and were actually (gasp!) able to relate it back to a fact/opinion discussion.

So anyway, I guess what they say is right about these moments. They do sneak up on you. They can't be planned and they are fleeting. It is also true that the news chatter in the states, the cries of "terrorist" or hints of racism have an effect that is greater than the election itself. They are not only working to the detriment of our own country, but also to that of a much greater reach.

Yay

By the way, I'll be coming home December 5. Get your party hats ready.

Chincha? #1 - Fans

Sometimes life in Korea is crazy. Really crazy. In the last few weeks of my stay I'm beginning a new series of entries entitled "Chincha?" (which means really? in Korean). These entries will attempt to share with you a little dose of strange so that when I arrive home you can better understand why I act the way I do.

Recently my students were asked to respond to the following prompt:

In Korea there is a widespread belief that sleeping with an electric fan can cause death. What evidence is used to support this phenomenon?

I would like to assert that Fan Death is a real cause for concern here. The lesson was supposed to be teaching them about being critical of the news that they read or see, as there were news stories asserting the dangers of sleeping in a closed room with a fan. Here are some of the responses I received. Seriously. (edited slightly for coherence but DEFINITELY not context)

"If you turned on electric fan in sealed room, you can't breathe O2 and you breathe CO2 and you could die."

"Person's body temp is 36.5. When only one degree is deleted it is harmful for body. If we sleep with fan our body temp will go down so we will die."

"Fan takes fresh air and if you turn on fan in closed room there'll be no fresh air left."

And, my personal favorite:

"Fan make tornado ---> suck air
temperature down
O2 to CO2 ---> worse than a candle"

Mind you that these are middle school students. When pressed for real, actual evidence and when confronted with the reality that fans make wind and do NOT change the chemical composition of air, they resorted to the old standby "My mom said so". At least they're listening to their parents.

Lantern Festival Redux

I went to the lantern festival in Jinju last year, but frigid rains kept us from really enjoying the event. This weekend was perfect. A beautiful festival set next to an impressive fortress. I've got a lot to say (as you may know from earlier posts) but since I've had my camera back for the first time since June, I figure for today I'll let the pictures do the talking.

Where I Stand

One of the major reasons that I haven't been posting a lot lately, aside from pure laziness, is that I have been grappling with the multi-cultural-ness of it all. I am aware that this sounds not only strange but also obvious: a multi-cultural struggle while working in a foreign country? That's surprising. But really, when it comes down to it, there are some paradigm shifts that you simply cannot prepare yourself for and, I'm finding, just may be impossible to adjust to. Of course there are the straightforward changes that one makes--learning the language and digesting the spicy food--and there are the behavioral differences that, however annoying, one grows accustomed to--getting pushed and bumped and cut in line--but these things are not really what I'm driving at. What I mean is the greater, systemic changes that are required in order to live successfully in another culture, the changes that are not obvious until after a level of involvement has been reached.

Like I said, I'm finding that, in the case of Korea at least, I think I am incapable of making these changes because I think it would involve changing who I am and the way that I look at the world. Because of this, I have been at odds with Korea despite the desire to make the most of my time here. I have been struggling to find the words to describe experiences that I only superficially understand, and to explain why I have chosen to stay despite this struggle.

In the next few days I'm going to be writing about these issues more. I feel that you, as my friends, have a right to know what is really going on almost as much as I am finally ready to analyze my own thoughts and feelings about it. Before I get into it, I would like to remind everyone that this may sound overly negative, but I by no means intend to imply that my experience here has been predominantly so. Life, no matter where, has its ups and downs.

Standards

In keeping with the fact that standards of beauty are different the world over, one of the highest compliments you can receive from the most critical Korean demographic, the middle school girl, is "you have a small face." I kid you not. "I love your eyes" and "Your hair looks great" and "Have you lost weight?" all pale in comparison to the standards of beauty set by those with small faces. Its disconcerting, really, the first time someone appreciates your face for its diminutive qualities; the feeling is akin to someone saying that they have never before seen shoulders quite like yours or that your feet are exactly proportionate to your body. How does one respond to this??? The only thing I could come up with was an awkward silence and an uncomfortable clearing of the throat. What can I say? I'm pretty classy.

sup

i discovered today that a korean shaking their head "no" can be used to say hi. you know, for those times that a two-letter word is simply too taxing on a body. im thinking currently that this is probably something that i should have been able to figure out, oh, 8 or 9 months ago. alas, i remain quite often confounded by the daily habits and behaviors of those that surround me. but at least im learning, right?

On to something

The NY Times is on to something. In this recent article they discuss the Korean phenomenon of the jimjilbang, a Korean spa of sorts. This article, it seems, describes an aspect of my life, and life in general, in Korea. Access to hot pools with which to relax or to soak away muscle aches are common. In fact, the mall next to my apartment has one that includes a pool of little fish to eat the dead skin off your feet. At the beach this weekend, the spa had a mud pool in addition to an area where you paint your entire body with mud and allow it to add nutrients to your skin as it dries. There is also one at my gym. While they aren't so elaborate as the one described in the states, they are significantly cheaper. The mall one is about $7, the beach was $3, and the one at the gym is free. Of course, you pay more for extras like massages or scrubs, but regardless, you walk out feeling great.

Happy Bday

Spring is here, why not appreciate the awesome joy that is a Korean bidet? Click here to watch an amazing commerial.

yes, that is funny. you can laugh now.

So, I don't know if you will get the unbelievable hilarity that is this video; it may be a purely contextual thing. Regardless, this demonstrates my life.

watch with joy.

well, maybe with some lysol

It wasn't easy.

I arrived here seven months ago (was it eight? I've lost count) and, after a bit of shuffling, moved into my very own apartment. And it was, entirely and wholly, wonderful. I'd never lived by myself before, and as lonely as it could be sometimes, and as much as I missed my family or my former housemates, it felt great to be the master of my own domain. My bed, my fridge, my bathroom, my, well, bed. That's a really short list because, despite its glory, the apartment was far from furnished.
For awhile the spartan white walls were a welcome contrast to the 1970s-gone-wild acid trip decor basement apartment I had just evacuated. High ceilings, marble floors, window wall: this is what it feels like to be a real person.
That feeling didn't last forever, however, as I realized that real people don't eat standing up at the kitchen counter and real people don't dry their freshly laundered clothes by lying them flat on the floor. Purchases were made. Now I eat at an old restaurant table (table 11!) that is one foot tall and dry my clothes by hanging them on a classy metal rack that I lean against the wall when not in use. Pictures have been enlarged and now adorn the walls. I have plants. My life is more or less comfortable. Real personhood, finally, could arrive, right? Wrong! It seems that my lack of seating options disqualifies me from such distinction. The floor or bed are not desirable options to offer guests.
Tonight, however, everything changed. It seems that Koreans have a cultural aversion to re-using things that others may find useful. I, being the American that I am, have no such reservations. Enter the couch.
It wasn't easy. We went for a drink to our regular post-soccer dive bar and, lo and behold, three mini-couches were stacked outside, complete with labels for garbage pickup. It was a gold mine of person-seating potential. I won't describe in depth the process that was taken to bring the red fuzzy bar couch the five blocks to my apartment building, mainly because it would involve more cursing than I care to admit. The upside of the trek was that whenever we got tired, we had a couch to sit on while we caught our breath. It wasn't easy.
At any rate, I now sit comfortably in my apartment writing this not from my bed, but with my bottom resting where only 9248 bar patrons have sat before. My feet rest on table 11 which, as it turns out, is the perfect height for such a task. My eyes occasionally drift to the metal skeleton where my most recent load of laundry begins the painstakingly slow process of drying, but I prefer to let them drift to the enlarged photos of Korean mountaintops and Adirondack holidays. This is what it feels like to be a real person.

Dusty

So, I just wanted to provide a bit more background on the yellow dust I mentioned the other day. So here's a link to the ever-factual wikipedia article.

It usually comes out looking like a hazy smog, as seen in a recent picture I took in Seoul:

Sprunging

It isn't official or anything, that is, aside from the banner I hung from my window and the parade I organized for Saturday, but the Korean spring is definitely making itself known. Here and there, springlike things are happening. The perverted version of soccer that includes headless mannequin torsos as goals that we foreigners play in the middle of the night has resumed, indeed I already have one goal under my 2008 belt; the Daejeon "professional" team has resumed play with an awe inspiring 2-0 loss yesterday, although the cheering section's new Daejeon Citizens (insert - Korean usage leads the team name to be most often pronounced "Daejeon Shitizens") song to the tune of "Karma Chameleon" somehow made up for it; the weather is projected at 60+ degrees this week; yellow dust from the desertification of China and Mongolia has begun its annual springtime assault on Korea, resulting in stuffy noses, aching sinuses, and, of course, a hoarse voice. We are also now finished with the third week of the spring term at CDI (realtime pronunciation by unknowing Korean students- "Shitty I"). My classes are much more difficult this term, as I am working with the higher-level students. It makes things much more enjoyable for me, but at the same time it also means a lot more work.

I have a ton of pictures of the past few weeks to post, but I'm too lazy to do it right now. Sorry.

Flashback

I know that items exist as memory markers for all of us; there are select sensory triggers that put us squarely back to some point in our life history. It's universal, and I recognize that. Somehow, however, they seem stronger to me here. Perhaps it is the simple fact that so much is foreign, or at least it was, that it is the unusual experience to encounter something that sucks me back more than seven months. The bread is sweet, the pizza has corn and sweet potatoes, and the coffee is instant with sugar and cream pre-mixed. There isn't much like that that reminds me of home.

The Daejeon Costco just began carrying Honey Nut Cheerios, or, at least, I just noticed they carry them. I have found that it is impossible to eat them without being in the house at 24 Aberdeen Road at 7:30 in the morning begging, from the bottom of the stairs, for my parents to get out of bed and entertain me because Katy is watching TV so hard she hasn't blinked in twenty minutes. It's funny where things take us.

serving fresh culture with quasi-frequency

Boriam Temple - Namhae-do from ali on Vimeo.

Not too long ago I found myself at a Buddhist temple on the top of a mountain on an island in southern Korea. The intricacies of the temples, palaces, gates and other traditional architecture here are stunning, especially when one stops to think about the treacherous trek builders would have had to make in order to construct such masterpieces. This particular temple also had a very large and heavy looking bell. In addition to such traditional items, the site now features a side, drive-up exit. I must say it was a bit of a blow to finally make it, sweaty and panting, to the top only to see families in their lunar new year best running around and making a general ruckus. (sorry the video isnt the best. my camera is a camera, not a video recorder. who knew?)


Looking for a quieter location from which to view the scene, we chanced upon this rock covered with both leftover ice and tons of small statues. Perhaps it is indecent of me, but I couldn't help but think that these few below look like they are drowning. (note also that the lifeguard buddha has Lennon glasses).

A Lookout

Today marks the first day of my third semester of teaching in Korea; I am officially half-way though my contract. Although I have been here over six months, I actually began teaching 26 weeks ago. It's strange how it feels so long, and yet no time at all. I am already a veteran teacher, and new teachers are coming in droves as our branch expands like crazy. At the same time, I feel so new. This half marker symbolizes nothing, yet it technically is the beginning of the back nine, the walk back to the lodge and the locker room. They say once you're over the hill it's all downhill. I beg to differ, and the view is nice.

where you be?

you may have noticed ive been absent lately. not for a lack of wanting to share my life with you, but because ive been wrapped up with the details of ordinary, everyday happenings. things such as:

students wearing masks,


bridges,


fishing villages,



rice growing on hillsides,


beaches,


rock formations,


temples on mountaintops,

views,

more bridges,

koreans,

big cities,

karaoke,


hats,


palaces,


and a few people i just happened to bump into.

its all been very mundane and normal, you know, the tedious bits of life that pop up when you are busy worrying about more important things. ill try not to let it happen again, although you know how these things can show up out of nowhere.

I am the genie of the ramp

Although most of my students have a pretty good grasp of the English language both in comprehension and pronounciation, there are certian sounds with which they have extreme difficulty. It is a matter of letters and sounds not existing in Korean in the same way that they do in English. For example, the 'z' sound does not exist. Therefore, although I am teaching "The Ear, the Eye and the Arm", it happens to be set in JIMBABWE. Also, in Korean, the 'l' and 'r' sounds are not distinguished from each other, which today created the title of this post.

I find it adorable, especially on the kids I think are pretty darn cute to begin with. For the literature class there is one student that gets so excited about Jimbabwe that I have neglected to correct him even once. My low-level class is filled with more "herro"s and "rearry?"s than the Team America movie.

Last week I was told by a non-teacher that me not helping them with their pronounciation is borderline unethical; the other teachers know that this is called getting my kicks in where I can. I'll tell them eventually. Like the last day of class. At the end.

The Gods are Smiling

What did I see today when I dragged my weary, crying, broken body through the doors for the teachers' lounge after lunch? Not one but TWO brand new positively gleaming printer/copiers installed where the mammoth beast of an old one used to be. They smell like new cars only better.

Camping

Today I hit a wall. Although figurative in nature, it was tall and thick and painful as hell, so, as walls go, I suppose it was a pretty significant one. You see, since New Year's day I have been working intensives, which means an extra class each day, bringing my in-class teaching time to nine hours per day, my required time at work to ten hours per day, and my actual time at work or preparing for it to somewhere around eleven. Any sane person could see that the wall was there, looming, in the distance. I was just hoping it would take a bit longer to catch up to me.

Since I have come to Korea I have been able to notice when I need a break from normal life and the Korean mindset. Little things start to chip away at my generally upbeat and foreign-experience loving attitude. Petty stuff becomes increasingly annoying, like how there is a separate light for north, south, east, and west-bound traffic, making each wait at a stoplight take twice as long, or how the concept of an orderly line does not exist and being cut is a daily occurrence. Usually a day at the beach or a mountain or even another city helps restore my sanity and allows me not to become a full-out fire-breathing monster where my students' cries of "Teacher, teacher!" are the equivalent of nails on a chalkboard and the thought of explaining the meaning of 'surplus' even one more time makes me positively retch.

This caged, crazed feeling has been creeping up on me over the course of the intensives period. I have been unable to escape to the hills (or anywhere) because by the time Saturday morning rolls around I am too exhausted to do more than curl into the fetal position and twitch. It's really quite ugly. Now, I know that I really don't have it that bad; I know that many people have it much worse, are working longer hours for less pay, doing something that they utterly despise. I chose to work this extra class for just one month and I know that the light at the end of the tunnel is the big overtime paycheck at the end.

Knowing this, however, did not stop me from having strangely gratifying fantasies of baseball bats and profane music a la Office Space as I was elbow-deep in the toner-stained innards of the office copy machine yet again today. I swear, the failure alert beep will haunt my dreams for years to come. (I actually heard one co-worker chant "no whammies, no whammies, no whammies" as he inserted his test, only to have it come out in 298365475 pieces twenty minutes later) I have come to loathe the face of the copy machine repair guy because I'm pretty sure that I know how to do his job better than he does. If you ever have questions about the intricate details of a Rocio 2075 I'm definitely your girl.

At any rate, today, after hearing the failure alert beep for the seventy-sixth time, after pulling reams of shredded, unusable paper from each of twenty-nine malfunctioning locations, after toiling for fourty-four minutes with no success multiplied by the six or more weeks that the machine has been tormenting us the only thing that kept me from walking straight out of that office and into my bed for a much-needed nap is the delicious internal debate raised by Office Space. Would I be the guy from the movie who actually steals the printer, or the one who has to be pried off, bare fists still flailing, only to escape his friends' well-meaning grasp to get in a few last vindictive blows? It's not a tough call, but at this point it may be the only thing that will get me through the next eight working days.

But, hey, you know what else is intense?