I'm having some, uh.... issues with a couple of coworkers, which are coming to a head due to the office shifting. One has just returned back from maternity leave. She's nice enough, decent English....
It's just that she's got some strange ways of seeing the world, and is able to express herself just enough in English to piss me off from time to time. And I guess her way of seeing the world isn't that different from how most people do -- just sort of one dimensional and from the exacting perspective of whatever she is.
She's the one who made the comment about how Americans treat foreigners yesterday. That in and of itself is, whatever. Just like everything else she says. Like when they were asking about my studying Korean and I explained how the ㅡ sound is hard for English speaking foreigners, and how we get it mixed up withㅓ, which we tend to not put enough of an "o" into, turning both of them mostly into a joint "uh" sound. Which isn't right, in either case.
She then proceeded to look exasperated and tell me that ㅡ and ㅓ are two completely different sounds.
I know that. Thanks.
I just explained that, myself. All I'm saying is, that for English speakers, they are confusing and hard to make correctly. Sort of like how you call me "Lees" and the English Zone is the "Englishee Jone-uh". Because we have accents when we speak foreign languages. Because that's how the world works.
In the ongoing finding-Liz-a-Korean-husband chats, she somehow manages to make faces like condemning a Korean man to spending the rest of his life with me is the worst idea ever, while also letting me know that I would be extremely lucky to have one, and should try my best. "Korean men are very kind." Really? All of them? Wow.
In the car yesterday, she was asking how work was going, and I told her I'm just really bored and eager for classes to start again. Somehow we got on the topic of all the teachers who were leaving. I explained that, when I first started hearing all of these teachers were changing schools, I was confused, because in the American public school system, teachers stay at schools for decades, but that I had since learned that South Korean public school teachers can't stay in the same school for longer than five years. That's all I said -- no tone, no indication that I think either system is better than the other. She launched into a rant about how in Korea, everyone has an equal education, because they shift the teachers around all the time, so that no school is better than the others. I didn't even bother raising the point that, from my perspective, the South Korean public education system could do with just a tad more stability. And while I think the idea behind the constant merry-go-round of educators is a good one, I can see the merits of both sides.
I know when I'm fighting a losing battle. Or rather when not to bother fighting an impossible battle. Or a worthless one.
Anyway, I don't like her. And I don't want her sitting in the cubicle next to me for the next year.
Then there's the little guy. No idea what this guy teaches -- I've never even really looked at him before. But he seems to be convinced that I'm dead set on seducing him or something. On the infamous noraebang bus night, when Mr. K took me to the other table to make some introductions, Mr. K made the joke that he should be my new friend, since Mr. K was leaving. This guy looks at me like I'm a fucking whore -- the dirtiest up-and-down I've ever received in my life, and responds to Mr. K in Korean that he doesn't think his wife would like that.
Well. I don't think I would like your wife. And I know I don't like you. I've ogled a fair amount of male teacherness at my school the last four months, but not one time has this guy made a single blip on my radar. He's practically invisible. He made a terrible face when I walked into the office yesterday and he realized he's going to have to share the same oxygen as me for the next 8 months. He was the only one in the office when I came in this morning, and when I greeted him in Korean, I didn't even get a "neh" in response. Just another one of those up-and-downs, as he turned uncomfortably back to his computer.
Prick.
Well, we all know Western girls are whores, don't we? I mean, who hasn't seen Sex and the City?
Yeah. Don't project your fucking dirty mind onto me, buddy. Just because you chose the straight-and-narrow doesn't mean you have to take it out on those of us who want to have just a little more fun, in a life that can be either very short or very, very long, depending on what you make of it.
I don't like the new office. I miss the music teacher and the smartass teacher and the married PE teacher... I miss the kind lady teachers who always give me handfuls of little oranges and awful little rice cakes. Just have to remember, I never spend much time in the office anyway. It's not going to be all day, every day for very much longer. After all, I've got the new posh English Zone to tend to. Next week I meet my new main coteacher. Please say a prayer she's a decent-minded individual....
And that there's at least one charming young man amongst the temporary English teachers. Hey. I'm just saying. Work can get boring sometimes. Still doesn't give the Little Prick the right....
2.26.2009
2.25.2009
Layers.
Okay. I can admit it. I don't get it. I don't get it and it frustrates me.
South Korea -- what is with the total fucking chaos anytime anything needs to get done?
I have tried and tried to bear with it, to keep in mind that I'm a foreigner, I'm not from this culture and there are things that I don't understand.
There are things that I don't understand, alright. Like why, at the end of the year, all of the teachers need to change offices in a seemingly completely random pattern, and in order to do so, everything must disintegrate into total hysteria.
Like why every time I'm given even minor information about anything, I can automatically disregard it, because the first time I'm told something, it's almost guaranteed to be inaccurate.
Like why everyone has to act awkward, distant and, frankly, bizarre, until enough soju has been poured.
I wish Koreans were drunk all the time. Not all Koreans, obviously, but the ones I work with, anyway.
It was a really, really rough day at work. I was about to lose it, when suddenly the pandemonium broke off, as everyone put on their coats and started to leave.
Great. I'll just continue to sit here reading my book and pretending I don't actually need to know what the fuck is going on.
Finally, someone came to fetch me. Teachers' lunch, off campus. Someone will stuff me in their car.
It was awful at first, but then Cute Coteacher showed up to save the day. Turns out, she's getting sent to Wyoming (??) so we spent most of the meal talking about that, her asking questions, me answering to the best of my ability, although I've never been to Wyoming. She's worried, and nervous, and understandably so. I spoke to her half out of my own experience as a foreigner in South Korea, and half out of the experience passed onto me by my Korean students living as foreigners in New York. I told her the best thing was to keep a sense of humor -- not let the one million tiny things you just don't understand, that seem stupid, backwards and frustrating get to her. And most importantly, to do her best to disregard it when people treat her like a total fucking idiot just for being a foreigner.
At which point another teacher chimed in to ask, "Why do Americans treat foreigners like that?"
Uh. Because Koreans do to.
Never mind. We're having a lovely meal. We don't need to get into that right now. Or indeed ever. I'll try to be subtle about this...
"Well, I think it's sort of natural thing all people have, when anyone has a different way of speaking, or their language is somehow impeded, to assume a lack of intelligence....."
Like, for example, me not speaking Korean.
Hm.
Cute Coteacher shot me a look that suggested she understood exactly what I was getting at, and that was good enough for me. Even if the other teachers at the table remained mystified by this explanation.
Like I said, it was a really rough day. But I genuinely enjoyed my talk with Cute Coteacher, and it was nice to be helpful again, for once, instead of the one who is being helped.
Then here comes Mr. Kim. I've grown to like that man, in spite of myself, once I've gotten more accustomed to adjosshi and their rough-and-tumble behavior. In true adjosshi style, he sat on my foot. I left it there. Whatever.
We talked for a bit, until we were interrupted by the married PE teacher and a couple of other male teachers, who saw the gender segregation of the tables had finally been broken. The PE teacher rushed over with a bottle of cider and a soju glass once he saw his opportunity for translation, finally. I knew I liked that man. He poured me a little glass of cider, and I turned away to drink it, not sure if this custom still applies if the drink technically isn't alcohol. As I turned back to pour his drink, he began speaking to Mr. Kim, addressing me.
"He say he will leave school now too. He say he will miss you."
"Ah, Jesus..." I muttered. "I'll miss you too."
Translation. PE Teacher slaps his hand over his heart to indicate its rapid beating. More Korean.
"He say he come visit [school's name] often and you with him he hope will eat kimbap and ramyeon."
I laughed and moved to grab the PE teacher's arm, but stopped myself, remembering it may not be a kosher thing to do. He smiles his huge smile and repeats, "RAM-YEON and KIM-BAP."
More Korean.
"He say he eat ramyeon and kimbap with you, was most delicious ever, because he eat with you."
Now I place my hand over my heart.
More Korean.
"Uh... do you have phone?"
Mwa? Uh... yeah? I pull out my phone and place my number on the screen. Three teachers who don't speak English, and Mr. Kim all take the number, as the female teachers started craning their necks and making little sighing noises they usually reserve for the students.
I shrug at them.
My phone starts to ring with a chorus of numbers I didn't manage to sort out and match to names at all. Until I speak about five times the Korean I currently do, those phone numbers are of no use anyway.
Well. My coworkers. What can I say. In the end, they always manage to save the day, somehow.
It's exactly why I love South Korea, on the whole: just at the last minute, when you don't think you can take one more fucking absurd, unnecessarily chaotic situation, somehow something lovely breaks through. There are fucking layers to this shit. You just gotta keep peeling them back.
South Korea -- what is with the total fucking chaos anytime anything needs to get done?
I have tried and tried to bear with it, to keep in mind that I'm a foreigner, I'm not from this culture and there are things that I don't understand.
There are things that I don't understand, alright. Like why, at the end of the year, all of the teachers need to change offices in a seemingly completely random pattern, and in order to do so, everything must disintegrate into total hysteria.
Like why every time I'm given even minor information about anything, I can automatically disregard it, because the first time I'm told something, it's almost guaranteed to be inaccurate.
Like why everyone has to act awkward, distant and, frankly, bizarre, until enough soju has been poured.
I wish Koreans were drunk all the time. Not all Koreans, obviously, but the ones I work with, anyway.
It was a really, really rough day at work. I was about to lose it, when suddenly the pandemonium broke off, as everyone put on their coats and started to leave.
Great. I'll just continue to sit here reading my book and pretending I don't actually need to know what the fuck is going on.
Finally, someone came to fetch me. Teachers' lunch, off campus. Someone will stuff me in their car.
It was awful at first, but then Cute Coteacher showed up to save the day. Turns out, she's getting sent to Wyoming (??) so we spent most of the meal talking about that, her asking questions, me answering to the best of my ability, although I've never been to Wyoming. She's worried, and nervous, and understandably so. I spoke to her half out of my own experience as a foreigner in South Korea, and half out of the experience passed onto me by my Korean students living as foreigners in New York. I told her the best thing was to keep a sense of humor -- not let the one million tiny things you just don't understand, that seem stupid, backwards and frustrating get to her. And most importantly, to do her best to disregard it when people treat her like a total fucking idiot just for being a foreigner.
At which point another teacher chimed in to ask, "Why do Americans treat foreigners like that?"
Uh. Because Koreans do to.
Never mind. We're having a lovely meal. We don't need to get into that right now. Or indeed ever. I'll try to be subtle about this...
"Well, I think it's sort of natural thing all people have, when anyone has a different way of speaking, or their language is somehow impeded, to assume a lack of intelligence....."
Like, for example, me not speaking Korean.
Hm.
Cute Coteacher shot me a look that suggested she understood exactly what I was getting at, and that was good enough for me. Even if the other teachers at the table remained mystified by this explanation.
Like I said, it was a really rough day. But I genuinely enjoyed my talk with Cute Coteacher, and it was nice to be helpful again, for once, instead of the one who is being helped.
Then here comes Mr. Kim. I've grown to like that man, in spite of myself, once I've gotten more accustomed to adjosshi and their rough-and-tumble behavior. In true adjosshi style, he sat on my foot. I left it there. Whatever.
We talked for a bit, until we were interrupted by the married PE teacher and a couple of other male teachers, who saw the gender segregation of the tables had finally been broken. The PE teacher rushed over with a bottle of cider and a soju glass once he saw his opportunity for translation, finally. I knew I liked that man. He poured me a little glass of cider, and I turned away to drink it, not sure if this custom still applies if the drink technically isn't alcohol. As I turned back to pour his drink, he began speaking to Mr. Kim, addressing me.
"He say he will leave school now too. He say he will miss you."
"Ah, Jesus..." I muttered. "I'll miss you too."
Translation. PE Teacher slaps his hand over his heart to indicate its rapid beating. More Korean.
"He say he come visit [school's name] often and you with him he hope will eat kimbap and ramyeon."
I laughed and moved to grab the PE teacher's arm, but stopped myself, remembering it may not be a kosher thing to do. He smiles his huge smile and repeats, "RAM-YEON and KIM-BAP."
More Korean.
"He say he eat ramyeon and kimbap with you, was most delicious ever, because he eat with you."
Now I place my hand over my heart.
More Korean.
"Uh... do you have phone?"
Mwa? Uh... yeah? I pull out my phone and place my number on the screen. Three teachers who don't speak English, and Mr. Kim all take the number, as the female teachers started craning their necks and making little sighing noises they usually reserve for the students.
I shrug at them.
My phone starts to ring with a chorus of numbers I didn't manage to sort out and match to names at all. Until I speak about five times the Korean I currently do, those phone numbers are of no use anyway.
Well. My coworkers. What can I say. In the end, they always manage to save the day, somehow.
It's exactly why I love South Korea, on the whole: just at the last minute, when you don't think you can take one more fucking absurd, unnecessarily chaotic situation, somehow something lovely breaks through. There are fucking layers to this shit. You just gotta keep peeling them back.
Sunrise.
Everyday that sun is coming up a little earlier. Trust me -- I'm a sunrise expert. That means only one thing: spring is on its way.
Where the hell did fall and winter go? Not that I'm complaining. But shouldn't it still be, like, November?
In other news, Homeplus never restocks anything on a regular basis, so I was forced to purchase distinctly male hair crap instead of my gender ambiguous olive scented hair crap. Now I'm going to smell man on me all day long. I think my sense of smell is probably my most vulnerable sense, and now I think I'd like to take me home.
This blog is definitely on a downward spiral.
Where the hell did fall and winter go? Not that I'm complaining. But shouldn't it still be, like, November?
In other news, Homeplus never restocks anything on a regular basis, so I was forced to purchase distinctly male hair crap instead of my gender ambiguous olive scented hair crap. Now I'm going to smell man on me all day long. I think my sense of smell is probably my most vulnerable sense, and now I think I'd like to take me home.
This blog is definitely on a downward spiral.
2.24.2009
"Maybe the girlfriend experience is like me as a real girlfriend: Starts out all exciting and passionate, then I get bored, sleep with someone else, and leave."
-- Belle de Jour (the character), re: all night jobs.
Genius.
I mean, terrible. But genius.
-- Belle de Jour (the character), re: all night jobs.
Genius.
I mean, terrible. But genius.
Goodbye.
Ran into Casanova from winter camps on my walk home. He, Hyung and Umma were hiking on the university ground. They'd apparently seen me coming from a ways off -- Umma was loitering off to the side, trying to be inconspicuous, and Hyung had Casanova by the collar from behind, pushing him down the sidewalk toward me, as he struggled a bit. I pulled my earphones out and said hello.
Cuddle cuddle. Boys cuddling. Don't think I'll ever get over the cuteness of it.
"Is that Mom, then?" I know a maternal watchful eye when I see one, even from a quiet distance.
"Yeah. Mom."
"Hi, Mom!" I waved. She looked sheepish and bowed. I bowed back.
Made a bit of small talk, mostly involving me asking questions, Casanova smiling and looking down, and Hyung enjoying it all immensely, holding his little brother firmly in place in front of me.
Last week, as I was walking to the subway, I ran into another student with his mom. This mother wasn't shy at all and practically chased me down the sidewalk to announce that her son was one of my students.
Dunno what the moms make of me, but they seem to think I'm alright.
Today, Mr. C -- remember Mr. C? The one who said he'd learn English for me? -- well. Today, Mr. C came in to say goodbye. After a good thirty minutes or so of conspicuously avoided eye contact, he seemed to have decided he wasn't having anymore of it. Came over and rested his arms on the ledge of my cubicle, leaned way over. And, in spite of myself, as soon as I turned my eyes up, I know they turned on. I'm not good at casually glancing at people -- a real all-or-nothing situation, with the eye contact. And once I looked him square in the face, immediately completely engaged, I could see all of the nervousness and tension drain from it.
He had prepared the most lovely and grammatically perfect paragraph in English. He's going very far away -- four or five hours by bus. Back to his hometown. And, while he is happy to be going home, he is very sad that we won't be friends.
Titters started all over the office, seeing the two of us, heads together and whispering quietly in English. Fuck 'em.
He lingered for a while, and we just sort of looked at each other.
And I don't want to talk about it, anymore than that. You can kick yourself in the head all you want, but those who speak English speak English, those who speak Korean speak Korean, and those who do not speak one or the other.... well.
And now, to change the subject, and actually to drop it for good, a few more photos:
Paris, shoes in Paris.
Vienna.
The lovely Iva.
Cuddle cuddle. Boys cuddling. Don't think I'll ever get over the cuteness of it.
"Is that Mom, then?" I know a maternal watchful eye when I see one, even from a quiet distance.
"Yeah. Mom."
"Hi, Mom!" I waved. She looked sheepish and bowed. I bowed back.
Made a bit of small talk, mostly involving me asking questions, Casanova smiling and looking down, and Hyung enjoying it all immensely, holding his little brother firmly in place in front of me.
Last week, as I was walking to the subway, I ran into another student with his mom. This mother wasn't shy at all and practically chased me down the sidewalk to announce that her son was one of my students.
Dunno what the moms make of me, but they seem to think I'm alright.
Today, Mr. C -- remember Mr. C? The one who said he'd learn English for me? -- well. Today, Mr. C came in to say goodbye. After a good thirty minutes or so of conspicuously avoided eye contact, he seemed to have decided he wasn't having anymore of it. Came over and rested his arms on the ledge of my cubicle, leaned way over. And, in spite of myself, as soon as I turned my eyes up, I know they turned on. I'm not good at casually glancing at people -- a real all-or-nothing situation, with the eye contact. And once I looked him square in the face, immediately completely engaged, I could see all of the nervousness and tension drain from it.
He had prepared the most lovely and grammatically perfect paragraph in English. He's going very far away -- four or five hours by bus. Back to his hometown. And, while he is happy to be going home, he is very sad that we won't be friends.
Titters started all over the office, seeing the two of us, heads together and whispering quietly in English. Fuck 'em.
He lingered for a while, and we just sort of looked at each other.
And I don't want to talk about it, anymore than that. You can kick yourself in the head all you want, but those who speak English speak English, those who speak Korean speak Korean, and those who do not speak one or the other.... well.
And now, to change the subject, and actually to drop it for good, a few more photos:
Paris, shoes in Paris.
Vienna.
The lovely Iva.
2.23.2009
Turning tables.
Something terrible has happened at work.
Today I was sitting at lunch with a rare group of female teachers who don't speak much English at all, when I caught "Liz Sunsengnim" and tuned in. Korean book blank study blank. Hangul blank blank. [Hand motion for writing.] English blank blank blank speaking.
It's like a radio station that keeps tuning in and out from static. That's all I know to compare it to.
Three new sets of accusing eyes turn on me. In Korean: "You are studying Korean?"
I paused for a minute to process the question, translate in my head. Then, slowly, nodding.
"Wa!"
Christ. They'd said something in Korean and I'd understood. Another one turns to me now, and much faster, in Korean: "Do you speak Korean?" or something close to that. Something about speaking Korean, anyway.
I shook my head.
The original transmitter of information shot me a look. In Korean: "A little."
Me, in Korean: "A little. Very little."
The rest of the afternoon, everything was in Korean.
The tables have finally turned, my friends. From here on out, I have a feeling it will be me stammering and stuttering, straining to understand, and asking everyone to repeat themselves.
Still, being spoken to in Korean is better than not being spoken to at all. And several teachers who have never even looked me in the eye before tried their hand at friendly conversation today. It's still really hard for me to catch exactly what's being said (even when I know they are slowing down and simplifying as much as they can), and even harder to come up with a response. But I think, ultimately, we're moving in the right direction. At least now I can be nervous, instead of absolutely everyone else.
It's lovely, though. I still use English greetings and goodbyes, most of the time. I'm perfectly capable of the usual in Korean, but I like saying "good morning" and "good night" instead. And now? Everyone else uses these, too, without any bashfulness whatsoever.
High school boy mob on the walk home soured the day only a little. Don't know why they have to be so aggressive. Too much testosterone at that age, and not a single clue what to do with it yet, I suppose.
Today I was sitting at lunch with a rare group of female teachers who don't speak much English at all, when I caught "Liz Sunsengnim" and tuned in. Korean book blank study blank. Hangul blank blank. [Hand motion for writing.] English blank blank blank speaking.
It's like a radio station that keeps tuning in and out from static. That's all I know to compare it to.
Three new sets of accusing eyes turn on me. In Korean: "You are studying Korean?"
I paused for a minute to process the question, translate in my head. Then, slowly, nodding.
"Wa!"
Christ. They'd said something in Korean and I'd understood. Another one turns to me now, and much faster, in Korean: "Do you speak Korean?" or something close to that. Something about speaking Korean, anyway.
I shook my head.
The original transmitter of information shot me a look. In Korean: "A little."
Me, in Korean: "A little. Very little."
The rest of the afternoon, everything was in Korean.
The tables have finally turned, my friends. From here on out, I have a feeling it will be me stammering and stuttering, straining to understand, and asking everyone to repeat themselves.
Still, being spoken to in Korean is better than not being spoken to at all. And several teachers who have never even looked me in the eye before tried their hand at friendly conversation today. It's still really hard for me to catch exactly what's being said (even when I know they are slowing down and simplifying as much as they can), and even harder to come up with a response. But I think, ultimately, we're moving in the right direction. At least now I can be nervous, instead of absolutely everyone else.
It's lovely, though. I still use English greetings and goodbyes, most of the time. I'm perfectly capable of the usual in Korean, but I like saying "good morning" and "good night" instead. And now? Everyone else uses these, too, without any bashfulness whatsoever.
High school boy mob on the walk home soured the day only a little. Don't know why they have to be so aggressive. Too much testosterone at that age, and not a single clue what to do with it yet, I suppose.
2.22.2009
Philosophizing.
You're just going to have to forgive the excessive posting for a while, little darlin's. I'm getting ready to write something, and it's all coming out here in a big incohesive jumble. 'Incohesive' isn't a word, by the way -- I'm aware of that. But I don't see why it shouldn't be, so I'm using it anyway. Feel free to leave your suggestions for a better alternative in the comment space below.
Woke up at a not-obscene time this morning, but didn't go very far -- just to the kitchen to put the kettle on, settle onto the floor in front of the computer screen with an ashtray and a cup of coffee. Informed Mike that I could still be coming over, but wasn't feeling too optimistic about that possibility. Did some reading about the sex industry, got the family on the skype. Caught up with everyone and, later, when it was just my ma, had an entirely too frank conversation about the sex industry and my current growing fascination with it, why I'm fascinated, how it relates to my personal life. Which segwayed into my personal life, at which point the conversation became even more preposterously inappropriate for a mother-daughter situation. I think the woman is genuinely fascinated by me turning out the way I have, despite her best efforts (at least in the beginning) to raise a nice, marriable Southern Baptist young lady. She doesn't judge me at all -- wouldn't have the conversations I do with her, if she did. She's just genuinely confused.
Not that I'm not a nice girl. She insists that I am. As she put it, I'm just a "good girl, with a bit of color around the edges." Nice one, Ma.
She even apologized, of all things, to me today for some of the things she put into my head when she was raising me, or that she felt like she had put into my head. I won't go into the specifics, but it relates to being female, and the things we are and are not supposed to feel. I wasn't on the subject to make her feel guilty in any way -- simply explaining some things I had realized, come to terms with, and started working on changing. She didn't know any better, at the time (when she was raising me), and even now, when I talk about it, it seems as though a lot of things have never even occurred to her. I told her it wasn't her who has put them into my head, but everything, everyone. It's just the way things are, when you're a girl -- especially in that environment. And anyway, it doesn't matter. Because I'm one of the lucky ones, who has come to know better, before it's too late. She wasn't so lucky.
She chose today, and this conversation, to reveal to me that she wasn't at all surprised when I first mentioned moving to Korea to her, because several years back, she had a dream that I had returned from somewhere far away, after having been gone a long time, with a Korean husband and two little Korean babies.
I told her, dream or no dream, she could hang the baby thing right up. I've come around to the possibility of marrying someday, but I'm still not anywhere near caving in on the giving-birth/being-pregnant front. If men were capable of bearing children, I wouldn't have a problem in the world with the idea of biological kids. But, unfortunately, this is not an area modern conveniences and technology have made much progress in yet.
It's like that scene in one of the new episodes of The L Word (look out, now) where Dana and Tasha are sitting at The Planet with the rest of the crew, and Tasha's dressed to the nines, looking hot as fuck in a gender-ambiguous suit. Dana says something about the Dolce & Gabana, or the Prada or some such other brand I've no idea about, and one of the other women asks why Tasha didn't go with that. Dana rolls her eyes and shoots Tasha a look: "She said it made her look like a girl." I can't tell you how many times that exchange happened between me and K, when I recruited her into forcing me to find sensible attire for a job interview in New York. And nothing makes you look more like a girl than being fucking pregnant. It's just unnatural.
I did admit to her, rather sheepishly, though (and I'll admit it here, again, now) that the idea of having little mixed babies does quite appeal to me for some reason. I guess because, in a very tangible way, the thought made it finally occur to me that kids are half you, half your partner -- something you make together. Sounds obvious, but I'd never thought of it before. She told me then that the way she knew my father was the right man was when she thought about having children with him, and it didn't terrify her. She said, granted, the marriage thing didn't work out too well in the end, but that they sure had made two incredible people.
I told her to stop right there. That was just a fucking step too far. I was speaking on a purely hypothetic level. No babies, no way. Hang. It. Up.
She responded, curtly, that she hadn't uttered a word about me giving birth to them -- simply that they were there, and Korean.
My fucking mother. 'Hope springs eternal' was a phrase coined for her.
Sent her The Great Happiness Space to watch, so that she can better understand what I've been rambling senselessly on about, and bid her goodnight, as it was growing close to one a.m., Central Standard.
Returned to the research, via the lovely, fascinating, and well-written Belle de Jour, a fantastic example of the kind of personality I'm captivated by. Had small panic attack involving an extra pack of cigarettes I knew I had purchased on the walk home last night, in case the very real possibility of not being bothered with showering, dressing and leaving the apartment presented itself, which was nowhere to be found.
I went to Homeplus last night, after returning on a late train from Mike's, to wander around aimlessly, not quite ready to return home. The place is open 24 hours and oddly comforting in that way. I contemplated the possibility of buying a bookshelf (running out of places to put the damn things, as usual), a reading lamp, a candle. It's weird being able, technically, to buy things, these days. Mostly still can't be bothered with it though, and my bank account thanks me, as things like last minute trips to Europe don't come cheap. Anyway, it turns out the pack of cigarettes had made its way into the trash inside the empty Homeplus bag, which had originally contained four new, crisp white undershirts (giving in, left and right) and a few new notebooks (more than little hopeful).
Disaster averted. Won't have to crawl down The Hill with my hood up to the corner shop, after all. Getting dressed is bothersome, on Sundays.
Think I'll make it an early one, tonight. Make a mutant vegetarian version of deonjang jjigae, have a couple of soft drinks (as in, not too hard -- not of the Coca-Cola variety) and listen obsessively to the new old Richard Hawley album I picked up last weekend.
PS -- Forgot to mention (As Friends) canceled yesterday, effectively moving himself from the not-that-interesting-and-a-bit-odd-but-tolerable category, to the not-that-interesting-and-also-tedious-in-way-of-behavior category. Tonight?
HEY THERE YOU. HOW DID YEE GET ON YESTERDAY? WAS THE ART CENTRE GOOD. I WENT TO ARKO ART GALLERY TODAY BUT IT WERE CLOSED. ITS A REALLY NICE AREA THO. I WENT TO THE NATIONAL ART GALLERY INSTEAD. SHUD MEET UP FOR A COUPLE OF DRINKS DURING THE WEEK?
Add to that, sends-excessively-long-text-messages-in-all-caps-for-no-apparent-reason category. Ugh. Why am I incapable of ignoring?
Woke up at a not-obscene time this morning, but didn't go very far -- just to the kitchen to put the kettle on, settle onto the floor in front of the computer screen with an ashtray and a cup of coffee. Informed Mike that I could still be coming over, but wasn't feeling too optimistic about that possibility. Did some reading about the sex industry, got the family on the skype. Caught up with everyone and, later, when it was just my ma, had an entirely too frank conversation about the sex industry and my current growing fascination with it, why I'm fascinated, how it relates to my personal life. Which segwayed into my personal life, at which point the conversation became even more preposterously inappropriate for a mother-daughter situation. I think the woman is genuinely fascinated by me turning out the way I have, despite her best efforts (at least in the beginning) to raise a nice, marriable Southern Baptist young lady. She doesn't judge me at all -- wouldn't have the conversations I do with her, if she did. She's just genuinely confused.
Not that I'm not a nice girl. She insists that I am. As she put it, I'm just a "good girl, with a bit of color around the edges." Nice one, Ma.
She even apologized, of all things, to me today for some of the things she put into my head when she was raising me, or that she felt like she had put into my head. I won't go into the specifics, but it relates to being female, and the things we are and are not supposed to feel. I wasn't on the subject to make her feel guilty in any way -- simply explaining some things I had realized, come to terms with, and started working on changing. She didn't know any better, at the time (when she was raising me), and even now, when I talk about it, it seems as though a lot of things have never even occurred to her. I told her it wasn't her who has put them into my head, but everything, everyone. It's just the way things are, when you're a girl -- especially in that environment. And anyway, it doesn't matter. Because I'm one of the lucky ones, who has come to know better, before it's too late. She wasn't so lucky.
She chose today, and this conversation, to reveal to me that she wasn't at all surprised when I first mentioned moving to Korea to her, because several years back, she had a dream that I had returned from somewhere far away, after having been gone a long time, with a Korean husband and two little Korean babies.
I told her, dream or no dream, she could hang the baby thing right up. I've come around to the possibility of marrying someday, but I'm still not anywhere near caving in on the giving-birth/being-pregnant front. If men were capable of bearing children, I wouldn't have a problem in the world with the idea of biological kids. But, unfortunately, this is not an area modern conveniences and technology have made much progress in yet.
It's like that scene in one of the new episodes of The L Word (look out, now) where Dana and Tasha are sitting at The Planet with the rest of the crew, and Tasha's dressed to the nines, looking hot as fuck in a gender-ambiguous suit. Dana says something about the Dolce & Gabana, or the Prada or some such other brand I've no idea about, and one of the other women asks why Tasha didn't go with that. Dana rolls her eyes and shoots Tasha a look: "She said it made her look like a girl." I can't tell you how many times that exchange happened between me and K, when I recruited her into forcing me to find sensible attire for a job interview in New York. And nothing makes you look more like a girl than being fucking pregnant. It's just unnatural.
I did admit to her, rather sheepishly, though (and I'll admit it here, again, now) that the idea of having little mixed babies does quite appeal to me for some reason. I guess because, in a very tangible way, the thought made it finally occur to me that kids are half you, half your partner -- something you make together. Sounds obvious, but I'd never thought of it before. She told me then that the way she knew my father was the right man was when she thought about having children with him, and it didn't terrify her. She said, granted, the marriage thing didn't work out too well in the end, but that they sure had made two incredible people.
I told her to stop right there. That was just a fucking step too far. I was speaking on a purely hypothetic level. No babies, no way. Hang. It. Up.
She responded, curtly, that she hadn't uttered a word about me giving birth to them -- simply that they were there, and Korean.
My fucking mother. 'Hope springs eternal' was a phrase coined for her.
Sent her The Great Happiness Space to watch, so that she can better understand what I've been rambling senselessly on about, and bid her goodnight, as it was growing close to one a.m., Central Standard.
Returned to the research, via the lovely, fascinating, and well-written Belle de Jour, a fantastic example of the kind of personality I'm captivated by. Had small panic attack involving an extra pack of cigarettes I knew I had purchased on the walk home last night, in case the very real possibility of not being bothered with showering, dressing and leaving the apartment presented itself, which was nowhere to be found.
I went to Homeplus last night, after returning on a late train from Mike's, to wander around aimlessly, not quite ready to return home. The place is open 24 hours and oddly comforting in that way. I contemplated the possibility of buying a bookshelf (running out of places to put the damn things, as usual), a reading lamp, a candle. It's weird being able, technically, to buy things, these days. Mostly still can't be bothered with it though, and my bank account thanks me, as things like last minute trips to Europe don't come cheap. Anyway, it turns out the pack of cigarettes had made its way into the trash inside the empty Homeplus bag, which had originally contained four new, crisp white undershirts (giving in, left and right) and a few new notebooks (more than little hopeful).
Disaster averted. Won't have to crawl down The Hill with my hood up to the corner shop, after all. Getting dressed is bothersome, on Sundays.
Think I'll make it an early one, tonight. Make a mutant vegetarian version of deonjang jjigae, have a couple of soft drinks (as in, not too hard -- not of the Coca-Cola variety) and listen obsessively to the new old Richard Hawley album I picked up last weekend.
PS -- Forgot to mention (As Friends) canceled yesterday, effectively moving himself from the not-that-interesting-and-a-bit-odd-but-tolerable category, to the not-that-interesting-and-also-tedious-in-way-of-behavior category. Tonight?
HEY THERE YOU. HOW DID YEE GET ON YESTERDAY? WAS THE ART CENTRE GOOD. I WENT TO ARKO ART GALLERY TODAY BUT IT WERE CLOSED. ITS A REALLY NICE AREA THO. I WENT TO THE NATIONAL ART GALLERY INSTEAD. SHUD MEET UP FOR A COUPLE OF DRINKS DURING THE WEEK?
Add to that, sends-excessively-long-text-messages-in-all-caps-for-no-apparent-reason category. Ugh. Why am I incapable of ignoring?
Coffee girls (and boys) and a growing obsession.
Oh, yeah. I forgot to mention.
There's a new guy living in the apartment next door to mine.
Lately I've taken to sitting on the floor in the little area between my kitchen and my bedroom, using the little floor table I've got, because I've discovered a particularly warm spot in the ondol there. This positions me very near my front door, and with my back pressed against his living room wall.
Yesterday morning, as I was having my coffee, I heard a knock on his door and a young female voice chirp out something about "keoppi", using a "nida" (honorific) ending.
A coffee girl?
Read a lot about them, not on purpose, but as a matter of consequence of the general subjects expat men in SK tend to dwell on.
In every society, I guess, there are things you just can't know for sure, unless you experience them directly. Walking home one night, for example, with an unusually candid Korean companion of mine, we passed a second floor building with two spinning barber's poles out front. He seemed as good a person as any to confirm a rumor I'd heard: "What do those poles mean?"
"What, those? Barber shop...."
"Yeah? Just a barber shop? Hm."
"Wae? What did you think?"
"Well, nothing. I was just curious. Because I've heard they're supposed to mean brothel."
"Brothel? What is this?"
"Hookers."
"Oh.... oh! Oh, yes, actually. Could be."
Gee. Thanks for the clarification.
Anyway, the general line here with coffee girls is that, after you place a simple phone call, a coffee girl will ride a scooter to your apartment and greet you with a hot cup of coffee and her company for the duration of the cup of coffee.
I'm sure you can see where this is going. In general, I get the feeling it's a bit like the occupation of masseuse back in the States -- it doesn't necessarily imply prostitution at all, but it sure is a convenient front. And rumors fly.
Apparently, on seemingly rarer occasions, there are also coffee boys.
I dunno. I don't know what my preoccupation with the sex industry is. I think it's a pretty interesting lens to view society through, and I think it is almost always way, way oversimplified when people decide to try to talk about it -- always tinted by what position the speaker takes (for or against) and how directly involved (as buyer or seller) the individual is.
And then there is the overwhelming habit of just not talking about it.
I'm not as interested in the obviously exploitative sex trade, where people in dire poverty are forced into devastating circumstances. I have my own opinions about that, and don't find anything about it fascinating at all. What I'm talking about is not the sex trade, but the sex industry. If that makes any sense. People who have a decent chance at life to begin with, but genuinely choose the sex industry, for one reason or another. They seem to me to be a breed apart, often crushingly intelligent and intuitive nearly to a fault about human emotion, psychology, be that from the experiences they've had in the industry, or just a natural inclination. And they seem to be people who know the true weight of bare-bones honesty.
This is all leading to something, I'm sure, although I haven't the foggiest what, yet....
There's a new guy living in the apartment next door to mine.
Lately I've taken to sitting on the floor in the little area between my kitchen and my bedroom, using the little floor table I've got, because I've discovered a particularly warm spot in the ondol there. This positions me very near my front door, and with my back pressed against his living room wall.
Yesterday morning, as I was having my coffee, I heard a knock on his door and a young female voice chirp out something about "keoppi", using a "nida" (honorific) ending.
A coffee girl?
Read a lot about them, not on purpose, but as a matter of consequence of the general subjects expat men in SK tend to dwell on.
In every society, I guess, there are things you just can't know for sure, unless you experience them directly. Walking home one night, for example, with an unusually candid Korean companion of mine, we passed a second floor building with two spinning barber's poles out front. He seemed as good a person as any to confirm a rumor I'd heard: "What do those poles mean?"
"What, those? Barber shop...."
"Yeah? Just a barber shop? Hm."
"Wae? What did you think?"
"Well, nothing. I was just curious. Because I've heard they're supposed to mean brothel."
"Brothel? What is this?"
"Hookers."
"Oh.... oh! Oh, yes, actually. Could be."
Gee. Thanks for the clarification.
Anyway, the general line here with coffee girls is that, after you place a simple phone call, a coffee girl will ride a scooter to your apartment and greet you with a hot cup of coffee and her company for the duration of the cup of coffee.
I'm sure you can see where this is going. In general, I get the feeling it's a bit like the occupation of masseuse back in the States -- it doesn't necessarily imply prostitution at all, but it sure is a convenient front. And rumors fly.
Apparently, on seemingly rarer occasions, there are also coffee boys.
I dunno. I don't know what my preoccupation with the sex industry is. I think it's a pretty interesting lens to view society through, and I think it is almost always way, way oversimplified when people decide to try to talk about it -- always tinted by what position the speaker takes (for or against) and how directly involved (as buyer or seller) the individual is.
And then there is the overwhelming habit of just not talking about it.
I'm not as interested in the obviously exploitative sex trade, where people in dire poverty are forced into devastating circumstances. I have my own opinions about that, and don't find anything about it fascinating at all. What I'm talking about is not the sex trade, but the sex industry. If that makes any sense. People who have a decent chance at life to begin with, but genuinely choose the sex industry, for one reason or another. They seem to me to be a breed apart, often crushingly intelligent and intuitive nearly to a fault about human emotion, psychology, be that from the experiences they've had in the industry, or just a natural inclination. And they seem to be people who know the true weight of bare-bones honesty.
This is all leading to something, I'm sure, although I haven't the foggiest what, yet....
Sangsang madang and our friend, the waiter.
Sangsang madang today. Can't say I was impressed, overall, but it's a nice atmosphere in the galleries, where you feel like you can just walk in and look around and not be too conspicuous as a foreigner (or any other kind of person). Saw an exhibition by an artist named Na Hyun about seven French soldiers who went missing during the Korean War. Can't say I understood the overarching theme, but I thought the presentation was nice, and I like the idea of what he did -- seven paintings done on aluminum (not sure?) boxes through water. Kind of hard to explain. The actual method of the painting itself interested me more than the concept.
Wandered around for a bit in Hondae, after getting coffee, in search of the infamous Thai Restaurant of Mystery, which Mike spotted a couple of weeks back when he went to dinner with a coworker while I was away, to no avail. Returned to Mike's neighborhood after (Hongdae is a crowded mess and it was cold) to go back to the wang galbi restaurant we've been to three times now. Our friend who speaks English was there again, God bless him, and he made a little more small talk, remembered to bring the ashtray without us having to ask, and gave us a bottle of Coke on the house. We definitely got seated before a group who had been waiting in the cold for seemingly much longer than us (tables obseo).
It's weird. As much as we get gawked at in Incheon, and as many times as tough guy uni students try to start shit, we'll also get preferential treatment. I told Mike, the preferential treatment, in reality, is probably the reason for the tough guys trying to start shit. I'd be well pissed off if someone got a table before me just because they were white, as well. But we're just sort of highlighted extras in this whole big scheme of things -- nothing we can do about it, either way. If only the tough guys understood that.
Nonetheless, I quite like the friendly waiter. I tried to make Mike ask him to go out sometime (I can't do these things... I'm a girl -- sends the wrong message), but he wasn't having any of it. Anyway, we can add the place to our list of Safe Houses For the Idiot Waegookin Who Don't Speak Korean. Which is good, because the sea of men who gather in that little square in Mike's neighborhood are just too intimidating.
These days, I've been telling Mags more about my past, as there's very little to talk about in our daily lives, since work is such a crashing bore at the moment. That, and I've been missing my brother quite badly, which makes me think of home. I don't talk about home much to many people, or the past really. Don't think about it much. But Mags insists I have to start writing about some of the more ridiculous situations I've been in. I try to explain it's all more boring than it sounds, and there isn't much to tell. And I've no idea how to go about organizing it into any kind of cohesive form. Non-fiction keeps gnawing at the back of my mind, though. We'll see.
Tomorrow we've agreed to see how we're feeling, and I might head to Mike's for joint Korean studying time. Or we'll make it a writing day. Either way, we're bound to feel let down by ourselves at the end of the day. But, as in all things these days, at least we're trying.
A couple of photos, since I'm so rubbish about posting them most of the time:
Mags seconds away from wigging out at me for taking his photo in a coffee shop, like we see happening so often.
Mags's neighborhood at night. Neon.
Wang galbi. The happiest place on earth, on a cold February night: a table with hot coals, smoking meat and soju.
Wandered around for a bit in Hondae, after getting coffee, in search of the infamous Thai Restaurant of Mystery, which Mike spotted a couple of weeks back when he went to dinner with a coworker while I was away, to no avail. Returned to Mike's neighborhood after (Hongdae is a crowded mess and it was cold) to go back to the wang galbi restaurant we've been to three times now. Our friend who speaks English was there again, God bless him, and he made a little more small talk, remembered to bring the ashtray without us having to ask, and gave us a bottle of Coke on the house. We definitely got seated before a group who had been waiting in the cold for seemingly much longer than us (tables obseo).
It's weird. As much as we get gawked at in Incheon, and as many times as tough guy uni students try to start shit, we'll also get preferential treatment. I told Mike, the preferential treatment, in reality, is probably the reason for the tough guys trying to start shit. I'd be well pissed off if someone got a table before me just because they were white, as well. But we're just sort of highlighted extras in this whole big scheme of things -- nothing we can do about it, either way. If only the tough guys understood that.
Nonetheless, I quite like the friendly waiter. I tried to make Mike ask him to go out sometime (I can't do these things... I'm a girl -- sends the wrong message), but he wasn't having any of it. Anyway, we can add the place to our list of Safe Houses For the Idiot Waegookin Who Don't Speak Korean. Which is good, because the sea of men who gather in that little square in Mike's neighborhood are just too intimidating.
These days, I've been telling Mags more about my past, as there's very little to talk about in our daily lives, since work is such a crashing bore at the moment. That, and I've been missing my brother quite badly, which makes me think of home. I don't talk about home much to many people, or the past really. Don't think about it much. But Mags insists I have to start writing about some of the more ridiculous situations I've been in. I try to explain it's all more boring than it sounds, and there isn't much to tell. And I've no idea how to go about organizing it into any kind of cohesive form. Non-fiction keeps gnawing at the back of my mind, though. We'll see.
Tomorrow we've agreed to see how we're feeling, and I might head to Mike's for joint Korean studying time. Or we'll make it a writing day. Either way, we're bound to feel let down by ourselves at the end of the day. But, as in all things these days, at least we're trying.
A couple of photos, since I'm so rubbish about posting them most of the time:
Mags seconds away from wigging out at me for taking his photo in a coffee shop, like we see happening so often.
Mags's neighborhood at night. Neon.
Wang galbi. The happiest place on earth, on a cold February night: a table with hot coals, smoking meat and soju.
2.21.2009
Baby brother.
My baby brother in his blues. Not the best quality photo. He looks strange, out of his wife beaters and Dickies and he sure did lose his Texas summer tan fast. Ah. Wish I could've been there to see him graduate. Nobody tell him I posted this or he'll smack me a good one when we both get home again.
No shenanigans -- no nonsense.
It really is time for winter to end now, though. Snow last night turned to deathly ice this morning -- couldn't get out of bed to save my life. The boys were sliding down the hill back toward me when I was walking behind them to school this morning. No one could keep their footing.
After a bizarrely friendly day in the office, Coteacher was reminded around one o'clock by the little math teacher that I exist, and she promptly sent me home. Mike had already been dismissed an hour earlier.
So, we went to Sinchon and had TexMex, coffee, and a little music shopping. Mike and I were both near giddy, and when I pointed it out, he said, "It's because we didn't have to sit in the office for an extra six hours doing fucking nothing."
(As Friends) has been texting all week, and after talking it over with Mike, we've decided to give him one more chance. He wanted to have a few drinks tomorrow night, but I invited him to check out Sangsang madang with us instead. Let's just stay away from the booze, eh? He pulls any nonsense when Mike goes to the bathroom again, though, and he's out. I'm not playing this little boy-girl game. People who can't stick to their guns, whether there's alcohol involved or not, irritate me.
We did go back to the regular tonight, for lack of anything else to do, after food, coffee and shopping. We left at a sensible time, after a sensible number of beers drank at a sensible pace, resulting in a sensible mild buzz, and absolutely no shenanigans. Did text our friend from the game of darts who speaks very little English, but answered honestly when he asked if I was alone, and opted out of hanging around without Mike to wait for him to show up after work, when God knows what would ensue. I'm being a very good girl.
And now, I'm far more tired than I can explain, and fucking freezing to boot. Time to lay this sleepy little head down.
After a bizarrely friendly day in the office, Coteacher was reminded around one o'clock by the little math teacher that I exist, and she promptly sent me home. Mike had already been dismissed an hour earlier.
So, we went to Sinchon and had TexMex, coffee, and a little music shopping. Mike and I were both near giddy, and when I pointed it out, he said, "It's because we didn't have to sit in the office for an extra six hours doing fucking nothing."
(As Friends) has been texting all week, and after talking it over with Mike, we've decided to give him one more chance. He wanted to have a few drinks tomorrow night, but I invited him to check out Sangsang madang with us instead. Let's just stay away from the booze, eh? He pulls any nonsense when Mike goes to the bathroom again, though, and he's out. I'm not playing this little boy-girl game. People who can't stick to their guns, whether there's alcohol involved or not, irritate me.
We did go back to the regular tonight, for lack of anything else to do, after food, coffee and shopping. We left at a sensible time, after a sensible number of beers drank at a sensible pace, resulting in a sensible mild buzz, and absolutely no shenanigans. Did text our friend from the game of darts who speaks very little English, but answered honestly when he asked if I was alone, and opted out of hanging around without Mike to wait for him to show up after work, when God knows what would ensue. I'm being a very good girl.
And now, I'm far more tired than I can explain, and fucking freezing to boot. Time to lay this sleepy little head down.
2.19.2009
Where the boys are.
Damn it. Stop taking naps, Lee-juh.
I can't help it. It's this cold weather. All I wanna do, when I get home from that freezing cold office, is crawl under the covers. I did manage to make it to the shops tonight before I did. I caved in and finally bought white undershirts, which is a huge mistake considering I spill coffee on myself approximately fourteen times a day. Black isn't just cool, my friends -- it's klutz-proof.
I also bought stuff to make doenjang jjigae, but now my stomach's a mess and looking at the ingredients is making me ill -- I'll have to wait until tomorrow. I also fucked the mushrooms by putting them in to soak (supposed to be for thirty minutes to an hour) and falling asleep, and now they're the size of saucers.
Mike and I are praying we both get sent home early tomorrow so we can have a half-day of playing hooky in Seoul. I miss that, from school and from having a joke of a job. Working back at the center in New York, I knew my schedule well enough to not feel guilty about calling in "sick" if I didn't have any students on the books. And sometimes, even when I did, I had most of their phone numbers anyway -- I'd just ring them up, tell them to meet me at a coffee shop in Union Square and not mention the fact that they had seen me to my boss. I don't know what the hell stopped me from just quitting that awful job and doing privates in New York.
Oh yeah. I remember now. I was too nervous about asking people to actually pay for my teaching.
Anyway, I'm too afraid to try it these days. I've got more than fair suspicions that a coteacher would turn up ringing my doorbell and insisting we visit the hospital if I called in sick. But I miss my irregular work schedule, how it gave me time during the mornings to get out into the city when it wasn't too crowded -- drink coffee in nearly empty cafes, see movies in nearly empty theaters. That's a luxury you don't get much when you live in a city, but it can do wonders for clearing your head.
I guess it's the price I pay for being a proper person, these days. A regular nine-to-fiver. That cubicle is going to fucking drive me mad, though. I cannot cannot cannot WAIT for classes to start again, so I can end my days filthy from grimy little hands and exhausted from chasing young bodies with entirely too much energy around the room.
That hour when the boys are in in the mornings continues to be my fuel for the rest of the day.
Today, a student decided to greet me with, "Annyeong!"
I looked up at him over my glasses from my computer screen. "Excuse me? Would you like to try that again?"
"Oh! Annyeonghaseyo!" Deep bow.
Cue the other teachers laughing hysterically.
Yeah. I know it's funny. Me and my students, my little buddies. Whatever. I can't help it. I've got no real authority -- I know it and they know it. And, to be honest, I don't really want any either. "Annyeong" doesn't actually bother me, and anyway I think the kid saw my Korean work spread all over my desk and was either being a smartass or just trying to speak where I could understand. And my guess is actually the latter, given the character of this particular student, who's actually really sweet.
A lot of the boys are being really sweet these days, actually. Don't know what's gotten into them -- had time to forget how boring my classes are, I guess. They go all shy when I greet them out in the neighborhood, turn red with big smiles and bury their faces in each other's necks. But I've also started to recognize a lot more of them when they're in their street clothes, and greet them first now instead of only greeting those who scream "HI!" in my face first. So maybe I'm just working with a different demographic. Of course, it makes me beam with joy. My coteachers have told me I'm very well-liked among the first graders, but I guess it's easy to forget that when the only ones you hear from are the little shits who have no shame and get up in your face.
I'm absolutely shameless when it comes to a complete and total greed for student approval, though. I care way more about what those boys think of me than I do about my coworkers.
Meh. I miss them. Give me two weeks back in the trenches and I'll be moaning about how I'm longing for a desk day. But for now, well. The grass is always greener.
I can't help it. It's this cold weather. All I wanna do, when I get home from that freezing cold office, is crawl under the covers. I did manage to make it to the shops tonight before I did. I caved in and finally bought white undershirts, which is a huge mistake considering I spill coffee on myself approximately fourteen times a day. Black isn't just cool, my friends -- it's klutz-proof.
I also bought stuff to make doenjang jjigae, but now my stomach's a mess and looking at the ingredients is making me ill -- I'll have to wait until tomorrow. I also fucked the mushrooms by putting them in to soak (supposed to be for thirty minutes to an hour) and falling asleep, and now they're the size of saucers.
Mike and I are praying we both get sent home early tomorrow so we can have a half-day of playing hooky in Seoul. I miss that, from school and from having a joke of a job. Working back at the center in New York, I knew my schedule well enough to not feel guilty about calling in "sick" if I didn't have any students on the books. And sometimes, even when I did, I had most of their phone numbers anyway -- I'd just ring them up, tell them to meet me at a coffee shop in Union Square and not mention the fact that they had seen me to my boss. I don't know what the hell stopped me from just quitting that awful job and doing privates in New York.
Oh yeah. I remember now. I was too nervous about asking people to actually pay for my teaching.
Anyway, I'm too afraid to try it these days. I've got more than fair suspicions that a coteacher would turn up ringing my doorbell and insisting we visit the hospital if I called in sick. But I miss my irregular work schedule, how it gave me time during the mornings to get out into the city when it wasn't too crowded -- drink coffee in nearly empty cafes, see movies in nearly empty theaters. That's a luxury you don't get much when you live in a city, but it can do wonders for clearing your head.
I guess it's the price I pay for being a proper person, these days. A regular nine-to-fiver. That cubicle is going to fucking drive me mad, though. I cannot cannot cannot WAIT for classes to start again, so I can end my days filthy from grimy little hands and exhausted from chasing young bodies with entirely too much energy around the room.
That hour when the boys are in in the mornings continues to be my fuel for the rest of the day.
Today, a student decided to greet me with, "Annyeong!"
I looked up at him over my glasses from my computer screen. "Excuse me? Would you like to try that again?"
"Oh! Annyeonghaseyo!" Deep bow.
Cue the other teachers laughing hysterically.
Yeah. I know it's funny. Me and my students, my little buddies. Whatever. I can't help it. I've got no real authority -- I know it and they know it. And, to be honest, I don't really want any either. "Annyeong" doesn't actually bother me, and anyway I think the kid saw my Korean work spread all over my desk and was either being a smartass or just trying to speak where I could understand. And my guess is actually the latter, given the character of this particular student, who's actually really sweet.
A lot of the boys are being really sweet these days, actually. Don't know what's gotten into them -- had time to forget how boring my classes are, I guess. They go all shy when I greet them out in the neighborhood, turn red with big smiles and bury their faces in each other's necks. But I've also started to recognize a lot more of them when they're in their street clothes, and greet them first now instead of only greeting those who scream "HI!" in my face first. So maybe I'm just working with a different demographic. Of course, it makes me beam with joy. My coteachers have told me I'm very well-liked among the first graders, but I guess it's easy to forget that when the only ones you hear from are the little shits who have no shame and get up in your face.
I'm absolutely shameless when it comes to a complete and total greed for student approval, though. I care way more about what those boys think of me than I do about my coworkers.
Meh. I miss them. Give me two weeks back in the trenches and I'll be moaning about how I'm longing for a desk day. But for now, well. The grass is always greener.
Proud.
Got my brother's Navy boot camp graduation photo in a little letter from my grams yesterday. What a handsome sailor. And I'd like to say that, no matter how convinced he is he's not as smart as I say he is, he scored the absolute top on his exams, out of everyone in his class.
He sent me an email on Monday. I wrote him back entirely too much.
That kid. No one will ever know what that kid had to overcome to get to where he is, or how badly he scared the shit out of me, so many times. It's reminded me that I need to get my head on straight about what's waiting for me back home, and give up this thing about not going back for a visit anytime soon. I gotta go home this summer to meet my new baby nephew, when he comes.
When I was thinking of coming here, that kid was the only one who mustered the exact right words to make me realize that it was okay, and I shouldn't be scared. He reminded me how fucking crazy everyone thought I was, going around when I was growing up talking about how, someday, I was going to move to New York. He told me then, you're the only one who managed to make it out -- all the rest of us talk shit all the time about plans for the future, making shit better for ourselves, but you're the only one who actually managed to do it.
It's not the truth anymore, though. I always knew he'd manage to find a way to make something of himself -- too, too smart and determined and driven not to. It's like one of my professors used to say about me -- it's just as, if not more, true for him: Your will is not the problem. You just have to get your will pointed in the right direction.
It makes me think really hard about how much has changed over the last few years. Of all the boys from the old neighborhood, half are dead, and the other half in jail. God only knows where some of them ended up. But my brother did what he had to do and got himself out of that mess, no matter how hard it was.
I love that boy to death. And I'm so proud of him, I could just melt into a puddle on the floor. And it reminds me that I've got to keep working, keep moving forward in life. Keep doing my part to make this generation of our family the first to be successful, happy, secure, and well-loved. Never be satisfied. Always keep pushing for better. So that little baby that's on the way doesn't have to face the things me and my brother did, just like my ma worked hard to get us as far away from how she grew up as she could, and my grandparents before her.
Suddenly, I remember sitting in the diner with Grover a few years back. Talking about the class struggle, in that general way we had of doing. Grover was like finding a little piece of home in that insane community of pure bastards at art school. We were on our third or fourth cup of coffee, when suddenly she launched into this monologue about marrying a partner, buying a house, settling down and raising kids. She said, we don't think like that -- you and me. The way we learned to think was, hell no I'm not bringing another life into this shit. We never thought we could have those things. But we've got to cut that out, stop cutting ourselves off from the things we should have in life. It's so automatic. That's why we talk so tough about marriage and kids, about staying on the move. About art.
But we're not our parents. And we don't have to be afraid of trying, of taking everything that we want from life. And we don't have to apologize for it.
He sent me an email on Monday. I wrote him back entirely too much.
That kid. No one will ever know what that kid had to overcome to get to where he is, or how badly he scared the shit out of me, so many times. It's reminded me that I need to get my head on straight about what's waiting for me back home, and give up this thing about not going back for a visit anytime soon. I gotta go home this summer to meet my new baby nephew, when he comes.
When I was thinking of coming here, that kid was the only one who mustered the exact right words to make me realize that it was okay, and I shouldn't be scared. He reminded me how fucking crazy everyone thought I was, going around when I was growing up talking about how, someday, I was going to move to New York. He told me then, you're the only one who managed to make it out -- all the rest of us talk shit all the time about plans for the future, making shit better for ourselves, but you're the only one who actually managed to do it.
It's not the truth anymore, though. I always knew he'd manage to find a way to make something of himself -- too, too smart and determined and driven not to. It's like one of my professors used to say about me -- it's just as, if not more, true for him: Your will is not the problem. You just have to get your will pointed in the right direction.
It makes me think really hard about how much has changed over the last few years. Of all the boys from the old neighborhood, half are dead, and the other half in jail. God only knows where some of them ended up. But my brother did what he had to do and got himself out of that mess, no matter how hard it was.
I love that boy to death. And I'm so proud of him, I could just melt into a puddle on the floor. And it reminds me that I've got to keep working, keep moving forward in life. Keep doing my part to make this generation of our family the first to be successful, happy, secure, and well-loved. Never be satisfied. Always keep pushing for better. So that little baby that's on the way doesn't have to face the things me and my brother did, just like my ma worked hard to get us as far away from how she grew up as she could, and my grandparents before her.
Suddenly, I remember sitting in the diner with Grover a few years back. Talking about the class struggle, in that general way we had of doing. Grover was like finding a little piece of home in that insane community of pure bastards at art school. We were on our third or fourth cup of coffee, when suddenly she launched into this monologue about marrying a partner, buying a house, settling down and raising kids. She said, we don't think like that -- you and me. The way we learned to think was, hell no I'm not bringing another life into this shit. We never thought we could have those things. But we've got to cut that out, stop cutting ourselves off from the things we should have in life. It's so automatic. That's why we talk so tough about marriage and kids, about staying on the move. About art.
But we're not our parents. And we don't have to be afraid of trying, of taking everything that we want from life. And we don't have to apologize for it.
2.18.2009
Awkward.
Today, it was all men in the office, plus me. The one PE teacher that lives in my apartments is absolutely killing me. The man is gorgeous, and lately he's taken to wearing these bright red button down shirts underneath a black leather bomber jacket, collar up. A nice, well-worn pair of grey jeans, black boots. I don't know what goes on in the ROK over winter vacation, but he's not he first to turn up with a completely different look after a couple of months off. He used to dress atrociously, the worst example I can think of being a purple puffy vest over an orange fleece zip-up... thing. Suddenly, he's gone pure James Dean. Every time he walks past, I have trouble not replaying that moment on the night of the teachers' outing when he approached me in the dark hallway and said, simply: "Liz. You will come home with me."
Trouble is, brother doesn't speak a word of English. And not in the usual coy kind of way. He genuinely doesn't. And he prays before his meals. And I've noticed that he doesn't drink. I know a hardcore Christian when I smell one. So even learning Korean won't solve this one. And it's a less-than-good idea to dabble around in nonsense with coworkers, anyway. Still, he sure is nice to have around. In that crushingly distracting kind of way....
Around 12:30 today, there was a sudden and unmistakable buzz of tension in the office. I wasn't sure why, but I had a feeling it had something to do with me. The men had gathered in a far corner and were having a quiet debate in Korean about something or another. Suddenly, a conclusion was reached, and one PE teacher ran from the room to fetch Mr. Kim, another English teacher, from next door. What these guys have no way of knowing is that Mr. Kim doesn't speak much more English than they do. The men converged upon him and explained something I wasn't able to catch, and then they all formed a semi-circle around my desk.
They stood, looking at me as though I was the engine under the popped hood of a car that had stopped running.
I stared back.
Suddenly, Mr. Kim's phone rang and he looked immensely relieved and ran out of the office. The other men continued to contemplate me for a moment, before turning back into a huddle. Some new conclusion was met and, like a huddle, they broke. They gathered their things and put on their jackets.
When the handsome PE teacher approached me at my desk, leaned over and gestured for me to come with him, I scarcely stood a chance at hesitating.
They were taking me to lunch.
The men have a habit, on these scarcely staffed days, of leaving the premises for an hour at a time. It always makes me feel a little glum to be automatically left behind with the women-folk, while the men are off doing God knows what. Today was a group that I have absolutely confirmed to speak next to zero English -- they were without the young PE teacher who is magnificent in English, for no apparent reason. And there were no women around to shove me off onto. It's not that they wanted me there -- they had no other choice. As uncomfortable as I make them, without other women or Mr. K or the young PE teacher to bridge the gap, they couldn't just leave me alone in the cold office.
The analogy I used to Mike about how they treat me when I'm left in their charge was a retarded baby dog. I'll add crippled to that now, actually. It's not unpleasant -- just really funny. They opened doors and showed me how to use the seat belt in the car, arranged my cushion on the floor at the restaurant, hung up my coat. Explained in mime that if my soup was too hot, I could put a bit in a little bowl to let it cool off. Unwrapped my hand wipe for me.
There was immense hesitation once we all entered the restaurant for anyone to sit before I did. Once I did, an argument ensued (in Korean, which I was able to understand most of) about who had to sit next to me, based on whose English was the strongest. In the end, the nerdy math teacher got cajoled into it, while the VP valiantly stepped up to take the seat across from me. The music teacher, who doesn't mind me at all (since we both speak the language of art and free spirits and don't need to worry about English), shoved past the other men to take his seat next to the VP. Well, hello.
A large bottle of rice wine was placed on the table, and when I accepted it when a bowl was offered to me, a universal roar swept over the table. They all put in a bit of effort to come up with the joint cooperative explanation: "Korean ..... traditional.... alcohol."
They fell on the food like wolves when it arrived. I used to be a pretty quick eater, myself, but the whole learning-to-use-chopsticks process slowed me down for a long time, as did my habit of carefully observing how everything should be eaten, and these days I eat at an irregular (for me) lady-like pace. So, when they had scarfed down their meals at a break-neck pace (no more than ten minutes in total) and looked over to see me with my bowl still 3/4 full, a bit of a panic broke out. They first discussed the matter amongst themselves, conspicuously pointing, and then decided to take it up with me in Korean, after the married PE teacher informed them that I seemed to speak a bit yesterday. Unfortunately, due mostly to nerves probably, I wasn't able to make out any of what they were saying, other than the name of the school, for some reason, which threw me off.
Finally, the VP took it upon himself to come up with the explanation that, "You. Food. Not delicious." I tried to explain that the food was fine, I just eat a little slower than a pack of half-starved animals might. And not quite as much. But none of it seemed to sink in. They all stared at my mostly full bowl with looks of regrettable defeat. At which point the music teacher swept up everyone else's half empty bowls of wine and emptied them into his own, indicated mine sitting across from me and proposed a toast: "Bravo! Chink chink!"
When they all lit cigarettes on the sidewalk outside, I nearly died and tried to inhale as much of the second-hand smoke as I could.
When we got back to the office, some sort of wrestling match broke out for some reason, centering around the PE teachers physically harassing the little math teacher. I had the sudden feeling of being back in my classroom. They also caught me sending Wan texts and Mike emails and came to the conclusion that I've now got a boyfriend. They wonder if he is Korean. I pretended not to understand any of this.
Not a bad day, all in all. More good students in to chat with for a bit. But I have the distinct feeling they're going to find a way to leave me behind tomorrow, come hell or high water.
Sorry for being an English bomb, guys. I'm working on it as fast as I can.
Now, instead of studying Korean like I probably should, I'm going to try to do a little research on this whole Japanese host boys thing. I'm suddenly very much regretting not getting Yoshi's contact information, while I had the chance. I have a feeling having someone on hand who speaks Japanese would be very useful at the moment. Meh. I'll just see what I can find.
Fucking... other languages.
Trouble is, brother doesn't speak a word of English. And not in the usual coy kind of way. He genuinely doesn't. And he prays before his meals. And I've noticed that he doesn't drink. I know a hardcore Christian when I smell one. So even learning Korean won't solve this one. And it's a less-than-good idea to dabble around in nonsense with coworkers, anyway. Still, he sure is nice to have around. In that crushingly distracting kind of way....
Around 12:30 today, there was a sudden and unmistakable buzz of tension in the office. I wasn't sure why, but I had a feeling it had something to do with me. The men had gathered in a far corner and were having a quiet debate in Korean about something or another. Suddenly, a conclusion was reached, and one PE teacher ran from the room to fetch Mr. Kim, another English teacher, from next door. What these guys have no way of knowing is that Mr. Kim doesn't speak much more English than they do. The men converged upon him and explained something I wasn't able to catch, and then they all formed a semi-circle around my desk.
They stood, looking at me as though I was the engine under the popped hood of a car that had stopped running.
I stared back.
Suddenly, Mr. Kim's phone rang and he looked immensely relieved and ran out of the office. The other men continued to contemplate me for a moment, before turning back into a huddle. Some new conclusion was met and, like a huddle, they broke. They gathered their things and put on their jackets.
When the handsome PE teacher approached me at my desk, leaned over and gestured for me to come with him, I scarcely stood a chance at hesitating.
They were taking me to lunch.
The men have a habit, on these scarcely staffed days, of leaving the premises for an hour at a time. It always makes me feel a little glum to be automatically left behind with the women-folk, while the men are off doing God knows what. Today was a group that I have absolutely confirmed to speak next to zero English -- they were without the young PE teacher who is magnificent in English, for no apparent reason. And there were no women around to shove me off onto. It's not that they wanted me there -- they had no other choice. As uncomfortable as I make them, without other women or Mr. K or the young PE teacher to bridge the gap, they couldn't just leave me alone in the cold office.
The analogy I used to Mike about how they treat me when I'm left in their charge was a retarded baby dog. I'll add crippled to that now, actually. It's not unpleasant -- just really funny. They opened doors and showed me how to use the seat belt in the car, arranged my cushion on the floor at the restaurant, hung up my coat. Explained in mime that if my soup was too hot, I could put a bit in a little bowl to let it cool off. Unwrapped my hand wipe for me.
There was immense hesitation once we all entered the restaurant for anyone to sit before I did. Once I did, an argument ensued (in Korean, which I was able to understand most of) about who had to sit next to me, based on whose English was the strongest. In the end, the nerdy math teacher got cajoled into it, while the VP valiantly stepped up to take the seat across from me. The music teacher, who doesn't mind me at all (since we both speak the language of art and free spirits and don't need to worry about English), shoved past the other men to take his seat next to the VP. Well, hello.
A large bottle of rice wine was placed on the table, and when I accepted it when a bowl was offered to me, a universal roar swept over the table. They all put in a bit of effort to come up with the joint cooperative explanation: "Korean ..... traditional.... alcohol."
They fell on the food like wolves when it arrived. I used to be a pretty quick eater, myself, but the whole learning-to-use-chopsticks process slowed me down for a long time, as did my habit of carefully observing how everything should be eaten, and these days I eat at an irregular (for me) lady-like pace. So, when they had scarfed down their meals at a break-neck pace (no more than ten minutes in total) and looked over to see me with my bowl still 3/4 full, a bit of a panic broke out. They first discussed the matter amongst themselves, conspicuously pointing, and then decided to take it up with me in Korean, after the married PE teacher informed them that I seemed to speak a bit yesterday. Unfortunately, due mostly to nerves probably, I wasn't able to make out any of what they were saying, other than the name of the school, for some reason, which threw me off.
Finally, the VP took it upon himself to come up with the explanation that, "You. Food. Not delicious." I tried to explain that the food was fine, I just eat a little slower than a pack of half-starved animals might. And not quite as much. But none of it seemed to sink in. They all stared at my mostly full bowl with looks of regrettable defeat. At which point the music teacher swept up everyone else's half empty bowls of wine and emptied them into his own, indicated mine sitting across from me and proposed a toast: "Bravo! Chink chink!"
When they all lit cigarettes on the sidewalk outside, I nearly died and tried to inhale as much of the second-hand smoke as I could.
When we got back to the office, some sort of wrestling match broke out for some reason, centering around the PE teachers physically harassing the little math teacher. I had the sudden feeling of being back in my classroom. They also caught me sending Wan texts and Mike emails and came to the conclusion that I've now got a boyfriend. They wonder if he is Korean. I pretended not to understand any of this.
Not a bad day, all in all. More good students in to chat with for a bit. But I have the distinct feeling they're going to find a way to leave me behind tomorrow, come hell or high water.
Sorry for being an English bomb, guys. I'm working on it as fast as I can.
Now, instead of studying Korean like I probably should, I'm going to try to do a little research on this whole Japanese host boys thing. I'm suddenly very much regretting not getting Yoshi's contact information, while I had the chance. I have a feeling having someone on hand who speaks Japanese would be very useful at the moment. Meh. I'll just see what I can find.
Fucking... other languages.
2.17.2009
The Great Happiness Space: Tale of an Osaka Love Thief.
Just one more little plug for what I think is truly one of the best documentaries I've seen, at least from the perspective of personal fascination. The Great Happiness Space: Tale of an Osaka Love Thief, about a group of Japanese host boys and their clientele. Truly, truly fascinating. The film maker does a fantastic job of building layer upon layer with this material, which would be entirely too easy to present in a far more shallow light.
The part that does my head in the most: The end of the night. One of the hosts is sat on the floor in what appears to be the hallway outside, near the elevators. He's clearly intoxicated, but in that way that seems strangely sober -- when instead of driveling nonsense, you happen upon one rare, clear moment of pure honesty. And as he chokes back tears, he says:
They have a lot of money, but so few are content with their lives. People come to Osaka to make it. They can't find the time or the space to be acknowledged. So they come together. They are willing to spend a lot of money in order to find any fulfillment. They want to fall in love, they want to feel they are really needed and they all come to this space. Everyone is searching for their own space. They want to feel important. They want somebody to love them. Because they want people to understand them, they come to places like this. So the money they spend is worthwhile. And that's why I get paid so well.
People are not so strong... especially alone. People are sad and lonely. But they are wonderful and shining. They have warm hearts. People come to the big city to host clubs as space to rest their hearts. Even though the value of what we sell is $10, we sell it for $100. That's definitely expensive. But they still say, "thank you" when they walk out the door. I think those people are wonderful. Everyday, I do my best for people who appreciate what I do.
I would love to write about this phenomenon, from a feminist perspective. Or a female perspective. Or whatever. Dealing with gender, anyway. Love. I might even organize my sort of vague plans to visit Japan around it. I think the thing that gets to me the most, is that they all claim this isn't real -- even the girls who are suffering very severely from delusions that the relationships they have with these men are real, on some level, acknowledge that it is a fantasy. But the thing is, I don't see anything about it that isn't real. What does it mean to say it's not real? I don't see how it's any less real than what the rest of us partake in, out in the world -- negotiating relationships based on what we most need out of them, what we can take from and give to the other person -- this version is just more sterile, more business-like.
It's sort of like how I view the BDSM community -- it's just a compartmentalized version of the same things that go on in "ordinary" relationships all over the world.
I keep thinking of a conversation I had with Yoshi, the Japanese guy, in the kitchen of the hostel as he was cooking dinner one night. The English girl from my room and myself were sitting down with the Argentinian rugby player, and somehow the conversation shifted to how there are different versions of "I love you" in Spanish, something I already knew and was mildly fascinated with from my previous Spanish study. The two young'ns sort of took the conversation and ran, as they were definitely entering macking-on-each-other territory, but it got me thinking about what "I love you" is like in other languages.
I got up from the table and walked over to where Yoshi was slicing mushrooms, having suspicions that he was paying closer attention to our conversation than he let on. "What about in Japanese?"
He looked up at me over his glasses while chopping and smiled. "In Japan, we do not have the tradition of saying, 'I love you'."
"What? Ever?"
"No. It is not common. We are not like Westerners. We do not express so much emotion."
"Well, you must feel emotion, though. What do you say when you do? Or in a relationship, to show that? Or whatever...."
"We do say, 'I like you.'"
"'I like you.' Hmm. Even to your family?"
"Yes. Even to our family."
He looked at me over his glasses and smiled again. "If I am with a girl... we are in a couple, I do not say, 'I love you', but.... I don't know how to say in English. If we are coupling, sometimes I will say it, though."
"Wait. If you're in a couple....?"
"No. If we are coupling."
"Coupling...." I thought about this to myself for a moment. "Oooh. Okay. I gotcha. If you are coupling."
Another smile.
"So, you say it only then?"
"Only sometimes. Yes."
I tilted my head to the side a bit, to show I was considering this. "So, is that common? Or is it just you...?"
"I think... it is not common."
"So do the girls think it's strange when you say it?"
His turn to tilt his head and consider. "I don't know.... maybe. Maybe, yes. I think they probably do."
"Hmm. Okay. Good to know."
"I think Koreans are maybe the same."
"No. No way. I mean, I don't know for sure, obviously. It might be like that in the older generations or something. I have no way of knowing -- haven't thought to ask. But I'm fairly certain the younger generation say, 'I love you.'"
"Maybe. But you should ask."
"Yeah. I should."
Anyway, watch the film.
Slowly, but surely.
I was well impressed with myself today. There was fuck all English at the school -- absolutely not one solitary soul who wanted to own up to it if they spoke any English at all. But it didn't matter. I understood every word every person spoke to me all day long. Of course, it was different when they weren't speaking slow idiot Korean at lunch with each other, but even then I was able to pick up far more than ever before. I even almost got a funny story one PE teacher was telling -- something about finding a student outside with a swollen face, or one boy punched another boy in the face.... something about their names and realizing they were brothers. Okay. I didn't actually catch the funny part. But I'm getting there. Slowly, but surely.
I really like the one married PE teacher. He's massive, and really shy for some reason, but he gives this big goofy ear-to-ear smile every time he goes to talk to me. He sent one of the students (who were in, running up and down the halls doing their Arnie from Gilbert Grape screams super early this morning) to get kimbap and ramyeon for us both, and when we sat down to eat together, I tried a little Korean out on him, since we were alone in the office. He didn't laugh one single time, although the look on his face when I just suddenly started speaking Korean was pretty priceless. "Deh?!" He answered me slowly and simply, every time. Good man. He's got possibly the cutest baby in the entire world.
One of my favorite classes were in to clean today. I waved to one of them from down the hall, and he gave an extremely exaggerated, deep bow with a very serious face in response.
A whole group of them saw me go into the bathroom and were crowded around the door waiting to talk to me when I came out. They wanted to tell me that they were sad because they had to come in to clean. Which was much nicer than when a less-lovely herd from another class ran down the sidewalk to catch up with me yesterday on my walk home and shout something about, "Sekshi USA!" Guys. Brush up on the English a little bit, and try again.
The other teachers always get a kick out of watching me interact with the students -- I'm not sure why. A whole group of them were supposed to be cleaning the far side of the office (where my desk is) this morning while I was finishing my kimbap, and I noticed that suddenly they were suspiciously quiet. I stood up and craned my neck to see over the cubicle walls. They were all leaned over something on my desk, whispering to each other -- I assume it was my Korean book.
"Ya!"
Their little bespectacled faces snapped up.
"What are you doing?"
"Oh! Sorry Teacher!"
"Get away from there!"
"Yes, sorry Teacher!"
This was uproariously funny to the other four teachers in the office. Which I sort of understand, because for some reason, hearing them yell at the boys in Korean is funnier than if I heard it in English -- I think because the tone is the exact same, and you basically understand exactly what's being said, even if you don't understand a word of it.
I like the married PE teacher because he seems to find the boys' nonsense just as amusing as I do -- he seems to always be telling one story or another about something he found one of them doing. And last week I saw him pull a student aside to laughingly question him on why the hell his pants were so small. I appreciate other people who find humor in everyday absurdity, as I do. And there is a ton of it to be found, as a boys' school teacher.
Well. The rest of the day wasn't so exciting. Reviewing the Korean I learned last week, and now starting to try to memorize more vocabulary, because it's far more useful, at this point, to have a few verbs on hand, than it is to fully understand correct grammar. But the good news is, the PE teacher seemed to catch on that I was freezing my ass off, and closed all the windows and doors, so it was nice and warm in the office today, which made studying Korean much more bearable.
Now, to get back to it. I do wonder if I'm going at this too intensely at the moment, and if most of this will end up in my short term memory for a while, before disappearing completely. The rewards, on a daily basis, though, of studying as hard as I have been for the last week or so, are too great to be overlooked. My motivation grows every day.
As Mike put it this weekend, while we were out having coffee after going to the bookstore, and both in a sort of Sunday afternoon listless kind of mood, we won't ever fully figure into things here. We'll always be foreigners, as he said, even if we speak fluent Korean, even if we marry Koreans -- we will still be outsiders, to some extent. But. The growth in my inclusion that I have felt just having put in the little effort I have has definitely made it worthwhile -- both in the sense that I can understand more of what's going on around me, and even the Korean I don't understand feels less isolating, now that I'm paying closer attention and at least trying to understand, and in the sense that my coworkers seem to shift their perspective of me and my place among them entirely once they realize I am at least trying. I'm less invisible to them, once they realize that I am trying to be visible, to be able to participate. And they are more willing to go out on a limb and speak whatever English they can, in response.
It's a win-win situation. So I hope that I can keep my focus. And I also hope I can stop being so fucking shy about actually making use of what I'm learning, to communicate myself as well as being able to understand.
I really like the one married PE teacher. He's massive, and really shy for some reason, but he gives this big goofy ear-to-ear smile every time he goes to talk to me. He sent one of the students (who were in, running up and down the halls doing their Arnie from Gilbert Grape screams super early this morning) to get kimbap and ramyeon for us both, and when we sat down to eat together, I tried a little Korean out on him, since we were alone in the office. He didn't laugh one single time, although the look on his face when I just suddenly started speaking Korean was pretty priceless. "Deh?!" He answered me slowly and simply, every time. Good man. He's got possibly the cutest baby in the entire world.
One of my favorite classes were in to clean today. I waved to one of them from down the hall, and he gave an extremely exaggerated, deep bow with a very serious face in response.
A whole group of them saw me go into the bathroom and were crowded around the door waiting to talk to me when I came out. They wanted to tell me that they were sad because they had to come in to clean. Which was much nicer than when a less-lovely herd from another class ran down the sidewalk to catch up with me yesterday on my walk home and shout something about, "Sekshi USA!" Guys. Brush up on the English a little bit, and try again.
The other teachers always get a kick out of watching me interact with the students -- I'm not sure why. A whole group of them were supposed to be cleaning the far side of the office (where my desk is) this morning while I was finishing my kimbap, and I noticed that suddenly they were suspiciously quiet. I stood up and craned my neck to see over the cubicle walls. They were all leaned over something on my desk, whispering to each other -- I assume it was my Korean book.
"Ya!"
Their little bespectacled faces snapped up.
"What are you doing?"
"Oh! Sorry Teacher!"
"Get away from there!"
"Yes, sorry Teacher!"
This was uproariously funny to the other four teachers in the office. Which I sort of understand, because for some reason, hearing them yell at the boys in Korean is funnier than if I heard it in English -- I think because the tone is the exact same, and you basically understand exactly what's being said, even if you don't understand a word of it.
I like the married PE teacher because he seems to find the boys' nonsense just as amusing as I do -- he seems to always be telling one story or another about something he found one of them doing. And last week I saw him pull a student aside to laughingly question him on why the hell his pants were so small. I appreciate other people who find humor in everyday absurdity, as I do. And there is a ton of it to be found, as a boys' school teacher.
Well. The rest of the day wasn't so exciting. Reviewing the Korean I learned last week, and now starting to try to memorize more vocabulary, because it's far more useful, at this point, to have a few verbs on hand, than it is to fully understand correct grammar. But the good news is, the PE teacher seemed to catch on that I was freezing my ass off, and closed all the windows and doors, so it was nice and warm in the office today, which made studying Korean much more bearable.
Now, to get back to it. I do wonder if I'm going at this too intensely at the moment, and if most of this will end up in my short term memory for a while, before disappearing completely. The rewards, on a daily basis, though, of studying as hard as I have been for the last week or so, are too great to be overlooked. My motivation grows every day.
As Mike put it this weekend, while we were out having coffee after going to the bookstore, and both in a sort of Sunday afternoon listless kind of mood, we won't ever fully figure into things here. We'll always be foreigners, as he said, even if we speak fluent Korean, even if we marry Koreans -- we will still be outsiders, to some extent. But. The growth in my inclusion that I have felt just having put in the little effort I have has definitely made it worthwhile -- both in the sense that I can understand more of what's going on around me, and even the Korean I don't understand feels less isolating, now that I'm paying closer attention and at least trying to understand, and in the sense that my coworkers seem to shift their perspective of me and my place among them entirely once they realize I am at least trying. I'm less invisible to them, once they realize that I am trying to be visible, to be able to participate. And they are more willing to go out on a limb and speak whatever English they can, in response.
It's a win-win situation. So I hope that I can keep my focus. And I also hope I can stop being so fucking shy about actually making use of what I'm learning, to communicate myself as well as being able to understand.
Sleepy head.
Grumpy grumpy grumpy. I don't wanna go to work. Every morning I wake up and know I have to go in and face a day without teaching feels like being shoved back into a cage. And it doesn't help that it's 20 fucking degrees out. Bed is way, way too warm. Someone cast a spell and make the next two weeks disappear. Please?
The Great Happiness Space better have finished downloading by the time I get home today. Fucking great documentary I suddenly got the urge to watch again last night. At least I've got a few more episodes of The L Word to look forward to, although Shane is with Jenny now, which is total bullshit. I'm way too emotionally involved in this television show....
The Great Happiness Space better have finished downloading by the time I get home today. Fucking great documentary I suddenly got the urge to watch again last night. At least I've got a few more episodes of The L Word to look forward to, although Shane is with Jenny now, which is total bullshit. I'm way too emotionally involved in this television show....
2.16.2009
2.15.2009
2.14.2009
Blah blah blah: continued.
What is with this totally whacked sleep schedule I'm on? I seem to be on some sort of 48 hour time table -- no sleep one night, and then ten or eleven hours the next. Repeat, ad nauseam.
Well. And I really wanted to watch the one Kim Ji-woon film I did manage to download before bed, but it's a horror film, and I can't watch those at night by myself unless someone's staying over, and without someone to tell me when it's okay to look again (if it's gory) (I am, after all, technically still a girl -- in some ways). So what do I do instead? Turn all the lights off, save for one little one in the laundry room, lay in bed under the blankets and read a book about vampires.
I'm a crybaby. So what?
I also took a bit of a nap this afternoon, but I don't think I was out for long before a little rhythmic and sightly apologetic knocking on the door woke me up. Mike had apparently called three times, but my phone was still on silent from work. He wasn't having such a great day, so he just headed over.
Nothing like a sleep-addled Liz greeting you at the door in her pajamas, eh Mags? My hair is also fantastic today, because of the ridiculous weather we're having. Very little rain, technically, but a maniacal wind that picks it up and blows it horizontal right into your fucking face. I've started carrying an umbrella, not because I'm worried about getting wet, but because of the living-in-Korea-is-like-having-fifty-million-moms thing -- if a Korean woman over the age of 35 catches me on the street in even the slightest mist without an umbrella, she will immediately dart across four lanes of traffic to cover me with hers. But this wind was a fucking bitch, and after managing to get the damn umbrella blown inside out and giving a humiliating performance of trying to wrestle it back into shape directly in front of the guitar shop window where the cute guitar guy works, I decided I simply couldn't be arsed anymore.
Therefore, Liz's hair was rained on, and then slept on. Still went out in public tonight, though. Fuck it.
We did our grocery shopping thing. After eyeing the measly pre-packaged potatoes, sitting next to the perfectly normal looking dirt covered loose ones, we decided to try the produce lady one more time. Mike insisted it was my turn, but I had already grabbed the bag and was making confident strides in that direction. Annyeonghaseyo, and I held the bag out with both hands and a big smile. She immediately took it from me, placed it on the scales, rattled off a price, printed out a sticker and there you have it. Mike, of course, decided the first time must have just been a personal attack against him.
One thing I like about Korean grocery shopping, in theory if not in practice (the stores are always jammed full of people, as it is, which is annoying) is that whole families seem to do the shopping together. It's extremely rare to see just a man or just a woman taking on the task -- it's almost always couples. I think that's sweet. And very different from the way it works back home.
We managed to find decent chicken, and came home to listen to Born to Run and cook ourselves a lovely dinner, which we were too tipsy on soju to really taste by the time it was done. Mike broke my heart by insisting he wasn't in a "movie watching mood", and therefore opting out of In Bruges. I'll make him watch it sooner or later.
We're like some sort of creepy, co-dependent Siamese twins these days. Although we prefer the analogy of "comrades", fellow soldiers in the trenches. But we did at least keep to our word of not going back to the regular tonight to enact the same inane nonsense we've been up to for the last couple of months. Good on us. We've vowed to sleep in tomorrow, but not too late, so that we can make a decent day of it in Seoul -- see a movie, maybe, if Mr. I'm-not-in-a-movie-watching-mood changes his mind before then.
We need a good day tomorrow. Our weekdays are going to be miserable for a while, and the weekend really is very short. Here's hoping.
Well. And I really wanted to watch the one Kim Ji-woon film I did manage to download before bed, but it's a horror film, and I can't watch those at night by myself unless someone's staying over, and without someone to tell me when it's okay to look again (if it's gory) (I am, after all, technically still a girl -- in some ways). So what do I do instead? Turn all the lights off, save for one little one in the laundry room, lay in bed under the blankets and read a book about vampires.
I'm a crybaby. So what?
I also took a bit of a nap this afternoon, but I don't think I was out for long before a little rhythmic and sightly apologetic knocking on the door woke me up. Mike had apparently called three times, but my phone was still on silent from work. He wasn't having such a great day, so he just headed over.
Nothing like a sleep-addled Liz greeting you at the door in her pajamas, eh Mags? My hair is also fantastic today, because of the ridiculous weather we're having. Very little rain, technically, but a maniacal wind that picks it up and blows it horizontal right into your fucking face. I've started carrying an umbrella, not because I'm worried about getting wet, but because of the living-in-Korea-is-like-having-fifty-million-moms thing -- if a Korean woman over the age of 35 catches me on the street in even the slightest mist without an umbrella, she will immediately dart across four lanes of traffic to cover me with hers. But this wind was a fucking bitch, and after managing to get the damn umbrella blown inside out and giving a humiliating performance of trying to wrestle it back into shape directly in front of the guitar shop window where the cute guitar guy works, I decided I simply couldn't be arsed anymore.
Therefore, Liz's hair was rained on, and then slept on. Still went out in public tonight, though. Fuck it.
We did our grocery shopping thing. After eyeing the measly pre-packaged potatoes, sitting next to the perfectly normal looking dirt covered loose ones, we decided to try the produce lady one more time. Mike insisted it was my turn, but I had already grabbed the bag and was making confident strides in that direction. Annyeonghaseyo, and I held the bag out with both hands and a big smile. She immediately took it from me, placed it on the scales, rattled off a price, printed out a sticker and there you have it. Mike, of course, decided the first time must have just been a personal attack against him.
One thing I like about Korean grocery shopping, in theory if not in practice (the stores are always jammed full of people, as it is, which is annoying) is that whole families seem to do the shopping together. It's extremely rare to see just a man or just a woman taking on the task -- it's almost always couples. I think that's sweet. And very different from the way it works back home.
We managed to find decent chicken, and came home to listen to Born to Run and cook ourselves a lovely dinner, which we were too tipsy on soju to really taste by the time it was done. Mike broke my heart by insisting he wasn't in a "movie watching mood", and therefore opting out of In Bruges. I'll make him watch it sooner or later.
We're like some sort of creepy, co-dependent Siamese twins these days. Although we prefer the analogy of "comrades", fellow soldiers in the trenches. But we did at least keep to our word of not going back to the regular tonight to enact the same inane nonsense we've been up to for the last couple of months. Good on us. We've vowed to sleep in tomorrow, but not too late, so that we can make a decent day of it in Seoul -- see a movie, maybe, if Mr. I'm-not-in-a-movie-watching-mood changes his mind before then.
We need a good day tomorrow. Our weekdays are going to be miserable for a while, and the weekend really is very short. Here's hoping.
2.13.2009
Blah blah blah I'm a boring teacher.
Hehe.
Joaquin's got a kinda Grizzly Adams/Allen Ginsberg thing going on these days. I don't know what he's actually up to -- if he's preparing for a character, if he's just tired of the Hollywood bullshit, or if he's actually just fucking off his head on something, but it's alright with me. And Letterman deserves every ounce of disdain he responds with.
Another little thing I came across that I thought was interesting is this article about anti-corruption classes being taught in Indonesian schools. I think it's a really interesting, progressive and proactive approach Indonesia has found to deal with an intrinsic problem. It's not often you see education that's based around making students feel like trusted individuals, rather than condescension or distanced lecturing. If only someone could find a way to construct similar solutions to the mess that is English education here in the ROK. It's not for a lack of trying.
But the more I learn about Korean, the more it becomes clear to me just how difficult it must be to transition from Korean to English. It's one thing for me to drop a lot of the concepts we have in English -- all of the millions (or so it seems) tenses, etc. (which I expect to struggle with quite a bit, once I start actually trying to speak Korean on a conversational level -- I should imagine it's quite frustrating in that sense, but for the time being, for survival Korean, it seems much simpler). It's another thing entirely to have whole new concepts that don't even exist in your language thrown at you while you're also trying to master Korean, science, math, history, etc. With languages like Spanish and French, from English, it's just simple translation and a little bit of reordering. But all of the main parts are the same.
I'm still a grumpy little bunny about the banal rote memorization portion of learning this language, though, as much as I'm eating up all of the structural differences. My coworkers spent the day casting sympathetic glances in my direction as I sunk further and further down in my chair with my Korean book spread open in front of me. They are impressed with the simplest things, which a lot of expats find condescending, but I soak it all up, being the big dummy that I am. That's right. I can ask you, "What is this?" now. I'm immense. Thanks for noticing.
Mostly they just seem touched on a really personal level that they can see me putting so much effort into it. A lot of people think that's silly, but I don't see why they shouldn't be -- my main motivation is to be able to have actual interaction with the people around me (them). I've noticed that (as in the conversation yesterday) as soon as they realize I'm trying to learn Korean, they immediately shift to a way of thinking that suggests someday I might actually belong (to some extent) in this society. I don't even actually speak any Korean yet, but they are already counting me in. It's nice.
I'm really embarrassed about how long it has taken me to get really serious about this. I was telling Mike last night over dinner, four months just seems so.... big. Two months, three months -- okay, you're still a baby. But to have been here for four months and still be operating almost exclusively in English really embarrasses me. I was looking today for alternative classes to take in case for some reason the one I've found doesn't work out, or even possibly simultaneously to speed up the process, or make it more thorough. It's shockingly difficult to find free Korean classes -- or not so shocking, I guess, when you think about it. I'm used to the U.S. and their English only policies, their wealth of immigrants from every imaginable background. As far as I know, nearly every major public school system in the U.S. offers some kind of ESL training (mostly geared toward the parents of immigrant or first generation students). English classes are everywhere. But I have to remember how rare we foreigners still are here in the ROK, and of that small pool, how few are really willing to take to the task of learning Korean with any kind of seriousness. If you took all of the immigrants here in Incheon who are interested in really learning Korean, we'd probably make up only one decent sized program.
When I was sitting at the coffee shop earlier this week, studying, a shadow appeared over my left shoulder, followed by two small hands holding a napkin with writing on it. I turned to see a younger Korean girl standing there, looking down at her feet. I took the napkin with both hands and, as I looked down to read it, she returned to her table with a friend. The napkin was a note saying how she was studying English, that she may be moving to the U.S. next year, and she would like my advice, if I would be kind enough to give it.
I turned in my seat and said hello, and, when I was greeted with kind smiles, moved over to their table. The looks on the faces of everyone else in the coffee shop were absolutely priceless.
I ended up moving to their table permanently, and we sat talking about English and Korean until almost ten o'clock. They're quite young -- 20, 21 in Korean age. Both employees of Incheon Airport, with no money or time to study English formally. What really got me was how eager they were to help me with Korean, even if they were just explaining simple things I already know.
They told me pronunciation is not as important in Korean as I've been led to believe by others, but I was already coming to that conclusion by now having the advantage of being able to listen in on Korean all day long. Now that I can make out quite a bit, I can hear the differences between how my book teaches me to say things and how they come out in daily conversation, which has been a huge help. They said the little Korean I was brave enough to speak to them sounded shockingly natural (they deal with foreigners all day long every day, working in the airport, and say it's always strange how formal and over-pronounced foreigner Korean is). The key is learning what can be mispronounced, and in what way, I think. The other thing I'm able to pick up from eavesdropping all day that probably helps a lot is tone and intonation.
Which all gives me a lot more faith that what I'm doing here might be helping on some level, at least a little. It sounds ridiculous, but I'm learning first hand what a difference it makes to hear a native speaker speak the language you're learning.
A lot of things are going to be changing at my school this coming year -- I think, for the better. First of all, the new English Zone has two class rooms separated by glass windows. Coteacher has been ridiculously cozy with me lately (don't know what's brought it on) and has gone from being very insistent that I shouldn't have any say in just about anything, to outright admitting that she feels very lost and confused in her profession, and asking constantly what I think is best. I've told her time and again that I don't know my ass from my elbow in second language education yet (paraphrased), and am very much looking to her as an elder. But she now insists that we are in this together.
We've decided the best route to follow this year will be dividing our classes into two -- high and low. I will take one half and she, the other, so that we will have time to work with smaller groups. Our class sizes will apparently be extending beyond 40 this year, up to 45 and possibly even 50. That's atrocious. And made all the worse by the fact that I'm fresh out of winter camps, where I learned first-hand what a difference smaller class sizes make to a conducive learning environment. Ten kids? Piece of piss. I basically just show up the kids are learning at least something. 50? Fuck off. There's no way in hell they're going to get anything out of that.
The bad news is that we are losing not only Mr. K, but also Cute Coteacher and possibly another English teacher. We will have three temporary teachers in this year. I have no idea what to expect from that. I guess it all really depends on who we end up with. It'll be nice not to be the youngblood anymore, though.
More than anything though, at the moment, I'm terrified of these new little ones coming in. Sixth graders are notorious for being THE most difficult group to teach, and I'll have them fresh out. They say the key is to play the hardass from day one and then slowly loosen the reins, but I have no idea how to be a hardass. Maybe I should invest in a stick, after all (strictly for desk-banging purposes, of course). It's also hard to be a hardass when you need the little fuckers to talk.
I'll have Coteacher helping with the first graders this year, though, and she is the ultimate hardass. So maybe it'll be alright. She said it's going to be cool next year, because the way the classrooms are designed, we will face each other through the glass windows while we are teaching.
One more small aside: I think going to Europe really helped shift my perspective about being in South Korea. Like I have said many times before, I really missed it while I was away. I told one of Iva's friends while we were walking one night, although I am very much and obviously a foreigner in Korea, there is a sense, within my school definitely, both students and teachers, and also even with the little shop owners I encounter regularly, that I am their foreigner. It's one of the upsides of being so conspicuous here. While there is still the annoying habit of everyone feeling whatever about having to speak English for the waegookin, there is still a sense of ownership, of something close to pride. And after spending two weeks around other foreign languages, in other foreign countries, getting to that airport gate and being surrounded by Koreans -- the now-familiar sights, sounds and smells -- well, it was truly like coming home.
Even though I stand in stark contrast to the homogeneous society here, there is still something comforting in that homogeneous society even for me -- the way certain gestures, noises, postures, etc have become so much a part of my daily life that they feel almost natural to be around. I can definitely understand why some people freak out when they go back home. I definitely expect to suffer far more from reverse culture shock than I have from culture shock in the first place.
And as I've been saying to Mike, I'm starting to gain a strange affection for even the one thousand little annoying things that are different and confusing to me about Korea and Korean culture. Big, gaping third-world puddles in the middle of the office floor that no one seems to feel the need to do anything about, while in the meantime everyone's walking around dressed as if they're attending a fashion show or a gala dinner? Funny. Endearing, even. Leaving all of the windows open in the dead of winter while the heater's running and constantly exclaiming "Chu-wah!" .... well, that one I'm not quite over yet, but I can see the humor at least. People running around all over the place, constantly in a rush, while in the meantime everyone's always late (leave five minutes earlier!). Bizarre comments about how the tables in a Western restaurant are awkwardly high because Westerners (of which you are the only one present, on the entire premises) have longer torsos (which is a standard you apparently don't meet, given that you're having trouble reaching your straw without getting on your knees). The constant urge to draw you into some sort of a boyfriend-girlfriend relationship. It's all just sort of... cute... if you look at it from the right angle.
I guess falling in love with a place really is like falling in love with a person. It sneaks up on you, and before you know it, you're making excuses for every possible noticeable fault.
Well, that's enough of that boring nonsense. Now maybe a little nap before Magsy comes over. You are still planning on coming, aren't you? Eh?
2.12.2009
Let's make Liz Korean!
I was being a real whiny little bitch tonight, despite the fact that I got a gorgeous (and much needed) night's sleep last night, which put me in an infinitely better mood than I was in yesterday. Still, this sitting around in the office all day is no good for the head (or the body, for that matter). I'm like a caged animal with no classes, confined to my cubicle. I could never do a job that demanded this of me everyday.
The boys are in periodically to offer a little relief, but after tomorrow, that ceases for another two weeks as well. Today while they were supposed to be sorting through the garbage, they began picking out little bits they thought might be useful to them and shoving them down their pants. The second graders are fascinating, because they're not yet to the logic level of the third graders, yet they aren't quite as animalistic as the first graders. The first graders just erupt in mass chaos, with no rhyme or reason. The second graders scheme their nonsense, even though it's still technically nonsense. They have these little man meetings that seem to completely escape the notice of the other teachers right before they each take their part in doing something, systematically, that's completely absurd. Like ripping all the pages out of old calendars and storing the calendar stands in their underwear to do God knows what with later.
I've got a new little boyfriend as well. We'll call him Orange Glasses. Everyday he comes over to dust the top of my cubicle for a while, before laying his head on top of his hands and saying, "Hello! How are you today?"
I'm fine, thanks, and you?
"Oh, I am so-so..... how are you?"
Uh. Fine.
"Oh. Yes." He tilts his head and gazes dreamily into the middle distance.
"Ya!" Sharp Dressed Man always catches him in the act and lets loose a torrent of top volume Korean.
"I go now!"
Yeah. I think that would be good.
Anyway, I was moaning on tonight because I wasn't really hungry and didn't feel like the ordering-in-Korean shuffle at a restaurant, and bitched and moaned all the way around Mike's neighborhood about it, but he did sit and have coffee with me, which he didn't want to do, so I felt obligated. Lo and behold, we were greeted by a lovely gentleman inside the restaurant we chose who not only spoke English, but was even kind enough to ask a few questions and make us feel welcomed.
He came over to change the coals at an awkward moment when I had my cigarettes from Austria out and was giving a performance of the warning label in German for Mike. I quickly threw them down on the table and muttered something about how German is a terrible language. The young man placed an ashtray on the table in response. Lovely. He even took the courtesy of asking us if we spoke Korean before he started explaining everything in English, which I thought was thoughtful, and then suggested what we might like to eat instead of making us fumble through the menu.
I'm surprised at how fast my listening and comprehension skills are coming along, in equal measure as I am frustrated at how hard it is to make things come out right in Korean at any given moment. I can hear what I should be saying in my head -- it's just that I can't get my mouth to make those sounds. I suppose that's not that different from any other time I go to speak, though.
At any rate, the lunch time Korean is much more bearable now that I'm able to make a lot of it out. Well, maybe not a lot, but I can usually figure out what subject we're on anyway. I've been sitting with the women at lunch since I got back from vacation, since I spent some time with them outside of work and realized I need to get to know them better, and also for a few other reasons. 1. I've always found it easier to be sort of more naturally charming with women. 2. Overall, they speak more English and 3. Mr. K has started wearing shiny suits to work and is generally freaking me out these days. He and Mr. C and the PE teachers and all of the rest of them are too unpredictable for my taste -- best friends one minute, and totally awkward the next. I can't be bothered. The music teacher -- the one who doesn't speak a lick of English -- is the only one who is steadily friendly. I don't know what is up with the men -- gender segregated nonsense, or the way they make fun of each other every time any one of them says anything to me in English, or just general moodiness -- but I can't be bothered with it.
Sitting with the women folk does have its downsides though, as I discovered today when the subject turned to how they were going to "make Liz Korean". Apparently, what I really need to help me learn Korean is a Korean boyfriend. And they've decided they want to help me find one. I'm not sure what they made of the immediate discomfort I'm sure was visible all over my face once this suggestion arose. I wasn't able to actually form any words of protest -- I just sort of froze, as they began chattering away about all the men they knew that they could set me up with.
Over my dead body am I going on any "blind dates". And I'm quite sure that the nice men these church-going ladies know are not interested in the kind of very American girl that I am. Please let this subject be dropped by tomorrow.
Anyway, I've gotten in just about as deep as I need to be with the boys already, and am already having trouble unwinding myself from that situation, as it is.
A Bittersweet Life is taking ages to download, which is to say that it isn't downloading at all. English speaking torrent websites are shit resources for Korean anything. I even managed to find a couple of Korean indie music blogs in English (miracle) but can't get my hands on any of the stuff. I guess I'm going to have to (gasp!) buy it in stores like I normally do. Shopping list for the weekend, then. I'll get on that during my mind-numbing 8 1/2 hours of Pure Death at work tomorrow.
Now it's time to study a little more Korean before bed. Tonight I even got myself a little word notebook. Cute Coteacher is going to Canada for a year and today at lunch she said, "Ah! When I come back, you will be sitting at this table speaking Korean!" Don't count on it, Cute Coteacher. But I'll try.
The boys are in periodically to offer a little relief, but after tomorrow, that ceases for another two weeks as well. Today while they were supposed to be sorting through the garbage, they began picking out little bits they thought might be useful to them and shoving them down their pants. The second graders are fascinating, because they're not yet to the logic level of the third graders, yet they aren't quite as animalistic as the first graders. The first graders just erupt in mass chaos, with no rhyme or reason. The second graders scheme their nonsense, even though it's still technically nonsense. They have these little man meetings that seem to completely escape the notice of the other teachers right before they each take their part in doing something, systematically, that's completely absurd. Like ripping all the pages out of old calendars and storing the calendar stands in their underwear to do God knows what with later.
I've got a new little boyfriend as well. We'll call him Orange Glasses. Everyday he comes over to dust the top of my cubicle for a while, before laying his head on top of his hands and saying, "Hello! How are you today?"
I'm fine, thanks, and you?
"Oh, I am so-so..... how are you?"
Uh. Fine.
"Oh. Yes." He tilts his head and gazes dreamily into the middle distance.
"Ya!" Sharp Dressed Man always catches him in the act and lets loose a torrent of top volume Korean.
"I go now!"
Yeah. I think that would be good.
Anyway, I was moaning on tonight because I wasn't really hungry and didn't feel like the ordering-in-Korean shuffle at a restaurant, and bitched and moaned all the way around Mike's neighborhood about it, but he did sit and have coffee with me, which he didn't want to do, so I felt obligated. Lo and behold, we were greeted by a lovely gentleman inside the restaurant we chose who not only spoke English, but was even kind enough to ask a few questions and make us feel welcomed.
He came over to change the coals at an awkward moment when I had my cigarettes from Austria out and was giving a performance of the warning label in German for Mike. I quickly threw them down on the table and muttered something about how German is a terrible language. The young man placed an ashtray on the table in response. Lovely. He even took the courtesy of asking us if we spoke Korean before he started explaining everything in English, which I thought was thoughtful, and then suggested what we might like to eat instead of making us fumble through the menu.
I'm surprised at how fast my listening and comprehension skills are coming along, in equal measure as I am frustrated at how hard it is to make things come out right in Korean at any given moment. I can hear what I should be saying in my head -- it's just that I can't get my mouth to make those sounds. I suppose that's not that different from any other time I go to speak, though.
At any rate, the lunch time Korean is much more bearable now that I'm able to make a lot of it out. Well, maybe not a lot, but I can usually figure out what subject we're on anyway. I've been sitting with the women at lunch since I got back from vacation, since I spent some time with them outside of work and realized I need to get to know them better, and also for a few other reasons. 1. I've always found it easier to be sort of more naturally charming with women. 2. Overall, they speak more English and 3. Mr. K has started wearing shiny suits to work and is generally freaking me out these days. He and Mr. C and the PE teachers and all of the rest of them are too unpredictable for my taste -- best friends one minute, and totally awkward the next. I can't be bothered. The music teacher -- the one who doesn't speak a lick of English -- is the only one who is steadily friendly. I don't know what is up with the men -- gender segregated nonsense, or the way they make fun of each other every time any one of them says anything to me in English, or just general moodiness -- but I can't be bothered with it.
Sitting with the women folk does have its downsides though, as I discovered today when the subject turned to how they were going to "make Liz Korean". Apparently, what I really need to help me learn Korean is a Korean boyfriend. And they've decided they want to help me find one. I'm not sure what they made of the immediate discomfort I'm sure was visible all over my face once this suggestion arose. I wasn't able to actually form any words of protest -- I just sort of froze, as they began chattering away about all the men they knew that they could set me up with.
Over my dead body am I going on any "blind dates". And I'm quite sure that the nice men these church-going ladies know are not interested in the kind of very American girl that I am. Please let this subject be dropped by tomorrow.
Anyway, I've gotten in just about as deep as I need to be with the boys already, and am already having trouble unwinding myself from that situation, as it is.
A Bittersweet Life is taking ages to download, which is to say that it isn't downloading at all. English speaking torrent websites are shit resources for Korean anything. I even managed to find a couple of Korean indie music blogs in English (miracle) but can't get my hands on any of the stuff. I guess I'm going to have to (gasp!) buy it in stores like I normally do. Shopping list for the weekend, then. I'll get on that during my mind-numbing 8 1/2 hours of Pure Death at work tomorrow.
Now it's time to study a little more Korean before bed. Tonight I even got myself a little word notebook. Cute Coteacher is going to Canada for a year and today at lunch she said, "Ah! When I come back, you will be sitting at this table speaking Korean!" Don't count on it, Cute Coteacher. But I'll try.
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