1.5 fortnights in SK

Oh right...context

Sometimes when I’m tired as a result of my complete lack of self-control (read: staying up til 2am because somehow watching America’s Next Top Model w/Korean subtitles seemed like a good idea)… I get to talking to my co-teachers and they’ll ask me how to correctly say ‘spill your beans’ or they’ll laugh at my genuine attempts to say something in Korean, because they think it’s sweet… I start to drift nd always end up thinking about everyone and everything I miss in America. I’ll think about the last weekend’s adventure in Seoul- and how when I saw a group of Ghanaian men walking down the street, I get to feeling nostalgic. That’s right, I feel nostalgic when I see black people. In the midst of all this precious drifting, I’ll realize that I’m quietly mumbling my thoughts. Ms. Kang, who sits to the right of me, will then ask me why I feel nostalgic about black people since I come from America, and there aren’t many black people in America, are there? I’ll enlighten her, after pinching myself (just to make sure) and tell her that yes, there are hundreds, maybe even thousands, hell- maybe even millions of black people in America! Her eyes will grow into saucers and she’ll ask me how I felt living with so many people that didn’t look like me. I’ll try to articulate the treasures of diversity and how often times, I felt like I was in a movie walking through Harlem and the Village and Brooklyn, watching some of the most beautiful people in the world look at the other most beautiful people in the world. She’ll say “Harlem? Isn’t that where the N-words live? How do you understand what they’re saying?”

Except she didn’t say ‘the N-words’ – she said the real thing. Like it was a vocabulary word she picked up in a book for advanced ESL students. Before I launch into how I can actually understand ‘those N-words’ and how the way they talk is a vernacular of the American English language, not a speech impediment, I adamantly, adamantly inform her that the word she so carelessly shot out of her mouth has more gravity than the plastic surgery problem in Korea. Because who else is going to tell her? My other co-teacher? Ms. Lee, who, as sweet as she is, tries to convince me everyday at lunch that eating red meat is good for me and once, for a welcoming dinner took me to a local restaurant known for its meat dishes and sat right next to me eating dog stew as I sat slack-jawed before my ‘special meatless dish’ that had pork piled all over it? (yeah, that really happened) No, it was my responsibility. So I pulled out my pocket American flag and waved it around as I tamed the natives around me, spouting out American triumphs, ideals, history…

Or at least that’s how I felt as I calmly let Ms. Kang know that she shouldn’t ever use that word, never ever. And why. I’d never been put in a position where I had to tell another human adult that one shouldn’t say such a horrible word. And then I remembered.

Oh right…context. I’m in Korea, remember? She could have just as easily been explaining to me that I shouldn’t ever use the word “gook”. Never ever. And she could have told me why. And I would have left school appreciative of this new and important knowledge.

And then I would be sad.

Because before coming here, I thought that if I were around people who only spoke Korean all of the time, I’d eventually pick up the language and would sufficiently understand what was going on around me. I’ve learned, that’s not how it works. Most of the time, I feel as though I’m in a giant fish tank and all I hear are other fish murmuring and burbling through the water. Communication is muted at best and any occasional eye contact is watery- our filters for vision were born worlds apart.

But then I see the underbelly. Last Friday night I was a stranger in a strange land… in a strange land. I went to a drag queen show and ordered a ‘gintonic’ from a 6’5 Korean tranny. And somehow it was the most at ease I’d felt in some time since moving here. I have to allow for the obvious differences though. Like when the two people in front of me pointed at the beautiful drag queen’s package, covered their mouths and laughed uproariously. That sort of behavior is hard to find in comparable NYC clubs—or at least the ones I’ve been to. You’ll see for yourself, I’ll be putting up a video soon—and you’ll see they put on a good show. Even though it was 2:30am and my slip was starting to show, they made feeling like a stranger in a strange land… worth it.

Some stuff about my school

So people have been asking about my day-to-day at work, which I usually don’t talk or write about. But some of you are pretty nice, so I’ll give it a go.

I’m teaching at an all girls high school in Suwon. I have 17 classes throughout the week, two of which are ‘teacher classes’ where the focus is mainly on conversation. One class is for all the English teachers in the school and the other is for any non-English teacher that wants to learn more English. I’m at school from 8am – 4pm and have lunch at noon everyday. These are the healthiest lunches I’ve ever eaten. Also, now that I’m not eating meat, sometimes I can only eat the daily white rice and vegetable dish (usually some variant of kimchi.) Thankfully, a nice Korean lady comes around at 10am every morning and gives me yogurt, for which I pay a monthly fee. She saves me on days when I can only eat the rice.

Things of note about the school:

• Even though it’s public, every girl wears a uniform (white top and maroon skirt, w/some variation). And since every girl has the same hair color and roughly the same haircut, I’m a big racist and can’t remember most of their names. (might also be cos I’m teaching 500+ students)
• The students don’t go home after 4pm—they stay at the school and study until 10PM! I still can’t get over this fact and have not gotten used to seeing herds of schoolgirls walking the streets late at night by themselves.
• At around 2pm everyday, every student takes 10 minutes to…clean the school. I’ll be in the teacher’s lounge and a nice Korean girl will be sweeping behind my desk and another, cleaning my coffee cup. Now that’s what I call service! :-/
• The bathrooms: toilet paper is not a given, so you have to carry a roll around w/you at all times. Also, there’s about 1 or 2 regular (Western) toilets and the rest are squat toilets. The use of the latter has firmly cemented the reasoning for why I think Korean women have great legs.
• A funny/endearing fact: several of my co-teachers are extremely fond of the movie The Dead Poets Society and aspire to be like the teacher Robin Williams portrays.

So, that’s it for now. Soon I will be writing about my life outside of school. Namely, my recent excursions into Seoul – this last weekend having seen what was promised to be a tranny burlesque show, but was really a trannies lip-syncing to music show. It was still pretty amazing.

Taking a walk...

Did you know that walking down the street and imagining walking down the street utilize the exact same parts in your brain? So theoretically, if I describe how it is to walk down a street in my town, it’d be like you were right there with me.

So, let’s take a walk.

I exit my building and hang a right toward my school. Across the way is the neighborhood’s trash pile where the garbage collector gives me dirty looks since he assumes that I’m the one that messed up the garbage system, being the ignorant foreigner that I am. To explain, here in SK, they’ve taken an interest in the environment and have set up a system to combat unnecessary waste—which in theory, I love. In practice, oysh. You’re required to buy government regulated trash bags at designated stores. The yellow bags are for food waste, the white bags are for non-food/non-recyclable waste and shopping bags are for recyclables. So, now I have 3 garbage cans in my kitchen (or as I call it: a makeshift enclosure)… why can’t they just let me be the hypocritical American that I am? While I espouse all these beliefs in recycling, actually putting it into practice is a whole different ball game. Seriously though, at the end of the day, I know it’s worth it.

I walk a bit further down the street where a row of ajummas (“adult female individuals of married age”) --stop their conversation to all stare at me at once, with nasty scowls on their faces. Now, normally, I’d chalk this up to my paranoia…but, NO. This is the reality. Things I miss #1: not being scowled at on a regular basis.

I turn left onto the next road and realize that while I have my cigarettes, I don’t have my lighter and so stop into a convenience store to replenish. I haven’t learned the word for lighter, and stupidly I’ve forgotten my phrase book at home, so I hope that the cashier happens to know “lighter”. He doesn’t. I play charades, but since I’m HORRIBLE at charades, he thinks I’m throwing gang signs at him. Eventually, we come to an understanding and I walk out of the store having bought a weird Korean toy so that this cashier doesn’t hate me for the next 11 months. Things I miss #2: not having to play charades in order to communicate with other human beings.

I continue down the street and scavenge in my bag for a spare lighter, where I find 3 at the bottom of my bag. Awesome. I light up and bask in the wonderful drags of relief, only to find that an ajumma walking towards me has literally stopped in her tracks to stare at me in disbelief. Apparently, only ‘ladies of the night’ smoke in this country. Every single man here smokes likes a chimney, but it is utterly shameful for a woman to smoke in public. Things I miss #3: not being considered a prostitute for smoking on the street, but rather, a typical New Yorker. :-/

About 2 minutes later, I’ve arrived at my school where droves of precious Korean girls run up to me and say things like, “hi!!!” or “you’re beautiful!!” or “do you remember me?!”?

Things I like about Korea #1: it takes me 5 minutes to get to my job. Things I like about Korea #2: My students are adorable.

Travel and Travail

Last Saturday and Sunday, I chased the sun around the world. As dramatic as that sounds, that’s sincerely how it felt. After a sleepless night of packing (or cramming stuff into things that weren’t meant to hold twice their weight), I boarded a plane from NYC to Los Angeles. I could tell that some of my fellow passengers were also making their way to Korea, evidenced by the snickering heard whenever I’d take out my bright yellow Easy As Il, Ee, Sam Korean Language book. Whatever, teenage Korean girl sitting next to me. At least I’m trying!

Transferred from United to Asiana upon arrival in LA. Walked with my bulging tumor of a carry-on to the gate and paid $20 for a veggie sandwich, fountain drink and fruit cup.

On the plane to Incheon, I was the only non-Asian within sight. The plane was decked out with individual TV screens (like Jet Blue) – and I watched a terrific Korean film, Castaway On the Moon. Highly recommended. Also, the title pretty much summed up how I felt during the entire plane ride to Seoul. Neverending blinding daylight, unable to communicate with anyone around me and half-crazy from sleep deprivation. The constant sunlight was made stranger by the attendants insisting on closing every window for the entire trip. Strange feeling: knowing that it’s blindingly white outside, but forced into a cave-like environment for an inordinate amount of time. It felt as though I was on some lost episode of The Twilight Zone, drifting in an out of consciousness, eating food I’d never seen before (some dishes packaged in toothpaste tubes), strapped into an uncomfortable chair where aliens would observe me as they trotted by. The movies were my one respite and boy, did I take advantage. I even managed to watch New In Town after exhausting every other semi-decent option. Somehow the pinched face of Renee Zelwegger provided a weird comfort for me. I remember reading an article in The New Yorker about some American’s travels in Siberia and how, after traveling the barren landscape for several days, he found comfort in the occasional presence of American-like retail strips (or as I like to call them: concrete wastelands- like the town I grew up in.) It was akin to that.

Before I knew it (or rather, a long-ass time later) – I was in Suwon, awkwardly greeting my new Korean neighbors and standing in bewilderment at the size of my new apartment. Beyond small. But I suppose I shouldn’t complain since I’m not paying rent. Yeah, I shouldn’t. I won't mention it again.

So now I’m here. It’s my 3^rd day of teaching. There is, of course, lots of other stuff to note, but I wanted to begin with my harrowing journey here so that I don’t forget how I got here and that I did in fact, come here from another country- another city. New York City. That’s correct, right? Yes, I think so.

With my poor object constancy, it’s easy to feel as though I was dropped from the sky one day a long time ago and have been living here as a foreigner for some time. Honestly, it seems my object constancy is what helps me transition from one place to another. Pairing that with my lack of ‘normal’ foundations (e.g. religion, a dominant ethnicity, an attachment to family, etc.) – moving to a foreign country isn’t as difficult as one might think. Certain negatives have become positives here. My paranoia that everyone is staring at me has been completely justified (everyone really IS staring at me ALL of the time). Also, feeling like the requisite ‘other’ now has its place here. In a way, the confirmation of my paranoia and feeling alone is helpful. Because now I can focus on other things. Like learning Korean, finishing my script, getting healthy, et al…

I hope this feeling lasts.