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.