Meeting the Waeguksaram

I have finally met both of my fellow foreigners in the hamlet. It was just after my haircut. I was walking to the supermarket to buy some milk and cereal as a small snack between school and TKD, when I saw a white, curly brown haired woman. You may not understand this living in America, but when you come to Korea and you live in a town where there are no people who look significantly different from everyone else (I’m talking 0% foreign population), there’s a strange magnetism that one feels upon seeing someone like that. You do not want to follow it because you think to yourself, “This is ridiculous. I come from a liberal (in the historical sense) society where people are people plain and simple and a little different skin tone shouldn’t make a difference.” But you are also powerfully drawn to these people because you think to yourself, “They know English (probably) and are going through some of the same things I am. By all accounts we are commiserates. I want to talk to a commiserate.” For some foreigners, the fact that other foreigners will walk up to them in Korea as if they are long lost friends even though they are positively strangers is an annoyance beyond comparison. I decided to brave it. And made a new friend.

One is an Aussie, the other a Scot, and both teach English at the middle school. We talked of loneliness and what there is to do and how to get around. The Aussie, David, is actually interested in taking TKD with me, and both play tennis, so I might be inclined to join them someday though I can’t return a serve worth the proverbial beans. (Or is it fairy tale-ical?) The Scot’s name is Fiona. They are married. Lucky devils.

We also talked about how well behaved the children are at our schools and compared them to children in our respective countries. Korean children [in this town, I’ve had to edit this as my fellow ATEs have differing experiences with Korean children. Shame on me for generalizing!], if they do not want to learn, usually just go to sleep. Granted, this is a problem, but one I’d much rather deal with than students disrupting class by talking or even fighting. Then the Aussie said something with a knowing smile that positively boggled my mind.

“It’s a bit like the Sixties here, isn’t it?”
“Pardon, like what?”
“You know, the Sixties. Conservative values. Everyone wants to go to school and is anxious about learning. No rebellion.”
“The Sixties?”

The Scot confirmed that the Sixties was the decade of “Leave it to Beaver” in her country as well. The Sixties?! The decade of student protests that shook the government? The decade of Sex, Drugs, and Rock and Roll? The decade of Peace, Drugs, and Hippies? (Notice the common theme of drugs…) That decade.

So, I explained that America usually thinks of the Fifties as the conservative values decade. The sixties and seventies are our wild side. Then I said something about it having something to do with Vietnam. That got awkward really fast…

At any rate, new friends, even if it’ll be awkward now because I pulled out some sort of historical justification for rebellious generations. We’ll have to see how it goes.