On Saturday evening my collegiate host sister, who was home for some unknown reason as school is still in session and there are no breaks around now, told me that the family was going out and needed to borrow my digital camera. Why? “We’re going to meet my favorite Korean actor. You can come!” And suddenly the reason for her coming home became crystal clear…
Anyway, apparently the actor, Jeong Jun-ho, is fairly famous in Korea, so everyone is a little confused as to why he was visiting our small county. He knows some English, probably because he calls L.A. his second home, and was able to have a brief conversation with me. I started this conversation in Korean, but when it became clear that he wanted to speak in English, I obliged him. During the conversation, I was asked the following strange question:
Are you Russian?
…and the following awkward question:
How do you like Korean women?
…made all the more awkward by the fact that my available collegiate host sister who understands English was standing right there. I was then encouraged to marry one if I could manage it while I’m here. And yes, I told him I was only here for a year…
At any rate, I suppose now I’ll have to see one of his movies.
Saturday, October 13, 2007
Hiking 등산로 (Deung Mountain Trail) (10/13)
I was finally able to hike the small mountain ridge behind my house on Sunday. It was a pleasant hour’s walk or so that affords a magnificent view of the entire town in places where the trees clear just enough as well as absolute solitude where they don’t. Though, I will say that when you’re on the town side of ridge, the amount of noise pollution from the town and the echoes along the range is mind boggling, so that one is never with a sense of total isolation. Get to the other side of that, though, and one is immersed in absolute silence. A surreal hike, to be sure.
I met the government official I saw at noseongjea the weekend before on that ridge, the one that wanted me to teach the other officials English. He’s offered to take me out to Odesan National Park since he knows now that I like hiking. Perhaps after the Gyeongju conference I can take him up on that.
I met the government official I saw at noseongjea the weekend before on that ridge, the one that wanted me to teach the other officials English. He’s offered to take me out to Odesan National Park since he knows now that I like hiking. Perhaps after the Gyeongju conference I can take him up on that.
Coffee, both Black and Bitter! (As Opposed to Brown and Sweet…) (10/13)
A couple of weeks ago, I received a package from home (I’m not sure I mentioned this or not…). Included in this package was a can of Yuban coffee, and, while it is not the best coffee in the world, I was certainly grateful to have something tangibly ground that would require a filter to brew as opposed to the dehydrated instant coffee that’s Korea’s main caffeinated staple.
But this presented a problem, for whereas I have a coffee maker thanks to my host family buying one in combination with a single slice of toast toaster oven (don’t ask…), I did not have any filters to go with said maker.
So, I asked around a bit and found out that there was an import store that sold both ground coffee and filters. However, wpahen I inquired at the store, which by the way looked like something out of the borrowers what with the variety of paraphernalia (look up the etymology on that word sometime; delightful) available for purchase, I only saw two bags of coffee (both hazelnut flavored) and no filters. Some pantomiming and Konglish later, the ajuma produced some coffee filters from a tin on the shop floor.
So, this Saturday, I popped the seal on the can (that smell… oh, Lord give me strength!) and attempted to brew a cup of coffee. I say attempt because the filter was too big and the coffee ended up spilling everywhere. Some trimming and some light remonstrations from my host mother and I succeeded in brewing a cup of very strong, very black coffee which was delicious. (Or, has my taste grown bad or my addiction too strong?)
The host parents asked where I got the coffee from, and I explained as best I could. My collegiate host-sister who was home for the weekend helped. They then proceeded to brew a couple of cups as well. Well, they didn’t ask, but I’m happy to share my addictions, I mean pleasures with the family. Cultural ambassador and all that. Still, I thought that they might not like it. After all, Korean coffee is usually high in cream and sugar and in the end light in body (all of this in an instant mix packet).
Upon their tasting the coffee, I asked them how they liked it. To my surprise, they said that it tasted the same as Korean coffee. I then noticed that I could practically see through theirs whereas mine was as black as night. They must not have used as much grounds.
Well, I won’t burst their bubble about being able to handle coffee bitter and black. I just hope they never drink from the same pot of coffee I do.
But this presented a problem, for whereas I have a coffee maker thanks to my host family buying one in combination with a single slice of toast toaster oven (don’t ask…), I did not have any filters to go with said maker.
So, I asked around a bit and found out that there was an import store that sold both ground coffee and filters. However, wpahen I inquired at the store, which by the way looked like something out of the borrowers what with the variety of paraphernalia (look up the etymology on that word sometime; delightful) available for purchase, I only saw two bags of coffee (both hazelnut flavored) and no filters. Some pantomiming and Konglish later, the ajuma produced some coffee filters from a tin on the shop floor.
So, this Saturday, I popped the seal on the can (that smell… oh, Lord give me strength!) and attempted to brew a cup of coffee. I say attempt because the filter was too big and the coffee ended up spilling everywhere. Some trimming and some light remonstrations from my host mother and I succeeded in brewing a cup of very strong, very black coffee which was delicious. (Or, has my taste grown bad or my addiction too strong?)
The host parents asked where I got the coffee from, and I explained as best I could. My collegiate host-sister who was home for the weekend helped. They then proceeded to brew a couple of cups as well. Well, they didn’t ask, but I’m happy to share my addictions, I mean pleasures with the family. Cultural ambassador and all that. Still, I thought that they might not like it. After all, Korean coffee is usually high in cream and sugar and in the end light in body (all of this in an instant mix packet).
Upon their tasting the coffee, I asked them how they liked it. To my surprise, they said that it tasted the same as Korean coffee. I then noticed that I could practically see through theirs whereas mine was as black as night. They must not have used as much grounds.
Well, I won’t burst their bubble about being able to handle coffee bitter and black. I just hope they never drink from the same pot of coffee I do.
Friday, October 12, 2007
TKD: Frustrated, but Determined (10/12)
TKD was rough over the last two weeks. I’ve settled into the monotony and routine that is training the body to be a disciplined machine, though I’m sure the sabeonim would protest that TKD is far more spiritual than I give it credit for. As such, there is not much to report about the day-to-day activities. I have run into some difficulties recently, however, that bear noting if only so I will have a marker to look back on when I’ve run my course.
Speaking of running, it turns out that my Saturday run before the Noseonjea festival may have been a bit of a mistake. The whole next week I was working out the tightness in my muscles, and my flexibility, which was laughable before the run despite the 3 months I have trained, went back to a level I had before I began taking TKD. Luckily, it’s returned all the faster. Still, I think I could bear spending one week on just stretching for two hours a night.
I’m also frequently frustrated with the childishness of the children I train with. It is not so bad when we are under the supervision of the sabeonim, but when we break off by belt level for group practice, my fellow green belt cannot focus for more than one minute before he goes off and annoys some red belts until they pick a fight with him. It’s also hard to find someone to train me in the forms I don’t know during these periods. The children are eager to help so long as they don’t have to do the form with me more than once. That’s too boring, I suppose. But I have trouble remembering something I’ve never done before after one viewing, and it’s frustrating when they run off to practice their kicks on each other while the sabeonim is working with other belt levels.
Still, I go everyday that I can, for two hours, to train. It will not always be fun (though it often is), but it is something I need to do. True, I always wanted to take martial arts as a kid (I’m not exactly sure why I couldn’t, but I think it had to do with either money or the fact that I was in Scouts), but now I have a reason. My doctor said I need to lose about 20 lbs to avoid diabetes after all. I haven’t lost any weight really since I’ve arrived, but I’ve certainly toned, and I think that’ll count for something in the end.
But yeah, it’s mostly because I always wanted to do it when I was a kid. Maybe I’ve got a little bit of the childishness that I complain about in those children at the dojang after all.
Speaking of running, it turns out that my Saturday run before the Noseonjea festival may have been a bit of a mistake. The whole next week I was working out the tightness in my muscles, and my flexibility, which was laughable before the run despite the 3 months I have trained, went back to a level I had before I began taking TKD. Luckily, it’s returned all the faster. Still, I think I could bear spending one week on just stretching for two hours a night.
I’m also frequently frustrated with the childishness of the children I train with. It is not so bad when we are under the supervision of the sabeonim, but when we break off by belt level for group practice, my fellow green belt cannot focus for more than one minute before he goes off and annoys some red belts until they pick a fight with him. It’s also hard to find someone to train me in the forms I don’t know during these periods. The children are eager to help so long as they don’t have to do the form with me more than once. That’s too boring, I suppose. But I have trouble remembering something I’ve never done before after one viewing, and it’s frustrating when they run off to practice their kicks on each other while the sabeonim is working with other belt levels.
Still, I go everyday that I can, for two hours, to train. It will not always be fun (though it often is), but it is something I need to do. True, I always wanted to take martial arts as a kid (I’m not exactly sure why I couldn’t, but I think it had to do with either money or the fact that I was in Scouts), but now I have a reason. My doctor said I need to lose about 20 lbs to avoid diabetes after all. I haven’t lost any weight really since I’ve arrived, but I’ve certainly toned, and I think that’ll count for something in the end.
But yeah, it’s mostly because I always wanted to do it when I was a kid. Maybe I’ve got a little bit of the childishness that I complain about in those children at the dojang after all.
Teaching: Kangwondo Board of Education Visit (10/12)
As I said, the school was in a positive bluster preparing for the Kangwondo Board of Education’s visit. Landscaping was redone (the third graders who knew for sure they would graduate were pulled from class for this), school crops were picked, displays were made, music and art demonstrations practiced, and presentations rehearsed. One rehearsal I attended, as it was the main presentation for the BoE visit and included a video made earlier in the semester of me teaching. It was only b-roll footage, meaning no one could hear what I was saying in the clips, but I remember exactly what I was saying in the particular clip they chose.
“I’m sorry about the interruption in your normal schedule, class. This is supposed to be my day off, and I have no idea what’s going on. So let’s make the best of it.”
I’m glad they cut the sound.
What occupied most of my time, however, was helping prepare the special co-teaching class for Friday. Or rather, I wish it had taken up my time. As it was, I sat at my desk while my co-teacher did most of the work, insisting that I could not help at that time.
And then, on that dreadful Thursday, she said that we were not yet done with the preparations even though the class was tomorrow. I sighed inwardly and told her that I’d be willing to stay at school as long as it took to finish the preparations. I stayed until 5:50 pm, rushed home to get my TKD uniform and stayed at the dojang until 8:00 pm, at which point I rode over the H.S. to help finish the class work. She ordered pizza for us (and typically wouldn’t let me help pay), and we spend the evening cutting conversation strips and practicing our dialogues. We also helped make a movie for one of the other English teachers who also had to present the next day. I finally got to go home around 10:40 pm. When I left, the third graders were still there studying for their University entrance exams. They stay until 11:00 pm on a regular basis, apparently.
The next day we practiced again in the morning. She was nervous as all get out, and I hit my nervous spike as usual about 10 minutes before we went on. (I still think of these things in stage terms.) The lesson consisted of a review of “What would you like to have for lunch?” which we never taught them in the first place, which moved on to having a student read the day’s goals, which seemed a bit ambitious, which moved on to having the kids name the top five foods in the hamlet, which we made up, which moved on to the kids drawing a picture that they had to describe to the drawer in English, which went surprisingly well, which moved on to mock dialogues with aprons included, which moved on to the strip story of recipes of Korean foods, which went decently well (One kid noted that the first step in cooking samgyetang is not in fact to clean the chicken, but rather, “Catch the chicken!” This is why I love the country.), which moved on to a brief assessment examination.
Despite the fact that the lesson was ambitions, it went very well. The kids were enthusiastic (We were concerned because it was the usually quiet 1-3 class. The administration made this decision, not us, but we thought the student’s performance admirable.), and the activities went off without a hitch. I might use the picturing drawing idea as an activity in the future. The kids kept telling me how excited they were to do the lesson, and I had to tell them that Phoebe, my co-teacher, had done most of the work.
There is really only one major concern that I have with the demonstration day. The province wanted to see our school because our school does well for a rural public school on national testing. Thus, they wanted to see how we manage our school affairs to bring about such results. But, at least in the English class I took part in, the demonstration in no way represented what actually goes on at the school on a day-to-day basis. We do not co-teach. The English teachers usually use a text book and the foreign teacher usually is not even in sync with the standard syllabus. The entire week I was thinking, “What sort of ideas is the provincial BoE going to get about programs they should be implementing when we do not even implement the programs we’re showing off to them?” Ah, well. This is not my country. I told the English teachers about my confusion, but I did not question their methods. I am a guest here, and an observer. I will stay the course.
“I’m sorry about the interruption in your normal schedule, class. This is supposed to be my day off, and I have no idea what’s going on. So let’s make the best of it.”
I’m glad they cut the sound.
What occupied most of my time, however, was helping prepare the special co-teaching class for Friday. Or rather, I wish it had taken up my time. As it was, I sat at my desk while my co-teacher did most of the work, insisting that I could not help at that time.
And then, on that dreadful Thursday, she said that we were not yet done with the preparations even though the class was tomorrow. I sighed inwardly and told her that I’d be willing to stay at school as long as it took to finish the preparations. I stayed until 5:50 pm, rushed home to get my TKD uniform and stayed at the dojang until 8:00 pm, at which point I rode over the H.S. to help finish the class work. She ordered pizza for us (and typically wouldn’t let me help pay), and we spend the evening cutting conversation strips and practicing our dialogues. We also helped make a movie for one of the other English teachers who also had to present the next day. I finally got to go home around 10:40 pm. When I left, the third graders were still there studying for their University entrance exams. They stay until 11:00 pm on a regular basis, apparently.
The next day we practiced again in the morning. She was nervous as all get out, and I hit my nervous spike as usual about 10 minutes before we went on. (I still think of these things in stage terms.) The lesson consisted of a review of “What would you like to have for lunch?” which we never taught them in the first place, which moved on to having a student read the day’s goals, which seemed a bit ambitious, which moved on to having the kids name the top five foods in the hamlet, which we made up, which moved on to the kids drawing a picture that they had to describe to the drawer in English, which went surprisingly well, which moved on to mock dialogues with aprons included, which moved on to the strip story of recipes of Korean foods, which went decently well (One kid noted that the first step in cooking samgyetang is not in fact to clean the chicken, but rather, “Catch the chicken!” This is why I love the country.), which moved on to a brief assessment examination.
Despite the fact that the lesson was ambitions, it went very well. The kids were enthusiastic (We were concerned because it was the usually quiet 1-3 class. The administration made this decision, not us, but we thought the student’s performance admirable.), and the activities went off without a hitch. I might use the picturing drawing idea as an activity in the future. The kids kept telling me how excited they were to do the lesson, and I had to tell them that Phoebe, my co-teacher, had done most of the work.
There is really only one major concern that I have with the demonstration day. The province wanted to see our school because our school does well for a rural public school on national testing. Thus, they wanted to see how we manage our school affairs to bring about such results. But, at least in the English class I took part in, the demonstration in no way represented what actually goes on at the school on a day-to-day basis. We do not co-teach. The English teachers usually use a text book and the foreign teacher usually is not even in sync with the standard syllabus. The entire week I was thinking, “What sort of ideas is the provincial BoE going to get about programs they should be implementing when we do not even implement the programs we’re showing off to them?” Ah, well. This is not my country. I told the English teachers about my confusion, but I did not question their methods. I am a guest here, and an observer. I will stay the course.
Teaching: Week 8 (10/12)
Week 8 of teaching at the hamlet’s high school was going to prove to be quite busy. First of all, the Kangwondo Board of Education was supposed to visit sometime during the week, so everyone was a little bit on edge and running around like the chickens at my host family’s house when abeoji throws some corn out there for them to eat. (I wanted to avoid the cliché of “chickens with their heads cut off”, but chickens are all I can think of after this much writing, so give me a break.) Secondly, it was going to be my first (nearly) full week of teaching for quite some time. The past few weeks have had various interruptions so that I was never seeing my full compliment of students. Even this week I wouldn’t as it turned out that my 1-4 and 2-3 classes who I usually see without fail were cancelled, one so I could co-teach a special presentation class with Phoebe and the other so the students could have a cleaning period after the BoE’s visit. (Cultural NOTE: There are no janitors at Korean schools. The students do the cleaning. Aside from the fact that it would disemploy a lot of janitors, I think this is an excellent idea. After all, who trashes their school if they have to clean up after it?)
At any rate, the main lesson for my high school classes was a directions lesson Kiehl C., an ATE from last year, left on the program’s forum board. Essentially, it involves getting the students to generate various direction words for use during the activity (e.g. right, left, straight, turn around), as well as some movement verbs (e.g. go, stop, walk, run, dance, hop). After this, the activity is a simple game of “Where’s Waldo?” played in the entire classroom but with one caveat: the searcher is blindfolded and has to rely on the directions of the students. Sometimes, the students would be a bit sadistic in asking the blind searcher to bump into things, and I’ll admit I joined in the fun sometimes, but it was overall a good lesson. The students were able to speak English and genuinely wanted to participate in the activity. One student, who said he was sick at the beginning of class and so he couldn’t sit up front in an empty seat, miraculously got better when he saw how much fun the activity was. Amazing. Another advantage to the lesson was that, on their upcoming mock university entrance exams, I know there is going to be a listening question on directions.
As it is a new month, I’ve given the second graders an extra credit memorization assignment—Shel Silverstein’s “Whatif”. This one is much easier than last month’s Announcer’s Test as it is shorter, repetitive, and rhymes. Hopefully, I’ll have more takers than last month’s two students.
I finally saw my Advanced Adults after two and half weeks of no classes. They were well prepared on their assigned reading at least—Plato’s Allegory of Cave. We talked about that for the first half of class, and for the second half we talked about the Noseongjea Festival and Korean Language Day, which was that day, Tuesday, Oct. 9th. We even arranged a picnic for the week of no classes after the Gyeongju conference with the program. I am apparently to bring nothing, but I was able to understand their Korean enough to figure who among them was bringing what, something that seemed to surprise one of them. I told them that I was learning Korean and that I even had tutoring lessons with a Seoul Natl. University student during the weekends.
“What? You speak Korean? But what can you say? Just annyeonghaseyo.”
I proceeded to introduce myself in Korean, told them that I could order food and bus tickets, find out where the bathroom is, etc. In other words I could tell people who I was and survive. They were impressed and asked me to speak Korean with hamlet residents more often.
I was also questioned about the Korean girl I was seen walking around with at Noseonjea. That would have to be H.W., so I guess I will have to be careful about who sees me where with whom. Wouldn’t want people to get the wrong ideas…
The next day’s lesson was taken from an article in the Korean Herald, an English language newspaper, about a French-English couple who have decided to bike around the world and are currently on the Korean leg of their tour. After some discussion of the article and talking about where we’d like to travel, we decided that for next week’s class, we’d all bring in pictures of our travels and talk about them.
My beginning adults received the brunt end of my grandmother’s death I fear. I was in no mood to teach that morning, so I left the second half of class to somewhat freeform discussion, which revolved around talking about travel once again.
Besides this, the Character was also back in class. He has asked if he may attend the advanced discussion class. I told him yes, and am unsure how I feel about that. I feel like he is probably a great person to talk to one on one, but in a classroom setting he is more of a distraction than a help. He started asking about geographic features in class and would not believe me when I told him that deep could be used for both canyons and oceans, or that canyons were similar to ravines, or that the edge of a canyon was called a cliff…
A third obstacle to my teaching the beginning class on Thursday was that there was another English teacher there who came to “just watch,” but also ended up commenting on my class a bit. She was from the Philippines, which confused me at first because I knew she wasn’t Korean, but couldn’t quite place her. I was hoping to talk with her afterwards both because she is a foreigner and I’m curious as to what she’s doing in the hamlet and also so that I might share strategies with her.
At any rate, the Character ended up giving me a lecture on how Asian foreign English speakers can always understand each other, but can never understand native English speakers nor be understood by them. He also gave me a lecture on how Filipinos apparently speak English with a Spanish accent. Who knew? I, a person who roomed with a Filipino for two semesters, a Spanish minor, and someone who actually paid a great deal of attention to the colonial section of American history in H.S. certainly didn’t. Obviously, I was in no mood to be lectured about the English linguistic patterns of Asian countries, something I’m already fairly well versed in, and smiled politely while I gave him a little lecture in Spanish. To this he just smiled and said, “Yes,” making me think that he confused it for English he did not understand instead. He apparently does not listen, or else is he apparently unwilling to admit not understanding, neither of which is helpful in a conversation class.
There was no beginning adult class on Friday, but luckily my school week didn’t end on that rather sad Thursday note. I had the Kangwondo Board of Education visit to look forward to.
At any rate, the main lesson for my high school classes was a directions lesson Kiehl C., an ATE from last year, left on the program’s forum board. Essentially, it involves getting the students to generate various direction words for use during the activity (e.g. right, left, straight, turn around), as well as some movement verbs (e.g. go, stop, walk, run, dance, hop). After this, the activity is a simple game of “Where’s Waldo?” played in the entire classroom but with one caveat: the searcher is blindfolded and has to rely on the directions of the students. Sometimes, the students would be a bit sadistic in asking the blind searcher to bump into things, and I’ll admit I joined in the fun sometimes, but it was overall a good lesson. The students were able to speak English and genuinely wanted to participate in the activity. One student, who said he was sick at the beginning of class and so he couldn’t sit up front in an empty seat, miraculously got better when he saw how much fun the activity was. Amazing. Another advantage to the lesson was that, on their upcoming mock university entrance exams, I know there is going to be a listening question on directions.
As it is a new month, I’ve given the second graders an extra credit memorization assignment—Shel Silverstein’s “Whatif”. This one is much easier than last month’s Announcer’s Test as it is shorter, repetitive, and rhymes. Hopefully, I’ll have more takers than last month’s two students.
I finally saw my Advanced Adults after two and half weeks of no classes. They were well prepared on their assigned reading at least—Plato’s Allegory of Cave. We talked about that for the first half of class, and for the second half we talked about the Noseongjea Festival and Korean Language Day, which was that day, Tuesday, Oct. 9th. We even arranged a picnic for the week of no classes after the Gyeongju conference with the program. I am apparently to bring nothing, but I was able to understand their Korean enough to figure who among them was bringing what, something that seemed to surprise one of them. I told them that I was learning Korean and that I even had tutoring lessons with a Seoul Natl. University student during the weekends.
“What? You speak Korean? But what can you say? Just annyeonghaseyo.”
I proceeded to introduce myself in Korean, told them that I could order food and bus tickets, find out where the bathroom is, etc. In other words I could tell people who I was and survive. They were impressed and asked me to speak Korean with hamlet residents more often.
I was also questioned about the Korean girl I was seen walking around with at Noseonjea. That would have to be H.W., so I guess I will have to be careful about who sees me where with whom. Wouldn’t want people to get the wrong ideas…
The next day’s lesson was taken from an article in the Korean Herald, an English language newspaper, about a French-English couple who have decided to bike around the world and are currently on the Korean leg of their tour. After some discussion of the article and talking about where we’d like to travel, we decided that for next week’s class, we’d all bring in pictures of our travels and talk about them.
My beginning adults received the brunt end of my grandmother’s death I fear. I was in no mood to teach that morning, so I left the second half of class to somewhat freeform discussion, which revolved around talking about travel once again.
Besides this, the Character was also back in class. He has asked if he may attend the advanced discussion class. I told him yes, and am unsure how I feel about that. I feel like he is probably a great person to talk to one on one, but in a classroom setting he is more of a distraction than a help. He started asking about geographic features in class and would not believe me when I told him that deep could be used for both canyons and oceans, or that canyons were similar to ravines, or that the edge of a canyon was called a cliff…
A third obstacle to my teaching the beginning class on Thursday was that there was another English teacher there who came to “just watch,” but also ended up commenting on my class a bit. She was from the Philippines, which confused me at first because I knew she wasn’t Korean, but couldn’t quite place her. I was hoping to talk with her afterwards both because she is a foreigner and I’m curious as to what she’s doing in the hamlet and also so that I might share strategies with her.
At any rate, the Character ended up giving me a lecture on how Asian foreign English speakers can always understand each other, but can never understand native English speakers nor be understood by them. He also gave me a lecture on how Filipinos apparently speak English with a Spanish accent. Who knew? I, a person who roomed with a Filipino for two semesters, a Spanish minor, and someone who actually paid a great deal of attention to the colonial section of American history in H.S. certainly didn’t. Obviously, I was in no mood to be lectured about the English linguistic patterns of Asian countries, something I’m already fairly well versed in, and smiled politely while I gave him a little lecture in Spanish. To this he just smiled and said, “Yes,” making me think that he confused it for English he did not understand instead. He apparently does not listen, or else is he apparently unwilling to admit not understanding, neither of which is helpful in a conversation class.
There was no beginning adult class on Friday, but luckily my school week didn’t end on that rather sad Thursday note. I had the Kangwondo Board of Education visit to look forward to.
Grandma’s Passing (10/10-12)
Last week, I began receiving emails from my grandfather and mother concerning the growing seriousness of my maternal grandmother’s condition. Her kidney’s had finally failed. A diagnosis given to her a little over 3 years ago finally came true. And, as the emails affirmed, all that was left for all of us was to wait and pray for Jesus to take her home. For her part, she had been ready to go for a long time. Her last few years were not exactly the most comfortable of her life as her body slowly poisoned itself from Type B Diabetes.
I knew that Grandma could go any day now, so before I came to Korea I flew down to Arizona for a little under a week to say good-bye to her. She never wanted people to come to a funeral, it turns out. She wanted them to come to her while she was still living, so I guess I did right by her.
I was never really close to her. How could I be? We always lived so far apart and rarely talked to each other. Still, I found myself hard hit by the news, first that she only had one day left, and then the final email I read on Thursday morning reporting her death on Wednesday, October 11, 2007 10:00 pm MT in America. Or was it Tuesday? I can’t be sure with the time difference, and that’s somehow all the sadder. What’s even more sad? When people would ask how old she was when she passed, I had no idea.
I wrote her a letter by way of apology and by way of thanks for all that she did for me as my grandmother. It is quoted at the end of this entry. At my lowest moment, I could not call family as they were asleep, so I took a chance that one of my VALPO friends, Isaac, may be awake. He was, and he was actually with another good friend of mine, Jordan, who apparently had quit Disney on Ice and was at VALPO helping the theatre department and celebrating homecoming. (It turns out that I was actually quite lucky to get even Isaac. A couple of days later and he would have been on a sailing vessel for his SEA Semester.)
The three of us talked of the surrealism of talking across continents and oceans and even time. We talked about how VALPO was doing, what news we had of friends, what we had done since we graduated, the quality of American beer vs. its Korean counterparts, of which there is no comparison. We of course talked about Grandma as well, but the conversation served mostly to distract me. It was good to hear their voices again, as I will not see them again in God knows when.
Other friends who knew offered their prayers. In fact, Isaac told the Chapel community at VALPO about what was happening. I told the Program in Christ email list. Prayers are a comfort in times of trouble and efficacious to heal and console by the will of God. Some friends even offered to visit, but I felt that I was not so far low that I would need that.
And of course, I talked with my fellow English teachers who told me that they were sure my grandmother had gone to Heaven. Ironic, considering how religious they are. I tried to tell my host family in Korean on Friday night. I even made a special trip out to the beauty shop after TKD so I could tell them, fearing that I may be too tired when they returned home. Luckily, my collegiate host sister was there (SURPRISE!) to translate.
But it did affect me terribly in terms of teaching. My Thursday morning classes were a disaster. I forgot things right and left for the first class. The beginning adult class I taught that day was monstrous as the Character was there once again, and I pretty well was showed up by a Filipino English teacher who was there “just to watch”. Still, I blame myself for my performance in those classes.
I just wish I could have been home right now. There is no funeral. There will only be a memorial service on Saturday. I will press on. I will miss her, but I am happy for her and will press on.
The letter to Grandma:
For Grandma Howard: A Living Eulogy
“My Thank You Card to You”
My grandma does not like tears. She does not want people to cry over her passing. She does not like funerals, and so she does not want one. She wants people to say what they have to say about her while she’s in her mortal coil. She wants people to visit her while she is still alive. I, who am half a world away in a country where grandparents are celebrated and revered almost as gods, cannot perform this filial duty. And so I, a grandchild now grown, will write what I think and pray that it reaches her in time.
As a grandchild, though now grown, I have only a child’s perspective. I never had the opportunity to talk to my grandmother about what she thought about politics, international affairs, or religion. We never talked about the adult things of life. We never talked about the hard things of life. She talked as a grandmother talks to her grandchildren. When I arrived at her house, she would ask, How was your trip? followed immediately by Are you hungry? When I wasn’t hungry, the question turned to Why aren’t you eating? In winter or at the movie theatres, it was Aren’t you cold? At the beginning of the day, over breakfast, What do you want to do today? And when the day was done, Did you have fun doing what we did today? At night, before bed, How about a story? (That question, when I grew old, became How about some television before bed?) She was a caretaker for me.
My answers were typical of a child answering to a guardian. Good. Yes. I don’t know. No. I don’t know. Yes. Sure, Grandma. Even when I grew older, those answers were all too brief. I should have asked her about herself. What was her life like growing up? Did she have the same fears I did? The same dreams? How did she know to marry Grandpa? What was it like to take care of Mom and Uncle Charlie? And a conversation could develop, and two people could actually know each other past that all too biological and chanced familial bond. My answers were all too brief, my questions all too late, and the visits…
Well, the visits were all too few. My grandma is a wonderful woman who loved her grandchildren even when they could not visit her. Most people, I suppose, imagine becoming grandparents to be like it is in the movies, or at least in the Betty Crocker commercials. Little people skip and run and laugh down the sidewalk as they hurry and rush and clamor to grandmother’s house just down the road from school. Grandma waits at the white picket fence for the children, arms opened wide to receive their loving hugs. Inside, freshly baked goods and lemonade (or hot cocoa in the winter) await all.
Most people probably imagine laughing at and teasing their own children, newly moms and dads, when they see them having trouble raising grandchildren. (As Bill Cosby quipped, “Not as easy as it looks, is it, Son?”) The new parents have to scold the grandchildren who run into the protecting arms of their grandparents whose scolding days are long done.
But my sister and I, and even my cousins, were never close enough to Grandma’s house to traipse there after school days. We were never close enough for Grandma to make fun of Mom and Dad for their parenting techniques (Perhaps we were by telephone, but I doubt that my parents would have thought it my business to know about it), or for my sister and my cousins and I to climb into her lap on a regular basis when Mom and Dad seemed too harsh or scary. We were just never around, and grandma had to be satisfied with the pictures we would send, the occasional phone calls we would make, and the even less frequent thank you cards we would send for Christmas and Birthday presents. (I am getting better at that last one though Grandma, so thank you for being patient with me. It only took me 22 years!)
And those are my regrets. That I did not know my grandma like I could have. That I did not make the extra effort to know her like I should have. That now, if I could do it again, I would have.
She will probably say that I should not have regrets, but regrets are inevitable I think in this life.
And that’s why we have Thank You’s. So, Grandma, if you hear this (or even read this) before you go to see God, know that I am crying about you, but it is only because I love you and I want to thank you. Thank you for being my grandma even when I did not talk to you. Thank you for being my grandma when I did not ask about you. Thank you for being my grandma when I did not visit you. Thank you for being my grandma when it seemed like I did not love you. Because I do love you, Grandma, and I will miss you.
But I am also happy for you. You are going on an adventure. One day I will follow you, and when you ask me on that day, “How was your trip?”, well then we’ll have a lot to talk about.
I knew that Grandma could go any day now, so before I came to Korea I flew down to Arizona for a little under a week to say good-bye to her. She never wanted people to come to a funeral, it turns out. She wanted them to come to her while she was still living, so I guess I did right by her.
I was never really close to her. How could I be? We always lived so far apart and rarely talked to each other. Still, I found myself hard hit by the news, first that she only had one day left, and then the final email I read on Thursday morning reporting her death on Wednesday, October 11, 2007 10:00 pm MT in America. Or was it Tuesday? I can’t be sure with the time difference, and that’s somehow all the sadder. What’s even more sad? When people would ask how old she was when she passed, I had no idea.
I wrote her a letter by way of apology and by way of thanks for all that she did for me as my grandmother. It is quoted at the end of this entry. At my lowest moment, I could not call family as they were asleep, so I took a chance that one of my VALPO friends, Isaac, may be awake. He was, and he was actually with another good friend of mine, Jordan, who apparently had quit Disney on Ice and was at VALPO helping the theatre department and celebrating homecoming. (It turns out that I was actually quite lucky to get even Isaac. A couple of days later and he would have been on a sailing vessel for his SEA Semester.)
The three of us talked of the surrealism of talking across continents and oceans and even time. We talked about how VALPO was doing, what news we had of friends, what we had done since we graduated, the quality of American beer vs. its Korean counterparts, of which there is no comparison. We of course talked about Grandma as well, but the conversation served mostly to distract me. It was good to hear their voices again, as I will not see them again in God knows when.
Other friends who knew offered their prayers. In fact, Isaac told the Chapel community at VALPO about what was happening. I told the Program in Christ email list. Prayers are a comfort in times of trouble and efficacious to heal and console by the will of God. Some friends even offered to visit, but I felt that I was not so far low that I would need that.
And of course, I talked with my fellow English teachers who told me that they were sure my grandmother had gone to Heaven. Ironic, considering how religious they are. I tried to tell my host family in Korean on Friday night. I even made a special trip out to the beauty shop after TKD so I could tell them, fearing that I may be too tired when they returned home. Luckily, my collegiate host sister was there (SURPRISE!) to translate.
But it did affect me terribly in terms of teaching. My Thursday morning classes were a disaster. I forgot things right and left for the first class. The beginning adult class I taught that day was monstrous as the Character was there once again, and I pretty well was showed up by a Filipino English teacher who was there “just to watch”. Still, I blame myself for my performance in those classes.
I just wish I could have been home right now. There is no funeral. There will only be a memorial service on Saturday. I will press on. I will miss her, but I am happy for her and will press on.
The letter to Grandma:
For Grandma Howard: A Living Eulogy
“My Thank You Card to You”
My grandma does not like tears. She does not want people to cry over her passing. She does not like funerals, and so she does not want one. She wants people to say what they have to say about her while she’s in her mortal coil. She wants people to visit her while she is still alive. I, who am half a world away in a country where grandparents are celebrated and revered almost as gods, cannot perform this filial duty. And so I, a grandchild now grown, will write what I think and pray that it reaches her in time.
As a grandchild, though now grown, I have only a child’s perspective. I never had the opportunity to talk to my grandmother about what she thought about politics, international affairs, or religion. We never talked about the adult things of life. We never talked about the hard things of life. She talked as a grandmother talks to her grandchildren. When I arrived at her house, she would ask, How was your trip? followed immediately by Are you hungry? When I wasn’t hungry, the question turned to Why aren’t you eating? In winter or at the movie theatres, it was Aren’t you cold? At the beginning of the day, over breakfast, What do you want to do today? And when the day was done, Did you have fun doing what we did today? At night, before bed, How about a story? (That question, when I grew old, became How about some television before bed?) She was a caretaker for me.
My answers were typical of a child answering to a guardian. Good. Yes. I don’t know. No. I don’t know. Yes. Sure, Grandma. Even when I grew older, those answers were all too brief. I should have asked her about herself. What was her life like growing up? Did she have the same fears I did? The same dreams? How did she know to marry Grandpa? What was it like to take care of Mom and Uncle Charlie? And a conversation could develop, and two people could actually know each other past that all too biological and chanced familial bond. My answers were all too brief, my questions all too late, and the visits…
Well, the visits were all too few. My grandma is a wonderful woman who loved her grandchildren even when they could not visit her. Most people, I suppose, imagine becoming grandparents to be like it is in the movies, or at least in the Betty Crocker commercials. Little people skip and run and laugh down the sidewalk as they hurry and rush and clamor to grandmother’s house just down the road from school. Grandma waits at the white picket fence for the children, arms opened wide to receive their loving hugs. Inside, freshly baked goods and lemonade (or hot cocoa in the winter) await all.
Most people probably imagine laughing at and teasing their own children, newly moms and dads, when they see them having trouble raising grandchildren. (As Bill Cosby quipped, “Not as easy as it looks, is it, Son?”) The new parents have to scold the grandchildren who run into the protecting arms of their grandparents whose scolding days are long done.
But my sister and I, and even my cousins, were never close enough to Grandma’s house to traipse there after school days. We were never close enough for Grandma to make fun of Mom and Dad for their parenting techniques (Perhaps we were by telephone, but I doubt that my parents would have thought it my business to know about it), or for my sister and my cousins and I to climb into her lap on a regular basis when Mom and Dad seemed too harsh or scary. We were just never around, and grandma had to be satisfied with the pictures we would send, the occasional phone calls we would make, and the even less frequent thank you cards we would send for Christmas and Birthday presents. (I am getting better at that last one though Grandma, so thank you for being patient with me. It only took me 22 years!)
And those are my regrets. That I did not know my grandma like I could have. That I did not make the extra effort to know her like I should have. That now, if I could do it again, I would have.
She will probably say that I should not have regrets, but regrets are inevitable I think in this life.
And that’s why we have Thank You’s. So, Grandma, if you hear this (or even read this) before you go to see God, know that I am crying about you, but it is only because I love you and I want to thank you. Thank you for being my grandma even when I did not talk to you. Thank you for being my grandma when I did not ask about you. Thank you for being my grandma when I did not visit you. Thank you for being my grandma when it seemed like I did not love you. Because I do love you, Grandma, and I will miss you.
But I am also happy for you. You are going on an adventure. One day I will follow you, and when you ask me on that day, “How was your trip?”, well then we’ll have a lot to talk about.
Tuesday, October 9, 2007
Eating out with Gomsaem
I think I mentioned a couple of weeks ago that I may have offended one of the English teachers at the high school when I didn’t remember his name when he called me. For the sake of this post, we’ll call him Gomsaem (Bear Teacher), which is his common moniker at school and partially to blame for my confusion about what his name actually was.
Well, he hadn’t talked to me for a while, and I began to genuinely worry that I had actually offended him. Finally, last Tuesday, I told Phoebe (I gave my co-teacher this English name) about my concern. She assured me that he was naturally a quiet teacher and that everyone was quite busy with preparing for the Kangwondo Board of Education’s visit later that week, so I should not be concerned. I told her that I hoped that was the case because I liked him and would like to hang out with him some more. As I noted before, we seemed to have common interests, namely Japanese popular culture (i.e. Anime).
She must have told him about my concern though, because that evening as soon as I got home I received a call from Gomsaem offering to take me out for bulgogi, Korean’s most famous dish and a hamlet specialty as the beef in the region is particularly good, but a dish of which I had not yet had the pleasure of partaking. We also shared a bottle of 100 year soju, a soju which is less intense, more flavorful, and golden in color compared to the clear watered down vodka variety that is Korea’s staple alcohol. He even told me that I didn’t have to use two hands around him when we poured drinks for each other. This is a fairly big deal and represents the breakdown of hierarchy between two people who may then talk to each other as equals. As an example of how serious this is, I’ve only had one other Korean person tell me to stop using two hands before.
We mostly just talked about the differences in drinking culture between America and Korea. Apparently, this conversation was good enough to warrant second round, however. (NOTE: Second round is when you move from one location to another during the evening. Drinking is usually involved as with most Korean activities, but this is not to be equated with the custom of barhopping in America, during which one only frequents a variety of drinking establishments. Second, third, or even fourth round can just mean everyone goes to a noraebang (singing room) or bowling after having had the previous round.) We ended up at a hof-soju establishment (hof, meaning beer which is not the Korean word for beer nor the English word) and continued the evening from there under the stipulation that I would pay for it since he paid for dinner. (He warned me that’d it’d be expensive, but considering what we consumed—about seven or nine beers between us and an order of chicken—I don’t think $19 was too much money to spend.) Here the conversation moved from American/Korean cultural differences to more political topics—war and abortion really, and which was more abhorrent. (Those who know me can guess where I stood on each issue.) It was actually the first time I’d had a frank discussion on either topic for quite some time, perhaps since even before going to University. Oh, and luckily the Koreans share this custom with the Japanese; whatever is shared over drinks is immediately forgotten the next day. We’re still friends despite our differences. What differences, you ask? Exactly.
Phoebe asked me the next day with a knowing smile whether or not I still thought Gomsaem didn’t like me. It is good to be among friends.
Well, he hadn’t talked to me for a while, and I began to genuinely worry that I had actually offended him. Finally, last Tuesday, I told Phoebe (I gave my co-teacher this English name) about my concern. She assured me that he was naturally a quiet teacher and that everyone was quite busy with preparing for the Kangwondo Board of Education’s visit later that week, so I should not be concerned. I told her that I hoped that was the case because I liked him and would like to hang out with him some more. As I noted before, we seemed to have common interests, namely Japanese popular culture (i.e. Anime).
She must have told him about my concern though, because that evening as soon as I got home I received a call from Gomsaem offering to take me out for bulgogi, Korean’s most famous dish and a hamlet specialty as the beef in the region is particularly good, but a dish of which I had not yet had the pleasure of partaking. We also shared a bottle of 100 year soju, a soju which is less intense, more flavorful, and golden in color compared to the clear watered down vodka variety that is Korea’s staple alcohol. He even told me that I didn’t have to use two hands around him when we poured drinks for each other. This is a fairly big deal and represents the breakdown of hierarchy between two people who may then talk to each other as equals. As an example of how serious this is, I’ve only had one other Korean person tell me to stop using two hands before.
We mostly just talked about the differences in drinking culture between America and Korea. Apparently, this conversation was good enough to warrant second round, however. (NOTE: Second round is when you move from one location to another during the evening. Drinking is usually involved as with most Korean activities, but this is not to be equated with the custom of barhopping in America, during which one only frequents a variety of drinking establishments. Second, third, or even fourth round can just mean everyone goes to a noraebang (singing room) or bowling after having had the previous round.) We ended up at a hof-soju establishment (hof, meaning beer which is not the Korean word for beer nor the English word) and continued the evening from there under the stipulation that I would pay for it since he paid for dinner. (He warned me that’d it’d be expensive, but considering what we consumed—about seven or nine beers between us and an order of chicken—I don’t think $19 was too much money to spend.) Here the conversation moved from American/Korean cultural differences to more political topics—war and abortion really, and which was more abhorrent. (Those who know me can guess where I stood on each issue.) It was actually the first time I’d had a frank discussion on either topic for quite some time, perhaps since even before going to University. Oh, and luckily the Koreans share this custom with the Japanese; whatever is shared over drinks is immediately forgotten the next day. We’re still friends despite our differences. What differences, you ask? Exactly.
Phoebe asked me the next day with a knowing smile whether or not I still thought Gomsaem didn’t like me. It is good to be among friends.
Sunday, October 7, 2007
Overnight in 원주
My friend Lauren G., an ATE in Wonju, was singing in a concert featuring her church choir, so I thought I’d spend Sunday night there and come in to school a little late Monday morning. No big deal. I don’t teach Mondays anyway.
Stacey C., the other ATE assigned to Wonju, was of course there as well, and our friend Jenna N. was also visiting for the concert. I haven’t seen her since Yonsei Day, so it was nice to catch up on homestays and Korean learning and teaching. The nice thing about visiting people in Korea, I’ve found, is it’s not necessary to go out and do a lot of flashy things. Mostly you just want to sit and talk with them, compare notes and experiences and generally catch up. Lauren’s step-cousin was also visiting, and though they’re not related, I thought they looked very much alike.
Lauren had to warm-up and otherwise prepare for the choir performance, so Jenna, the Cous, and I all headed over to Stacey’s apartment for some liquid refreshment (fermented, but non-alcoholic, rice something or rather) and then went out to see a movie. Upon arriving, we found that Borne Supremacy was showing in about 10 minutes. I was super excited about seeing it, as I’d already heard good things from home about it, but it was sold out, so we went late to a showing of The Nanny Diaries. It was actually pretty interesting—an anthropological study of New England high society culture, and if there’s a book, I’m reading it. The fact that it starred Scarlet Johansson (who is my wife from when I played M.A.S.H. with the kids) probably helped my interest level, of course. I did notice that there were a few jokes that were probably only accessible for Americans, as no Koreans laughed at those jokes, or even cracked a smile. In general though, Koreans do not laugh in public preferring a stone-faced smile if something appeals to them, so that may have been the problem instead of the comedy’s efficacy.
After this, we sat at a café and talked until the concert. Lauren’s cousin, who works for a counter terrorism manufacturing company and especially on marketing biometric face recognition systems, picked up the check. We met Hwi Kyun, an RA from our days in Chuncheon, and proceeded to hear beauteous Korean words (and Latin words in the case of Vivaldi’s Gloria) set to traditional Western hymnody. I was actually quite pleased with the selections from Vivaldi’s Gloria section of the performance. Sure, their final consonants were a bit off as one might expect from people trained in a dialect that doesn’t recognize final ‘s’ sounds, but overall the nostalgia for those days when I was singing the Gloria in H.S. displaced any technical musical errors that may have displeased my ears. I actually had to restrain myself from singing along…
It really was a nice concert though. There was even an interpretative dance in the middle that acted as a sweet sherbet to cleanse the pallet in between choral sets.
Afterwards, Lauren’s host family took us out for 샤부샤부 (shabushabu), a combination of Korean beef and seafood served in a soup, followed by 쭉 (jjuk), rice porridge made from the soup’s broth. The host father greatly appreciated having someone to drink with, and I apparently have a standing invitation to visit whenever I like, an invitation which the host mother quickly cautioned me about, since she apparently does not want her husband drinking as often as my visits.
At some point during the meal, Lauren was once again scolded by her host family for not being a good friend, saying that our eating dinner so late was her fault and that if we were Korean friends we would have been very insulted. I told the host mother in Korean that it was different in America, that one’s friendship does not depend upon eating food. In other words, I tried to defend Lauren, but to no avail apparently. Ah, well. Lauren, who speaks Korean decently well as her dad is Korean, told me that she was impressed I had managed to get that much out in Korean though. I was more surprised that the host family had understood me.
I slept at Lauren’s host family’s apartment along with Jenna that night and took the earliest bus out (8:00 am) the next morning proceeding immediately to school. A bus ride was not exactly the way I wanted to start my school week, but for a friend’s concert and good company, it was definitely worth it.
Stacey C., the other ATE assigned to Wonju, was of course there as well, and our friend Jenna N. was also visiting for the concert. I haven’t seen her since Yonsei Day, so it was nice to catch up on homestays and Korean learning and teaching. The nice thing about visiting people in Korea, I’ve found, is it’s not necessary to go out and do a lot of flashy things. Mostly you just want to sit and talk with them, compare notes and experiences and generally catch up. Lauren’s step-cousin was also visiting, and though they’re not related, I thought they looked very much alike.
Lauren had to warm-up and otherwise prepare for the choir performance, so Jenna, the Cous, and I all headed over to Stacey’s apartment for some liquid refreshment (fermented, but non-alcoholic, rice something or rather) and then went out to see a movie. Upon arriving, we found that Borne Supremacy was showing in about 10 minutes. I was super excited about seeing it, as I’d already heard good things from home about it, but it was sold out, so we went late to a showing of The Nanny Diaries. It was actually pretty interesting—an anthropological study of New England high society culture, and if there’s a book, I’m reading it. The fact that it starred Scarlet Johansson (who is my wife from when I played M.A.S.H. with the kids) probably helped my interest level, of course. I did notice that there were a few jokes that were probably only accessible for Americans, as no Koreans laughed at those jokes, or even cracked a smile. In general though, Koreans do not laugh in public preferring a stone-faced smile if something appeals to them, so that may have been the problem instead of the comedy’s efficacy.
After this, we sat at a café and talked until the concert. Lauren’s cousin, who works for a counter terrorism manufacturing company and especially on marketing biometric face recognition systems, picked up the check. We met Hwi Kyun, an RA from our days in Chuncheon, and proceeded to hear beauteous Korean words (and Latin words in the case of Vivaldi’s Gloria) set to traditional Western hymnody. I was actually quite pleased with the selections from Vivaldi’s Gloria section of the performance. Sure, their final consonants were a bit off as one might expect from people trained in a dialect that doesn’t recognize final ‘s’ sounds, but overall the nostalgia for those days when I was singing the Gloria in H.S. displaced any technical musical errors that may have displeased my ears. I actually had to restrain myself from singing along…
It really was a nice concert though. There was even an interpretative dance in the middle that acted as a sweet sherbet to cleanse the pallet in between choral sets.
Afterwards, Lauren’s host family took us out for 샤부샤부 (shabushabu), a combination of Korean beef and seafood served in a soup, followed by 쭉 (jjuk), rice porridge made from the soup’s broth. The host father greatly appreciated having someone to drink with, and I apparently have a standing invitation to visit whenever I like, an invitation which the host mother quickly cautioned me about, since she apparently does not want her husband drinking as often as my visits.
At some point during the meal, Lauren was once again scolded by her host family for not being a good friend, saying that our eating dinner so late was her fault and that if we were Korean friends we would have been very insulted. I told the host mother in Korean that it was different in America, that one’s friendship does not depend upon eating food. In other words, I tried to defend Lauren, but to no avail apparently. Ah, well. Lauren, who speaks Korean decently well as her dad is Korean, told me that she was impressed I had managed to get that much out in Korean though. I was more surprised that the host family had understood me.
I slept at Lauren’s host family’s apartment along with Jenna that night and took the earliest bus out (8:00 am) the next morning proceeding immediately to school. A bus ride was not exactly the way I wanted to start my school week, but for a friend’s concert and good company, it was definitely worth it.
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