If the hourly reminders weren’t enough, I’m assaulted by Christmas cheer so bold and bright it’s nearly offensive each time I walk into the Lotte Mart. There are artificial trees of every shape and size in a flashing display of gold and silver, draped in violently pink tinsel and blue lights. I don’t quite remember Christmas being so neon at home, but I’m sure it isn’t so different than the Wal-Mart displays.

this little kid was adorable

so many people at the snowboarding deal!

No matter. It’s bound to be a nontraditional Christmas for me, which ever way you look at it. It’s my first one away from home and nothing feels quite right. I’ve managed to block my location on the internet so as to get Pandora playing holiday music, and although I sent out Christmas cards and gifts for the family home last month, I still can’t quite sense Christmas in the air just yet. That's not to say there aren't wintry events. Yesterday, I went to a pre-Olympic qualifying snowboarding event in Seoul with Hannah, Michelle and our Korean friend, Ben. This is the first time the event has been held in a city center, so it was super packed, and it was a very cool deal. Still, Christmas is a time to give in and think about home, so here goes.

There’s no snow here, for one thing. I know it happens, because there was snow on the ground last February when I first arrived. We’ve had a couple dustings. But it’s nothing like the thigh-deep mess I’m used to. For once, I wouldn’t even mind that, because I don’t have to drive myself anywhere here. It’s all different. Consider: I haven’t made the standard harrowing journey home from Idaho, a normally four-hour trip turned into six by torturous back roads, painted slick with black sheets of ice by the Grinch himself. I haven’t faced Mom’s reproving looks at my disproportionate ratio of rum to hot butter mix, nor suffered through thirteen consecutive screenings of Ralphie showing how the piggies eat. There won’t be any strange but welcome run-ins with old high school friends doing last minute shopping runs. The priest at St. Joe’s, who always managed to make even Christmas a heavy-hearted affair, refusing proper decorations until the Eve, won’t be insisting we forsake thoughts of shiny papered packages beneath our trees. As to that, I didn’t get to see Dad struggle to put up the tree this year, muttering decidedly unChristmasy words beneath his breath. I have opted to go with the significantly less sentimental Christmas Bamboo Stand this year, as I’m morally opposed to fake Christmas trees, and a solid Douglas Fir is hard to come by here.

And it definitely isn’t Christmas without incessantly arguing with my three siblings over—well, anything. Music selection. Board games. Ornament placement; that’s always been a big issue of contention. Andrew lacks the spatial awareness to place the heavier ones near the trunk, on the inner boughs, and Matthew refuses to throw away the homemade ornaments from our Catholic school youth, although Mom has secretly been tossing about six or seven a year in her quest for “just once, a really nice Christmas tree.” She thinks we don’t know. And they all think I’m too bossy. I probably am. “Little Miss Perfect,” Julie should be sneering, right about now. “Who never does any tiny little thing wrong, ever.”

I remember when I was in high school, trying to escape Family Decorating Night. I wanted to run off with my best friends, or go to a party where someone’s parents had left Schnapps, or later, to indulge in mistletoe-inspired mischief with my boyfriend. There was always somewhere else to be. All that family togetherness was so embarrassing. Who were we, the Waltons?

I miss it now.

Don’t misunderstand me: I’m aware that my situation is not particularly unique. There are millions of displaced people all around the world now, many of them, also, quietly humming Bing Crosby tunes to themselves. I won’t be alone, but will be spending the holiday with the aformentioned Michelle and Hannah. Although I’m far away, my interim country is not war-torn, and I won’t be dodging bombs or taking guard duty. I have many wonderful experiences across more oceans to which I’m looking forward, and these dreams justify the distance. I know that occasional homesickness is what a traveler trades for adventure, and after all, it’s only fair. I’m lucky to have a reason to long for the faces and hearts of home. All in all, there is much to be thankful for. And That’s what it’s all about, right? Wishing you a happy new year, and a Seoulful Christmas. Ha! Sorry, couldn’t resist.

written by  alli_ockinga on December 12, 2009 from Seoul, South Korea
from the travel blog: I go Korea!
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Japanese maple trees on my street

Ellen's last day in Korea

Just before my birthday, I sent Ellen off to India for Yoga school. We had a really nice last day in Seoul, taking care of our Christmas shopping at the market and eating samgyetang, which is a chicken and ginseng soup with supposed healing properties. It's no Campbells chicken soup, either. There's a WHOLE chicken in each bowl! Ellen made a friend. And, while on the topic of food, I got to help the women in my hapkido class make kimchi recently.

kimchi making

hot peppers ready for kimchi

Have we talked about kimchi? Kimchi is the traditional food of Korea. It's pickled cabbage (sometimes radishes) mixed with hot peppers. This, too, is better than it sounds. Now, at least. When I first got here I was fairly offended by it, but then this weird thing happens like four months in and you start to just crave it. Then you start to be able to judge its quality, and you can be properly offended if you go to a restaurant and they serve you the crappy kimchi because they figure you're a foreigner and won't notice. That's when you know you're going to make it here. Anyway, I was mostly a mule on kimchi day, hauling 500 pounds of wet cabbage up several flights of stairs to the kimchi room. It was right after class, so I was dressed in my hapkido suit. I have never felt so Korean!

earning my red belt

I looked sideways at him in his ninja suit. The man wears pajamas all day long, and we’ve just spent an hour practicing somersaults and handsprings. “It’s not that hard to fry an egg,” I said. “You can do both.”
“Not Korea man job,” he insisted. “I have wife.” He was about to say more, but he was at least wise enough to sense a tirade coming, so instead he said, “Pass.” That’s our conversational safe word for when cultural differences threaten needless arguments. With one last withering glance meant to transcend language barriers, I reminded myself that it isn’t my job to come over here and impose my own value system on others. Still, it niggles. This isn’t the only instance of sexism here in Korea. In general, I look past it, because I know that I can do anything I want, and usually that’s enough for me. But it’s fairly pervasive in this overwhelmingly patriarchal society. It often feels like women are just about 15 per cent less of a person here. For just a moment there in the van, I forgot what decade I had wandered into.

Actually, that’s been a pretty common theme here. Fads come in and out like the weather, and I can never tell if Korean culture is so trendy that these dated fads are coming back, or are just now getting here. Example: when I first arrived, Korea was going through a serious New Kids on the Block phase. I emphasize serious here, because it’s not like they were enjoying it in a cutesy reminiscent sense, the way I like, say, Guns’n’Roses. No no. Grown men sported NKOTB tee shirts, and the radio stations played New Kids mash-ups. Really. I missed the American NKOTB phase by a couple years, but that still puts Korea about twenty years behind.

2PM

Naturally, it follows that there are dozens of boy bands, and some girl bands too, dominating the pop scene. At first, I failed to find the joy in what are essentially the Korean versions of the Backstreet Boys and Spice Girls (remember 1998?). But, one of the dubious benefits of teaching is always being clued in to pop culture via the students. After a couple months, I realized I couldn’t fight the K-pop wave, and it was better to just embrace it. As such, I’d like to share this link to a video of my favorite K-pop boy band, 2PM. (Album title: The Hottest Time of the Day.)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cUgReo37ECw
Please go watch this. It will bring you immeasurably closer to my experience here.

G-Dragon.

In the words of Lisa, a fifth-grader, "Pepero day is love to person people snack give. I give the 15...this pepero is delicious. I like Pepero. All people is love the Pepero. Pepero is the happy Korea snake."

Change that last snake to snack, and we're golden. They were surprised to learn that we don't have Pepero Day in the states, and I had their sympathy for all of five seconds before one of them pointed out, "But teacher...you have the Halloween Day." Right. So all the kids give Pepero to the people they love today. I was pleased to be showered in chocolate biscuits with packaging that states in swirly romantic script, "Happy Pepero Day. I'll be loving you forever deep inside my heart." Why November 11? In an admirable marketing ploy, the folks at Pepero convinced that nation that a Pepero stick looks like the number one. So what are four Pepero sticks lined up? 1111, of course...11/11. The kids were absolutely wired today. I can't even conceive the Pepero pandemonium which will undoubtedly ensue two years from now on 11/11/11.

Another good thing to happen today was me getting to take over a class from Harry. Harry is my favorite co-teacher, a fancy little Korean man who carries a far nicer purse than me, but is kind to me in spite of that. My schedule of classes was rearranged THREE times this week, but I ended up with tt5A, which is the highest class we offer at my school. It's just one boy, Min, age 14, and he speaks excellent English. Far better than my director, unquestionably. In our book, we were discussing the word obsessed--a risky proposition with a 14-year-old, but we managed to steer clear of discomfort when he used the example, "I am obsessed with sports. Like baseball and football."
"Oh yeah? You mean soccer, or real football?"
"Real football, like American football."
"Yeah? Who's your team?"
"Seahawks."
Three seconds of silence, then I asked "...Really?"
Yes. Turns out he spent a year in Tacoma when he was 10, and he can't wait to finish school and move back to Seattle. Ha...me too, kid. Really though, it was a treat to be able to speak in exact language today, without approximating. I forgot how much easier it is to teach when I don't have to mime everything. It definitely made me excited to get back to those smart-mouth American teenagers that I love.

Finally, I'm pleased to announce that in my continual progression towards assimilation, I now know enough Korean to read the graffiti on the bathroom stall at my school. It's a little unseemly for this outlet, but let's just say that some sentiments are universal. Huh.

written by  alli_ockinga on November 11, 2009 from Inch'on, South Korea
from the travel blog: I go Korea!
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These are two of my favorite little cretins, above.
We also did face painting. I'm pretty proud of my work on Undertaker:

It was a fairly hectic day, as you can imagine, but the kids had a good time. Throughout it all, my boss kept running around the school in his shiny suit wearing a flu mask with two holes punched in it over his eyes, yelling at the top of his lungs, "I AM ANGRY MAN!" I fear he may have missed the point of Halloween just a little. We also had a little hiccup when one of the littlest boys, who is only four, didn't get the memo that masks aren't real. When one of the teachers entered our room wearing a Frankenstein mask, he was so scared that he promptly attached himself to my left leg and wouldn't be parted with it for anything in the world until I got us some jack-o-lantern coloring sheets and showed him that he wouldn't be able to color unless his hands were free. Also, I made it clear that there was a lollipop in it for him if I could see a smile (with teeth). He then produced several rainbow pumpkins and was able to go back to the party, plastic scythe clutched defensively in front of us both.

Tom has been enjoying his time here for the most part, although this quarantine of mine has put a little damper on our adventures. I know it's not my fault, but I still feel kind of bad. Thanks for flying all the way around the world...but I'm going to go throw up now. Anyway, he's off wandering the neighborhood right now. Having him around has been a little surreal since I'm so used to just being in my own head after all this time alone with no one understanding me. He's still pretty overwhelmed by all the colors and lights and constant K-pop flowing from unseen speakers. Korea is definitely a sensorial experience, but I suppose I've gotten used to it after--wait for it--NINE months here. That's right, I'm 3/4 finished now; I can see the light, and it's called New Zealand! I got my visa straightened out, bought my plane tickets this week, and on Feb. 1, I'll be kiwi-bound! Can't wait to get moving again.

written by  alli_ockinga on November 3, 2009 from Inch'on, South Korea
from the travel blog: I go Korea!
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I just got back from a round of high-stakes Pharmaceutical Charades; high-stakes because if I communicate well enough, I get medicine, and if I do a superb job, it will be the right kind of medicine. Not that I'd know, because it's all in Korean...but I think it went okay. I walked in and tried to say hello to the kindly pharmacist. 'Ahnyung-haseo' is what I was going for, but it came out some toad-like alien tongue unfamiliar to us both. Enter the charades. I mimicked speaking with my hand, like it was a puppet, then pointed to my throat, and crossed my arms in an X, thus cementing the notion that I have been stuck dumb. For fever, we compromised on "head fire." I'll spare the successive grisly details, but eventually I was handed two packages of pills, so we'll see what happens there. 'Kansahamnida,' I tried to say. Thank you. I got as far as "Kaaa" before failing again.

After the pharmacy, I went to meet Master to tell him that I wouldn't make hapkido today. After initially mocking my frailty, he looked closer and announced that we were going to the hospital. We picked up his six-year-old son, who was also sick, on the way, and Master translated for me once there--Karmic payback for all those English lessons I've taught him, I suppose. I'm lucky to have him watching out for me here.

So, in the end, I'm another confirmed case. I have to miss a week of work, which is particularly vexing because I was supposed to start five new classes this week, and now I'm not going to be able to train them properly. I also haven't yet determined if I get sick leave for this, or if I just lost a week's pay. Let's hope the former, because I just bought my New Zealand plane ticket, and it's not going to pay for itself. On the plus side, the medicine only cost me about eleven dollars, because in an interesting twist, health insurance is awesome. I also get to wear one of those surgical face masks that they like to wear over here when they're sick, so at least there's a silver lining.

written by  alli_ockinga on November 1, 2009 from Inch'on, South Korea
from the travel blog: I go Korea!
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"XXXXXXX has a positive/negative attitude and participates willingly/infrequently in class. I'd like to see him/her practice reading/handwriting/vocabulary and try not to rely on the dictionary/be so talkative/throw so many spitballs in the future."

Copy, paste. Mentally, at least. As it is, I have about 85 to do all together. I'm a lot better at it now then when I started four terms ago, mostly because I've released the idea that what I write matters, because at a hagwon, it really doesn't. One of the more spirit-killing things about this job is that here, it's all about the Benjamins (or the mahn wons), with education a distant secondary concern. Additionally, that famous Asian indirectness comes into play when dealing with parents. You just can't tell too much truth. For instance, there's this one kid who has been plaguing my classroom for the last nine months ceaselessly. He clearly should have been kicked out of the academy long ago because the child makes it impossible for any sort of knowledge transaction to take place. But there's no discipline program at my school (!) and because his parents are rich, the kid is allowed run of the place, even though he is only 12. What to write on his report card?

"Your child is the bane of my existence. His behavior is so atrocious that I honestly have no idea as to the level of his English skills, because I've never had the opportunity to accurately assess them. He should stop kicking other students in class, I'd like to see him stop greeting all his classmates with "F*** you" each day. Additionally, he hasn't turned in any homework since April."

Alas, that won't do. The edited, Director-approved version turned out like so:
"Yun is an energetic boy, but he could channel it in a more positive way. He should practice reading every day to keep up with the class, and remember to keep his hands to himself."

So that's a battle. I do try and celebrate successes ("James has finally stopped shoving teacher's marker down his pants!") and to be fair, 85 per cent of the children aren't monsters, and most are even likable. Regardless, the whole process is undermined in the fact that three-quarters of the parents don't speak any English, so I could be writing in Spanish, or even teaching it in my classrooms, and no one would be much the wiser. It's not a complaint against them, just another indication that the system here is flawed. However, I take great joy in the knowledge that I only have one more set of report cards to do until I'm finished here, and I try and take this exercise as a reminder to never, ever give out pointless assignments.

Not related, the KIA Tigers just won the Korea Series with a walk-off homerun in Game Seven, and Tom is exceptionally pleased to see that we get the World Series on cable here. Go Phillies!

written by  alli_ockinga on October 27, 2009 from Inch'on, South Korea
from the travel blog: I go Korea!
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This happened to me last Thursday at the hospital itself, also. Severance Hospital is a gigantic building, the population of which exceeds that of many entire towns I've called home. Therefore, they assigned me a volunteer to chauffeur me around to the correct department. She was a young Korean-American woman studying abroad here, missing home and her boyfriend and Dr. Pepper something fierce. Turns out she's from California. I've found that the further I get from my stomping grounds, the wider the territory I'm willing to claim as "home" gets. In the scheme of the entire world, California seems downright neighborly. Anyway, the lonesome boyfriend goes to seminary school in Mill Creek, so we got to talking Washington, and she asked if I knew Sequim, and she even pronounced it right. I could have hugged her. Moments like that make me realize the world really isn't that big. It's a nice thought.

Other good things to happen this week: I got a package from my mom containing three bags of licorice-thankyouthankyouthankyou!--and started off the week with a buoying call back home to a dear, dear friend of mine. Although he was actually the last person I talked to before leaving the country last January--literally, the flight attendent made me hang up the phone with him so we could take off--it's the first time we've talked since April. He tends to disappear for months at a time into the wilderness on various expeditions--like, come January, he will be a "hutmeister" in charge of trekking into the Sawtooth Mountains to deliver supplies to several backcountry yurts--but has recently come back to civilization, so we got to have a really nice chat. Quite simply, he delights me, and he has always been good at reminding me how great life has the potential to be.

Also...NINE DAYS TIL TOM GETS HERE! Have I mentioned I'm excited about this?

Alas, it hasn't all been sunshine and roses. My worst decision of the week transpired last Saturday, after a very satisfying climb and bouldering session with my friends Michelle and Hannah. Hannah was lamenting the lack of true Korean experiences lately, as we've all sort of settled into a comfortable zone here that doesn't involve going out on too many limbs. So we decided to shake things up with a bit of heretofore untried street food. Hannah had heard things about this Korean sausage called soondae. It's kind of grayish and enclosed in a sketchy green-tinted sleeve, so it kind of looks like a dying snake. As my family can tell you, I am opposed to sausage on multiple levels, but I didn't want to look like a sissy so I screwed up my courage and ate a bite. It took all I had in me to force it down, chewy as it was, and although it was quite a foreign taste, there was something distantly familiar about it...

...the next day Hannah showed me a link. "Soondae," it said, "a kind of traditional Korean sausage, is not for everyone. It is made with clear noodles and pepper and cow's blood. For added "flavor," it is served with big chunks of pungent steamed liver." Ah, yes. Blood. That's the taste I remember. I really haven't the heart or stomach to write more about soondae, but if you're curious, the article goes on here. http://www.insam.com/_eng/news/newsitem2.asp?id=4&news_id=202&max_id=203

That's it for now. Nothing earth-shattering to report, but it's been a good week for home. Eleven classes left til the weekend!

written by  alli_ockinga on October 14, 2009 from Seoul, South Korea
from the travel blog: I go Korea!
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Tommy--one of my favorite students, whose name has morphed from Unicorn to Mike Wyzowski to finally his current, more tame monicker--looked up from his desk and grinned. "Okeydokey," he said, turning back to his work.

It was the greatest thing that happened to me all day. A little background: in my line of work, I can't exactly speak around my charges as I do my friends. Especially for an English teacher, diction becomes a responsibility, and God knows, if you accidentally screw up you'll hear about it for days, even weeks. (This was proven to me when the guidance counselor at my former school accidentally referred to the 12-year-old boy we were discussing as a "douchebag" in said child's presence. In such instances, the validity of the term is disregarded, and we both noticed a special note about language and professionalism at the next staff meeting.)

As such, I've developed a special Teacher Lexicon of approved phrases. After the Douchebag Incident, I was reminded to err on the side of caution, which I think overall is for the best, especially for a student teacher, for whom the entire process is essentially a painfully drawn-out semester-long interview. It wouldn't do for me to reprimand a whining student with "Listen, Karl, it's time for you to stop being a [insert 4-5 letter word of your choice] and get to work on that expository essay." No, no. Instead, I decided to bring back some old classics, words and phrases that are disappearing in America, that fulfill my purpose nicely. Example: "Enough of this namby-pamby nonsense, Karl." Now Karl's face twists, because he's trying to both look sullen and not laugh at the same time. He grumbles that I sound like his grandma, but picks up his pencil again. Victory.

Another favorite: "Miss OOOOOOOOO," the girls would wail when I informed them that yet another word was being added to the Graveyard--they would no longer be allowed use of 'awesome' in essays--"that's so MEAN, and it's like totally unFAIR! What are we going to say when something is really really really AWEsome?!" I pointed to the thesauri shelf. "UGH! There are no words! You're killing them ALL!"

"Oh, hush," I would say. "Quit being such a Negative Nancy."
"Oh my God, Miss O, that's so totally lame."
"So are the Jonas Brothers."
"Oh my God no they're not. They're awes--I mean, they're...stupendous."

Etc. Other stand-bys in the Teacher Lexicon include Holy Moley, Jeez Louise, Holy Smokes, That's Balogna, Whippersnappers, and Chilluns. I'm working on integrating Land Sakes!, but I can't quite do it without laughing yet. And of course, Okeydokey. I say that so much that I don't even know it's campy anymore. Anyway, the Korea kicker is this: these kids don't know how uncool my teacher speak is. Some of them don't even know how to write their name yet, and I am literally the only foreigner they know. Most of them are still at the blessed age where they don't question their teachers, and consequently, I am raising a small cluster of Korean children to speak like characters from an Archie comic strip. I am secretly hoping that they will spread these phrases among their friends and repopularize them, so that when this Asia trend inevitably spreads to America, old people words will be cool again. Tommy and his Okeydokey is evidence that my influence is spreading. Which is why tomorrow I'll be introducing, "Dadgummet!"

Such are the things that amuse me these days as I try and avoid the slump of oncoming winter. The two weeks til Tom comes can't fly fast enough...except he comes the same day as I take the GRE, so maybe time should actually slow itself down. Hmm. Thus is the time paradox of Korea. I want it to be done, but then I have to do something else...Gee Willikers, there just ain't no satisfying me.

written by  alli_ockinga on October 11, 2009 from Inch'on, South Korea
from the travel blog: I go Korea!
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