Sympathy is a word that I have come to rarely use, as oftentimes I become so wrapped up in the events of my own life that I am too busy to remain aware of the lack of equality around me. Yet, seeing this woman, I was moved to an extreme that I have not experienced in awhile. I was overcome with questions about her life circumstances, and even more so, desirous of an option that would have allowed me to help. Simultaneously, I was struck aware of the powerlessness that we as humans must face as we search for some manner in which we can evoke change in the world. This woman, whom I highly doubt has chosen her present job as the ideal of which she dreamed about as a little girl, has obviously gone into battle with life and lost. There might have been those along the way that have offered their hands to help but perhaps stopped short of what was needed. I myself was rooted to the side of the road with shame, unable to help her for fear of giving myself away. To her I was just another soju bottle, another number on the street that blended together with the rest of the party crowd. How could I have made her understand that I felt her pain more accutely than she could know? The realization of my inability to communicate with her how I felt left me stripped of my pride and painfully pensive.
She will never know the impact that she had on my night and the days to follow, but perhaps by giving her credit for a lesson learned, the unrewarding job that she must call her own can in fact be full of merit.
I figured today would be normal. Korean class, Korean teachers, Korean dinner, Korean soju...but Korean photo shoot? My co-teacher asked me if I'd be willing to help over at the high school right next door. Of course, happy to help and eager to make a good impression and perhaps make a crack in the relatively closed off Korean society, I said of course! Then, leading me up the stairs of the high school and into the teacher's lounge, I realized something else might be coming. A man with an overly large camera for mere amusement was standing there with a guilty, goofy grin on his face that gave my new assignment away. I was told that Adam and myself were going to be the subjects of the photo shoot upstairs, to be used in their school publication and brochure to lure in new students. I could just see it, a wickedly up-close picture of the two of us with a headline that read, "Look! We have Americans too!" Whatever the case, I smiled inside and thought to myself, "Bring it".
We were led upstairs to their private school bar. Oh yes, the school has a bar. Not only do they have a bar, but they have stocked it with real bottles of Western liquor with which selected students practice their pouring skills. Seating us at a table out of the way of the scene before us, Adam and I were able to sit back and watch the madness unfold. Four students had dressed themselves up in their official bartender uniforms, and were primping themselves in the bedroom in the corner. One teacher kept running back and forth between the corner kitchen and the bar counter, shouting what we could only assume were orders back and forth between the students, the onlooking teachers, and the photographer. A checkered tablecloth had been set for two, complete with enough silverware to last me a week, and an ashtray, "to make us feel truly comfortable," according to one of the teachers.
Adam and I were eventually motioned to sit at the bar, on plastic barstools that looked like an awkward '60's mod-style comeback gone wrong. Choosing a liquor, the bartender poured Adam a healthy amount of Bacardi 151 with two ice cubes to boot.
(Even better, not only can the schools advertise that they have real Americans that speak English, but they can SING too! Heck, we might as well start our own one-man-show and REALLY show them all of our skills... "Ahem. Please gape at my overly large American feet. Stand next to me and see if you come up to my hip. Marvel at me eating a cheeseburger..." The Koreans make me realize how talented I really am!)
And that was my one, and probably only, Korean modeling experience.
Earlier in the week I was invited to a welcome dinner for the new foreign language teachers. I was told that the principle was so impressed with our first impression that she wanted to host an official dinner to welcome us to Korea. So, in true Korean fashion, an upscale sushi restaurant was chosen.
What an event! The dinner began at 5:30 and didn't finish until after 9. Even before the any of the food was brought to the table, soju bottles appeared and the principle along with the two vice principles of the schools offered up welcoming speeches and toasts. Unfortunately they were all in Korean but I guessed they were directed at us due to the continuous stares in our direction, and the mumbling of our names in the speeches. Either way, I was extremely impressed with the formalities exhibited by all of the teachers and administrators, who, while solemn in the dictates of tradition, were cheerful to the occasion and made us feel openly welcome to their group.
Throughout the meal, shots of soju were taken. This tradition was somewhat confusing for me. On one hand, I wanted to be polite
Overall, the meal was an absolute blast and circus all rolled into one. Despite the language barrier encountered with a few of the administrators, many laughs and smiles were shared. I'm beginning to understand the meaning behind the statement that offering a smile is speaking in the universal language that all people can understand. Evidence and examples of the traditions of Korea were numerous, and although I didn't understand all of them, went along with as much as I could, hoping that soon I will understand. But really, when surrounded by welcoming smiles, how can one possibly feel anything but content?
In order to be able to keep all of the screaming students straight, I sat them down and had them answer seven questions:1. What is your name?2. What is your favorite color?3. What is your favorite food?4. What is your favorite place?5. What is your favorite kind of music?6. What is your favorite subject in school?7. What is your favorite activity to do after school?
By the end of my hour with the students, we had learned each other's names and how to successfully do the macarena. Who knows what will happen next?
Last night Adam and I had the pleasure of being invited over to the high school gym teacher's home for dinner with his family. Wanting to bring something as a gesture to say thanks, we asked both of our co-teachers what the proper gift is. And get this: whenever Koreans go over to each other's homes for dinner, the traditional thing to bring is boxes and boxes of tissues. The teacher that we went with brought SIX boxes. (As a sidenote, whenever anyone has a housewarming party, typically about 90% of the guests bring the lucky family laundry detergent. Where do they put it all?!)
We didn't exactly feel like adding to what I can only assume is an overstuffed closet bursting with tissue boxes, so we decided to play up the foreigner card and bring a cake. Yet what was supposed to be a fallback on our blissful vision of normalcy became instead a clash of cultures. When we went to the bakery to pick out our offering of gratitude, the lady behind the counter kept asking how old our baby was turning! After unsuccessfully insisting that the cake was not going to be for the birthday of our nonexistent child, I finally caved in and accepted the pushy woman's offering of a candle for the fateful moment of presentation. But, with a twinkle in her eye, she outfitted our cake with FIVE candles and TWO noisemakers. Not to mention the decoration of two hearts stuck in the middle of the cake with "Sweet Love" splashed between the two. If I had been able to stop laughing, I might have noticed how nice of a presentation it would have been for the make-believe baby.
The dinner itself was delicious. Mrs. Chae, the wife of the gym teacher, made a dish called bulgogi, which is apparently quite the hit with foreigners. As much as I hate falling into stereotypes, I fell into this one as if it were meant to be. The dish consists of thin strips of beef simmered with onions, carrots, and innumerable spices, served with bean rice. Mmmmm. The food continued to be served and the conversation was lively. It grew more and more boisterous as the alcohol continued to be served. Mr. Chae was very proud of his collection, boasting that he had over 30 different types of liquor. A strong Catholic, he perceived much of his controlled drinking as a way to stay healthy. I quickly understood why... The traditional soju was served, but other, more interesting drinks followed. First there was the fruit drink, which tasted like an extremely strong, aged port. To him, he claimed, since he couldn't taste the alcohol, it wasn't alcoholic. Huh, who knew? Next came the most popular liquor of Taiwan, which he picked up during his travels. At 58%, it burned the entire way down, but I somehow managed a smile amidst the choking. Last was the most interesting. Most likely something that I will never, ever, even if I wanted to, forget. It came from a 3-liter case in the back corner of the cabinet, reserved for special occasions and, as he was proud to share, aged for three years. It was some sort of homemade concoction that had now-colorless white carrots fermenting at the bottom. It tasted like a mixture of sweet potatoes and seafood all at the same time, and I was secretly pleaing that there were no shrimp sharing the same fate as the carrots. Whew! I managed to get it down! That moment I felt almost as proud as when I managed to swallow boiled tofu in front of the teachers, with only minor gagging.
Thoughts of the carrot conconction from hell were quickly erased once the dinner had finished and the five year old twins were allowed to play. While eating the cake that we had brought (which tasted like marshmallows), the twins decided to make Adam and myself their personal playtime assistants. Sooo much fun! While the adults were glued to the TV to learn about the latest developments in North Korea, we chose to remain somewhat oblivious to the troubles of the world and instead remember what it was like to be amused by the some of the purest pleasures life has to offer.
Don't you wish life could always be so simple?
I continue to adjust to my new life over here, and am constantly reminded of the very different culture in which I have been submerged. There are moments in which I feel as though I have become accustomed to various aspects of my new life, only to be somewhat unexpectedly reminded that it is a danger to become too comfortable in a situation that refuses to allow the process to be an easy one.
School remains a priority for me, which will hopefully be a pattern I can continue to maintain. After-school classes have been going well, with the students seeming extremely willing to learn and engage with the material I provide. Whether or not the rest of the school's students are willing to learn is another story, but I'm determined to push them to discover their potential. One struggle for me is realizing how much the teachers oftentimes aren't willing to put for the energy to care enough about the personal tribulations and triumphs of each of the students, instead only looking at how the performance of the students is reflected on the school's reputation. I'm slowly learning when to push for change and when to accept things the way that they are presented to me. It's not easy, as I'd much rather be allowed to customize the circumstances into what I think would be ideal, but I've realized that while my opinion matters as that of a foreigner, it is seen more as an interesting spectacle rather than something to seriously consider.
The see-sawing scenario at school has led me to pursue interests outside with much more ardor than I might have been willing to exert had circumstances been different. Friendships have been initiated, which are constantly leading me into directions that I would not have expected myself to have taken based solely on my own accord. Growing in directions that I did not even know existed has already provided me with new adventures, both externally and within. Who knows what will happen in a year's time?
Continue to check back for future updates. While time spent exploring life here is precious, equally important is maintaining the ties with life back home. As adventurous as I'd like to consider myself to be, I'm not quite sure if I can tackle this game we label life on my own.
Good things. :)
Fiction: I actually don't have a mailing address to call my own. BUT,Fact: I'm mooching off of the oh-so-generous Koreans at my school and using theirs instead. Take THAT, Korea!
How do I know this is right? Because the parents were the first brave souls to attempt what seemed to be the impossible: sending precious gifts of English books over the Pacific. And, I found out exactly one hour ago on the minute, it actually worked. Even though the address is in the Latin script. Ohh, how I love the globalization of the English language! Not only has it given me a job in a foreign country where I have no clue the exact reason why I'm here, but it also allows me and everyone back home the privilege of not even having to attempt writing in Korean. Go us.
Technically there is still the address of my apartment, but I have a feeling that one is not to be trusted. Why, you might ask? Refer to the points listed below:1. The Entrance to the mailbox is a slit less than one centimeter wide.2. The slit is proven pointless when one realizes that all one has to do is open the mailbox. It opens for everyone.3. The box itself is rather small. Maybe big enough for a Chipotle burrito with chicken, guacamole, corn salsa, cheese, and sour cream, but that's it. Not as though that's a hint. :)4. Packages do not seem to be allowed in the building. There is nowhere for them to be put, shoved, or otherwise dealt with.
Regardless, the one at the school seems to work fine. I will continue to bribe the administration to give me packages in exchange for homebaked cookies. These function as their weight in gold over here! Ohhh, Korea.
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