A Lovely Little Phone

Dear Family,

A week ago, Friday, I blissfully recorded in my little Thanksgivings Book, 'I have a cell phone – happy day!!' Having neither that blessed contrivance nor a land line, life in Seoul has been laboriously inconvenient. But now I'm finally able to get back in touch with friends that I said good bye to five months ago, and be more involved with people whose company I appreciate and enjoy.

I should have called myself the happy owner of this toy and tool a month ago, had it been in my power to make it so. After speaking to some people who had themselves gone through the process of finding a new phone, and feeling myself, if not linguistically competent, at least fumblingly capable of tackling the thing alone (foolish girl!), I wandered off, of a Thursday evening, to beard the lion in its den. Spotting the bright orange store front of a LG Telecom establishment, I stepped hesitantly through the door, and waited for a sales person to notice my presence, and offer his help.

Allow me to digress here. I must note that Korea is excessively 'service' oriented. If I buy a cake, the clerk will slip some candles under the lid of the box, smile sweetly up at me from behind the counter, and pronounce, 'sahbeece!' When I bought my fish, I asked the sales man how much it would cost to replace some of the parts in my water filter. He smiled grandly, 'sahbeece!' and then added for my benefit, 'no cost!'

I appreciate that mispronounced English word when it's applied to freebees, but it irritates me when service takes the form of personal assistance. Scanning the shelves in the hair products aisle, for example, a pretty, dark haired girl always steps shyly toward me, and attempts to ask in English what I'm looking for. 'Molahyo.' I shrug, hoping (without expecting) to be left in peace. Emboldened by my indecisiveness, the sales lady plucks up her courage, and begins a veritable lecture, in rapid Korean, on the various pros and cons of each of the dozens of product ranged before me. I try to appear disinterested, but she will not be daunted, and finally, with a multitude of colorful labels swimming before my baffled eyes, and my wrists sticky with hairsprays of various fragrances, I shake my bewildered head, declare, with a shameless disregard for the truth, that I don't need anything, and make a dash for freedom. Especially during my first year here, this frequently reenacted scene overwhelmed me, and I learned to keep a wary eye open for those daunting figures of benevolent accommodation, and to flee before they had a chance to open their mouths . Over the last while I have learned to simply ignore helpful voices and hands, and while I have yet to appreciate the help, at least I can value the humor of the situation.

But now, as I paused uncertainly on the threshold, I was hopeful, for the first time, of being personally assisted. Not knowing where to begin without the help, I waited expectantly to be addressed. But, to my astonished dismay, no one stepped forward. Instead, after glancing up at me, each turned a different shade of red, and applied himself, with a steady fixedness wonderful to behold, to his various job. And it struck me that I had made an irreme diable mistake in applying cosmetics before sallying forth.

I freeze myself, again, in this unexciting frame, and apologize for another necessary digression. It must be understood that, as a general rule, when I want to be taken seriously in Korea, I wear makeup. It took me some time to make the useful discovery that, when I do so, others are a little bit intimidated, and so I step out of the realm of 'ignorant child' and into that of 'the symbol and representative of the entire western world.' My perspective is, granted, rather exaggeratory, but the principle applies. With this in mind, and hoping for my desires to carry more weight, I had dressed myself up, completely forgetting that cell phone establishments (for some undiscovered reason) are peopled, almost exclusively, by young men. And, in their case alone, my methods backfire on me.

Most Korean men, between the ages of eighteen and thirty, behold me from a distance with curious wonder, and up close are reduced to varying degrees of mortal fear and trembling. Last year, one of the Korean teachers at SCG introduced me to a group of her friends. The girls shyly smiled, with their hands over their respective mouths, while the gentlemen, unable to take recourse in nervous giggles, bravely ploughed through the ordeal, dropping and upsetting everything in reach. I tried to appear small and un-intimidating, but was apparently unsuccessful, because after a moment, one of the guys pulled his friend aside and whispered, "I don't think I can do this without a drink. "

His remark was overheard, and my friend asked, "Have you never met a foreigner before?"

He replied in a rush, but with an appropriate degree of awe and reverence, "I've never been even this close to a foreigner!"

I return now to the small shop in which I left myself standing in an attitude of naive expectancy. As soon as I realized that, so far from having educed a universal atmosphere of peace and good will, I had effectually struck terror in the hearts these poor men, I attempted to atone for my inexcusable folly by making the first move, thereby helping them to help me. So I stepped up to the counter, and assumed a general air of hopeful uncertainty. Still, their various tasks completely consumed them, and no move was made to assist me. I became impatient, and mercilessly turned upon the man nearest, demanding, in English, "Do you speak English?"

"No." He replied, in English.

"Well, do you have any inexpensive cell phones?" Still in my native tongue.

"No, everything here is expensive."

Seeing the uncertainty in my face, he squared his shoulders, took a deep breath, and in a reckless maneuver to dispose of me manfully, pointed to a KTF store up the street, "Over there. I think there are cheap phones there."

I shook my head over the bitter animosity that apparently exists between LG and their unsuspecting rivals in business, bowed my thanks, and crossed the street.

I may as well have spared myself the pains; I fared no better there. After wandering the streets for the better part of two hours, and visiting half a dozen establishments, all of whose phones were "very expensive", I bit my lower lip in agitation, attempted to console myself with a forty-cent ice cream from McDonalds, and made my weary way home.

A week later, Boyeun (a fellow teacher from last year, and very good Korean friend) offered her help. Together we revisited one of the establishments which I had previously darkened with such unconscious dismay, and within five minutes I had gleefully exchanged $30 for a unassuming phone of modest proportions. The clerk, setting up my account, required a copy of my passport and ID card, both of which I had had the foresight to bring along. But alas!

Informatively: "This visa is only good for six months."

Anxiously: "Yes?"

Heartlessly: "Well, we can't set up an account for you, unless you have a visa that will let you stay for a year."

Pleadingly: "But I don't work in Korea. I'm a student, so I can't get a longer visa. I will be here for at least a year and a half, but I have to renew my visa every six months."

Firmly: "I'm sorry."

So was I. Very sorry. My $30 was returned, and I made a noble attempt to be pleasant company to Boyeun for the rest of the evening. But I was glad to finally go to bed, and start tomorrow fresh.

But Boyeun, bless her!, didn't let the matter rest, and the next time I saw her, she handed me one of her old cell phones, saying, "You still won't be able to set up an account, but at least this way you can use pre-paid, and you don't have to buy a phone."

And so, to wrap up a very long story (my apologies, family): I now have a lovely little phone, the minutes of which I pay for in advance, and am rendered nearly as happy by it as I was upon receipt of my new stove.


Before leaving you in peace, I would like to offer a general apology, to all of you who have been so good as to email me over these last few weeks, for being so silently unresponsive. Excuses are generally very weak things, but I flatter myself that I have two that are at least passable. The first may appear the stronger, but they both carry, in my humble opinion, equal weight. My internet connection has been down during the entire second half of last month, and most of this month as well. I think that most of you will readily admit that this is a great deterrent to timely communication, and for those of you who are unconvinced, allow me to plead in my favor, that even had my connection not been down, I certainly hadn't the mental energy, after studying myself into a headache every evening, to stay on the computer a moment longer than necessary. However, these two disincentives are now removed and over the course of the next few days I hope to be able to be in closer personal touch. Meanwhile, your emails are as encouraging and brightening as ever, so please continue to support me with them!

Much love,
Elisabeth

The Demise of 'Double-U'

Dear Family,

These last two weeks have been quite inimitable, and tonight I experience, to an equal degree, the strangely compatible sensations of exultation and exhaustion.
An ordinary day, for me, consists of several hours of study after class. As the day of the finals approached, my study hours lengthened, until over this last week, it has been a regular thing for me to be immersed in Korean from nine in the morning to nine in the evening. Often, I would rub my burning eyes, and sit back to rest my neck and shoulders, pushing myself on with the thought: "Only a few more days, Lis. Just work at it for a few more days. You can rest then. Not yet. Not yet." Then I would bend again over my books until my mind ached. There is so much to learn and know, and my mind feels so very numb, sometimes.
Wednesday morning finally arrived, and I made it through the grammar & vocabulary, listening, and reading tests, without too much ado. The rest of the afternoon was devoted to studying for the morrow's interview, which was the only part of the whole ordeal that I was seriously worried about and dreading. When Thursday morning dawned, I got on my knees and told God that I didn't think I would be able do it. "But we both know why I'm here," I reminded Him, "So let's have a go at this together."
The twenty-minute interview over, I bowed to the teacher, and left the room, quietly closing the door behind me. At the gentle sound of the clicking latch, a hammering pulse abruptly began to pound behind my eyes, and I took myself home to rest. But, rather than subsiding, the headache worsened, and I finally gave in, before heading to school this morning, and took an aspirin.
I held my breath as my score card was passed to me, with a smile and a nod. Unfolding it, my eyes eagerly scanned the page, and I slowly exhaled when they spotted what they had hoped, but hardly expected, to find. While my classmates were all smiling, laughing and congratulating each other, I sat quietly, folded my paper without reading the note that my teacher had written at the bottom, and slipped it back into its envelope. And the sharp pain in my temples and behind my right eye, began instantly and mercifully to subside.
So I have officially passed Korean, level one.

I recently added some new fish to my tank, which, as it turned out, had a vicious streak, and began taking their issues out on my very gentle gold fish. I quickly grew weary of snapping on the tank to settle their disputes, but was loathe to leave 'Double-U' to his fate. So for a short while he lead an isolated, cramped existence in a mason jar. The solitary confinement apparently didn't suit his constitution, however, because he instantly went into a steady decline, growing languid and droopy, until one day he simply was no more. Due to a flash of rare and brilliant foresight, I had magnanimously bestowed my handsome, bright orange fishy, with his black fins and tail, on the unsuspecting Wilkes, a day before his untimely demise, and so, having subjected myself to the more immediate pain of separation, was spared the greater pain of disposing of the body. I now look with an choleric eye upon my remaining fish, especially Sorbet, whose color reminds me exactly of that desert, only perhaps rather less deliciously. He has little idea of how very often he falls under my the wrath of my righteous indignation, nor how very close he has come, on more than one occasion, to meeting his Maker. He may count himself fortunate that I haven't yet been able to bring myself to retaliate quite so vengefully, but toy, rather, with the idea of foisting…ahem!…with the idea of bestowing him upon my very good friends, as a consolation, of course, for their recent loss.

I must be off,
Elisabeth

보고 싶은 가족이

보고 싶은 가족이 - Dear Family,

I do enjoy Saturdays! That is the one day a week that I allow myself the luxury of sleeping in as long as I like, and of not opening my Korean books all day. Instead, as the day gets lazily underway, I usually turn on quiet music, and take up some craft or art to employ myself with. Such a very pleasant and relaxing way to spend a cold afternoon, snuggled in my little house! Last weekend I wrote some letters, and this weekend I painted my window. I haven't curtains, you see. And my front, wood-paned window looked a little bleak all by itself. So a few weeks ago I bought some watercolors and paintbrushes. I haven't had time to actually use them until today. After sketching an outline, in black, I thinned down all the paints, and colored in my hills and tree and river and sunshine and clouds, feeling as though I were painting in the pages of a coloring book. After they dried, I fitted the windows back in their tracts. Against the light from outside, the water colors took on a stained glass effect, as I'd hoped they would, so I'm quite happily pleased with the results.

Days are growing colder. I've been keeping my eye on Oregon weather, and though we have yet to catch up to you, it's cold enough here that the mosquitoes are finally dying off. That is a very good thing. For nearly the whole month of October, I would jerk awake three or four times a night to a high pitched whine in my ear. After a few nights of particularly fruitless mosquito hunts, supplemented by empty threats, I discovered that if I leapt out of bed and flicked the light on instantly, the mosquito usually wouldn't have time to fly further than a few feet from the head of my bed before being stunned by the light, and settling on a wall. Then it became a simple matter for me to reach for the sandal I keep under my bed, for just such a purpose, and deal the penalty of capitol punishment on the offending party. Of course, in the chill night air, such procedure would thoroughly wake me, and not being the one of those fortunate few who fall asleep the moment their heads touch the pillow, my only consolation lay in the fact that my opponent had fared worse than I.

Finals are upon us. In just a week and a half the interrogation begins, and for three days we'll feel the pressure of having our writing, grammar, reading, listening, and speaking skills minutely examined and picked to pieces. An intimidating prospect, but one that I look forward to more with impatience to be finished than with dread. We'll be given two weeks, after that, to recover from the ordeal. Then those of us who are fortunate enough to have passed inspection will move on to level two, while the rest of us are corralled heartlessly back to the beginning. I want to pass. Replace that verb with a dozen more potent, and the mark may come close to being hit. I desire, wish, aspire, long, yearn… You may be glad that I haven't a thesaurus by me now, or the list would be indefinitely extended. But even so, I have perfect calm in God's hand over all. I know that the outcome, whatever it may be, will be governed by Him, and so I experience no trepidation, no anxiety. Just a very strong desire to be given a few days to rest. That God is my strength is reassuring, because where my own abilities fail, His never reach an end. He is always strength, and I am always His. Thus, by right of love, I have unlimited access to His unlimited help.

On Friday evenings I've been attending a Bible study that meets in a little coffee shop about fifteen minutes, on foot, from my house. I find it particularly pleasant. It's a very small group, composed of a few enthusiastic individuals. Since I haven't found a church, yet, that I feel at all one with, these few hours of fellowship on Friday are a blessing to me.

I've been studying Psalm 18, and am struck again and again by the violence of God's response to David's cry for help, and by the calamitous discomfiture into which the world is cast in response to God's wrath. And why? How can David have had such a hearing with One to Whom the earth responds by undulating and violently agitating, and the mountains and hills by quivering with fear? It's incredible to me that God allows Himself to be so swayed by our words. But He does. And so, please continue to lift me before Him…

Elisabeth