I Feel Vindicated

While taking classes at Ewha, I rarely ate lunch at the school cafeteria. The food was gone and the kitchen cleaned by the time I got back from school, at around 1:30, so I would pack along a pbj and two hard boiled eggs, when I remembered to. When I didn't remember, I would stop on the way to work for kimbop, a delightfully bland and inoffensive food. Today, however, I broke that pattern, taking my repast at the kindergarten. As I went through the buffet line, I took perhaps a larger helping of kimche than ever before, for time takes rather fiendish pleasure in counterbalancing those lessons that experience has so painstakingly taught. I knew it was hot, of course, "But certainly," thought I, "It can't be all that my memory trumped it up to be." So, rather than the cautious nibbles I've been accustomed to, my chopsticks raised a Korean-sized, dripping red cabbage leaf to my mouth. The first thought that raced through my startled mind was, "Just keep eating. Don't think about it. Just keep eating." One hand clenched into a fist, and tears swam in my dilated eyes. And I kept on chewing. A pose of casual nonchalance impossible to strike, I bent my head, clapped my unclenched hand to my burning mouth, and writhed on the edge my seat. It was a few moments before I could bring my hand from my mouth to the glass of water before me. I raised it to my lips, but as soon as the water touched my tongue, the pain exploded. The cook, bless her!, noticed my fierce discomfort, and rushed over with a piece of cheese. I took and gratefully laid it on my swollen tongue. I let it sit there, not chewing, just taking relief in its beautiful, smooth coolness. I still hurt all over, for quite a while (in fact, when I caught my reflection in a mirror, nearly a half an hour later, my lips were still a swollen, fiery hot red), but that soothed the worst of it, and I was able to open my eyes and relax my clenched toes. The half dozen kids I was sitting next to were eyeing me bemusedly. Then Raymond laughed, "Lis Teacher! Watch!" He dug his spoon into the kimche and shoved a dripping spoon full into his mouth. I was as amazed as I pretended to be, but laughed a few minutes later to see, from the corner of my eye, a small, red-faced boy chugging down a glass of cool water. Somehow, I feel vindicated.

Clean, White Snow

This morning opened its eyes to a world wrapped in clean, white snow. In my estimation, as long as it's going to be cold it may as well snow. So I can appreciate the whiteness, despite the weather. I'm told this is the biggest snow fall they've had in twenty-five years. It's melting off as the day grows warmer, so the streets now are nothing more than slushy mud. But I'm ok with that. The memory of what was keeps me from despising what is.

I think I can, without exaggeration, say that I have now experienced the ultimate public transportation squish. Often a bus or subway is quite empty, with plenty of seats for all. Just as frequently one must use his elbows and body weight in order to manuver. Even this, however, I have lately discovered to be but child's play. I was in the subway, a few evenings back, waiting for the train. The platform was uncomfortably crowded, but not uncommonly so for that time of night. The train pulled into sight, and slowly rolled to a stop in front of us. I was curious to see, through the windows, that it was already packed to capacity. The doors slid open, allowing a few dozen people to disembark. And then a mass of bodies surged forward. Quickly at first, then as space became a minimum, more slowly. The flow came to a stop just as I stepped from the platform to the train. Many people remained on the platform behind me. Two 'pushers' moved to the back, thrust their arms forward, and began shoving. The inevitable domino effect crushed me forward, as the stragglers were muscled onto the bloated train. I lost my footing and would have fallen, but there was nowhere to fall to. I slammed into the suit coat in front of me, and there I stayed, like a bug splatted on a pain of glass. He slammed into the person in front of him, and that made two bugs. The bouncers gave one more shove, the doors closed in on us, and all we splatted bugs held our breaths while the train, bursting at its seams, wobbled off to the next stop.

Some things are still difficult, but I think I'm beginning to find my groove here. The more I'm able communicate, the easier it is to cope. I'm still at the baby-talk level, but that doesn't really daunt me. And, while my effort certainly amuses my Korean friends, it also pleases them. Some day, I whisper to myself, some day...

At Long Last!

Well Family, It's been a while. I won't offer any apologies, because there are none to be had. These last few weeks have applied more pressure than any I've yet experienced since coming to Korea. This has been mostly due to the Korean classes I've been taking. They really wouldn't be too bad, if they weren't being taken on top of a full time job. But as it is, I don't feel like I have enough brain space to do all I need to. We took one half of the final exam today. The listening/writing half. On Monday it'll be reading, grammar, & speaking. I'm at the point, though it took me a while to get here, where it doesn't really matter any more whether or not I pass. I've given it my level best, and that's all I can do. Whether or not I get a passing grade, I don't think I'm going to take the next level at Ewha. Adam and I are talking about splitting the cost for a private tutor next semester, instead. Language learning will be a little more relaxed that way. We'll be able to go at a slower pace, and study at more convenient times.

Work still goes well. Right now the kindergarten is practicing for a Christmas play. That's around thirty 4-6 year olds, who don't speak my language. It was really chaotic at first, but it's beginning to fall into place. It's super simple, so we should be able to pull it off. I say 'we'. Really, Adam and Teresa have borne most of the responsibility for that. I'm not quite sure how that happened, but I'm glad not to have that to add to my already full head.
Today we practiced 'on stage'. As I wasn't needed with the kids, Adam asked me to go up to the sound room to let the sound-board man, Mr. S, know what songs we'd be playing, when to play them, and at what point to turn the volume down. Well, that was interesting.
I went up and took a seat next to Mr. S behind the controls. It didn't take long to ascertain that he spoke no English. I knew enough Korean to specify which track to play, and when, but didn't know how to tell him about the volume. So I gestured eloquently, communicating that I wanted to be shown where the volume control was. He shook his head, and made me to understand that he was the sound man. Very well. I shrugged and leaned forward to watch out of the little window.
At the appropriate moment Adam signaled for me to play track five. I turned to Mr. S, "O baun."
He shook his head.
I held up five fingers and repeated myself.
Another man came up. Speaking in broken English, he told me that they didn't have the CD yet. Well, there was nothing I could do about that.
I looked out the little window, and saw everyone posed and waiting. Adam looked up at the speakers. There was no way for me to communicate to him what I knew, so I just sat there, posed and waiting like everyone else. Finally Teresa realized that it wasn't going to happen, so they went on with another part of the play.
A minute later Bok Teacher ran up stairs with the CD we needed. Again Adam looked up and gave the go signal.
Again I clearly directed, "O baun."
Again Mr. S. shook his head. He wanted to play track one.
I turned to Ms. Bok, "O baun keulaumyaun sah baun." I wasn't quite certain about that clumsy conjunction, but she seemed to understand that I wanted track five first, and then track four.
"But then what?" She asked.
"Nothing." I was puzzled, "Just five and then four."
"Not another one?"
I shook my head.
"OK. Five, then four, then five again."
"No!" I crossed my arms to make an X. "Just five and then four. Then stop."
She communicated this to Mr. S., and he began to play track five.
I looked down out of the little window, watching the children sing. When the first verse ended, I turned and made the X again. "Stop now." I said in English, "Song no."
Too complex.
"Song stop!"
Still no go, so I pointed out the window. The kids were being to fuss, and all of the English and Korean teachers were waving at us to turn the music off.
"Ah!" He comprehended wisely, "Cut!"
Very well. Cut.

Some how I feel like my emails are becoming a bit disjointed. Almost as if I write about all these trivialities, while skipping over more consequential events. Many things that add to the continuity and progression of my days are, I'm sure, worthy of note. But, until I can find the time to do them justice, they shall have to remain untouched. Meanwhile, my family, thank you for listening to my random thoughts. Have a lovely day…

me

We Get on Swimmingly

My favorite class is composed of four glowing eight year old boys. Crazy, stupid, and irrepressibly cheerful. Matthew (who informs me that his English nickname is Matt) is perpetually at least ten minutes late for every class. Kevin, James and John light up when I step into the classroom, and wait for my perplexed, "Where's Matthew?" This is their cue to all begin talking at once. In Korean, of course. The gestures that accompany their words usually leave me in stitches. Each day there's a different reason for why Matthew is late. The first time it was because he fell and hurt himself. The next, it was because he'd been hit by a car. After that, he was shot. Each time something worse than the last has happened to him. Each time I reply, "Oh dear! Poor Matthew! Did he break his leg?" They nod enthusiastically, I laugh, and class commences.
We're still working on those first ten sight words that reduced James to tears several weeks ago. The boys don't take learning very seriously, and it's hard for me to press them, knowing that they've just come from school, and will be going back to several more hours of school when they leave. I used to snap their heads with a pencil when they misbehaved. It was pretty effective, I thought. But Joy, one of the Korean teachers, learned of my methods and put a stop to them. Next class, I told Kevin to stop clowning around. He grabbed a pencil from the table and handed it to me. I smiled and shook my head. He looked puzzled for a minute, then snapped his own head. It nearly killed me. Anyways, that method abolished, I racked my mind for another. It came in the form of a large jar of jelly bellies. I bring it to class with me, shake it around in front of the boys, open the lid and let them smell, then set it in the middle of the table. When one of them wins a game, gets a word right, or writes neatly, I make a mark on the board under his name. If he misbehaves, I take a mark away. At the end of class, he gets as many jelly beans as he has marks. It's great incentive, and we get on swimmingly.