My Dear Sister,
I have a dozen people to write to, and four pages of dialog to memorize for the upcoming interview, but my mind is too tired to keep going. So I'm emailing you before I go to bed, which is relaxing, because I don't have to think about what I write.
...I hope I don't dream of Korean again tonight. Last night I dreamed that I kept double and triple booking myself, promising to study with people who were trying to prepare for different language tests, and always, pressing on the back of my mind, was the knowledge that I needed to study for my own, too. It was stressful.
My last fish is better. I was certain that he was going to die, but after several inactive days, he rallied himself, and is back to moving pebbles from one side of the tank to the other. That's one good thing that happened this week.
Another good thing took place on Monday night. I was on my way home, at ten o'clock, after a long day of just about everything you can imagine, and I passed a water fountain near the Sogang language building. It beckoned me, so I sat on one of the square stones beside it, while I waited for the traffic light to give me permission to cross the street. I watched the brightly lit water spill over lips of slate, and dash playfully into the frothy pool below. The light flashed green, and then red again, and still I watched the water. It was so calming. That water fountain has become rather a habit with me. It's loud enough that, if I sit very close, it drowns out the noise of the traffic and the people. And sometimes I forget that they're there at all. It's probably the only place in the city where I can pray out loud without being overheard, and I pray every time I sit by it. This time I prayed for a girl that I had passed just moments before, who had been walking down the street crying. And then I just sat and thought about God for a while. It's amazing how such a little thing can be so calming. I only stayed for five minutes or so; I'm never there long. I hadn't had time to eat dinner yet, but I was so very tired by the time I stepped through my front door, that I just grabbed a few rolls and a slice of processed cheese (yuck!), turned off the light, got into bed, and fell asleep as I ate.
Yesterday was pretty similar to Monday. It's because of these midterms. On Friday we have what is called an interview, but is really just groups of two, each presenting three five-minute dialogs on given topics, using specific grammar patterns. The three topics will be chosen at random from eight, so it's eight that we have to create and memorize. I'm good with winging it. But I have a Japanese partner, and she wants to have the dialogs down to perfection. She doesn't study as much as I, because Korean to the Japanese is as Spanish is to the English speaker. So she has a lot of time to give to the interview. I don't, but I know what it's like to study with a person who doesn't care to put as much into the final results as I do myself, so I'm trying to give her as much time as she needs. That's adding up to about three precious hours a day. So I study for two hours before school, attend class from ten to one, come home for one and a half hours of study over lunch, go back to school and prep with Liae till 5:30, then either come back home to study until bed time or go out to meet someone. Then I go to bed with my dinner. That's my schedule until Friday.
And if you were here, I'd tell you about my attitude toward my reading teacher, and you'd challenge me. That thought makes me smile. *sigh* I'm sure she's a fine person. If I was explaining it in Korean, I'd say 'it's just that our personalities don't match.' I find her teaching style so abrasive that I totally shut down during reading class. I try to engage for the first five minutes or so, but I quickly become so stressed by her, that I implode. My thoughts begin to fall apart, and then I begin to panic, and suddenly my mind freezes. And there I am for the rest of the hour. I stumble through it in sort of a daze, trying not to listen to her voice, because it makes me feel chaotic, and hoping that I won't be called on to answer any questions. When the time comes for us to discuss amongst ourselves the passages that we've read, I try to appear enthusiastic, because it's demoralizing to be studying with someone who lacks interest in what's going on. But inside my heart is in my stomach, because I know that I'll have to go home and set aside more time to re-study on my own what I ought to have learned in that waisted hour of class.
I only got 75% on the reading midterms, by the way. That's forty percent of my final grade. I had hoped to do well enough to help cover for the finals...but that seems not to have been God's plan. I'm okay with that. It makes me feel tired, but I don't feel pressured by it at all. I'll find out how I did in the other subjects on Friday.
I bought a Korean Bible for Doshiae, my Japanese friend. She's studying Korean, too, so I thought that it would be appropriate. Sister, I do want to see happiness in her eyes! I'm going to be seeing her again in a week, and until then I'm praying over the Bible every day, because I want the words in it to come alive to her.
My back has been hurting tremendously lately. And I'm fighting a cold, so I"m very tired. But at least I'm fighting it, eh?
I am glad that my fish is still alive.
As busy as I've been, and as pressured as I've felt, there are always quiet moments in which to settle my mind. Each morning, before the sun is up, I wash dishes, and the warm, soapy water is relaxing. Whenever I blow out the candle that I have frequently lit, I sit quietly and watch the smoke until it disappears. While the earth exists, there will always be time to watch candle smoke. Every day I have a few moments with the waterfall, while I'm waiting to cross the street, after school lets out. And every night, while I'm waiting for sleep to come, the silence wraps me up and holds me close. And, because He somehow loves me, God always draws my mind to Himself during these times of stillness, so that I feel closer to Him now than I often have when nothing else distracts.
I'm so amazingly tired.
And I love you amazingly, too.
Thank you for listening to my thoughts.
me
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Dear Friends
Dear Friends,
I always like to begin emails, because I get to write that: ‘Dear Friends’. And when I see those words typing themselves out, it makes me feel warm and cozy inside. I do think that good friendships are one of God’s sweetest gifts to us.
Firstly, thank you again for praying for my neck. The pain is entirely gone, and I’m very happy to be able to be about daily life, with no worries. Or at least with no worries of that sort.
The weather has grown cooler. I wear a sweater out of doors, and watch as little indications of winter creep slowly over the city. Leaves will be turning color soon, and then they will die and fall. And winter will be here. I fitted foam liner into the cracks between my windows and their respective sills, this afternoon, to keep the draft out. And tomorrow I’ll do the same for my door. That will make things a bit cozier.
Two weeks ago, and while the weather was still hot, a few friends and I traveled just north of Seoul. The area we went to was beautiful, and within a few hours I was completely relaxed, as all the busyness and stress of life dissipated. We drove up a mountain and found a waterfall. It poured over into a beautiful, deep, green-blue pool, and after exploring the area for a bit, I kicked off my shoes and jumped in. Because there’s always so much on my mind, I’m not usually spontaneous or carefree around even those people who know me well, so I think that I startled my friends a bit. But I laughed at back at them, and I wasn’t long before we were all in the water. It was absolutely freezing, but so invigorating! And the mountains and the sky and the quiet naturalness of it all were so peaceful, that I felt more refreshed and relaxed when I got home late that evening than I have in a very long while.
I gave a twenty minute presentation to my class, yesterday. I chose juggling as my topic, and enjoyed prepping for it. It went very well, and my teacher liked my presentation methods well enough to hold them up to the other students as an example of how they should prepare their own in the future. I was very happy.
I’ve often wondered what place pride in a well done job ought to take. Now I think I know, but it will be difficult to explain. I sent a text to a friend, after my presentation was finished,
‘Yay. My teacher liked my presentation! I’m happy!!’
He replied, ‘Good job! Be proud!’
That make me cock my head a bit, because it hadn’t occurred to me that I might be so. I was pleased as a child that I had done a good job. I was happy about it with the same happiness I have that I’m able to write well. Or the same pleasure that comes when I receive a letter in the mail, or when the sky clears and the earth warms for the first time every spring. It’s not gratitude, exactly – unless that word once meant what it now no longer does. It’s simply exultation of heart over a good thing. When I study the work of a artist, I’m filled with admiration. When I think of my presentation, a similar feeling comes over me. Not at my own abilities. I worked hard to do a good job, but that is in no way remarkable. Anyone might have done as much... and perhaps it is exactly that which brings me pleasure. It is beautiful to me that God created in each man the capacity for excellence. When I aspire to, and manage to touch, that goal, my heart thrills. When I stop to consciously consider it, I know that I am not deluded into supposing that the work was my own. The wonder is born of seeing the image of an excellent God stamped on my soul, and that displaying itself in my work. I can take no more personal credit for such a reality, than I can for the fact that my eyes are blue. But that makes me no less pleased with the reality of what is. And, while I cannot be proud either of the drive toward success or of the ability to succeed (neither of which I have created), nor can I think myself ‘humble’ for refusing to take credit for Another’s work. I can simply watch with awe and applaud, grateful to be permitted to look on, and giddy at the thought that He has chosen my heart for His canvas.
I’ve been fighting a cold for these last few days, and that leaves me very tired. We have midterms next week, and the thought of that makes me even more tired. But since I realized what I wrote above, I’ve had a great deal more enthusiasm for my school work. I do my best, not simply because I must, but because it is one way in which I can resemble Christ.
Thank you all for your emails and prayers. Loneliness is very real over here, in a broad and all encompassing way. It is good to continue to be connected with you.
With love,
Elisabeth
I always like to begin emails, because I get to write that: ‘Dear Friends’. And when I see those words typing themselves out, it makes me feel warm and cozy inside. I do think that good friendships are one of God’s sweetest gifts to us.
Firstly, thank you again for praying for my neck. The pain is entirely gone, and I’m very happy to be able to be about daily life, with no worries. Or at least with no worries of that sort.
The weather has grown cooler. I wear a sweater out of doors, and watch as little indications of winter creep slowly over the city. Leaves will be turning color soon, and then they will die and fall. And winter will be here. I fitted foam liner into the cracks between my windows and their respective sills, this afternoon, to keep the draft out. And tomorrow I’ll do the same for my door. That will make things a bit cozier.
Two weeks ago, and while the weather was still hot, a few friends and I traveled just north of Seoul. The area we went to was beautiful, and within a few hours I was completely relaxed, as all the busyness and stress of life dissipated. We drove up a mountain and found a waterfall. It poured over into a beautiful, deep, green-blue pool, and after exploring the area for a bit, I kicked off my shoes and jumped in. Because there’s always so much on my mind, I’m not usually spontaneous or carefree around even those people who know me well, so I think that I startled my friends a bit. But I laughed at back at them, and I wasn’t long before we were all in the water. It was absolutely freezing, but so invigorating! And the mountains and the sky and the quiet naturalness of it all were so peaceful, that I felt more refreshed and relaxed when I got home late that evening than I have in a very long while.
I gave a twenty minute presentation to my class, yesterday. I chose juggling as my topic, and enjoyed prepping for it. It went very well, and my teacher liked my presentation methods well enough to hold them up to the other students as an example of how they should prepare their own in the future. I was very happy.
I’ve often wondered what place pride in a well done job ought to take. Now I think I know, but it will be difficult to explain. I sent a text to a friend, after my presentation was finished,
‘Yay. My teacher liked my presentation! I’m happy!!’
He replied, ‘Good job! Be proud!’
That make me cock my head a bit, because it hadn’t occurred to me that I might be so. I was pleased as a child that I had done a good job. I was happy about it with the same happiness I have that I’m able to write well. Or the same pleasure that comes when I receive a letter in the mail, or when the sky clears and the earth warms for the first time every spring. It’s not gratitude, exactly – unless that word once meant what it now no longer does. It’s simply exultation of heart over a good thing. When I study the work of a artist, I’m filled with admiration. When I think of my presentation, a similar feeling comes over me. Not at my own abilities. I worked hard to do a good job, but that is in no way remarkable. Anyone might have done as much... and perhaps it is exactly that which brings me pleasure. It is beautiful to me that God created in each man the capacity for excellence. When I aspire to, and manage to touch, that goal, my heart thrills. When I stop to consciously consider it, I know that I am not deluded into supposing that the work was my own. The wonder is born of seeing the image of an excellent God stamped on my soul, and that displaying itself in my work. I can take no more personal credit for such a reality, than I can for the fact that my eyes are blue. But that makes me no less pleased with the reality of what is. And, while I cannot be proud either of the drive toward success or of the ability to succeed (neither of which I have created), nor can I think myself ‘humble’ for refusing to take credit for Another’s work. I can simply watch with awe and applaud, grateful to be permitted to look on, and giddy at the thought that He has chosen my heart for His canvas.
I’ve been fighting a cold for these last few days, and that leaves me very tired. We have midterms next week, and the thought of that makes me even more tired. But since I realized what I wrote above, I’ve had a great deal more enthusiasm for my school work. I do my best, not simply because I must, but because it is one way in which I can resemble Christ.
Thank you all for your emails and prayers. Loneliness is very real over here, in a broad and all encompassing way. It is good to continue to be connected with you.
With love,
Elisabeth
Tuesday, September 09, 2008
God is Good, and I am Happy.
Dear Family,
I anticipate my emails being rather sporadic this year. So far they’ve been coming once a week, or so. Later they’ll probably become spaced out between months. Who knows? Tonight I write because it’s 7:30, and my mind is wide awake and longing for interaction.
This semester has begun slowly. Two four-day weeks (of which this is the second), and a three-day week to come. It’s given me some time to brush up on all the grammar and vocabulary that I forgot over the summer. I’m surprised at how much I know. Last year I measured my progress from one day to the next. Today was set next to yesterday, and tomorrow next to today, so that I often felt discouraged. This time I have two other advents in Korea to compare my present state to, and the conception of those both were distinguished by a remarkable inability to communicate. So the contrast between where I am this semester and where I was the last time I landed in Korea has been pleasantly startling. I could almost suppose that everything I studied in the nine months prior to going back to the States seeped into and saturated my mind while I was away. I’m good with that.
As a full-time student, my life has been (necessarily, to some degree) quiet inverted. Every other occupation (with, perhaps, the exception of modeling) is geared toward serving others in some way, regardless of motive. When I worked as a housekeeper, I made other people’s beds. When I was waitressing, I served other people’s food. At U.V. I processed other people’s money. The point of an occupation is that other people need something which you must work to supply. However, as a student I simply take. All morning I take from my teachers, and all afternoon I give to myself. Every daily necessity and provision is for self. I don’t cook or clean or shop for ‘our’ family; I cook and clean and shop for me. All of it turns back upon myself. Of course, this is a somewhat inevitable part of my existence here, right now, and I some of it can’t be altered. But, as such, I must fight against a self-focused attitude much more fiercely than I would if I had a normal job, or lived with other people.
One very obvious way to do that is to make a point of becoming involved in the lives of one or two people, with the specific goal of blessing them. I’ve determined that, this year, knowing people well must take priority over every other consideration. Finding friends is easy. Everyone wants to be friends with ‘the foreigner’, so every date on my calendar for the coming weeks has been filled with engagements for coffee, or for lunch, or whatever. Unfortunately, I have yet to learn how to approach a thing moderately. I tend to rush headlong toward a goal, and end up, more often than not, in way over my head. My dilemma here, is that relationship-investing is time consuming. And time is not a commodity that I had a surplus of. I want to be entirely available to God, and I know that He will hone my friendships, as they develop, and will cause certain ones to fizzle out, while others grow deeper. But meanwhile, I feel crunched.
I’m trying still to be regular about studying Korean (which is also, of course, a time-consuming priority). I’ve been getting up earlier, to give myself two hours before school to memorize vocab, which helps a great deal. And I bring my books with me on the subway and bus, so that I can study en rout, when I go wherever to meet people. By the end of a day, though, I feel so over stimulated and exhausted that it regularly takes me two or three hours to relax enough to fall asleep.
So I’ve picked up juggling, again. Literally. I taught myself how to juggle when I was about thirteen, but haven’t done anything of the sort for quite some time. I still have my balls, though, and have dusted them off (so to speak). Juggling, they say, uses a different part of the brain than most mental activities use. The mind and body have to both be entirely relaxed in order to catch and throw the balls with perfect synchronization. I lend what support I can to this theory by affirming that when I’m throwing and catching, I don’t watch either the balls or my hands. I stare through them, as though I was watching something on the other side, and let my hands do the work with out the help of my mind. The motor skills wake up, and the cognitive skills (thinking, organizing, solving) seem to go to sleep. It’s like a brain cat nap, or something. So for between ten to thirty minutes a day, wherever there’s time, I throw and catch balls. I don’t know whether that really helps me to balance my schedule better, but at least it puts me in a better frame of mind, beside providing me with a little bit of much needed physical exertion.
Meanwhile, and all the business notwithstanding, I’m enjoying being here and being alive. God seems to meet me in a new way every day, showing me things about myself and about Himself that I never knew. Each morning I come to Him, and each morning I’m brought back to a place of complete rest. Somehow He manages to completely remove the weight of the previous day’s stresses and to pave a clear road through the present, so that there is never a buildup of pressure. Every day there is new strength, new pleasure, new grace. God is good, and I am happy. I couldn’t ask more of life.
I miss you all...
Elisabeth
I anticipate my emails being rather sporadic this year. So far they’ve been coming once a week, or so. Later they’ll probably become spaced out between months. Who knows? Tonight I write because it’s 7:30, and my mind is wide awake and longing for interaction.
This semester has begun slowly. Two four-day weeks (of which this is the second), and a three-day week to come. It’s given me some time to brush up on all the grammar and vocabulary that I forgot over the summer. I’m surprised at how much I know. Last year I measured my progress from one day to the next. Today was set next to yesterday, and tomorrow next to today, so that I often felt discouraged. This time I have two other advents in Korea to compare my present state to, and the conception of those both were distinguished by a remarkable inability to communicate. So the contrast between where I am this semester and where I was the last time I landed in Korea has been pleasantly startling. I could almost suppose that everything I studied in the nine months prior to going back to the States seeped into and saturated my mind while I was away. I’m good with that.
As a full-time student, my life has been (necessarily, to some degree) quiet inverted. Every other occupation (with, perhaps, the exception of modeling) is geared toward serving others in some way, regardless of motive. When I worked as a housekeeper, I made other people’s beds. When I was waitressing, I served other people’s food. At U.V. I processed other people’s money. The point of an occupation is that other people need something which you must work to supply. However, as a student I simply take. All morning I take from my teachers, and all afternoon I give to myself. Every daily necessity and provision is for self. I don’t cook or clean or shop for ‘our’ family; I cook and clean and shop for me. All of it turns back upon myself. Of course, this is a somewhat inevitable part of my existence here, right now, and I some of it can’t be altered. But, as such, I must fight against a self-focused attitude much more fiercely than I would if I had a normal job, or lived with other people.
One very obvious way to do that is to make a point of becoming involved in the lives of one or two people, with the specific goal of blessing them. I’ve determined that, this year, knowing people well must take priority over every other consideration. Finding friends is easy. Everyone wants to be friends with ‘the foreigner’, so every date on my calendar for the coming weeks has been filled with engagements for coffee, or for lunch, or whatever. Unfortunately, I have yet to learn how to approach a thing moderately. I tend to rush headlong toward a goal, and end up, more often than not, in way over my head. My dilemma here, is that relationship-investing is time consuming. And time is not a commodity that I had a surplus of. I want to be entirely available to God, and I know that He will hone my friendships, as they develop, and will cause certain ones to fizzle out, while others grow deeper. But meanwhile, I feel crunched.
I’m trying still to be regular about studying Korean (which is also, of course, a time-consuming priority). I’ve been getting up earlier, to give myself two hours before school to memorize vocab, which helps a great deal. And I bring my books with me on the subway and bus, so that I can study en rout, when I go wherever to meet people. By the end of a day, though, I feel so over stimulated and exhausted that it regularly takes me two or three hours to relax enough to fall asleep.
So I’ve picked up juggling, again. Literally. I taught myself how to juggle when I was about thirteen, but haven’t done anything of the sort for quite some time. I still have my balls, though, and have dusted them off (so to speak). Juggling, they say, uses a different part of the brain than most mental activities use. The mind and body have to both be entirely relaxed in order to catch and throw the balls with perfect synchronization. I lend what support I can to this theory by affirming that when I’m throwing and catching, I don’t watch either the balls or my hands. I stare through them, as though I was watching something on the other side, and let my hands do the work with out the help of my mind. The motor skills wake up, and the cognitive skills (thinking, organizing, solving) seem to go to sleep. It’s like a brain cat nap, or something. So for between ten to thirty minutes a day, wherever there’s time, I throw and catch balls. I don’t know whether that really helps me to balance my schedule better, but at least it puts me in a better frame of mind, beside providing me with a little bit of much needed physical exertion.
Meanwhile, and all the business notwithstanding, I’m enjoying being here and being alive. God seems to meet me in a new way every day, showing me things about myself and about Himself that I never knew. Each morning I come to Him, and each morning I’m brought back to a place of complete rest. Somehow He manages to completely remove the weight of the previous day’s stresses and to pave a clear road through the present, so that there is never a buildup of pressure. Every day there is new strength, new pleasure, new grace. God is good, and I am happy. I couldn’t ask more of life.
I miss you all...
Elisabeth
Sunday, September 07, 2008
The Conclusion
I have just a very few minutes, but I thought that I'd let you all
know that my shower-leak saga has reached it's conclusion. Last
evening I took a long, cool shower, and my entryway stayed dry. As it
turned out, water had been seeping through a large crack between where
the tile met the cement half way up the wall, and from there into the
next room. I'm very glad to no longer have to travel half an hour each
way to wash my hair!!
Take care,
Elisabeth
know that my shower-leak saga has reached it's conclusion. Last
evening I took a long, cool shower, and my entryway stayed dry. As it
turned out, water had been seeping through a large crack between where
the tile met the cement half way up the wall, and from there into the
next room. I'm very glad to no longer have to travel half an hour each
way to wash my hair!!
Take care,
Elisabeth
Tuesday, September 02, 2008
P.S.
Sure enough, my drain isn't plugged! Tomorrow the fix-it man is going
to come by again to reseal the bathroom tile, which also isn't the
problem. I hope you all don't mind if I chronicle the journey of my
shower leak to it's conclusion. It amuses me to do so, and keeps me
from taking it all too seriously.
Until tomorrow...
to come by again to reseal the bathroom tile, which also isn't the
problem. I hope you all don't mind if I chronicle the journey of my
shower leak to it's conclusion. It amuses me to do so, and keeps me
from taking it all too seriously.
Until tomorrow...
Monday, September 01, 2008
Rainy and Cool
Life in Korea is in full swing again. My Korean, which seemed to have abandoned me my first few days back here, has resurfaced, with all of its idiocies and stuttering mistakes. But at least I don’t feel dwarfed by my inarticulacy now, as I did three days ago, and can enjoy laughing at myself along with everyone else. One Korean girl, whom I’d only met once last year, called me the day after I got back. We got together, hoping to become better acquainted, and really hit it off. Her English is about at the level of a two year old, and my Korean is (says she) is as that of a seven year old, so it was almost entirely in Korean that we communicated. We talked for two hours on subjects that would have required, for two individuals sharing a common language, perhaps thirty minutes to canvas, and thoroughly enjoyed ourselves. Especially after I became accustomed to the strong alfalfa taste of our shared green tea ice-cream, scooped over red bean paste. Next week we’re going to begin reading the Psalms together, in Korean and in English. I look forward to that.
Today is rainy and cool. I have my one window open, and am sitting in front of that, enjoying listening to the musical pitter-patter of rain, while bigger splashes of pregnant drops, falling from the eaves of my house, keep time. Today excepted, the weather has been stiflingly humid. And I haven’t any AC. During the day, it’s not so difficult to deal with. I can sit in the stale, hot inside air, watching the heavy, hot outside air, and imagine that somehow the window being open causes the two classes of hot air to become cooler. But at night it’s quite a different matter. At night all my windows are closed, and I lie panting in great gulps of humidity. It’s difficult, if not impossible, to sleep in such a state. But I’ve discovered that, if I hold a pack of ice to my chest and can fall asleep before it melts, then I generally stay asleep for a few hours at least.
Later this afternoon a plumber (I suppose) will come by. I haven’t been able to shower at my house, because whenever I turn the shower on, water seeps up through the floor in my entryway, flooding it. So one of my Korean friends came over two days ago to explain the situation to my landlady, who later informed me that on Monday (today) someone would come by to clear my drains. I objected, ‘the drain isn’t clogged!’ But she’s quite sure it must be, and as her Korean is ever-so-much-more proficient than mine, she had the upper hand in the discussion, and I was forced to smile and acquiesce. Whenever whoever gets here, I’ll try to explain the problem to them, and see what happens with that. Meanwhile, I’ve a friend who lives about thirty minutes away, and she has graciously invited me to make free use of her place. Friends are good to have.
School begins tomorrow. I’m trying not to think too much about all the days that will follow today. I was glancing through my level 4 book yesterday, and it looked really difficult. I remember last year, how I had barely enough time to keep up with class. And I look ahead, and dread it being the same scenario all over again: me wrapped up in my little world of books and lessons and tests. It’s a very introverted world, and when I’m in it, I tend to shut other people out, which is unhealthy. I need to be involved in other people’s lives; it is, of course, why I’m here in the first place. But I don’t know at all how to incorporate both Korean and People. They squeeze each other out, because each is time consuming, and there are only twenty four hours in a day. There’s no lack of desire, but I feel an absolute lack of ability. Please pray for me, that I will know how to use my time wisely and well.
With love,
Elisabeth
Today is rainy and cool. I have my one window open, and am sitting in front of that, enjoying listening to the musical pitter-patter of rain, while bigger splashes of pregnant drops, falling from the eaves of my house, keep time. Today excepted, the weather has been stiflingly humid. And I haven’t any AC. During the day, it’s not so difficult to deal with. I can sit in the stale, hot inside air, watching the heavy, hot outside air, and imagine that somehow the window being open causes the two classes of hot air to become cooler. But at night it’s quite a different matter. At night all my windows are closed, and I lie panting in great gulps of humidity. It’s difficult, if not impossible, to sleep in such a state. But I’ve discovered that, if I hold a pack of ice to my chest and can fall asleep before it melts, then I generally stay asleep for a few hours at least.
Later this afternoon a plumber (I suppose) will come by. I haven’t been able to shower at my house, because whenever I turn the shower on, water seeps up through the floor in my entryway, flooding it. So one of my Korean friends came over two days ago to explain the situation to my landlady, who later informed me that on Monday (today) someone would come by to clear my drains. I objected, ‘the drain isn’t clogged!’ But she’s quite sure it must be, and as her Korean is ever-so-much-more proficient than mine, she had the upper hand in the discussion, and I was forced to smile and acquiesce. Whenever whoever gets here, I’ll try to explain the problem to them, and see what happens with that. Meanwhile, I’ve a friend who lives about thirty minutes away, and she has graciously invited me to make free use of her place. Friends are good to have.
School begins tomorrow. I’m trying not to think too much about all the days that will follow today. I was glancing through my level 4 book yesterday, and it looked really difficult. I remember last year, how I had barely enough time to keep up with class. And I look ahead, and dread it being the same scenario all over again: me wrapped up in my little world of books and lessons and tests. It’s a very introverted world, and when I’m in it, I tend to shut other people out, which is unhealthy. I need to be involved in other people’s lives; it is, of course, why I’m here in the first place. But I don’t know at all how to incorporate both Korean and People. They squeeze each other out, because each is time consuming, and there are only twenty four hours in a day. There’s no lack of desire, but I feel an absolute lack of ability. Please pray for me, that I will know how to use my time wisely and well.
With love,
Elisabeth
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
A Little Animation Figure on a Screen
Hello from Korea!
After a long, and somewhat complicated and erratic flight, I arrived back at my little home, in the big, bustling city of Seoul. So very odd, you know. I feel like a little animation figure on a screen who, having walked through a doorway, has stepped out the other side into an entirely new world. And the world I left behind, such a short time ago, has so absolutely disappeared behind me, that it seems I’ve just awaked from a dream, and nothing more. No time seems to have lapsed between when I closed my eyes in June, and opened them again three days ago. People still bustle happily outside my house, the city lights still flash and blink with regular chaos, the air is still warm and muggy, and my house is just as I left it, only perhaps a little smaller looking. But, however my senses belie the reality that I’ve been away for two months and a half, I know that it cannot all have been a dream, unless I shrunk while sleeping. Ten weeks ago I was brimfull of confidence. Now I feel as small as that animation figure on the screen. My house is very quiet. The large silence fills it, wrapping me around. I feel intimidated by small things, and know that it’s because, in that other world or dream, I was able to communicate effortlessly and fluently, and now I cannot. I tire easily, because my internal clock is still set to the time of that other world, which is seventeen hours behind this world. It all conspires to make me sigh. But school begins in a week, and I’m pretty confident that, when jet lag wears off, and when I have more to fill my time with, I’ll be ready to set that world on the shelf, and tackle this world with renewed enthusiasm. Meanwhile, thank you for praying for me.
Elisabeth
After a long, and somewhat complicated and erratic flight, I arrived back at my little home, in the big, bustling city of Seoul. So very odd, you know. I feel like a little animation figure on a screen who, having walked through a doorway, has stepped out the other side into an entirely new world. And the world I left behind, such a short time ago, has so absolutely disappeared behind me, that it seems I’ve just awaked from a dream, and nothing more. No time seems to have lapsed between when I closed my eyes in June, and opened them again three days ago. People still bustle happily outside my house, the city lights still flash and blink with regular chaos, the air is still warm and muggy, and my house is just as I left it, only perhaps a little smaller looking. But, however my senses belie the reality that I’ve been away for two months and a half, I know that it cannot all have been a dream, unless I shrunk while sleeping. Ten weeks ago I was brimfull of confidence. Now I feel as small as that animation figure on the screen. My house is very quiet. The large silence fills it, wrapping me around. I feel intimidated by small things, and know that it’s because, in that other world or dream, I was able to communicate effortlessly and fluently, and now I cannot. I tire easily, because my internal clock is still set to the time of that other world, which is seventeen hours behind this world. It all conspires to make me sigh. But school begins in a week, and I’m pretty confident that, when jet lag wears off, and when I have more to fill my time with, I’ll be ready to set that world on the shelf, and tackle this world with renewed enthusiasm. Meanwhile, thank you for praying for me.
Elisabeth
Friday, May 30, 2008
hokshi, hangukmal chal hayo?
Hello Family,
I’m sorry that I haven’t written sooner to let you all know that I did indeed pass level 3!! It was close, but my teachers were merciful, and I managed to drag myself through with trembling legs, burning lungs, and a powerful headache. I wrote in my little, green journal, ‘Well, I did pass. My head is splitting, but that’s okay. It’s okay, too, that I’m likely to pass out from fatigue, and feel like I’m getting another cold. I have nothing to do which demands health or comfort or energy. For three months I’m perfectly free to be as tired and headachy and sick as I jolly well please, with absolutely no extenuating stress. What a light and airy feeling this is!’
Taking advantage of my freedom, I decided to spend a few days at a retreat, in the eastern part of Korea, called the Jesus Abbey. There one may find a few thatched, stone buildings, snuggled up in the mountains, away from the rest of the Country and it’s noises and lights and smells. My object in seeking such seclusion, was to spend some much needed time in reflection, quietness, and prayer. On the verge of a great deal of change, I felt the definite need to reassess my focus and direction, as well as to re-communicate to God my desire to love Him well. So, with this in mind, three days ago I purchased a ticket for a four and a half hour train ride to Taebaek.
Upon arriving in Kangneung, I glanced about me, looking for a road whereby I might carry out Mr. Torrey’s instructions to ‘walk down hill for about ½ block, then turn right.’ I discovered to my amusement and chagrin, but not necessarily to my surprise, that the train station had stopped at the top of said hill, from which point three roads ribboned out, each more down hill than its neighbor.
I’ve been too often confronted by similar situations to be dismayed, so holding my bag close, I looked about for some sort of public city map. These large, posted maps can be found at the entrance of any subway station in Seoul, and often are posted randomly along major streets. I depend on them to get my bearings, when in an unfamiliar district, something like the needle of a compass depends upon the North Pole. I supposed that, in such a public location as a train station one must be displayed. I was wrong, but no matter. Far to the left I spotted a little, round building with a conical roof. Large orange letters adorned the front of it: ‘여행 안내소’ The words were familiar, but I was tired, and while I registered enough to suspicion that the place might be of some use to me, my mind wouldn’t tell me in what way, specifically. I gazed, in a puzzled way, for some moments more, and then my eyes took in even larger English words directly below the Korean, ‘Tourist Information’. It testifies to my obsession with Korean that my eyes automatically registered the Korean before even noticing the English.
I stepped over to the little, half-moon window and inquired, ‘Yaesuwon-ae eotteohkae gayo? How do I get to the Jesus Abbey?’
She pulled out a pamphlet, circled a set of numbers which were swimming in a sea of Korean words, pointed in a generally unspecific direction, and rattled off a string of Korean, the only part of which I comprehended being, ‘and then go left’ sandwiched somewhere in the middle.
I nodded and looked intelligent, and when she had finished, surprised her by asking her to repeat herself. She did so, voluntarily translating the ‘go left’ part into English for me. Since the directions that I had taken earlier said nothing about going left, but rather had ‘go right’ written twice (for emphasis, I suppose), I decided not to worry my head over that particular part of either set of directions, but just to walk in the down hill direction apparently indicated, and trust to fate, or to my finer instincts, to direct me to where I ought to be. As it chanced, fate deserted me after about two minutes, and my finer instincts directed me to hale a cab.
I know that taking such short cuts won’t help me with my Korean, and perhaps I ought to have gone back to the information desk to commence a dissection of the agent’s instructions. But as long as there remain taxis to tempt me, I’m afraid that ‘travel Korean’ may never become my strong suit.
But, aside even from the convenience of that particular method of transportation, taxi talk is by far my favorite. I learned how to ‘talk taxi’ before I knew the alphabet, for all intents and purposes, and that only took me 24 hours to commit to memory. All one needs to know are the name of his destination, and the words for ‘left’, ‘right’, ‘straight’ and ‘stop’. ‘No’ is also helpful, but not absolutely necessary. That particular word is employed in the following manner:
After giving the name of one’s destination and ‘left’ or ‘right’ed his way down a couple of streets, the driver will usually drown his hapless passenger under a flood of words, a mile long and several miles deep. There’s no call for the passenger to comprehend any of it, really, because nine times out of ten, the driver is simply commenting on the passenger’s Korean fluency, to which ‘anyo! no!’ is a culturally, and honestly, appropriate reply. The tenth time, it will turn out that the driver was asking the passenger if he studies Korean, to which a ‘no’ (for the average foreigner) applies in any case. ‘No’ is always a safe reply to either comment, and generally puts a damper on further conversation.
Of course, once I was able to carry on a more in-depth conversation that what could be maintained with ‘left’, ‘right’ and ‘no’, I began to encourage an expansion of topic. Drivers are willing, and usually pleased, to accommodate. So when told what a good grasp I have on the word ‘straight’, I startle even the most sincere by replying with unerring pronunciation and in present perfect progressive tense, ‘Oh no! I’ve been studying Korean for about nine months, but it’s a really difficult language, so I still don’t speak it very well.’
After a moment of deliciously startled silence, a grand smile dawns on our sociable driver’s face, and he repeats his first observation with a great deal more conviction, and then proceeds to ask where and for how long I’ve been studying, following up with such questions as, ‘What’s your major?’ ‘How old are you?’ ‘Are you married?... No?... Then do you have a boy friend?... Why not?’ etc.
All such questions are not only culturally acceptable, but also personally so, because they’re easy to tackle. Before the conversation has a chance to get out of my ball park, we’ve arrived at my destination, and can wish each other a merry farewell, feeling each toward the other a mutual sense of peace and good will.
However, at this point I reach an impasse. In spite of my flexible maneuvering of verb tenses and adverbs and prepositional phrases, I’m confounded, to my chagrin, when it comes to wishing our driver farewell. ‘Stay in peace’ or ‘Go in peace’? The driver is remaining in the taxi, however he (in his vehicle) is preparing to depart, so which to employ?
I used to agonize over the conundrum long before arriving at our destination, until one day it occurred to me that the driver’s confidence in my fluency is so firmly root and grounded, and the two greetings similar enough in sound, that he probably would never notice which I used, if I dwelt fondly on the similarities and rushed over that one syllable upon which the contrast is based. And if he did happen to notice, it would most likely result in his adopting my mistake and the written word, and adjusting his own vocabulary accordingly. It’s not uncommon for a foreigner with no more than a passing command of the language to be told, ‘You speak Korean better than we do!’ And it’s spoken with such simple sincerity that sometimes I wonder if they actually believe it...
I arrived at the Abby in the late afternoon, and had just enough time to settle comfortably in before the dinner bell rang. I didn’t see much, that evening, of the mountains that hug the Abby, but what I did see reminded me strikingly of my Oregon mountains, so that I felt instantly at home.
The next day it rained, so I spent much of it indoors in the ‘tea room’. I was sipping my morning coffee there, and writing some of my thoughts, when a young couple came over and sat at my small table with me. In Korea it’s nothing for perfect strangers to share a table in a public place, but one generally keeps to himself in such a case. So I was surprised to hear myself being addressed. Even more surprising was that the man’s opening comment was in Korean. I think that’s a first for me. When ever I’ve been addressed, it’s always been in English, butchered or otherwise, if only to ask if I, by any chance, speak Korean. In this case the question was the same, but in it’s own language, ‘hokshi, hangkmal chal hayo?’
‘No,’ I replied, adding that rider with which I ordinarily impress the cab drivers.
This, of course, led to further questions, which I was able to answer with perfect ease, even throwing in a few questions of my own, from time to time.
If I may do so without boasting (and yet, may I not boast? I have indeed worked hard for that privilege!), those subjects with which I am familiar, in Korean, I have studied and studied again with such ferocity, that I’m able to converse on them with a respectable degree of fluency, ease, and clear pronunciation (this latter I have received countless compliments on, and I believe that the compliments given were not hollow ones, because, while a Korean may insist that the foreigner speaks the language better than he does himself, he seems not to notice the discrepancy when immediately following that with ‘and your pronunciation needs a lot of practice.’). My ability to handle the lesser topics is quite deceptive, leading people to suppose that I have a much better grasp on the entire language than I really do have. I’ve even pulled the wool over my own eyes, before, which always leads me into trouble.
Unlike my taxi experiences, when sitting together in a coffee room there is no definite end to the conversation in sight, so it shortly moves from ‘How much money do you make?’ to ‘What are your long term goals for studying Korean?’ to ‘How do Americans generally feel about the cultural atmosphere in Korea?’ I can tackle these questions, when given my space, but by the time I’ve properly skinned and gutted the subject, and disposed of the entrails, everyone’s minds have been disabused of the notion that I can do any more than wield the pronunciation, and my linguistic status has dropped from ‘better than a Korean’ to ‘just like a Korean’ with the thoughtful rider that ‘you should practice a lot.’
‘I know,’ I reply, back in swim-able depths, ‘I want to speak more Korean, but when I hang out with my Korean friends, they always want to practice their English on me, so I really get very little Korean practice outside of the classroom.’
And so my new friends are sympathetic and invite me to practice on them, which I do until they inevitably turn the conversation, ‘Yes, and I want to learn English, too.’
But back to the ‘tea room’ wherein I began this monologue.
Just as our friend’s opening comment was out of the ordinary, being in Korean, so also was the flow of conversation that followed. He asked nothing beyond ‘when did you come here?’ and I even had to voluntarily supply my one name. Apparently the fact that I live in Korea was enough to convince him that I was a fluent bi-linguist, and, being the sociable fellow that he was, within ten minutes I realized that I was destined to hear the in-depth history of his short life.
It was an amusing recital. I know this, because he smiled often while recounting it. I watched his face and hands carefully, taking my cues from him. When he smiled I chuckled. When he laughed I split my sides. When he frowned I shed tears. This, coupled with appropriately applied ‘yeah’s and ‘mhmm’s, convinced him that I thoroughly understood and sympathized with the matter at hand.
In all reality, I picked up only one word out of 50, to begin with. When my head began to stop spinning, I was able to pay closer attention, and picked out one word in ten. Enough to grasp the topic of conversation, at least, and at that point my comments evolved from ‘uhuh’ to ‘I understand’ or ‘yeah, I think so, too.’ After this fashion we rushed headlong through some great conversational pieces, for nearly an hour and a half, and though it often seemed as though I was drowning, and a couple of times I even choked and had to be resuscitated, I managed to survive credibly.
Those one or two near death experiences occurred whenever our friend interrupted his narrative with a question. My heart would be absolutely still for a moment, and then return with a plunge calculated to ram itself through my chest wall. ‘Yes?’ with raising inflection. The rough equivalent of, ‘Can you be more specific?’
And so the question would be thoroughly repeated and explained, until I was able to grasp it well enough to answer.
If entirely lost, I would pick one word at random from his explanation and say, for example, ‘Cheolyeon? I don’t think I know that word.’ Which set him off upon the happy embarkment of a detailed explanation, effectively steering us away from the dangerous topic at hand.
In all, I suppose I grasped about 25% of what was toward, and remember none of it. I do need more practice, and sigh to think of how far I’ve yet to go.
So much for boasting.
As I glance back over all that I’ve just written, it occurs to me that I’ve talked an awful lot, without really saying anything. It think that one of the things that was very apparent to me, in contrast to English-speaking Seoul, was the amount of Korean I was expected to use, and my own incompetence. It wasn’t a bad experience, but it was a thought provoking one. So two of those many experiences were what naturally made their way from my mind to my fingertips.
And I was able to accomplish what I had gone there for. I don’t have any of the answers to life. In fact, if any thing, I have more questions than ever. But, while talking with God about them, the questions have taken on definition, form, continuity and definite relation. Like a tumble-dryer: My thoughts were spinning around before, but now the spinning has stopped. The clothes are still there in all their variety (except, maybe, a missing sock or two), but now the chaos has been reduced to something sort-able and fold-able.
...Ummm, okay. So maybe that wasn’t the most coherent parallel, after all. But this email is getting too long, so I’ll leave it as is, and trust to your generous imaginations to supply the discrepancy.
I love you all, and sincerely look forward to seeing you soon,
Elisabeth
I’m sorry that I haven’t written sooner to let you all know that I did indeed pass level 3!! It was close, but my teachers were merciful, and I managed to drag myself through with trembling legs, burning lungs, and a powerful headache. I wrote in my little, green journal, ‘Well, I did pass. My head is splitting, but that’s okay. It’s okay, too, that I’m likely to pass out from fatigue, and feel like I’m getting another cold. I have nothing to do which demands health or comfort or energy. For three months I’m perfectly free to be as tired and headachy and sick as I jolly well please, with absolutely no extenuating stress. What a light and airy feeling this is!’
Taking advantage of my freedom, I decided to spend a few days at a retreat, in the eastern part of Korea, called the Jesus Abbey. There one may find a few thatched, stone buildings, snuggled up in the mountains, away from the rest of the Country and it’s noises and lights and smells. My object in seeking such seclusion, was to spend some much needed time in reflection, quietness, and prayer. On the verge of a great deal of change, I felt the definite need to reassess my focus and direction, as well as to re-communicate to God my desire to love Him well. So, with this in mind, three days ago I purchased a ticket for a four and a half hour train ride to Taebaek.
Upon arriving in Kangneung, I glanced about me, looking for a road whereby I might carry out Mr. Torrey’s instructions to ‘walk down hill for about ½ block, then turn right.’ I discovered to my amusement and chagrin, but not necessarily to my surprise, that the train station had stopped at the top of said hill, from which point three roads ribboned out, each more down hill than its neighbor.
I’ve been too often confronted by similar situations to be dismayed, so holding my bag close, I looked about for some sort of public city map. These large, posted maps can be found at the entrance of any subway station in Seoul, and often are posted randomly along major streets. I depend on them to get my bearings, when in an unfamiliar district, something like the needle of a compass depends upon the North Pole. I supposed that, in such a public location as a train station one must be displayed. I was wrong, but no matter. Far to the left I spotted a little, round building with a conical roof. Large orange letters adorned the front of it: ‘여행 안내소’ The words were familiar, but I was tired, and while I registered enough to suspicion that the place might be of some use to me, my mind wouldn’t tell me in what way, specifically. I gazed, in a puzzled way, for some moments more, and then my eyes took in even larger English words directly below the Korean, ‘Tourist Information’. It testifies to my obsession with Korean that my eyes automatically registered the Korean before even noticing the English.
I stepped over to the little, half-moon window and inquired, ‘Yaesuwon-ae eotteohkae gayo? How do I get to the Jesus Abbey?’
She pulled out a pamphlet, circled a set of numbers which were swimming in a sea of Korean words, pointed in a generally unspecific direction, and rattled off a string of Korean, the only part of which I comprehended being, ‘and then go left’ sandwiched somewhere in the middle.
I nodded and looked intelligent, and when she had finished, surprised her by asking her to repeat herself. She did so, voluntarily translating the ‘go left’ part into English for me. Since the directions that I had taken earlier said nothing about going left, but rather had ‘go right’ written twice (for emphasis, I suppose), I decided not to worry my head over that particular part of either set of directions, but just to walk in the down hill direction apparently indicated, and trust to fate, or to my finer instincts, to direct me to where I ought to be. As it chanced, fate deserted me after about two minutes, and my finer instincts directed me to hale a cab.
I know that taking such short cuts won’t help me with my Korean, and perhaps I ought to have gone back to the information desk to commence a dissection of the agent’s instructions. But as long as there remain taxis to tempt me, I’m afraid that ‘travel Korean’ may never become my strong suit.
But, aside even from the convenience of that particular method of transportation, taxi talk is by far my favorite. I learned how to ‘talk taxi’ before I knew the alphabet, for all intents and purposes, and that only took me 24 hours to commit to memory. All one needs to know are the name of his destination, and the words for ‘left’, ‘right’, ‘straight’ and ‘stop’. ‘No’ is also helpful, but not absolutely necessary. That particular word is employed in the following manner:
After giving the name of one’s destination and ‘left’ or ‘right’ed his way down a couple of streets, the driver will usually drown his hapless passenger under a flood of words, a mile long and several miles deep. There’s no call for the passenger to comprehend any of it, really, because nine times out of ten, the driver is simply commenting on the passenger’s Korean fluency, to which ‘anyo! no!’ is a culturally, and honestly, appropriate reply. The tenth time, it will turn out that the driver was asking the passenger if he studies Korean, to which a ‘no’ (for the average foreigner) applies in any case. ‘No’ is always a safe reply to either comment, and generally puts a damper on further conversation.
Of course, once I was able to carry on a more in-depth conversation that what could be maintained with ‘left’, ‘right’ and ‘no’, I began to encourage an expansion of topic. Drivers are willing, and usually pleased, to accommodate. So when told what a good grasp I have on the word ‘straight’, I startle even the most sincere by replying with unerring pronunciation and in present perfect progressive tense, ‘Oh no! I’ve been studying Korean for about nine months, but it’s a really difficult language, so I still don’t speak it very well.’
After a moment of deliciously startled silence, a grand smile dawns on our sociable driver’s face, and he repeats his first observation with a great deal more conviction, and then proceeds to ask where and for how long I’ve been studying, following up with such questions as, ‘What’s your major?’ ‘How old are you?’ ‘Are you married?... No?... Then do you have a boy friend?... Why not?’ etc.
All such questions are not only culturally acceptable, but also personally so, because they’re easy to tackle. Before the conversation has a chance to get out of my ball park, we’ve arrived at my destination, and can wish each other a merry farewell, feeling each toward the other a mutual sense of peace and good will.
However, at this point I reach an impasse. In spite of my flexible maneuvering of verb tenses and adverbs and prepositional phrases, I’m confounded, to my chagrin, when it comes to wishing our driver farewell. ‘Stay in peace’ or ‘Go in peace’? The driver is remaining in the taxi, however he (in his vehicle) is preparing to depart, so which to employ?
I used to agonize over the conundrum long before arriving at our destination, until one day it occurred to me that the driver’s confidence in my fluency is so firmly root and grounded, and the two greetings similar enough in sound, that he probably would never notice which I used, if I dwelt fondly on the similarities and rushed over that one syllable upon which the contrast is based. And if he did happen to notice, it would most likely result in his adopting my mistake and the written word, and adjusting his own vocabulary accordingly. It’s not uncommon for a foreigner with no more than a passing command of the language to be told, ‘You speak Korean better than we do!’ And it’s spoken with such simple sincerity that sometimes I wonder if they actually believe it...
I arrived at the Abby in the late afternoon, and had just enough time to settle comfortably in before the dinner bell rang. I didn’t see much, that evening, of the mountains that hug the Abby, but what I did see reminded me strikingly of my Oregon mountains, so that I felt instantly at home.
The next day it rained, so I spent much of it indoors in the ‘tea room’. I was sipping my morning coffee there, and writing some of my thoughts, when a young couple came over and sat at my small table with me. In Korea it’s nothing for perfect strangers to share a table in a public place, but one generally keeps to himself in such a case. So I was surprised to hear myself being addressed. Even more surprising was that the man’s opening comment was in Korean. I think that’s a first for me. When ever I’ve been addressed, it’s always been in English, butchered or otherwise, if only to ask if I, by any chance, speak Korean. In this case the question was the same, but in it’s own language, ‘hokshi, hangkmal chal hayo?’
‘No,’ I replied, adding that rider with which I ordinarily impress the cab drivers.
This, of course, led to further questions, which I was able to answer with perfect ease, even throwing in a few questions of my own, from time to time.
If I may do so without boasting (and yet, may I not boast? I have indeed worked hard for that privilege!), those subjects with which I am familiar, in Korean, I have studied and studied again with such ferocity, that I’m able to converse on them with a respectable degree of fluency, ease, and clear pronunciation (this latter I have received countless compliments on, and I believe that the compliments given were not hollow ones, because, while a Korean may insist that the foreigner speaks the language better than he does himself, he seems not to notice the discrepancy when immediately following that with ‘and your pronunciation needs a lot of practice.’). My ability to handle the lesser topics is quite deceptive, leading people to suppose that I have a much better grasp on the entire language than I really do have. I’ve even pulled the wool over my own eyes, before, which always leads me into trouble.
Unlike my taxi experiences, when sitting together in a coffee room there is no definite end to the conversation in sight, so it shortly moves from ‘How much money do you make?’ to ‘What are your long term goals for studying Korean?’ to ‘How do Americans generally feel about the cultural atmosphere in Korea?’ I can tackle these questions, when given my space, but by the time I’ve properly skinned and gutted the subject, and disposed of the entrails, everyone’s minds have been disabused of the notion that I can do any more than wield the pronunciation, and my linguistic status has dropped from ‘better than a Korean’ to ‘just like a Korean’ with the thoughtful rider that ‘you should practice a lot.’
‘I know,’ I reply, back in swim-able depths, ‘I want to speak more Korean, but when I hang out with my Korean friends, they always want to practice their English on me, so I really get very little Korean practice outside of the classroom.’
And so my new friends are sympathetic and invite me to practice on them, which I do until they inevitably turn the conversation, ‘Yes, and I want to learn English, too.’
But back to the ‘tea room’ wherein I began this monologue.
Just as our friend’s opening comment was out of the ordinary, being in Korean, so also was the flow of conversation that followed. He asked nothing beyond ‘when did you come here?’ and I even had to voluntarily supply my one name. Apparently the fact that I live in Korea was enough to convince him that I was a fluent bi-linguist, and, being the sociable fellow that he was, within ten minutes I realized that I was destined to hear the in-depth history of his short life.
It was an amusing recital. I know this, because he smiled often while recounting it. I watched his face and hands carefully, taking my cues from him. When he smiled I chuckled. When he laughed I split my sides. When he frowned I shed tears. This, coupled with appropriately applied ‘yeah’s and ‘mhmm’s, convinced him that I thoroughly understood and sympathized with the matter at hand.
In all reality, I picked up only one word out of 50, to begin with. When my head began to stop spinning, I was able to pay closer attention, and picked out one word in ten. Enough to grasp the topic of conversation, at least, and at that point my comments evolved from ‘uhuh’ to ‘I understand’ or ‘yeah, I think so, too.’ After this fashion we rushed headlong through some great conversational pieces, for nearly an hour and a half, and though it often seemed as though I was drowning, and a couple of times I even choked and had to be resuscitated, I managed to survive credibly.
Those one or two near death experiences occurred whenever our friend interrupted his narrative with a question. My heart would be absolutely still for a moment, and then return with a plunge calculated to ram itself through my chest wall. ‘Yes?’ with raising inflection. The rough equivalent of, ‘Can you be more specific?’
And so the question would be thoroughly repeated and explained, until I was able to grasp it well enough to answer.
If entirely lost, I would pick one word at random from his explanation and say, for example, ‘Cheolyeon? I don’t think I know that word.’ Which set him off upon the happy embarkment of a detailed explanation, effectively steering us away from the dangerous topic at hand.
In all, I suppose I grasped about 25% of what was toward, and remember none of it. I do need more practice, and sigh to think of how far I’ve yet to go.
So much for boasting.
As I glance back over all that I’ve just written, it occurs to me that I’ve talked an awful lot, without really saying anything. It think that one of the things that was very apparent to me, in contrast to English-speaking Seoul, was the amount of Korean I was expected to use, and my own incompetence. It wasn’t a bad experience, but it was a thought provoking one. So two of those many experiences were what naturally made their way from my mind to my fingertips.
And I was able to accomplish what I had gone there for. I don’t have any of the answers to life. In fact, if any thing, I have more questions than ever. But, while talking with God about them, the questions have taken on definition, form, continuity and definite relation. Like a tumble-dryer: My thoughts were spinning around before, but now the spinning has stopped. The clothes are still there in all their variety (except, maybe, a missing sock or two), but now the chaos has been reduced to something sort-able and fold-able.
...Ummm, okay. So maybe that wasn’t the most coherent parallel, after all. But this email is getting too long, so I’ll leave it as is, and trust to your generous imaginations to supply the discrepancy.
I love you all, and sincerely look forward to seeing you soon,
Elisabeth
Thursday, May 08, 2008
Running and Running
Dear Sister,
I have a half-dozen important emails to reply to, and a late dinner to eat, but your email beckons me, and I must 'talk' to you a bit.
I miss you. I have never longed to be home more utterly and completely. My heart is there already, and my body feverishly aches to join it. No reservations. No hesitation. I would take off running toward you now, if I thought it would get me there any faster.
Meanwhile, my mind has absolutely shut off. I have never experienced this before. Weariness, frustration, confusion, overwhelmed-ness; these have all had my mind in their powerful grips before, but never have they so completely razed. When one dashes uphill until his legs burn and his lungs explode, then still keeps running and running, there comes a point where his body must collapse, no matter how close to the top he is. The strongest will in the world cannot prevent it. Two days ago my mind turned to lead, and try as I would, I could not make it go on. It was simply done with contorting and stretching and running and running. In a desperate attempt to lighten its load, hoping that it might be able to pick itself back up and scrape through just one more week, I spoke to my teacher on Tuesday, three class days before my finals, and told her that I was going to drop out of writing class. She was disappointed, no less was I, but there was no other way of going forward.
Or so I though. God seemed to think otherwise, though. The next morning it occurred to me that I hadn't consulted God about my decision. I had simply reacted with something of a natural instinct for survival. I didn't suppose that God would object to my decision, but I decided that I ought at least to give Him a chance to so, if He should want to. So I told Him what I'd done, finishing with, 'Can I just leave it as is?' Sitting quietly for a bit, then, it seemed to me that I had God's permission, but not necessarily His blessing, to do as I wanted. Considering it, I saw that to submit 50 hours of accredited class time, when all that was needed to secure them was three more days of class and one test, would be foolishness. But this left me utterly nonplused. While to stop would be foolish, to continue was impossible.
Then something struck me: Often I have been brought to an end of my own ability to perform physically, so that I have had to lean on God and on His physical strength alone. Often, also, I have been brought to an end of my ability to perform spiritually, and here again God has filled in with His own spiritual strength. But this is the first time I've ever reached an end of my mental strength. I've no doubt that God has brought me here because He wants me to depend on Him in this area, too. Very well. I need not lighten my load, because God is not confounded. I need simply to lean against Him, and let Him do what He will.
So I went to writing class again this morning, to my teacher's amusement, and felt just as dead and heavy as ever. But God will pull us through. He always does.
That's my story. I don't know whether I'll pass my finals or not. I tend to philosophically categorize, "I suppose I will; one does." Either way, I just pray that God will carry me through the next few days of my life, and that I will learn to depend on Him utterly.
If you feel inclined to pray for me, I won't object...
I love you tremendously,
Jonny-Jo
I have a half-dozen important emails to reply to, and a late dinner to eat, but your email beckons me, and I must 'talk' to you a bit.
I miss you. I have never longed to be home more utterly and completely. My heart is there already, and my body feverishly aches to join it. No reservations. No hesitation. I would take off running toward you now, if I thought it would get me there any faster.
Meanwhile, my mind has absolutely shut off. I have never experienced this before. Weariness, frustration, confusion, overwhelmed-ness; these have all had my mind in their powerful grips before, but never have they so completely razed. When one dashes uphill until his legs burn and his lungs explode, then still keeps running and running, there comes a point where his body must collapse, no matter how close to the top he is. The strongest will in the world cannot prevent it. Two days ago my mind turned to lead, and try as I would, I could not make it go on. It was simply done with contorting and stretching and running and running. In a desperate attempt to lighten its load, hoping that it might be able to pick itself back up and scrape through just one more week, I spoke to my teacher on Tuesday, three class days before my finals, and told her that I was going to drop out of writing class. She was disappointed, no less was I, but there was no other way of going forward.
Or so I though. God seemed to think otherwise, though. The next morning it occurred to me that I hadn't consulted God about my decision. I had simply reacted with something of a natural instinct for survival. I didn't suppose that God would object to my decision, but I decided that I ought at least to give Him a chance to so, if He should want to. So I told Him what I'd done, finishing with, 'Can I just leave it as is?' Sitting quietly for a bit, then, it seemed to me that I had God's permission, but not necessarily His blessing, to do as I wanted. Considering it, I saw that to submit 50 hours of accredited class time, when all that was needed to secure them was three more days of class and one test, would be foolishness. But this left me utterly nonplused. While to stop would be foolish, to continue was impossible.
Then something struck me: Often I have been brought to an end of my own ability to perform physically, so that I have had to lean on God and on His physical strength alone. Often, also, I have been brought to an end of my ability to perform spiritually, and here again God has filled in with His own spiritual strength. But this is the first time I've ever reached an end of my mental strength. I've no doubt that God has brought me here because He wants me to depend on Him in this area, too. Very well. I need not lighten my load, because God is not confounded. I need simply to lean against Him, and let Him do what He will.
So I went to writing class again this morning, to my teacher's amusement, and felt just as dead and heavy as ever. But God will pull us through. He always does.
That's my story. I don't know whether I'll pass my finals or not. I tend to philosophically categorize, "I suppose I will; one does." Either way, I just pray that God will carry me through the next few days of my life, and that I will learn to depend on Him utterly.
If you feel inclined to pray for me, I won't object...
I love you tremendously,
Jonny-Jo
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
A Multitude of Faces
Here I am again... writing in a state of semi-drowsiness. I've been in school or studying for the last ten hours straight, not counting a break for lunch. This hasn't been an abnormal day, really, but for some reason I'm feeling it more now than I usually do, so I don't know how much I'll get written before my mind entirely shuts down.
This morning I learned my favorite Korean word to date: '토킹아바우트'. The Romanization of that would be 'tokingabaut', stolen, of course, from the English phrase, 'talking about'. English words with a Korean twist, and it's really good for a laugh when one begins to conjugate that with suffixes and infixes.
The weather had begun to be beautiful a few weeks ago, but the day that Mary Horn arrived it clouded over, and has been chilly ever since. The weather in no way interfered with her visit, though, and we had a grand time exploring those parts of Seoul that I only see when I have visitors. The places are worth visiting more often, but I really haven't the motivation to go 'yogi jogi' ('here and there') alone. Some things simply require two.
One very pleasant part of going 'round, was that by it I was able to measure my Korean improvement. Every time I go to Namdaemun Market, for example, I'm able to ask questions of the vendors, or make comments on their wares that I had wanted to speak of the previous time, but had been unable to do. I understand a lot more of the conversations around me, and am able to interact on, if not a deeper level, at least a more specific and thorough one. Very motivating, needless to say.
One of the things we did was something of an adventure, based as it was upon mere speculation. I told Mary about the 'Spectacular Musical Water Fountain', which I had seen last year. The name provides for itself a fairly accurate description: it is spectacular, it is musical, and it is a water fountain. She had seen a similar fountain while in China, and we agreed that it would fun to go see this one together. The only hitch was that it was outside of Seoul, and I didn't know how to get there. I tried to get a hold of Boyeun, who would have been able to provide me with a bus number, but she was unreachable. So I explored a subway map, and saw way off in the left had corner: 'Lake Park'. I was pretty sure that that was the name of the place that sported the fountain, so we decided to gamble an hour subway ride, each way, against the chance of my being right. And I was.
The first time I saw the fountain, it provoked me to record in my journal, "It really was remarkably beautiful. It made me think of Jesus, and I marveled at His nature which is not beautiful, but Beauty itself. My prayer is that I will see, and always be aware of the depths of the beauty of my God."
There is something about living things, or things that resemble life, that resonates with me. Perhaps therein lies my obsession with candles and plants and fish. When I watch the water shooting into the air, and whirling and dancing it time to music and lights, my heart soars with it, and for a time I'm lost to everything around me.
One thing that has struck me, lately, is how very creative God is.
I challenge you to recreate 6 billion of any one item, applying these restrictions:
1. All items must be constructed with the same features.
2. The features of each item must be of relatively similar proportion and size.
3. The same color scheme must be applied to every item, allowing only for variation of shade.
When I see the multitude of faces around me, I see that each of these restrictions has been adhered to, without any one person looking so like his neighbor as to be indistinguishable, or even nearly so. How is that possible? And how great, then, must be the individual value of each man's soul, where so much more creativity and variety have been applied! What a shame that even one should be lost!
Last Sunday I visited the public bath house near my house. My back has been so tight lately, that I'm in almost perpetual pain. I thought that perhaps the saunas and bath jets might help to loosen the muscles enough for my back to return to its normal state. After an hour and a half of almost nauseating heat, my back felt very much better, and I came home with only a very small cramp left in my shoulder. But the effect didn't last long, unfortunately, and all through my upper back and over my right shoulder feels on fire. It's worse than it has been in a long time, and has begun to interrupt my sleep, so I ask you to please be praying for me.
A few weeks ago I was talking to God about my future. It all seems so vague. I have a general idea of where I think I'm going to end up, but no real plan of how to get there. I believe that God will show me what the next step is, when the time is right, and usually I'm perfectly at peace with not knowing. But on the particular night of which I write, I was battling that old feeling of restlessness that always seems to settle upon me after I've remained in one place for any length of time. I was struggling to express to God the feeling of helpless drifting that had begun to possess me, and found that I was unable to do so verbally. So I began to write my prayer, instead, and ended up with a poem, which I have since altered to read as follows:
With no clear call, and no specific thrust,
Footstep follows step, as in a dream.
I am a leaf born on a flitting autumn gust,
I am a bubble on the surface of a stream.
I cannot grasp what spurs me on my way.
Footstep follows step, as in a dream,
And each is swallowed up with every day.
You are my Call, my soul may breathe relief.
My feet are sure, You are the Path I trek.
Your Spirit is the Wind that flits the leaf,
You are the coursing Water of the beck.
Your purpose spurs my life along its Way.
My feet are sure, You are the Path I trek,
And Christ, Your Son, the Dawn of every day.
I look very forward to seeing you soon,
Elisabeth
This morning I learned my favorite Korean word to date: '토킹아바우트'. The Romanization of that would be 'tokingabaut', stolen, of course, from the English phrase, 'talking about'. English words with a Korean twist, and it's really good for a laugh when one begins to conjugate that with suffixes and infixes.
The weather had begun to be beautiful a few weeks ago, but the day that Mary Horn arrived it clouded over, and has been chilly ever since. The weather in no way interfered with her visit, though, and we had a grand time exploring those parts of Seoul that I only see when I have visitors. The places are worth visiting more often, but I really haven't the motivation to go 'yogi jogi' ('here and there') alone. Some things simply require two.
One very pleasant part of going 'round, was that by it I was able to measure my Korean improvement. Every time I go to Namdaemun Market, for example, I'm able to ask questions of the vendors, or make comments on their wares that I had wanted to speak of the previous time, but had been unable to do. I understand a lot more of the conversations around me, and am able to interact on, if not a deeper level, at least a more specific and thorough one. Very motivating, needless to say.
One of the things we did was something of an adventure, based as it was upon mere speculation. I told Mary about the 'Spectacular Musical Water Fountain', which I had seen last year. The name provides for itself a fairly accurate description: it is spectacular, it is musical, and it is a water fountain. She had seen a similar fountain while in China, and we agreed that it would fun to go see this one together. The only hitch was that it was outside of Seoul, and I didn't know how to get there. I tried to get a hold of Boyeun, who would have been able to provide me with a bus number, but she was unreachable. So I explored a subway map, and saw way off in the left had corner: 'Lake Park'. I was pretty sure that that was the name of the place that sported the fountain, so we decided to gamble an hour subway ride, each way, against the chance of my being right. And I was.
The first time I saw the fountain, it provoked me to record in my journal, "It really was remarkably beautiful. It made me think of Jesus, and I marveled at His nature which is not beautiful, but Beauty itself. My prayer is that I will see, and always be aware of the depths of the beauty of my God."
There is something about living things, or things that resemble life, that resonates with me. Perhaps therein lies my obsession with candles and plants and fish. When I watch the water shooting into the air, and whirling and dancing it time to music and lights, my heart soars with it, and for a time I'm lost to everything around me.
One thing that has struck me, lately, is how very creative God is.
I challenge you to recreate 6 billion of any one item, applying these restrictions:
1. All items must be constructed with the same features.
2. The features of each item must be of relatively similar proportion and size.
3. The same color scheme must be applied to every item, allowing only for variation of shade.
When I see the multitude of faces around me, I see that each of these restrictions has been adhered to, without any one person looking so like his neighbor as to be indistinguishable, or even nearly so. How is that possible? And how great, then, must be the individual value of each man's soul, where so much more creativity and variety have been applied! What a shame that even one should be lost!
Last Sunday I visited the public bath house near my house. My back has been so tight lately, that I'm in almost perpetual pain. I thought that perhaps the saunas and bath jets might help to loosen the muscles enough for my back to return to its normal state. After an hour and a half of almost nauseating heat, my back felt very much better, and I came home with only a very small cramp left in my shoulder. But the effect didn't last long, unfortunately, and all through my upper back and over my right shoulder feels on fire. It's worse than it has been in a long time, and has begun to interrupt my sleep, so I ask you to please be praying for me.
A few weeks ago I was talking to God about my future. It all seems so vague. I have a general idea of where I think I'm going to end up, but no real plan of how to get there. I believe that God will show me what the next step is, when the time is right, and usually I'm perfectly at peace with not knowing. But on the particular night of which I write, I was battling that old feeling of restlessness that always seems to settle upon me after I've remained in one place for any length of time. I was struggling to express to God the feeling of helpless drifting that had begun to possess me, and found that I was unable to do so verbally. So I began to write my prayer, instead, and ended up with a poem, which I have since altered to read as follows:
With no clear call, and no specific thrust,
Footstep follows step, as in a dream.
I am a leaf born on a flitting autumn gust,
I am a bubble on the surface of a stream.
I cannot grasp what spurs me on my way.
Footstep follows step, as in a dream,
And each is swallowed up with every day.
You are my Call, my soul may breathe relief.
My feet are sure, You are the Path I trek.
Your Spirit is the Wind that flits the leaf,
You are the coursing Water of the beck.
Your purpose spurs my life along its Way.
My feet are sure, You are the Path I trek,
And Christ, Your Son, the Dawn of every day.
I look very forward to seeing you soon,
Elisabeth
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