August and September’s word is 기억해요, or “remember.”
It’s 10:30 on Saturday night, and I’m Starchild from Kiss, sitting on a couch in my favorite bar. The Demon is next to me taking a quick nap. Our friends Catman and Spaceman are wandering around talking to ajummas, ninja turtles, and the cast of the “Hot Cheetos and Takis” video, among others. I am exhausted; several hours of scavenger hunting around Busan taking pictures and videos of ourselves doing random things like playing leap-frog with ajosshis and leading some college kids in the “Gangnam Style” dance have got me feeling like I’m too old for this. We’ve been here for four hours and we have another half hour to go until winners are announced, and all I want is to go home and sleep. But we’re staying because we know we’ve got the Best Costume prize wrapped up, and hearing our names announced is going to make the exhaustion worth it.
Fast forward to 10:30 on Monday morning. I’m laying in bed because Typhoon Sanba has given us the day off of work. Mandu is curled up under the covers between OJ and I because his two favorite things are snuggling in soft blankets and being wherever we are. I’m thinking back to Saturday night, bothered by how it was all I could do to stay awake on the couch (let alone wander around and be social). I’m remembering a similar event that I participated in when I lived in Seoul, and thinking about how different I felt at the same point in the evening back then.
I was, of course, three years younger and in my first year in Korea. In the span of most lifetimes, three years isn’t so much. But in the span of my four years here, it’s huge. And understanding both of those things is what has made me think about the importance of remembering.
Remember why you came.
Everyone here has a story of how they came to be in this place. For me, it started with a feeling of needing to get out of Harrisonburg--a town that had been my home for five years, a town that I loved, but a town that was starting to close in on me--and ended five weeks later when I got off of a plane in Incheon with Ellie. She said, “Hey, let’s go to Korea!” one night during a conversation in the living room. I got up, got a glass of water from the kitchen, and came back to say, “Okay. Let’s do it.”
Sounds simple, but even though I reached that decision after about twenty seconds of contemplation, it was the best decision I’ve ever made. I can’t honestly remember what went through my head in that short time. But it felt like the right response to Ellie, and it turned out that there were several reasons to make glad I didn’t change my mind. Everyone has their reasons for coming here: the adventure of the unknown, the possibility of travel, the money to help pay off student loans, and the freedom offered by a brand-new place. OJ came to take the place of a fellow Marine who would have been separated from his family for a year. Some friends from EMU came after they heard Ellie’s and my stories and thought they’d like a similar experience. These, and a hundred others I might never hear, are why we came.
Remember why you stayed.
The reasons that bring us here are usually the same ones that keep us: the adventures we realize we can have, the knowledge that tons of amazing countries are just a few hours’ flight away, the image of student loan balances dropping thousands in a couple of months, and the freedom we come to enjoy.
Other times, what makes us stay is what we discover in the course of daily life: the little kids that launch themselves at us as soon we walk in the classroom door, laughing with Korean co-teachers at things that are funny in any language, smiles shared with the Family Mart cashier whose store we pass every day.
And still other times, we stay for the special things that Korea gives us: family on the other side of the world, sunsets over mountains and beaches in the same city, and the hundreds of people you pass on streets and sit next to on subways whose stories you’ll never know that remind you how big the world is.
Remember that you’re leaving.
This is the one that inspires the others. A realization that time is limited can push anyone to change or to action, or at least to a shift in perspective. I don’t have any specific statistics, but I can say fairly confidently that the vast majority of foreigners who come here don’t make it their permanent home. Whether we stay for a year or four or ten, at some point we head back to where we came from, or head on to a new place. The end result is the same--we leave.
There have been so many times in the past several weeks when I’ve felt like I’m just ready to go. Whether it’s feeling like I’m exhausted all the time, or being frustrated yet again at something I can’t change about the culture, I want to move on. But I’ve been making myself stop and think about that desire and realize that I will be moving on in just six short months. In the span of my four years here, that’s a small amount of time. Understanding this is what pushed me to think about why I came and why I stayed, to keep remembering the things that I tend to forget, and to be thankful for every good thing, big or small, that has been added to my life by coming to Korea.
Remembering that there will be goodbyes is, I think, the most crucial part to being present. The other morning I was looking through old stuff on Facebook and found this status I posted when I left two Octobers ago:
“could not have asked for a better send-off. busan chingus, i love you all to death and i can’t wait till our paths cross again, whether it’s back here in january or whenever life feels like it’s time. thank you so, so much for one of the best years of my life. until next time~ 사랑해요. america, see you in a few...”
When I posted that, I was headed to the States for a few months and then coming back to a new job here. It was only a temporary absence, but it was so bittersweet to go. I was going home to friends and family I hadn’t seen in a year and who I missed a lot, but I was leaving people who had, as I wrote, made that year one of the best of my life. The knowledge that I want to have the same feeling when I leave for good, with OJ and Mandu and four years of growth, love, and memories and headed to a new adventure, instills in my mind the perspective I need.
I hope this finds you all enjoying some beautiful fall weather like we are in Korea. Below are links to photos from my parents' visit to Korea :)
Love and miss you all,
Heather
https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.550521834159.2028046.148800130&type=1&l=c4284d9fe0
https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.550531559669.2028047.148800130&type=1&l=68c6e8877f
30 September 2012
05 August 2012
small things
July’s phrase is 작은 것들, or “small things.”
Life in any place is full of small experiences and moments that, if viewed cumulatively instead of individually, bring a deep happiness. This idea is something that I’ve begun to see more clearly in recent weeks as I work toward enjoying my last several months in Korea. Although there are still about nine of those left, after four years in this country it’s easy to let the things that frustrate me color my experiences, and I want to enjoy the rest of my time here rather than count it down.
Some days it takes a certain strength of mind to do the former, but it’s so worth it. This past week my parents were here visiting and we were lucky enough to have a couple of the awesome small moments that make Korea special. The one that stands out most to me happened when we were up on Geumjeong Fortress; we had ridden the cable car up and were enjoying the view from a lookout when an elderly Korean couple joined us. We helped them out to the rocks with us, and they then invited us to have some plums and cherry tomatoes in the shade with them. They both spoke English and we ended up talking to them for a long time, discussing the differences between our cultures and what has made Korea how it is. I think that that situation, just as much as taking my parents to school with me and showing them places I love here, helped them understand why I’ve made this country my home for over four years. It reminded me why as well.
Most foreigners here can describe having “I hate Korea” and “I love Korea” moments or days, and it’s pretty self-explanatory how each can affect our moods. There’s a choice, though, in which we let affect us. Allow too many of the “I hate” ones an open door and daily life becomes something to just get through. Look for as many as we can of the “I love” ones and daily life becomes an opportunity to find a lot of smiles.
So we enjoy the small things. We enjoy the tiny pieces of life here that make it so worth it, that, if we let them, more than make up for the things that aren’t so great. Being pushed on the subway annoys the crap out of anyone raised with the concept of personal space; true. But it makes the times that someone actually says “Excuse me” or “I’m sorry” to us stand out a lot more. There are some things here that will always bother us, but not wanting to let those dictate our attitudes make us focus better on the things that do the opposite. My personal list from recent weeks: 70-year-old Koreans interested in honest conversation, watching the waves crash on the rocks at Igidae, tiny kids with animal backpacks, OJ and my parents finally meeting in person, joking around with my Korean co-teachers, volleyball on the beach with Gwangali Bridge for a backdrop, the late afternoon sunlight on Busan’s mountains, wandering with Mandu through the twisting alleys near our apartment, and a Friday night baseball game followed by a lazy Saturday morning.
Happy middle-of-the-summer everyone--here’s to counting memories instead of counting down. I love and miss you all, and will post photos from the "Nyce Korean Adventure" soon.
Love,
Heather
Life in any place is full of small experiences and moments that, if viewed cumulatively instead of individually, bring a deep happiness. This idea is something that I’ve begun to see more clearly in recent weeks as I work toward enjoying my last several months in Korea. Although there are still about nine of those left, after four years in this country it’s easy to let the things that frustrate me color my experiences, and I want to enjoy the rest of my time here rather than count it down.
Some days it takes a certain strength of mind to do the former, but it’s so worth it. This past week my parents were here visiting and we were lucky enough to have a couple of the awesome small moments that make Korea special. The one that stands out most to me happened when we were up on Geumjeong Fortress; we had ridden the cable car up and were enjoying the view from a lookout when an elderly Korean couple joined us. We helped them out to the rocks with us, and they then invited us to have some plums and cherry tomatoes in the shade with them. They both spoke English and we ended up talking to them for a long time, discussing the differences between our cultures and what has made Korea how it is. I think that that situation, just as much as taking my parents to school with me and showing them places I love here, helped them understand why I’ve made this country my home for over four years. It reminded me why as well.
Most foreigners here can describe having “I hate Korea” and “I love Korea” moments or days, and it’s pretty self-explanatory how each can affect our moods. There’s a choice, though, in which we let affect us. Allow too many of the “I hate” ones an open door and daily life becomes something to just get through. Look for as many as we can of the “I love” ones and daily life becomes an opportunity to find a lot of smiles.
So we enjoy the small things. We enjoy the tiny pieces of life here that make it so worth it, that, if we let them, more than make up for the things that aren’t so great. Being pushed on the subway annoys the crap out of anyone raised with the concept of personal space; true. But it makes the times that someone actually says “Excuse me” or “I’m sorry” to us stand out a lot more. There are some things here that will always bother us, but not wanting to let those dictate our attitudes make us focus better on the things that do the opposite. My personal list from recent weeks: 70-year-old Koreans interested in honest conversation, watching the waves crash on the rocks at Igidae, tiny kids with animal backpacks, OJ and my parents finally meeting in person, joking around with my Korean co-teachers, volleyball on the beach with Gwangali Bridge for a backdrop, the late afternoon sunlight on Busan’s mountains, wandering with Mandu through the twisting alleys near our apartment, and a Friday night baseball game followed by a lazy Saturday morning.
Happy middle-of-the-summer everyone--here’s to counting memories instead of counting down. I love and miss you all, and will post photos from the "Nyce Korean Adventure" soon.
Love,
Heather
01 July 2012
student and teacher
June’s words are 학생, or “student” and 선생님, or “teacher.”
Anyone who works as a teacher can tell you this: You learn just as much from your students as they learn from you, if not more. This is something that I’ve found to be true on multiple levels in Korea. I’ve taught kids aged three up to 16 each of my four years here, and they’ve all taught me lessons. Some were expected (I’ve learned quite a bit of patience after so many kindergarten classes) and some were surprising, but all were valuable.
I’ve chosen these two words this month because of one class in particular. The class is a discussion and writing class that uses articles from a Korean-produced, English-language newspaper tailored to teenagers. The students are four girls ages 13 to 16 who have good enough ranges of vocabulary and grammatical skills that I can speak with them as I would native English speakers. They also have the ability to, often simultaneously, both drive me nuts and open my eyes to what makes Korea the way it is. The best example I can give of this happened a few weeks ago--we were in the middle of a discussion about North Korea’s most recent rocket launch, and the 14-year-old pulled double eyelid tape out of her bag. Google it if you’ve never heard of it, and you’ll understand why that was the end of talk about Kim Jong-un and his late father. We spent the rest of that class period as well as the next two talking about what Korean society deems beautiful--the pervasiveness and societal acceptance of plastic surgery, K-pop stars as role models, the value placed on material things--and how to get away from that mentality. I had them each think about the positive aspects of themselves and of the other girls and then share their thoughts so that we could talk about what makes a person who they are, inside and out. I hope that it had a positive effect on them, but regardless, it made me a lot more aware of how influenced kids are here by society and the media. I knew it was a lot, but the intensity of their reactions to it was disturbing. I came away from that situation understanding a lot better why the level of superficiality in this country isn’t going to drop any time soon.
There is one student in particular in that class with whom I’ve had especially good discussions. Her English name is Melody and she’s only 13, but she seems much older. Melody has been a student at the academy where I work, Kids Club, for nine years. She’s had a ton of different foreign and Korean teachers over that time, but none of that inconsistency has impeded her progress. Occasionally the other three will all be out for tests (they are in middle school but she’s still in elementary), and it will be just Melody and I. I don’t dread that one-on-one like I would with some other students, because she is extremely intelligent and has opinions that she discusses openly. From her I have learned about the education system here, Korean history as it relates to the countries around it, and what this society holds as valuable. Through conversations about articles on ties to Japan, North Korea’s crazy dictators, or the Chinese claiming “Arirang” (a Korean folksong), I’ve come to better understand how an intense nationalism has spread through this relatively young country.
History is written by whoever has the pen and is depicted by whoever has the brush. Usually it’s whoever has won the battles or the wars; that’s true everywhere. In Korea, however, the facts in the history books are accompanied by an oral history. Some tell events of the past with open contempt for those who have dominated the people here. It’s understandable that older Korean men and women who experienced the occupation by the Japanese (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Korea_under_Japanese_rule) and the Korean War (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Korean_War) have some terrible memories of those times. The stories they tell to their children and grandchildren are, naturally, going to reflect those memories. But often it’s not the stories that get passed along; only their emotion is passed on, and they don’t stop to think about the consequences of that anger being accepted without question. Many of my students have told me that they hate Japan, but can only tell me that it’s because their grandmother said she did, or because their father said they should. Melody, in all her intelligence and desire to learn, is one of those students.
There has been a positive outcome of those sentiments, however, at least for me as a teacher here. It’s led to conversations about different perspectives, the ability of people to change, and why it’s necessary to question the reason behind things. This is a society that functions on the premise of doing what one is “supposed to do,” of having the right look, the right grades, the right status...if I can get a few students to open their minds to other ways of thinking, then I have done my job as a teacher. That class of four girls has been a place for that discourse, and the learning on the parts of the students and myself has been a really cool experience.
I hope that you all are doing well and enjoying summer! I can’t believe that tomorrow is already the beginning of July. My parents are coming for a visit in just over three weeks, and I am extremely excited to see them and to show them my life here. I’ll have lots of pictures to post after they leave :)
Love,
Heather
Anyone who works as a teacher can tell you this: You learn just as much from your students as they learn from you, if not more. This is something that I’ve found to be true on multiple levels in Korea. I’ve taught kids aged three up to 16 each of my four years here, and they’ve all taught me lessons. Some were expected (I’ve learned quite a bit of patience after so many kindergarten classes) and some were surprising, but all were valuable.
I’ve chosen these two words this month because of one class in particular. The class is a discussion and writing class that uses articles from a Korean-produced, English-language newspaper tailored to teenagers. The students are four girls ages 13 to 16 who have good enough ranges of vocabulary and grammatical skills that I can speak with them as I would native English speakers. They also have the ability to, often simultaneously, both drive me nuts and open my eyes to what makes Korea the way it is. The best example I can give of this happened a few weeks ago--we were in the middle of a discussion about North Korea’s most recent rocket launch, and the 14-year-old pulled double eyelid tape out of her bag. Google it if you’ve never heard of it, and you’ll understand why that was the end of talk about Kim Jong-un and his late father. We spent the rest of that class period as well as the next two talking about what Korean society deems beautiful--the pervasiveness and societal acceptance of plastic surgery, K-pop stars as role models, the value placed on material things--and how to get away from that mentality. I had them each think about the positive aspects of themselves and of the other girls and then share their thoughts so that we could talk about what makes a person who they are, inside and out. I hope that it had a positive effect on them, but regardless, it made me a lot more aware of how influenced kids are here by society and the media. I knew it was a lot, but the intensity of their reactions to it was disturbing. I came away from that situation understanding a lot better why the level of superficiality in this country isn’t going to drop any time soon.
There is one student in particular in that class with whom I’ve had especially good discussions. Her English name is Melody and she’s only 13, but she seems much older. Melody has been a student at the academy where I work, Kids Club, for nine years. She’s had a ton of different foreign and Korean teachers over that time, but none of that inconsistency has impeded her progress. Occasionally the other three will all be out for tests (they are in middle school but she’s still in elementary), and it will be just Melody and I. I don’t dread that one-on-one like I would with some other students, because she is extremely intelligent and has opinions that she discusses openly. From her I have learned about the education system here, Korean history as it relates to the countries around it, and what this society holds as valuable. Through conversations about articles on ties to Japan, North Korea’s crazy dictators, or the Chinese claiming “Arirang” (a Korean folksong), I’ve come to better understand how an intense nationalism has spread through this relatively young country.
History is written by whoever has the pen and is depicted by whoever has the brush. Usually it’s whoever has won the battles or the wars; that’s true everywhere. In Korea, however, the facts in the history books are accompanied by an oral history. Some tell events of the past with open contempt for those who have dominated the people here. It’s understandable that older Korean men and women who experienced the occupation by the Japanese (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Korea_under_Japanese_rule) and the Korean War (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Korean_War) have some terrible memories of those times. The stories they tell to their children and grandchildren are, naturally, going to reflect those memories. But often it’s not the stories that get passed along; only their emotion is passed on, and they don’t stop to think about the consequences of that anger being accepted without question. Many of my students have told me that they hate Japan, but can only tell me that it’s because their grandmother said she did, or because their father said they should. Melody, in all her intelligence and desire to learn, is one of those students.
There has been a positive outcome of those sentiments, however, at least for me as a teacher here. It’s led to conversations about different perspectives, the ability of people to change, and why it’s necessary to question the reason behind things. This is a society that functions on the premise of doing what one is “supposed to do,” of having the right look, the right grades, the right status...if I can get a few students to open their minds to other ways of thinking, then I have done my job as a teacher. That class of four girls has been a place for that discourse, and the learning on the parts of the students and myself has been a really cool experience.
I hope that you all are doing well and enjoying summer! I can’t believe that tomorrow is already the beginning of July. My parents are coming for a visit in just over three weeks, and I am extremely excited to see them and to show them my life here. I’ll have lots of pictures to post after they leave :)
Love,
Heather
31 May 2012
play
May’s word is 놀이, or “play.”
The theme for this month’s blog comes from a book I’ve been reading, Gretchen Rubin’s The Happiness Project. She spent one year working on personal happiness, choosing a different area of life for each month. Her area of focus for May was play; in specific, being serious about play. Some of her goals were to “find more fun,” “take time to be silly,” and “go off the path.”
The concept of being serious about play is an interesting one in Korea. Initially the phrase struck me as being simultaneously completely true and a complete joke. The disparity lies in one’s age, but it’s not what you may be thinking. Ironically, the older they are, the harder they play here. Regardless of age, however, I don’t think that I see any of those three goals in action here.
I, like many foreigners in Korea, teach kids. Mine range from age four to age 16, and except for the littlest ones, they study. A lot. Homework starts in kindergarten and the amount increases steadily as you continue through your schooling. This in itself isn’t anything out of the ordinary, until you add in the fact that many kids here also start going to 학원, or academy, from the age of six. By the time they reach second grade, they have three or four academies in addition to their regular school. Piano, Chinese writing, taekwondo, art, English, math...subjects across the board are all covered to ensure a child is on the right path to success. By the time they’re in middle school, they leave their houses by 8:00 a.m. and often don’t return home until 9:00 or 10:00 p.m. In addition to regular school and academies, they then have study academy--the parents say it’s to prepare them for high school and university, but the actual end result is that whatever’s left of their childhood is stamped out.
A regular Friday occurrence in my classes is this exchange:
Me: (Student’s name), what are you going to do on the weekend?
Student: Teacher, I will study! Always study.
This comes from students of all ages, and it’s such a sad thing to hear. I actually had an eight-year-old student at my school in Seoul tell me once that she was only allowed to play on holidays. There are only about 15 of those all year in Korea, to give you an idea of how little free time she was talking about.
And then you have the adults. Those here who have finished their long, exhausting years of education definitely don’t get to just relax--they often work long weekday hours and weekends, too--but they also play hard. Korea has a huge drinking culture, and it fills a lot of post-work time for many adults. At most workplaces, it’s an unspoken requirement to attend dinners with the whole office; these dinners nearly always involve multiple bottles of beer and soju and can end with karaoke alongside the boss.
Koreans also take their activities seriously. Most adults have at least one thing they’re involved in, and when I say “involved,” I mean really into it. They form clubs so that regular events are organized, and each member gets every piece of equipment and clothing they might ever possibly need (or not need). It’s not unusual to be passed on the street by a group of 20 ajosshis on bicycles covered head to toe in spandex, with several attachments on their bikes, and wearing helmets, glasses, and masks. Some of us who play volleyball on the beach went to play indoor one day after being invited by our Korean friend--the first hour was spent running drills, and the remaining time in a 9-v-9 match with no rotation.
Now, don’t get me wrong. I love bike rides, and drills are always helpful, but there’s a whole different kind of intensity here when it comes to what people do for fun. My idea of intense is in the physical sense--pushing myself hard on the volleyball court and diving for digs. A Korean ajumma’s idea of it is more superficial--making sure she’s suited up with one of everything the hiking store sells before she heads up the mountain.
There’s a pervasive sense here of everyone needing to do what they’re “supposed” to do. Fulfilling those expectations that others have is what leads to kids not getting to be kids. Generally speaking, parents want the best for their kids, but here, parents want their kids to be the best. This is why they’re in school from the age of two or three and being pushed through their entire childhood to study, study, study. I realize that as teachers here, foreigners are a part of that system and so are perpetuating it. That’s something I’ve struggled with at times while being here. But the conclusion I’ve come to is that there will always be another person to take the job; since I’m here, I’m trying to help my kids “find more fun,” as Rubin says. I make a point of being silly with my kids and leaving time for them to be kids in and around class. It’s easy, because it lies in the little things: funny faces, exaggerated reactions, and silly dancing during singing time. Some of my small ones have the best laughs, and I love eliciting that from them.
Rubin also talks in her book about the difference between what’s fun for others and what we truly find fun. I think that the need to follow the crowd extends to play for Koreans; this is not a culture in which following one’s own likes or desires is very encouraged. Their forming of clubs in which everyone does and looks the same is a prime example. I’m sure they join the clubs for a reason, but I guarantee that not everyone in the hiking club actually wants to spend the money on and wear all the gear. They do it because here, it’s what one is supposed to do. Not only does that societal norm make it difficult to understand one’s own idea of fun, there’s a lack of variety in activities as well. Some aspects of Korea have undergone a rapid Westernization: within a city block you can usually find at least one each of a Western restaurant, coffee chain, and sportswear store. Play, however, is one area that’s changing more slowly. This is a culture that isn’t always open to different things, so many newer sports and leisure activities are taking some time to get onto the peninsula. Even people who do know what they truly enjoy are limited in what’s available and might not be able to do it.
The third goal, “get off the path,” is the one that I think has the most relevancy here. Both foreigners and Koreans get stuck in certain activities, certain routines, that don’t vary. That’s not a bad thing because those things are enjoyable; that’s why we do them. However, it’s important to remember the kind of play that we experienced as children. There was spontaneity and creating in that, and we often forget the joy which those things bring. So much about my and other foreigners’ lives in Korea caters directly to letting us play. Whether it’s the weekdays with the kids we teach or the weekends we spend away from work, we have to take the cues around us to enjoy the smiles, laughter, and an expansion of the mind that play evokes.
Hope this finds you all happy and well! Below is an album of photos from this spring. Miss you all!
Love,
Heather
Random collection of photos from February through May:
https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.546894697969.2027276.148800130&type=3&l=e84d2ebb5a
The theme for this month’s blog comes from a book I’ve been reading, Gretchen Rubin’s The Happiness Project. She spent one year working on personal happiness, choosing a different area of life for each month. Her area of focus for May was play; in specific, being serious about play. Some of her goals were to “find more fun,” “take time to be silly,” and “go off the path.”
The concept of being serious about play is an interesting one in Korea. Initially the phrase struck me as being simultaneously completely true and a complete joke. The disparity lies in one’s age, but it’s not what you may be thinking. Ironically, the older they are, the harder they play here. Regardless of age, however, I don’t think that I see any of those three goals in action here.
I, like many foreigners in Korea, teach kids. Mine range from age four to age 16, and except for the littlest ones, they study. A lot. Homework starts in kindergarten and the amount increases steadily as you continue through your schooling. This in itself isn’t anything out of the ordinary, until you add in the fact that many kids here also start going to 학원, or academy, from the age of six. By the time they reach second grade, they have three or four academies in addition to their regular school. Piano, Chinese writing, taekwondo, art, English, math...subjects across the board are all covered to ensure a child is on the right path to success. By the time they’re in middle school, they leave their houses by 8:00 a.m. and often don’t return home until 9:00 or 10:00 p.m. In addition to regular school and academies, they then have study academy--the parents say it’s to prepare them for high school and university, but the actual end result is that whatever’s left of their childhood is stamped out.
A regular Friday occurrence in my classes is this exchange:
Me: (Student’s name), what are you going to do on the weekend?
Student: Teacher, I will study! Always study.
This comes from students of all ages, and it’s such a sad thing to hear. I actually had an eight-year-old student at my school in Seoul tell me once that she was only allowed to play on holidays. There are only about 15 of those all year in Korea, to give you an idea of how little free time she was talking about.
And then you have the adults. Those here who have finished their long, exhausting years of education definitely don’t get to just relax--they often work long weekday hours and weekends, too--but they also play hard. Korea has a huge drinking culture, and it fills a lot of post-work time for many adults. At most workplaces, it’s an unspoken requirement to attend dinners with the whole office; these dinners nearly always involve multiple bottles of beer and soju and can end with karaoke alongside the boss.
Koreans also take their activities seriously. Most adults have at least one thing they’re involved in, and when I say “involved,” I mean really into it. They form clubs so that regular events are organized, and each member gets every piece of equipment and clothing they might ever possibly need (or not need). It’s not unusual to be passed on the street by a group of 20 ajosshis on bicycles covered head to toe in spandex, with several attachments on their bikes, and wearing helmets, glasses, and masks. Some of us who play volleyball on the beach went to play indoor one day after being invited by our Korean friend--the first hour was spent running drills, and the remaining time in a 9-v-9 match with no rotation.
Now, don’t get me wrong. I love bike rides, and drills are always helpful, but there’s a whole different kind of intensity here when it comes to what people do for fun. My idea of intense is in the physical sense--pushing myself hard on the volleyball court and diving for digs. A Korean ajumma’s idea of it is more superficial--making sure she’s suited up with one of everything the hiking store sells before she heads up the mountain.
There’s a pervasive sense here of everyone needing to do what they’re “supposed” to do. Fulfilling those expectations that others have is what leads to kids not getting to be kids. Generally speaking, parents want the best for their kids, but here, parents want their kids to be the best. This is why they’re in school from the age of two or three and being pushed through their entire childhood to study, study, study. I realize that as teachers here, foreigners are a part of that system and so are perpetuating it. That’s something I’ve struggled with at times while being here. But the conclusion I’ve come to is that there will always be another person to take the job; since I’m here, I’m trying to help my kids “find more fun,” as Rubin says. I make a point of being silly with my kids and leaving time for them to be kids in and around class. It’s easy, because it lies in the little things: funny faces, exaggerated reactions, and silly dancing during singing time. Some of my small ones have the best laughs, and I love eliciting that from them.
Rubin also talks in her book about the difference between what’s fun for others and what we truly find fun. I think that the need to follow the crowd extends to play for Koreans; this is not a culture in which following one’s own likes or desires is very encouraged. Their forming of clubs in which everyone does and looks the same is a prime example. I’m sure they join the clubs for a reason, but I guarantee that not everyone in the hiking club actually wants to spend the money on and wear all the gear. They do it because here, it’s what one is supposed to do. Not only does that societal norm make it difficult to understand one’s own idea of fun, there’s a lack of variety in activities as well. Some aspects of Korea have undergone a rapid Westernization: within a city block you can usually find at least one each of a Western restaurant, coffee chain, and sportswear store. Play, however, is one area that’s changing more slowly. This is a culture that isn’t always open to different things, so many newer sports and leisure activities are taking some time to get onto the peninsula. Even people who do know what they truly enjoy are limited in what’s available and might not be able to do it.
The third goal, “get off the path,” is the one that I think has the most relevancy here. Both foreigners and Koreans get stuck in certain activities, certain routines, that don’t vary. That’s not a bad thing because those things are enjoyable; that’s why we do them. However, it’s important to remember the kind of play that we experienced as children. There was spontaneity and creating in that, and we often forget the joy which those things bring. So much about my and other foreigners’ lives in Korea caters directly to letting us play. Whether it’s the weekdays with the kids we teach or the weekends we spend away from work, we have to take the cues around us to enjoy the smiles, laughter, and an expansion of the mind that play evokes.
Hope this finds you all happy and well! Below is an album of photos from this spring. Miss you all!
Love,
Heather
Random collection of photos from February through May:
https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.546894697969.2027276.148800130&type=3&l=e84d2ebb5a
30 April 2012
connection
April’s word is 유대감, or “connection.”
At the end of my first year in Korea, I discovered a slightly horrifying fact: the man for whom I’d worked for a full year thought I would enjoy pink wallpaper in my new apartment. Pink wallpaper. As in, the entirety of the room covered in pink. He looked truly surprised when I blurted out a very serious, “Are you kidding??” It was slightly funny at the time but also begged the question: did he know me at all?
Doubtful.
In Korea, particularly in the cities, what’s on the surface is very important. It’s all about image. Your personal image, your family’s image...everyone is concerned with everyone else’s perceptions of them. This leaves little room for honest human interaction or for deep relationships.
I was raised in a Mennonite environment in which interaction and relationships, and the community that they create, were a big part of life. Every Sunday was spent at church and Sunday school; weekend evenings often involved having company over for dinner and games. I have very fond memories of that, and in college it was something I wanted to continue having in my life. That’s a big part of why I ended up at EMU--I felt that sense of community when I visited the campus. The semesters I spent in Guatemala and Bolivia and in DC were intensified versions of happy feelings from my younger years, and, as such, were the highlights of my time at EMU.
Every foreigner in Korea has a different story that led them here--that becomes more evident to me the longer I’m here and the more people I meet. But arriving in a new place like this gives us all immediate common ground. Whatever constituted our communities at home didn’t make it into our luggage, and we all crave that missing piece in some measure after we get here. When we start to crave it, we reach for a variety of connections. Some are lucky to have Korean co-workers who are interested in learning and/or understand what it’s like to be a foreigner, and they form friendships. Others go to the bars to find a friend group there. Still others search for those with common interests like frisbee, potluck nights, or watching NFL game replays. As in any place, we form connections wherever we find them. What makes here (and living overseas in general) different is that the connections often have a time limit. Year-long contracts expire, people return home or change to a new job, and the dynamics of how we connect shift.
That’s why it’s important to value the bonds we create while we have them. Whether they stay within this peninsula for a year or for just a few months, they all have something to offer us--something as simple as fun times outside on a sunny weekend, or something as deep as a close friendship that lasts beyond the limits of the time that overlaps. If we’re lucky enough, we find both through one connection. During my year in Seoul, I had a co-worker, Kate (Soojin) who kind of took me under her wing. She helped me study the language, took me and some others to her family’s home, and taught me tons about Korea. I have her to thank for so much that I love about this country. And during my first year in Busan, I met my good friend Carly. She was working part-time at my academy, and took me out on my first weekend to introduce me to her friends. That group became like a family over the course of the next several months, and we spent a lot of our free time together on evenings and weekends. It was really awesome to find that overseas.
If we are even luckier, the connections we make here continue after we’ve left Korea. Both Kate and I and the group that I mentioned still stay in touch--there were friendships created of the kind that aren’t lessened by distance or time. Several of us happened to be in the same area of the U.S. over New Year’s last year, and spent it together; hanging out felt like it had before we’d gone our separate ways. This happens sometimes here: people form relationships (between two individuals or with many) that, although they may disperse or change, are tied together by their shared experiences long after the original shape of the bond is gone. I know several people for whom this has been the case, and it’s so important that we all realize and appreciate how special it is to find that in a country that is not our own.
I hope you all are having a wonderful spring! I definitely am enjoying it here. Below are pictures from the past several months. Enjoy! I love and miss you all.
Love,
Heather
A mixture of photos from October through March:
https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.544537826159.2026889.148800130&type=3&l=d0a10d857e
Trip to Seoul on Lunar New Year weekend:
https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.544868782919.2026926.148800130&type=3&l=cd1c6755b9
Spring activities with my new kindies:
https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.544914186929.2026936.148800130&type=3&l=dcdd993d8a
At the end of my first year in Korea, I discovered a slightly horrifying fact: the man for whom I’d worked for a full year thought I would enjoy pink wallpaper in my new apartment. Pink wallpaper. As in, the entirety of the room covered in pink. He looked truly surprised when I blurted out a very serious, “Are you kidding??” It was slightly funny at the time but also begged the question: did he know me at all?
Doubtful.
In Korea, particularly in the cities, what’s on the surface is very important. It’s all about image. Your personal image, your family’s image...everyone is concerned with everyone else’s perceptions of them. This leaves little room for honest human interaction or for deep relationships.
I was raised in a Mennonite environment in which interaction and relationships, and the community that they create, were a big part of life. Every Sunday was spent at church and Sunday school; weekend evenings often involved having company over for dinner and games. I have very fond memories of that, and in college it was something I wanted to continue having in my life. That’s a big part of why I ended up at EMU--I felt that sense of community when I visited the campus. The semesters I spent in Guatemala and Bolivia and in DC were intensified versions of happy feelings from my younger years, and, as such, were the highlights of my time at EMU.
Every foreigner in Korea has a different story that led them here--that becomes more evident to me the longer I’m here and the more people I meet. But arriving in a new place like this gives us all immediate common ground. Whatever constituted our communities at home didn’t make it into our luggage, and we all crave that missing piece in some measure after we get here. When we start to crave it, we reach for a variety of connections. Some are lucky to have Korean co-workers who are interested in learning and/or understand what it’s like to be a foreigner, and they form friendships. Others go to the bars to find a friend group there. Still others search for those with common interests like frisbee, potluck nights, or watching NFL game replays. As in any place, we form connections wherever we find them. What makes here (and living overseas in general) different is that the connections often have a time limit. Year-long contracts expire, people return home or change to a new job, and the dynamics of how we connect shift.
That’s why it’s important to value the bonds we create while we have them. Whether they stay within this peninsula for a year or for just a few months, they all have something to offer us--something as simple as fun times outside on a sunny weekend, or something as deep as a close friendship that lasts beyond the limits of the time that overlaps. If we’re lucky enough, we find both through one connection. During my year in Seoul, I had a co-worker, Kate (Soojin) who kind of took me under her wing. She helped me study the language, took me and some others to her family’s home, and taught me tons about Korea. I have her to thank for so much that I love about this country. And during my first year in Busan, I met my good friend Carly. She was working part-time at my academy, and took me out on my first weekend to introduce me to her friends. That group became like a family over the course of the next several months, and we spent a lot of our free time together on evenings and weekends. It was really awesome to find that overseas.
If we are even luckier, the connections we make here continue after we’ve left Korea. Both Kate and I and the group that I mentioned still stay in touch--there were friendships created of the kind that aren’t lessened by distance or time. Several of us happened to be in the same area of the U.S. over New Year’s last year, and spent it together; hanging out felt like it had before we’d gone our separate ways. This happens sometimes here: people form relationships (between two individuals or with many) that, although they may disperse or change, are tied together by their shared experiences long after the original shape of the bond is gone. I know several people for whom this has been the case, and it’s so important that we all realize and appreciate how special it is to find that in a country that is not our own.
I hope you all are having a wonderful spring! I definitely am enjoying it here. Below are pictures from the past several months. Enjoy! I love and miss you all.
Love,
Heather
A mixture of photos from October through March:
https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.544537826159.2026889.148800130&type=3&l=d0a10d857e
Trip to Seoul on Lunar New Year weekend:
https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.544868782919.2026926.148800130&type=3&l=cd1c6755b9
Spring activities with my new kindies:
https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.544914186929.2026936.148800130&type=3&l=dcdd993d8a
31 March 2012
alive
March’s word is 생명감, or “alive.”
During my first year in Korea, I was woken up one Sunday morning in November by a call from my friend Erik. "Wanna go bungee jumping today?" he said. A few hours later, surrounded by beautiful mountain scenery, I jumped off of a 160-foot metal tower with an elastic cord harnessed to my waist. I screamed bloody murder as I plunged toward the lake below, and then alternated between relieved laughter and shrieks until I stopped bouncing and was lowered into the boat waiting below. It seemed like it was over in the blink of an eye, but the adrenaline rush lasted for hours afterward.
Let me point out two things in regards to that adventure. One, I was (okay, still am, a bit) terrified of bungee jumping. I had never wanted to do it, and until about three weeks before that Sunday, when we all first talked about going, I didn't think I ever would. Two, the month leading up to that day had been all about taking risks. Conquering fears. Doing things I'd never done before, things I never wanted to do, and things I never thought I could do.
So I jumped.
It was all Korea's fault. Living here opened me up to so many new things, put me into so many tough situations and challenged me in so many ways; when I learned and grew in the face of those things, it drove me in turn to begin challenging myself. In the few months prior to bungee jumping in particular I had pushed myself to do crazy and/or scary stuff and put myself in situations that made me nervous, and it was amazing. Some days I still can't believe I came here, but that thought is always immediately followed by an immense gratitude that I did.
That's the kind of moment I love having in my life, and that I want more of. The alive moments, the ones in which you forget everything except that slice of time and just feel it. The kind of moments I wrote about wanting on the plane on my way here four years ago. It doesn’t matter whether the emotions are positive or negative--the beauty is in the immersion and in the complete release of whatever else you’re holding onto. My instinct is to say that it's easier to have those beautiful moments if you live in a foreign country, especially one so different and new as Korea. And I think I would believe that to be true if I had left after only living here six months or even nine months. But I can look at it from a different perspective after having been here so long. When I think back on my life experiences so far, the feeling of being so deeply alive has come in two ways: in the context of unexplored territory, as in the case of my initial period of time in Korea,or in the context of familiar territory encountered with open eyes and no mental blocks.
For foreigners in Korea, our lives are here. Our worlds consist of storybooks and board markers and pint-sized Asian children, of packed public transportation and a pervasive kimchi smell, of the random and the unexpected, of encountering the same strange things day after day and adapting to them. The things that were new when we arrived are now normal, a part of daily life. They can still give us that alive feeling, but only if we are open to that happening. What it comes down to is that the moments of feeling truly alive are only rare if we allow ourselves to slip into the mundanity of daily routine. If, however, we remember to see each day for what it is—an opportunity to learn and see new things (or see old things in new ways), regardless of how typical our days may be—the alive moments happen all around us. For example, one of the cooler things I've done is stand at the top of the Empire State Building at night, looking down at the city lights spreading out all around me. But I've met more than one New York City native who has yet to visit the Empire State Building, and it's because they live there. Their worlds are New York City, and the cool things about it that visitors want to see don't entice them. We get so accustomed to simply passing through life, just getting through the days so that we can get up and do it again tomorrow, that we become numb to our surroundings and the possibilities that lie in plain sight.
That exact thing happens to us foreigners here more often than we’d like to admit. Schedule changes every so often, new people coming in and disrupting the routine, and teaching and living here for a long period of time...we get exhausted, we get jaded, and we begin to hate that. The longer we are here, the more things feel old and seen and explored, and we have trouble finding the vitality in life. But we have to remember to give this time the best shot we can. If we don’t enjoy it fully, we’ll regret it when we’re gone. Whether we're here for one year or four, time passes quickly in Korea. Very often it feels like this peninsula is in some kind of weird time warp. It’s easy for our time here to be over in the blink of an eye, and to suddenly be leaving with the feeling that we didn’t do everything you wanted to do. The best perspectives to have here are that there’s always something new to see, do, and experience; or that we have the option to open our minds to finding newness in the old.
As always, I hope this finds you all happy and well! Once again I don’t have any links to photos for this post; March flew by with the start of a new school year and staff changes at my school. Next month, though, I’ll have lots of photos of my brand-new, super-cute kindy kids and the fun we’ve been having as the weather begins to warm up. Miss you all!
Love,
Heather
During my first year in Korea, I was woken up one Sunday morning in November by a call from my friend Erik. "Wanna go bungee jumping today?" he said. A few hours later, surrounded by beautiful mountain scenery, I jumped off of a 160-foot metal tower with an elastic cord harnessed to my waist. I screamed bloody murder as I plunged toward the lake below, and then alternated between relieved laughter and shrieks until I stopped bouncing and was lowered into the boat waiting below. It seemed like it was over in the blink of an eye, but the adrenaline rush lasted for hours afterward.
Let me point out two things in regards to that adventure. One, I was (okay, still am, a bit) terrified of bungee jumping. I had never wanted to do it, and until about three weeks before that Sunday, when we all first talked about going, I didn't think I ever would. Two, the month leading up to that day had been all about taking risks. Conquering fears. Doing things I'd never done before, things I never wanted to do, and things I never thought I could do.
So I jumped.
It was all Korea's fault. Living here opened me up to so many new things, put me into so many tough situations and challenged me in so many ways; when I learned and grew in the face of those things, it drove me in turn to begin challenging myself. In the few months prior to bungee jumping in particular I had pushed myself to do crazy and/or scary stuff and put myself in situations that made me nervous, and it was amazing. Some days I still can't believe I came here, but that thought is always immediately followed by an immense gratitude that I did.
That's the kind of moment I love having in my life, and that I want more of. The alive moments, the ones in which you forget everything except that slice of time and just feel it. The kind of moments I wrote about wanting on the plane on my way here four years ago. It doesn’t matter whether the emotions are positive or negative--the beauty is in the immersion and in the complete release of whatever else you’re holding onto. My instinct is to say that it's easier to have those beautiful moments if you live in a foreign country, especially one so different and new as Korea. And I think I would believe that to be true if I had left after only living here six months or even nine months. But I can look at it from a different perspective after having been here so long. When I think back on my life experiences so far, the feeling of being so deeply alive has come in two ways: in the context of unexplored territory, as in the case of my initial period of time in Korea,or in the context of familiar territory encountered with open eyes and no mental blocks.
For foreigners in Korea, our lives are here. Our worlds consist of storybooks and board markers and pint-sized Asian children, of packed public transportation and a pervasive kimchi smell, of the random and the unexpected, of encountering the same strange things day after day and adapting to them. The things that were new when we arrived are now normal, a part of daily life. They can still give us that alive feeling, but only if we are open to that happening. What it comes down to is that the moments of feeling truly alive are only rare if we allow ourselves to slip into the mundanity of daily routine. If, however, we remember to see each day for what it is—an opportunity to learn and see new things (or see old things in new ways), regardless of how typical our days may be—the alive moments happen all around us. For example, one of the cooler things I've done is stand at the top of the Empire State Building at night, looking down at the city lights spreading out all around me. But I've met more than one New York City native who has yet to visit the Empire State Building, and it's because they live there. Their worlds are New York City, and the cool things about it that visitors want to see don't entice them. We get so accustomed to simply passing through life, just getting through the days so that we can get up and do it again tomorrow, that we become numb to our surroundings and the possibilities that lie in plain sight.
That exact thing happens to us foreigners here more often than we’d like to admit. Schedule changes every so often, new people coming in and disrupting the routine, and teaching and living here for a long period of time...we get exhausted, we get jaded, and we begin to hate that. The longer we are here, the more things feel old and seen and explored, and we have trouble finding the vitality in life. But we have to remember to give this time the best shot we can. If we don’t enjoy it fully, we’ll regret it when we’re gone. Whether we're here for one year or four, time passes quickly in Korea. Very often it feels like this peninsula is in some kind of weird time warp. It’s easy for our time here to be over in the blink of an eye, and to suddenly be leaving with the feeling that we didn’t do everything you wanted to do. The best perspectives to have here are that there’s always something new to see, do, and experience; or that we have the option to open our minds to finding newness in the old.
As always, I hope this finds you all happy and well! Once again I don’t have any links to photos for this post; March flew by with the start of a new school year and staff changes at my school. Next month, though, I’ll have lots of photos of my brand-new, super-cute kindy kids and the fun we’ve been having as the weather begins to warm up. Miss you all!
Love,
Heather
29 February 2012
adaptation
February's word is 적응, or "adaptation."
What does it mean to adapt to something? Dictionary.com says that adaptation is “the modification of individual and social activity in adjustment to cultural surroundings,” and that it's usually a slow and unconscious process. I believe that there's an alternative to the latter portion of that definition--that while often times it is an unconscious process, adaptation is also a learned skill.
I came to Korea almost four years ago with no expectations and not much clue as to what the culture would be like. I really believe that that was the best way for me to come here, but it has been a crazy journey. I've gone through more mental tug-of-wars, more challenges to who I am, and more lengthy thought processes than I ever could have imagined.
My Nana asked me during my first year here if I was feeling more comfortable here than I had at first. I told her that that “comfortable” was a hard thing to define, because while I had created (and still have) a good life here, Korea did not (and still doesn’t, in a lot of respects) fit with who I am. The values are different here than everything I grew up with, everything I was surrounded with at home and even at college, and I've had to decide what things to which I want to adapt and what things I don't. Among the latter is the fact that much behavior here, specifically among the younger generation, is driven by a need to have a perfect appearance and the right status in society. But that’s a topic that will get its own post.
Moving to a new culture and making a life in it is a weird challenge to who you are as a person. No one wants to change aspects of who they are that they like, but you have to be willing to adapt somewhat if you want to truly live as part of the culture in which you've placed yourself. Korea probably represents a love-hate relationship for a lot of foreigners. It’s a country and a life in which we meet awesome people, in which we have crazy, stupid, unforgettable adventures, and in which there are some truly beautiful places. I love Korea for all of that, and it is, and will always be, a huge part of who I am.
However, we still have days that drive us nuts. There are days in which every minute, microscopic cultural difference gets under our skin and establishes residency--in which we probably shouldn’t carry an umbrella around, even if it’s raining, because we might just smack someone with it.
My instinct is to say that days like that are frustrating because they’re not a true representation of our experience here. A more true statement, though, is that life has days like that. Being here is not a singular experience in our lives; these are our lives right now. And let’s be honest, everyone has “I hate life” days. Everyone has days in which they just need work to be done so they can go home for the day or in which every person they encounter somehow rubs them the wrong way, no matter what continent you live on. And I’ve been here long enough that I know how things work. Four years in a place seems like plenty of time to adapt to the differences. It seems like people pushing to get into the subway before people have gotten out of it, or my boss waiting until the last minute to tell me about something I’m required to attend, or the cashier at Paris Baguette telling me I can’t get a certain kind of dressing with my salad because “it doesn’t go with that salad”, should be things that I am now used to and can handle as a part of life here. But that’s not always the case.
When I’m having one of those days, the way I’ve coped is to push back. To give the ajumma crowding the subway door a little hip-check on my way out. To tell my boss that I already had plans, even if I didn’t. To stand in front of the Paris Baguette cashier until she relents and lets me get the dressing I wanted. They feel like small victories and they make me feel better about the situation, but doing them has allowed me to become slightly bitter toward Korea, especially as I continue to be here longer. So this month I gave myself the goal of being nice to everyone, even those who are rude to me. It has been challenging to say the least; I get pushed around at least four times a day just during the subway portion of my commute to work, and it’s so hard not to push back. But as I’ve been working on this, and thinking about adaptation, I am beginning to see an alternative method of coping.
The other night OJ and I had some friends over for dinner, and the group was mostly foreigners. At one point in the night, the conversation shifted to things that annoy us or that we don’t understand about Korea/Korean people. This is pretty much the norm when you get a bunch of foreigners together; as a collective group, we tend to talk a lot about the cultural differences that affect our everyday life. That night, however, I noticed something that I’ve noticed before but haven’t given a lot of thought to: while we complain about these things, it’s also a source of amusement. We have the ability to laugh at the absurdity that is entwined with the frustration. That to me is a sign of the ability to adapt. Adaptation is always a balancing act and is at times a difficult task. Here in Korea, it is a balance between acknowledging the differences and letting go of our frustration so that we can enjoy life, and pushing back enough so that we’re not giving up all of who we are. And for us as foreigners here, finding the humor in the disconnect between our culture and this one--whether it’s how strange we are here or how strange here is to us--is a necessary skill to have in order to live our lives contentedly.
I haven’t gotten around to going through my latest pictures yet, but I will post them with next month’s blog. I hope that you’ve all had a good month and that spring gets to wherever you are soon :)
Love and hugs,
Heather
What does it mean to adapt to something? Dictionary.com says that adaptation is “the modification of individual and social activity in adjustment to cultural surroundings,” and that it's usually a slow and unconscious process. I believe that there's an alternative to the latter portion of that definition--that while often times it is an unconscious process, adaptation is also a learned skill.
I came to Korea almost four years ago with no expectations and not much clue as to what the culture would be like. I really believe that that was the best way for me to come here, but it has been a crazy journey. I've gone through more mental tug-of-wars, more challenges to who I am, and more lengthy thought processes than I ever could have imagined.
My Nana asked me during my first year here if I was feeling more comfortable here than I had at first. I told her that that “comfortable” was a hard thing to define, because while I had created (and still have) a good life here, Korea did not (and still doesn’t, in a lot of respects) fit with who I am. The values are different here than everything I grew up with, everything I was surrounded with at home and even at college, and I've had to decide what things to which I want to adapt and what things I don't. Among the latter is the fact that much behavior here, specifically among the younger generation, is driven by a need to have a perfect appearance and the right status in society. But that’s a topic that will get its own post.
Moving to a new culture and making a life in it is a weird challenge to who you are as a person. No one wants to change aspects of who they are that they like, but you have to be willing to adapt somewhat if you want to truly live as part of the culture in which you've placed yourself. Korea probably represents a love-hate relationship for a lot of foreigners. It’s a country and a life in which we meet awesome people, in which we have crazy, stupid, unforgettable adventures, and in which there are some truly beautiful places. I love Korea for all of that, and it is, and will always be, a huge part of who I am.
However, we still have days that drive us nuts. There are days in which every minute, microscopic cultural difference gets under our skin and establishes residency--in which we probably shouldn’t carry an umbrella around, even if it’s raining, because we might just smack someone with it.
My instinct is to say that days like that are frustrating because they’re not a true representation of our experience here. A more true statement, though, is that life has days like that. Being here is not a singular experience in our lives; these are our lives right now. And let’s be honest, everyone has “I hate life” days. Everyone has days in which they just need work to be done so they can go home for the day or in which every person they encounter somehow rubs them the wrong way, no matter what continent you live on. And I’ve been here long enough that I know how things work. Four years in a place seems like plenty of time to adapt to the differences. It seems like people pushing to get into the subway before people have gotten out of it, or my boss waiting until the last minute to tell me about something I’m required to attend, or the cashier at Paris Baguette telling me I can’t get a certain kind of dressing with my salad because “it doesn’t go with that salad”, should be things that I am now used to and can handle as a part of life here. But that’s not always the case.
When I’m having one of those days, the way I’ve coped is to push back. To give the ajumma crowding the subway door a little hip-check on my way out. To tell my boss that I already had plans, even if I didn’t. To stand in front of the Paris Baguette cashier until she relents and lets me get the dressing I wanted. They feel like small victories and they make me feel better about the situation, but doing them has allowed me to become slightly bitter toward Korea, especially as I continue to be here longer. So this month I gave myself the goal of being nice to everyone, even those who are rude to me. It has been challenging to say the least; I get pushed around at least four times a day just during the subway portion of my commute to work, and it’s so hard not to push back. But as I’ve been working on this, and thinking about adaptation, I am beginning to see an alternative method of coping.
The other night OJ and I had some friends over for dinner, and the group was mostly foreigners. At one point in the night, the conversation shifted to things that annoy us or that we don’t understand about Korea/Korean people. This is pretty much the norm when you get a bunch of foreigners together; as a collective group, we tend to talk a lot about the cultural differences that affect our everyday life. That night, however, I noticed something that I’ve noticed before but haven’t given a lot of thought to: while we complain about these things, it’s also a source of amusement. We have the ability to laugh at the absurdity that is entwined with the frustration. That to me is a sign of the ability to adapt. Adaptation is always a balancing act and is at times a difficult task. Here in Korea, it is a balance between acknowledging the differences and letting go of our frustration so that we can enjoy life, and pushing back enough so that we’re not giving up all of who we are. And for us as foreigners here, finding the humor in the disconnect between our culture and this one--whether it’s how strange we are here or how strange here is to us--is a necessary skill to have in order to live our lives contentedly.
I haven’t gotten around to going through my latest pictures yet, but I will post them with next month’s blog. I hope that you’ve all had a good month and that spring gets to wherever you are soon :)
Love and hugs,
Heather
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