In a Sea of Irony, I float.
Truth be told, it’s hard to be exempt from politics.
Sometimes it’s lucky. When the Korean teachers are all sharing their stresses regarding the new Principal and how harsh she is, I can’t participate in conversation because I simply don’t speak the language. “She scold… is too harsh… very stress. Many teachers very unhappy, is very difficult….” is about the extent of what I get from the few teachers that are brave enough/ care enough to try and let me in on the loop.
I’m also lucky, because I can virtually do nothing wrong. The Principal cannot speak English: consequently, our interactions basically boil down to an occasional exchange of bows in the hallway, in which I say, “Annyong haseyo!” and she replies, “Naaaay, annyong haseyo” and looks tickled pink that I’ve spoken Korean. I am exempt from teacher meetings; I am unable to participate in opinionated discussions; I have thus far been unable to have an adequate opinion regarding the Principal, since I have not felt the direct sting of her slowly- growing rule over the school.
Until this week.
Story time: if you all recall the beginning of the year, I was honored with the opportunity to play soccer with the male teachers every Wednesday here at school. They bought me bright red, brand new soccer kicks. They bought me shin guards. They welcomed me with full fervor and a more- than- appropriate amount of excitement and praise for my skills. The women teachers continually told me they were on the sidelines cheering for me. The students lined the field and cheered, screamed from the windows of all four floors of the school and left sticky notes with messages like, “Amanda! Hi~! You play soccer good. You understand? Sorry… English very hard -.-” etc.
Every Wednesday day I was greeted with an, “Amanda! You soccer? Today?” throughout the day by all members of the school, and after a couple hours of celebrity- status soccer, in which I feel my skills adequately matched but rarely surpassed the skills of the teachers, except for a few of the amazingly fast with beautiful- footwork players, the male teachers would take me out to a communal pasta meal to eat dinner with them.
Soccer in this school has been by far the most culturally inviting motion that has ever been made to me. Sure, I’ve had some incredibly amazing gestures from individuals in Europe. I’ve had incredibly kind gestures from friends, families and teachers in America. But I have never, ever had hundreds of people be so, so kind and inviting to me. I have never felt so welcomed in my life.
End feelings. Continue story. Three weeks ago all the teachers were supposed to go to this field with real grass (total excitement, big deal). They told me about it all week. I brought all my stuff. I waited. The time at which we were supposed to leave came, and then it passed. I waited still. And waited. And then, I asked Mr. Choi when we were leaving. “No soccer today.” Hm. Okay.
I went home.
Next Wednesday, no soccer.
Next Wednesday, still no soccer.
I’m clueless. And sad. But hope still remains.
Until this week.
On Monday, Mr. Choi, the other Mr. Choi that isn’t my desk buddy, asked me how my soccer shoes were doing. “They’re too clean!” I told him. “Yes,” he agreed. (Still clueless.) Finally, I asked for the scoop. Regretfully, I got a clear answer.
There will be no more soccer played at school.
As I understand it, the Principal fears that the male teachers gossip about her when they are together, and, consequently, they are no longer able to get together to play soccer.
Crushingly, this also means that I will no longer be able to get together to play soccer. There will be no more celebrity soccer status for me. There will be no more weekly requirement of exercise and community. There will be no more conversations and bonding with the shy non- English speaking teachers that want to tell me they (a) saw me play soccer, or (b) were impressed while playing with me.
It’s pretty much the saddest thing ever.
And so it is, though I may not understand a single word in the river of words that is constantly flowing over my head here in Korea, and regardless my level of understanding, I still feel the effect.
As it is, the Principal seems to have the say for everything here.
All artwork has been removed from all the walls.
The cool Asian goldfish are gone, tank and all.
The teachers continue to talk in dismay.
And now, there will be no more soccer.
** In a seemingly unbearable turn of irony, the writer of this post has concluded the post after returning to a completely empty sea of teacher desks. Cluelessness, sans the company of other teachers. Confusion a la cluelessness. The phone keeps ringing and there’s no one to answer it. Where is everyone? Where, oh where, have you gone? Why have you left me behind?
Sigh. Oh, the irony. Oh, Korea.