For ever and for ever when I move

Picture this.

It’s 6:10 pm and I’m waiting for the students that are late to my extra class. Six of the early students are already sitting and chatting with me before one of them tells me that class will end early today. I send her down to talk to the main teacher for a time confirmation, though I easily believed her, for upon my entering the dormitory tonight, the entire downstairs was filled with colored balloons. “Party tonight! Third grade… exams finishee, University…” were amoung the explinations I received while blowing up my own balloon and bopping another one at a student as she screamed and ran behind me to bop another balloon at me from behind.

Side note, the students are the ones that let me know if anything is happening. It’s rare for a teacher to fill me in on the events before they are already underway.

Back to the classroom. We receive confirmation of early dismissal time, 7:30 pm for the party. Happily, we all decide there isn’t enough time for a worksheet and, with much rejoicing, decide to play Bingo and Catch Phrase. Tonight we played Exercise/ Sport Bingo, followed by Animal Bingo, followed by a rousing game of Catch Phrase.

My extra classes are generally a really great time.

Bingo usually goes as follows: brainstorm as a class, completely fill the white board with words, individually fill out a 5 x 5 self- made Bingo board. When we’re ready to begin, I walk around the room with a recently emptied pencil case, newly filled with little slips of paper that have the freshly brainstormed words handwritten on them. Each student picks a word and has to say it. Fun every time.

Catch Phrase is just like the catch phrase you play with your friends on Friday night, and is basically one of the most fun games in the world. I brainstorm new words for the studets every time, put them in a self- made envelope and watch my class of adorable high school Korean girls speak in English and get enthusiastically, wildly excited when the clock runs out on the other team.

Finish extra English class early. Clean up scraps of paper. Leave the room and the dorm is swarming with excited, screaming girls. Enter an elevator filled to the brim with students, me in the middle. Lots of giggling. Ride down four floors. Still surrounded by giggles. An occasional mystery poke. More giggles. Not sure what to do once we reach the main floor, I manage to find one of the teachers nearby.

She grabs my arm in a sea of students, and says, “Hamburger…”

I giggle, “What?”

“Yes, hamburger… go to office… on your desk… hamburger. Please eat.”

I’m still giggling. This is so goofy. “Hamburger?”

“Yes, hamburger! Hamburger. Please enjoy hamburger. On your desk.”

Still laughing, I thank her and ask if she will join me in the office (though I’d rather stay with the giggling girls and join the party…) and, “No, I stay. You enjoy hamburger.”

So, short brisk walk back and I arrive at my teacher cubicle desk to find, as promised, an individually prepackaged hamburger and a miniature can of Pepsi soda pop.

I’m not completely sure when it was decided that a hamburger was an appropriate snack, especially after already eating two full meals today (and I mean huge, full, and inappropriately stuffing meals) … but, when in Korea? Eat Western food as the Koreans do?

Hah! False.

The truism is as follows: When in Korea, avoid Western food at all costs. Do your best to avoid eating that sloppy, soggy white bread with ketchup, corn pieces and hot dog slices, folded once on itself and stacked high in a tray with dozens of other “pizzas”.

Do your best to avoid Korean imitations of American candies. Korean skittles, though they sound like they might be skittles when you give the bag a test- shake, are actually rock- hard sharply neon- flavored citrus and taste awful. They may or may not crack your teeth upon chewing. Chocolate will not melt in your mouth. Though Krunkie candy bars are a little bit like a Crunch bar, and will satisfy your immediate cravings for chocolate, they won’t satisfy in the long run. Hard candies will probably taste like ginseng and make your burps taste funny for the rest of the day, unless they taste like grape, in which case they are amazing.

Rice and red beans are used for desert purposes and make delicious cakes. Consequently, since rice is the familiar mode of sweet desert, wheat products will be treated as a delicacy item and will most likely be completely loaded with sugar. Sugar white bread. Sugar coffee. Other super- sweet sugary things I can’t remember at the moment because it’s time to end this excessively long footnote, pour out the rest of this mini- Pepsi and make my way home. Hooray! Home.

As you may or may not have heard, the big questions upon meeting someone in Korea are as follows:

(1) The age bomb. It usually goes as follows:

“Nice to meet you”(Bashful look and Korean murmurings.) “Do you mind, I ask how old you are?”

To which I’ll respond, in Korean years, which are one year more than most human years, being that the 9 months in Korean utero are counted as near- enough to pop you out as a one- year old. (Also, all Koreans increase their age at the new year–not on their birthday! So though they still celebrate their birthday with cakes and stuff, since cake and bread is all the rage for delicacy and special occasion ’round these parts, they don’t get older. Weird, huh.)

Even despite using Korean years to boost my age, I’m always met with “ooohhhhhhhh” and “murmurmurmurjjjealous” and “so young!” So, needless to say, I generally dread this question.

Furthermore, in the event I ask the curious questioning Korean their own age, they will be super- duper tricky and say, “Guess!” which is IMPOSSIBLE to do, due to the fact that (1) all Koreans dye their hair dark, and (2) it is impossible to guess Asian ages. Seriously. So hard.

(2) Your blood type. Now, I was given ample warning that this question would hit me regularly, but it’s still a little goofy to me. From what I gather, knowing your blood type is a little like knowing whether you are type A or type B personality, or knowing what sign you are, or any other means to guage personality and compatibility upon first impression.

Basically, I can never tell them my blood type, because I don’t know. I’ve never known. Unless you donate blood, which I’ve tried to do a couple times but was short on iron due to lack of red meat and broccoli consumption in my late high- school years, you just don’t know.

They always look so disappointed when I can’t tell them.

Oh! Also.

My personal favorite is that in many of the calendar/ planner books in Korea, on the back page where you write your name and info and stuff, you have to option to fill in these corresponding boxes: Name, Address, Phone Number, Birthday, Blood Type, School, etc.

(3) The Boyfriend. If you’ve managed to continue conversation past the first two bombs, you may be met with this:

“I’m sorry, but may I ask… do you have a boyfriend?”

To which, when responding with a ‘no’, you are met with either surprise or concern. “But, oh… but you so pretty!! Why boyfriend, no?”

I’ve made the mistake of feigning disappointment at a couple of these questionings (do not underestimate how many questionings I’ve had… endless upon endless encounters with these three bombs…) which just brings on a huge show of genuine pity, and/ or the attempt to set me up on blind dates.

Also, side- side note, blind dates in Korea are a pretty common thing.

One of the most comical boyfriend moments: One day, a few weeks back, I was walking with one of the young female teachers from my school to the Post Office. One of the foreigners in Yeoju (of which there are only about 20-30 foreigners to the population of 100,000 Koreans in Yeoju), who happened to be a boy, and who I also happened to know, biked past and said hello to me. We briefly asked each other about dinner plans before saying goodbye and moving on.

Ms. Lee turned to me, excitedly, and asked, “Your boyfriend!?!”

I told her, not regretfully at all, no.

She was quiet for a moment before turning to me and saying, quite solemnly, “You missed an opportunity there. Really, I think.”

Ba dum dum. But! No fear. I’m happy as a clam in jam.

Aaaaaand, school’s out. Today is Wednesday and I get to go home while the sun still sets! (No such thing as Daylight Savings Time in Korea! Sun is gone by 5.20pm).

Love!

Mountains in Juwangsan National Park, Cheongsong-gun, North Gyeongsanbuk-do Province, South Korea.

Incredibly beautiful weekend hiking in the mountains two weeks ago. Amazing experience.

Temple nestled at the base of the mountains in Juwangasn.

Autumn colors in Juwangsan. Beautiful.

Little pavilion nestled in Juwangsan.

Piles of prayer rocks along the hiking trail in Juwangsan National Park

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.

Quick update to keep you posted.

I’ve been taking Korean lessons with one of the teachers at school, Ms. Park. She is one of the English teachers and is enormously patient with me, forcing me to correct each incorrect vowel and consonant that I, with my lame and slow tongue, have trouble pronouncing. It is enormously difficult for my brain to assign sounds to little lines with sticks poking out of them, and it’s even more impossible to understand how those sounds could possibly have a greater meaning. How does a horizontal line with a miniature perpendicular cross that pokes either up or down prove the difference between something sounding like an “oo” and an “ouu”? And what do they mean?

Anyways, despite my obvious inability to understand, my teacher likes to tell me I am, “Genius! Really… very smart,” and let me know that I’m doing well. I’m really not sure that’s very true, but she wants to keep teaching me, so I’ll keep going.

(I get the same reaction if I repeat a Korean word… anywhere. If I walk outside and say, “Chup-da,” all the teachers go, “Woo-ah” and are so proud of me. I just remember because chupda, or cold, sounds like a Chupa pop, and Chupa pops are pretty much the coolest things ever. Awesome free bonus points for me.)

The honest report is that my language acquisition pace is plodding, at best. But I’m trying!

Recent winner of the gold- star- for- what- would- make- American- children- cry- if- you- served- it- to- them- at- school- lunch:

Typical School Lunch, radial from left to right: Kimchi veg, Fish, Turnip Kimchi, Spam Soup, Rice

Kimchi vegetables, a variety that I thought were green beans but only just learned are the stem of a (?) sweet potato (?) plant, kind of cool; Entire Fish Delicacy, in which you use your chopsticks to tear apart the top layer of fried- skin and eat the white, salty fleshy part and try to avoid the bones and the oogly boogly glazed over win-the-staring-contest-every-time eyes, Kimchi of the turnip variety (my favorite), Rice with Beans (the beans an unusual but delicious addition) and Spam and Cabbage Soup (common, soup like this every day, but not always with spam).

I arrived at lunch this day and couldn’t stop chuckling; all through the meal I just imagined what children across America would do were this meal served to them. My ponderings included temper tantrums, tears, screams, shocked disbelief, bigger tears at learning this was actually lunch, and on and on.

Interesting fact: Spam became a part of the Korean diet after the widespread famine and poverty in the country following WWII and the Korean War. Along with the American military presence in Korea, there was Spam.

I mistakenly told one of the teachers that Spam comes from Minnesota, after which she asked me: “Why don’t you eat it?” I had no real answer for her. *

It’s really not uncommon to see Spam in meals. Once at dinner we just had sliced up pieces of Spam, fried in a sort of eggy substance, and I didn’t eat that either: one of the teachers asked me, “Don’t you like pork?” and I told her, only sometimes. Though it hasn’t happened to me yet, I’ve heard that oftentimes people will give Spam as a gift…. I (can’t) wait. As in, I can definitely wait.

Dakgalbi buds: two of my foreigner teacher friends, Ryan to the left and Matt to the right, with the remains of our dakgalbi meal. Meals are communal in Korea: you go to a restaurant, sit on the floor with the food in the middle and eat your fill.

Booby Love: the last picture and meal before I spent an evening and early morning puking my guts out. I might have to wait awhile before eating dakgalbi again. Hooray for the unexpected! Boo for realizing how much rice you communally ate earlier that night as you're forcing it all back out. Also, that white guy in the background is my tall bald foreign teacher friend named Brian. Coincidentally enough, if you've been following my blog, those three people pictured are the three that joined me in our YangPeyong in-testicle food adventure. Yuck.

I’m satisfied with the random assortment of gifts that have been secretly placed and sit waiting at my desk when I arrive at work. From the top of my mind, they are as follows: a personalized towel with the date, a day of no particular significance at all. A gift box of three 500ml bottles of Canola and Grapeseed oil. A box of pineapple chocolates from the class trip to Jeju-do Island. Handfuls of weird corn and octopus- flavored chips and bugles. Random small pieces of candy. An apple. Spontaneous invitations to have a dixie cup of (sugar) coffee. A chocolate- marshmallow moon pie. Occasionally a little bottle of super- sugary Vitamin C drink. Occasional offer to have a bite of raw sweet potato a student is nibbling on. Once an offer to have a sip of the Coca Cola a student was drinking. Occasional rice cake. Occasional piece of gum. Lots of little sticky notes of doodles and characters (adorable) and confessions of love: “I love you! Amanda! but I like boys (haha!)” and etc.

Well, that’s it for now. Until next time!

Love.

*A concerned reader has recently brought to my attention the fact that additions and adaptations of previously posted blog posts are crudely against blog etiquette. And I quote, “I mean, how am I supposed to finish reading the interweb if it keeps changing on me? I’m not even sure I have time in my life to read it *once*”. Well stated, concerned reader. Your concerns have been deemed reasonable and it is our hope that you will find them to have been suitably accounted for.

Accordingly, due to my recent induction into POEM, aka Professional Organization of English Majors, I must apologize for the ignorance of my actions and subsequently must reject the addition of the obvious, “Spam is gross,” in order to assume the previous and unaltered state of equanimity and impassivity in attitude toward Spam.

With warm regards and grateful consideration, this disclaimer has been posted by the publisher of this blog. Adieu.

Brief but awesome tale of my last fifty minutes:

Picture this. Me, sitting at my cubicle desk in a sea of teacher cubicle desks. My desk faces the wall in a cluster of five desks. Two cute, younger teachers are at the desks facing mine, Mr. Choi sits at the desk beside me. We’re desk buddies. The art teacher sits at the desk that is added to our cluster of four. She always wears very bright clothing. One of her favorites is an electric blue tanktop covered in a lacy black sleeved shirt, with the tanktop extending almost into a skirt. Another especially eye- catching combination is her hot pink pants with some ruffly, artsy shirt. Her makeup, though not overdone, is definitely more colorful than the other women’s.

So, here I am, Thursday afternoon, finished teaching four of my classes. I’m currently making a word- search for my extra classes this evening, of “Words That Are Really Fun, like Booya” and searching my brain for cool equivalents of “awesome”, “neat”, “rad” and “super”. Suddenly I am broken from my tired, half- concentrated half- facebook chatting stupor to realize that everyone around me is standing. Not only are they standing, but the office has been flooded with thirty extra people. Commence bowing. Commence speeches. (Further my confusion.) Commence introductions. Commence the scattered placing of huge boxes of things on the center table. The boxes, from the looks of it, contain dozens of yellow bottles of some sort of unidentifyable drink, and they look lovely when placed next to the platters of food. (Wait, platters of food? Where did those come from?)

Continue bowing. All the teachers in the room are standing in greeting of these thirty intruders to our office space. Continue bowing and, just as suddenly as they entered, all the offending intruders exit.

Unsure, I continue to stand. After a few awkward moments, it feels safe to sit. I sit.

Ten minutes later, somebody walks around and puts a small brown bottle with a yellow label on my desk. Next to it they place a strange bar. They walk on.

It looks like a gooey rice bar with… beans? And maybe a dried fig? Or a cockroach. And… red beans too? I thought they were raisins but pretty sure they’re beans. Red and green beans. I smell it and my suspicions are confirmed. Beans! Rice! Nuts! Fruit? Not sure whether or not I’m allowed to eat it, and I have no clue what’s in this yellow bottle, but it’s almost time for dinner so I probably shouldn’t spoil my appetite.

I never have a clue what’s happening around me, but generally its pretty awesome.

Signing out, until the next random clueless encounter….