Not the way you thought I'd start SoKoNotes, but then, sometimes things start and there is neither rhyme nor reason. I wish you could listen to the music my Korean friend, Hyun-jeong gave to me. Why? Because it's not Korean. It's hispanic. It's great. It came into my life in the most unexpected place, from the most unexpected person imaginable. Combined with the sweet, thick Korean rice wine (dong-dong-ju) the music has inspired me to write.
Hyun-jeong studied Spanish in a university in Busan before dropping out to help her mom following the death of her father. As I reported in an earlier blog, she is a proficient speaker of Spanish, English and Korean. Sometimes I try to imagine a pure English speaker, a pure Spanish speaker and a pure Korean speaker meeting and trying to communicate. Ouch. Hyun-jeong is an amazing person. Here is a photo of her at the Busan aquarium, gazing at the fish swimming on the other side of a foot of clear acrylic paneling.
Five weeks left. Even now I am behaving like I'm leaving tomorrow. My classes have a hurky-jerky quality and the 'spark' I felt when I arrived is gone most days. I stand in front of my students and ad lib from the book like a stand-up comic gone to seed. I fly off on tangents. Today I talked about how to hot-wire a Jeep Cherokee. I've never hot-wired a car in my life, much less a Jeep Cherokee! I'm so full of bullshit that it's obscene. In 6A I discussed the reasons why an elevator might stop unexpectantly between floors. I brought up he movie, "Resident Evil." No one had any idea why I was talking about. Neither did I. Naturally, this teaching style is the result of the short duration left on my contract. It is also, in large measure, due to my fatigue. I'm tired of the grind. My mind aches for some spontaneity in my life, to break out of the routine.
Around the third or fourth week I was here, I walked into the teacher's office and found the departing teacher, Mike, and Mrs. Nam talking about his imminent exit from ESS. I don't remember the exact context, but I happened to ask Mike how he felt after nearly twelve months teaching English at ESS. Mike looked up with a languid, relived sort of smile on his face like he had just finished a marathon and drew out a heavy, slow, almost word-by-word sentence obviously intended for more ears than mine, "I have been teaching children for twelve months."
There was a slow, deliberate, fatigued quality to that sentence that I didn't appreciate back then, only a few weeks into my own contract. I understand that tone of voice now. I feel it in my own voice when I open my rollbook. I feel it in my legs when I walk up the four flights of stairs to the teacher's office in the early afternoon. I feel it in my mind as I try to scrape together a lesson plan for the day. I feel it in my heart as I realize that I don't have the energy to stop class and help a student pronounce an "R" correctly. I feel deflated. I am at the end of my rope. I need a break.
This is not to say that my experience at ESS has been bad, or that I have not gained more than was given. I have. The past year has seen me grow tremendously as a person and has taught me more than I could quickly write about here. The children, through their charisma, their intelligence and their natural affinity for new and different things and people have given me a great gift: A strong belief in myself, a renewed sense of confidence in my ability to face challenges for which I've never been prepared and see them through to their right conclusion.
Still, there is a reason teachers have three months off a year in the States, and I feel it has nothing at all to do with age-old beliefs about farming or seasons. Teaching is hard work. I don't think most people truly appreciate how hard. What other job asks you to stand on your feet for most of the eight-hour work day and keep a group of people engaged in subject that they might have no interest in?
Back when I was a photographer for The American, work was a breeze. I was doing what God and Jim Virga trained me to do: Take pictures. Though sometimes I bitched (and continue to bitch) about the quality of my assignments, it was easy and fun. The time between assignments was spent in my air-conditioned car, listening to music or books or talking on the phone with my friends. At the office I could knock out my cutlines in an hour or two and spend my spare time chatting up the attractive features or cops reporters. The job was ideal, but didn't pay well and insulted my journalistic and photographic sensibilities.
Some of the Korean teachers have been teaching at ESS much, much longer than I. A few weeks back I asked Ms. Ha how long she had been teaching for ESS. A few years, maybe three, she said, and kept grading a tall stack of papers in front of her. I looked at her in disbelief. A few years!?! Holy shit! How could you do this job for three years strait?! ? Those were my thoughts. I haven't been here a full year yet and I'm barely hanging onto my sanity. A few more months and that sanity might disappear, and Ms. Ha has been doing this for three years, maybe more. I asked her how much vacation she took and she told me that she got four, perhaps a full week of vacation every year. My mind swam as this Korean rock of a woman continued to grade papers as if nothing were amiss. A strange mix of pity and awe built in my mind.
A few years.
The summer semester has started and my classes have been shuffled again. During the last few weeks of June the students were mercilessly tested with horrible multiple-choice listening exams administered in the auditorium.
Some students got demoted, some students got promoted, but the changes were barely noticeable. In Advanced Four I have two new students, but they have done little to alter the tempo or demeanor of the class as a whole. The only arena in which the tests have an effect is the littlest children. With every tri-monthly round of tests my 1-2 classes get shaken up like a can of Pepsi, and the effect can be just as explosive.
I have been handed a live hand-grenade named Han Jeong-Han. I have mentioned him before in an earlier blog, back when I was a 'child wrangler' for Soo-hyun's 1-2Y auditorium class that met on Fridays. Back then, my job pretty much consisted of making sure Jeong-han stayed in his seat. As you will (hopefully) remember, this was a Herculean task. The product of a recent divorce and an inattentive father, Jeong-han's eyes scream one thing when he turns them on anyone: Fuck you. His life's work is hogging attention and disrupting class. Oh, and he is exceptionally bright.
So when he walked into my recently-shuffled 1-2A class, I only had one thing on my mind: Ah, crap. This isn't the slightly hopeful 'Ah, crap' of my early days at ESS, back when I naively believed the simple love and attention of one teacher could turn a child around. This isn't even the pragmatic 'Ah, crap' of the early Spring when I tried to formulate logical strategies for dealing with such deranged children. This is the tired, sober 'Ah, crap' of a man facing a force beyond his control.
One word describes my attitude towards Jeong-han: Containment. He is as unpredictable as the weather. He is asleep one minute, a wild ball of fire hurtling across the classroom the next, hitting other children and screaming at the top of his lungs. And sometimes Jeong-Han sits at his desk and earnestly raises his hand and answers questions with an academic sort of composure that belays the monster you know lurks just beneath the surface.
The rest of the class is a motley crew. A new student, He-ryeon, sits in the back. She's tall, bright, and I can't pronounce her name. I sometimes spend five solid shameful minutes a day straining my brain, trying like mad to pronounce her name. But God never intended 'r' and 'y' to be next to each other any more than He intended two like magnetic poles to attract one another. He-ryeon holds her head high and snubs me and my obviously fraudulent language capabilities every day.
Se-yeon sits in the front of class and works hard at cramming as many cookies or chips down her throat as possible before I take them up, which usually sparks something like a worker's strike from the tiny, strait-haired girl. She crosses her arms and looks strait ahead with her head held high and refuses to answer questions. Her attitude really pisses me off, because she's smart and I want badly for her to participate in class. But the crunch, crunch, crunch of her snacking is not only against ESS policy, but it's damn distracting, too!
Dong-ha, a big-eyed, diminutive boy sits across from Se-yeon, and he answers more questions than she does. However, Dong-ha is very sensitive and cries easily, so I have to watch what I say to him and I am constantly mitigating conflicts between Dong-ha and whichever child was careless with his heart.
The star student in the class, Geun-yeong, sits next to Dong-ha and does what she can to defend him against assaults from Jeong-han and Gwang-yeol. She is a bright-eyed, energetic girl and her hand is always in the air. She is not shy, and she works hard at her pronunciation. She sits in the front of the class, which effectively keeps all the distractions behind her.
Ji-hwan, perhaps the smartest child in the class, sits behind Geun-yeong. With every question or flashcard I pull, his hand shoots into the air. He constantly looks frustrated by my lack of hangulmal comprehension and will burst out with a long speech in his native tongue, as if trying to clear things up, and smile like it has. But I don't speak Hangulmal, and Ji-hwan hangs his head in his hands and the look of frustration grows deeper when I reply, "Mula, Ji-hwan. I'm sorry."
Gwang-yeol is the calm center of the class, patient and enthusiastic and well-behaved. However, if I should neglect to call on him enough, he gets bored and withdraws into his imagination. I often catch Gwang-yeol idly twiddling his pencil, staring off into space with a beatific grin on his face, obviously far, far away from the classroom and it's yelling, half-controlled inhabitants. A good question with his name on it usually brings Gwang-yeol back to reality and perks him right up.
At the end of class, all of the children vie for the right to erase the blackboard. If the bidding is peaceful enough, I'll offer a child the eraser and pick him or her up so they can reach the whole blackboard. Sometimes a full-scale war will break out between the parties vying for erasing rights, with yelling and grabbing and hitting and I'll try to break it up. Jeong-han usually seizes the opportunity to fan the flames of chaos with a well-placed scream or a random physical assault on Dong-ha or Se-yeon. As the hysteria reaches a fevered pitch, he focuses an empty, malevolent smile at me. I start counting down from five and the whole class scrambles to their desks.
My sister sat in on 1-2A, 1-2P and a few other classes last week. She flew in to Busan from Tokyo (where she was finishing her undergraduate degree) on Sunday afternoon and we spent the week together. On Sunday She, Hyun-jeong and I walked around Taejangdae on Young-do island. The weather was good and the path was lined in thick, healthy trees, bushes, and flowers all straining towards the sky. A beautiful sunset rounded out the hike.
Sara stayed in the apartment Monday, blogged and talked to her friends. On Tuesday she came in and tagged along for the ride from 1-2A to Advanced Four. I really appreciated her presence in the classes. Almost without fail, the children tend to react to a stranger in the classroom by becoming perfect angels.
This was not always the case. In 6A, Seong-leon was his normal, obnoxious self. He was so rude that my sister actually reprimanded him herself and the rest of the class hung their heads in shame. Seong-leon is a story for another day, however.
Sara said she enjoyed watching her older brother teach. On Thursday Mrs. Nam and the staff treated Sara to a traditional Korean lunch of Dwenjang-jiggae and Korean Anju, or side dishes. Sara really charmed the staff, who talked to her about Japan and her travels. Though many Koreans hold a grudge against the Japanese for refusing to properly apologize for the evils committed against Korea during the occupation of the early twentieth century, they still enjoy Japanese culture, music and food.
On Wednesday Hyun-jeong took Sara and I to a traditional Korean tea house to hear a musician playing a Korean bamboo flute called a Taegum. The quality of the sound is distinctively Korean: Mystical, raw and intense. When I get a spare minute I will set up a page on my website where you can hear this amazing sound as well as others I have collected over the course of these eleven months. For now, just take my word for it: The Daegum is an amazing instrument.
After he played a few pieces, the master Daegum player gave a lesson to an aspiring musician. The sound suddenly changed from beautiful to agonizing as the young man tried hard to finesse the age-old length of hand-carved bamboo. It felt good to see a young Korean engaged in his heritage, learning the arts of his people before the inundation of Westernization.
Over the weekend Hyun-jeong and I took Sara to Kaeunsung for jazz and beers at The Monk.
On Sunday we went to the aquarium. It was my second trip and the place was just as impressive as the first time I went.
We also went to the museum in Seomyeon where you can design fans, hats, letter, and trays made from the traditional Korean paper, Hanji. I made a fan for Hyun-jeong and Sara made two for Mom. The friendly ajummas running the establishment helped Sara and I put the finishing touches on our pieces. I tried to write a poem on mine in Hangul, but I misinterpreted the Hangul and Hyun-jeong died laughing when I gave her the fan! I was really embarrassed.
The only blemish on Sara's trip to Korea was on the bus coming home from work Tuesday night. A tall, old, crabby man got on the bus and stood next to us as we talked about my classes. I noticed him eyeing us every now and then, and his gaze was anything but friendly. Suddenly, he turned and reprimanded Sara and I for speaking English. His words were sharp and angry, and his face was twisted with hatred. He said something about "dirty English," "speak Korean," and "shut up."
Sara and I hushed our voices, but he kept turning around and screaming at us periodically. The other people on the bus were getting nervous and stared at the man with fear in their eyes. I stood my ground and stared him down as he yelled at us. I watched his hands. Finally, I couldn't stand his disrespect any more. I engaged in a shouting match with the bastard that sent everyone on the bus scurrying out the door by the minimart at the top of the hill, but our fight was only words. I didn't want to get deported over some drunk scumbag with nothing better to do than take out his misery on foreigners.
Sara and I got off the bus and walked home, but my heart was on fire and my hair was standing on end. If he had touched my sister, I would have attacked him and gotten myself deported. It is a really good thing he didn't. Sara was shaken up by the incident, and told me she had never encountered such behavior in Japan. She says people in Japan do anything they can to avoid conflict, even if they hate you. Not Korea, I said. People here are very open and emotional and they tend to express how they feel, especially if they hate you. Many people hold a grudge against America for a host of reasons, such as it's imperialist economic policies, indifference to the Koreans' desire to unify with the North, and the reckless killing of two little girls by Marines in a Humvee back in 2002 (a crime for which the Koreans believe justice has not been served).
Hyun-jeong later expressed embarrassment for the old man. She said such behavior was not condoned by the public and that he should be ashamed of himself. It comforted me to know that most of the Koreans Sara came across were loving and giving people. She didn't board the airplane at Gimhae with a negative feeling towards Korea. She enjoyed her visit, and I loved hosting her. I already miss her terribly.
Well, what's SoKoNotes without The Korean Files? OK, so I neglected it for a while, but it's back. After a dinner of Pizza Hut Sunday afternoon, Hyun-jeong, Sara and I browsed the local clothing outlet for Konglish. Sara wanted to compare the Korean Konglish to the Japanese Engrish she came across while studying in Japan. Here are a few of the best from a host of t-shirts we came across.
"Kiss My Robot" (Yeah, that'll teach em to mess with you.)
"Prink Oneself Pleasant. If you agree with me, you will give me a big hand." (Oh..Uh...What?)
"Genuine Originality: Love Ro Girls" (I don't know how to react to this)
"You shouldn't car wheat." (Nor should you train barley new tricks)
"Always Grow Up! It keeps running by your pace." (Duh)
"SuperGirl Powerful! I Qffered My Honor. He Honored My Offer." (Some sort of dirty transaction took place here)
"Twinkies! Twinkies! Twinkies!" (Run for your life!)
Alright, that be the end of SoKoNotes for July 22, 2006. I have little more than a month before I head back for The States. Keep it here on SoKoNotes, as I'll be heading to Argentina the week after I get home for a well-deserved vacation. As usually, it's always a pleasure talking about life in The Land Where Diet Cheese Tastes Better than The Real Thing. Until next time. Peace! --Notes
