Me? An Adult?

It has come to my attention that somewhere along the line, somehow, for reasons best understood by someone much much smarter than I, that I have indeed turned into an adult. An adult! How the hell did that happen?

This process seems to have happened much earlier, and with more grace, for a number of my friends and family members. I have a few theories as to why my ‘maturity’ took a bit more time than it apparently for everyone else I know, but they are only theories.

I remember the moment I realized I was undeniably an adult; it was when I viewed my Alien Registration Card for the first time. The picture is horrid, ghastly I tell you; I look like a 30-something year old lunch lady, but that’s not what perpetuated this epiphany. It was the fact that I had done this thing, this seemingly insurmountable thing. I had moved to another country with 2 pieces of luggage, a camera, computer and ipod. Pretty much all of my possessions, minus a car I couldn’t give away – literally, I tried to give ol’ Boris to a friend in need, but they just shook their head is dismay, not that I can blame them. I think I’m the only one who can see the beauty in that beater.

I was on my way from careening through adolescence to surpassing young adulthood in record time when I experienced what can only be described as a colossal moment of self-doubt. Mind you, this moment lasted about 4 years. The certainty of my ability to live life was not only vague, but a complete fabrication. I don’t know anyone else who experienced this same phenomenon, so I have no one to compare my experience with, but imagine going to bed one night, rest assured that you are a talented, intelligent, hard-working kid and the world is your oyster, then, for some inexplicable reason, you wake up not only sure that the possibilities of life are just a pipe dream, but that all the people who have faith in your immeasurable talents are mistaken. Even liars.

It was one of those defining moments for me, one of the ‘before-and-after’ moments of my life. I’ve had a number of before-and-after moments that define intervals of time, but this one was devastating, and if for no other reason than I had no earthly idea what to do next.

So I did the only thing I knew how. I stayed in my regimen, worked at the same job, lived in the same place. I didn’t take any risks because the floor I had been so sure was just there, wasn’t, so why risk another monumental change of things I had previously thought were unchangeable? On more than one occasion the voice of Ellen Degeneres reverberated in my head.

Dory: “Hey Mr. Grumpy Gills. When life gets you down do you wanna know what you gotta do?”

Marlin: “I don’t wanna know what you gotta do.”

Dory: “Just keep swimming. Just keep swimming. Just keep swimming, swimming, swimming. What do we do? We swim, swim.”

Marlin: “Dory, no singing.”

Dory: “Ha, ha, ha, ho, ho. I love to swim. When you want to swim you want to swim.”

Marlin: “See I’m gonna get stuck now with that song... Now it’s in my head!”

Dory: “Sorry.”

Aw Pixar, leave it to you. So, that’s what I did, and somehow I got here. Korea? Well, yes Korea, but also, doing a job I love. Instructing. Buying a plethora of fruits and vegetables, making a budget and sticking to it. Establishing goals ranging from academic to financial. Thinking about the endless possibilities instead of the relentless impossibilities. And somehow, somewhere, I guess I became a member of the elite who refer to themselves as an adult, though I still find conversations about poo hilarious, and think that is entirely likely that I will continue to do so until the day I die. Because let’s face it folks, poo is funny, that’s all there is to it.

A Boy Named Tim

Most Koreans have English names, and this is about an encounter I had with Tim and his mom. I’ve been debating whether or not I should write about this particular event, because you see, it’s been a struggle for me to deal with and I am wary to put others through it as well. But if I am true to my word and indeed report on my experiences while teaching English in Korea, than this is a situation that needs to be told. After all, it is about cultural differences.

To start with, I think I should mention teachers in Korea have the power to practice corporal punishment, though, as a foreigner, I’m not expected to do so. That being said, if it is acceptable, and even promoted, for a teacher to strike a student, than you can well imagine what liberties parents may have with their own children.

The receptionist of Sky English Academy has 2 sons, Matthew who is 10, and Tim who is 8. Because my classroom is apart from the rest of the school, I rarely go into the lobby where the receptionist works, but a couple of weeks ago I did. As I walked through the sliding glass doors, I saw the receptionist pulling the hair of her youngest son. She roughly pulled his head from side to side, stopped, then did it again. Of course I was taken aback. I’ve never seen the receptionist angry. I’ve never seen a Korean teacher or parent physically punish a child before. And the force she pulled his hair seemed both extreme and excessive. But it didn’t stop there.

In the time it took me to enter the room, she had stopped pulling his hair and started to repeatedly slap and scratch his face. I can’t be sure if they were open handed slaps or not, nor can I be sure just how many blows he endured. By the time I reached the desk she had moved on to punching him in the stomach. I just stood there. Her back was to me, and the boy faced me. I stood there holding out the tests I had come to give her. I stood there and did nothing. Said nothing. I just stood there and watched. The boy looked at me, which notified his mom I was there. She turned, took the tests from my outstretched hands, smiled, and turned back around. I dazedly walked back toward my classroom.

Before I left the room I looked over my shoulder to see her kick the feet out from under him, where he fell and was no longer visible from behind the reception desk. I can’t be sure, but I think I she continued to kick after he fell.

I got to my classroom and my head was reeling. I couldn’t believe what I had just seen. I wanted to make sense of that encounter, and more so, I desperately wanted to understand my complete lack of action. I turned around and went back to the lobby.

No one was there. I stood there once again, not saying anything, not doing anything. I became aware of the time and the fact that I had a class in a few minutes, so I walked back to my sanctuary. My classroom. There on the stairwell, was the little boy I later learned was named Tim. He was looking out the window, silently crying. He saw me and took off down the stairs. I followed him.

I didn’t know his name. I didn’t know how much English he spoke. I just said, ‘Wait. Wait.’ He did not wait. I caught up with him at the bottom of the stairs. I had no idea what to do or what to say. I had no idea what he could understand. I looked at his little face, tear stained, bloody lip, and scratched on the left side, and hugged him. It was clear he didn’t want to be there. He didn’t want me to hug me. It was clear he had no idea where he wanted to be. So I just continued to hug him. I wanted to say something comforting to him, but as I said, I don’t teach him, I had no idea what his language skills were. So I said the simplest sentences I could think of.

‘You’re a good boy. I like you. You’re a good boy. I like you.’

I repeated that over and over. He eased up a little and said, ‘I’m okay.’ I went back upstairs and he left the building.

The rest of the day I was proctoring tests, which gave me time to obsess about what just happened. The more I thought about it, the more I realized what really disturbed me. First of all, the mom was not beside herself with rage. She was not inconsolable; she was not full of hatred or malice. She looked like she was performing just another mandatory parental task. Nothing more. Secondly, there was a Korean teacher less than one foot away from both mother and son. She did not look stunned as I was. She was nonplussed. I don’t know what disturbs me more about that.

After my day was done I called Mr. Shin and asked him to meet me at my classroom. I don’t know what I wanted him to say. Maybe I wanted him to explain why Koreans think it is okay to hit children or that her actions were unwarranted. He didn’t say much; mainly he listened to my account and reiterated the cultural differences between Americans and Koreans. I felt it was necessary for me to tell Mr. Shin that, A. I saw this happen and did nothing to stop it, and B. I hugged a student. I’ve never been told not to show affection with students, but beside an occasional high-five, I’ve never touched one of my kids before.

Even though I would have liked to write that I interceded and fought the just fight, I did not. I saw something I disagreed with and did nothing. My lack of action was not because I feared what would happen to my job. My immobility had nothing to do with understanding cultural differences. There was no thought process whatsoever. It’s important for me to say that.

It’s been a couple of weeks since this happened, and in that time period I have come to understand a few truths about the situation: If I had intervened I would have made the situation worse. Koreans are big on face, and if I had caused the mom to lose face, I think I would have made things worse. Actually, I know I would have made things worse. Also, when we act on a child’s behalf in the states, it is with the end goal to make things better for the child. If we witness child abuse, we contact children services and someone acts as a mediator. This is not the case here. If I had gotten involved, no one would look out for the little guy’s best interest. There would not be the slightest possibility an interpreter would have taken my statement and the boy would be removed from custody or the mother would be instructed to take parenting classes. There is not a system in place to protect children from the very thing that is not only permitted, but encouraged, in the classroom, let alone the home.

That being said, I do feel obliged to stress, none of those things prevented me from shielding the little guy. If, for some reason, I lose my job, there is another one a block away, and another a block away from that. My particular sets of skills are in high demand, and finding a job would so very easy.

I saw the little guy the next day, and he was his usual cheerful self. He popped his head into my classroom to say hello and goodbye, just as he always had. We’ve never spoken of that day.

I teach his brother, Matthew, and on more than one occasion I have wanted to strangle that kid. Generally, my students are well behaved, but Matthew has been disruptive since the beginning. He tends to act out, makes unwise decisions and doesn’t focus. If any good can come from this, it is having a better understanding about the root of Matthew’s behavioral issues. I since then have adapted my approach with him. Instead of being stern, as Mr. Shin would prefer, I praise and positively reinforce his appropriate behavior. And it’s paid off. He’s gotten better at focusing. He beams with pride when I praise him. He’s a good boy too, it’s just harder for me to see that.

Yesterday I started private lessons with Tim. That is how I learned his name. We have class once a week for an hour. He is a bright kid with a natural aptitude for English. He is polite and respectful, and outshines both his brother and mother in English. And it’s impossible not to smile when he says, ‘See you rater teacher.’ I know I am limited to help him with his home situation, but I can teach him English to the best of my ability and praise and commend him for an hour a week, so that’s something. I’m glad he’s my student.

Christmas in Korea

Hello and Merry Christmas to all! Thank you for your holiday wishes and love sent from afar. As you know, this was my first Christmas away from home, and on a whole, Koreans don’t really celebrate this holiday. I would compare experiencing Christmas in Korea to going to a Chinese Restaurant in the states, where the only patrons on Christmas day are Asians, Jews and Atheists, minus the Jews of course. Maybe there are Jews in Korea, I dunno, but that was the general atmosphere. Despite that though, I was able to get into the holiday spirit.

I made this card for you all, but unfortunately I have to take pictures with my computer and it reverses everything, so you can't read the message, which was so craftily created as an email. It says, 'dear friends and family, wishing you a merry christmas and a happy new year all the way from korea! i miss you all very much! lots of love, me' then i've put the mouse on the 'send' button. I thought it was clever.

My Aunt Joann sent me a wonderful care package full of her famous holiday Chex mix, and although I wasn’t eating it from the much loved green plastic container, it still had the same great taste. I had received her package a couple of days early, and although the wait nearly killed me, I decided to open it on Christmas day. Among the holiday snack that nearly put me into a diabetic coma (because I couldn’t stop eating it) were some cute stickers, a card of course, and pictures of the family; my nephew, little Bennett, isn’t so little anymore, nearing the towering age of 3 now! And I adapted a new loving title for the recent addition to our family: big fat baby Gabe. And I tell you, everything about that sentiment is correct. I don’t know how my cousins, Helina and Vaughn, still have a home, as it seems big fat baby Gabe would have eaten them out of it by now! The not so little guy is almost 3 months old and weighs over 20 pounds! To put this into perspective, Bennett is nearly 3 years old and weighs 30 pounds. It seems big fat baby Gabe’s hobbies include eating, sleeping, eating, pooping, eating, burping, eating and smiling. He and my cousin Jello would get along great!

I flicked through the tv some, and there were a variety of Christmas movies on, so a watched a bit of all of them, not having the ability to make decisions following my inhalation of the much loved holiday Chex mix. But I soon recovered my senses and remembered my intended outing to the movies, so away I went.

I ventured to the cinema by way of a taxi despite disastrous miscommunication efforts the last time I dared to do so. It was a new day and you gotta get back on that ol’ horse they call life. I’m not sure who ‘they’ are per say, but that’s beside the point.

I got to the theater around 5pm, but couldn’t get tickets for Avatar until 8:30, so I had some time to kill. It was at this time my body, more specifically my stomach, decided to remind me that although childlike tendencies are a healthy part of any well adapted adult, it was time to adequately feed this body of mine with sustenance and nutrients. So I walked about the main street looking for a ‘nicer’ restaurant that had tables and everything!

This street is like Times Square meets the Vegas Stripe meets what I would presume Tokyo would look like, having not been there I must rely on the accuracy of movies. The bright neon lights, speeding cars, and array of shops and boutiques ensnare the senses. I am convinced that Asia is just a mass collection of hair and nail saloons. Racists? Perhaps. But definitely true. Anyhoo, I walked from plaza to plaza with some holiday music to keep me company. Mind you, this wasn’t just any ol’ holiday music, these were the classics, ‘God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen,’ ‘Hark! The Harold Angels Sing’ and ‘Joy to the World’ to name a few. Wouldn’t it be so perfect if I had heard ‘We Three Kings of Orient Are?’ But what made these songs especially memorable was the fact that they were all blasting through the speakers in Korean. A nice little twist to make this an unforgettable Christmas.

I wanted to eat at a Korean BBQ, but having only eaten at a nice restaurant with Mr. Shin, I’ll admit, I was a bit intimidated. But adventure is my middle name, well, actually it’s Pamela, though I often tell people it’s Penelope, but I digress. I went into a restaurant because the people inside looked cheerful and happy to be there, and I was in a cheerful mood and was certainly happy to be there, so it seemed to reason I should join the party.

The only problem was the staff didn’t speak English and the menus didn’t have pictures for my to point to. I stood awkwardly in the foyer waiting to be seated, but then remembered this isn’t the ‘Asian’ way. With the hoards of people in this continent, if you want to be noticed, you must take an active role for others to notice you. It is a queer site to observe. On a whole, my experience has shown me that Koreans appreciate not standing out in crowd, yet if you want to be waited on, or served, you must assert your presence in a noticeable way. It is something to see people be politely intrusive, an art form really, and one I’ve not yet mastered. So I stepped into the middle of the walkway and stood there awkwardly. Nothing happened. The waiters and waitress just walked around me. After a few minutes I decided maybe I would try a restaurant that wasn’t quite so busy, so abashedly I headed back to where my shoes were by the front door.

There was a patron there who asked me if I was meeting someone, ‘Uh, no.’ And he took pity on this foreigner who was clearly far from home, and on Christmas of all days, and rendered his services as both an interpreter and my friend. He asked me what meat I liked, told me the menu options for dining as one, and said farethewell, though he didn’t actually use that colloquialism. I ended up getting a sort of soup, though it was thicker than a soup, but not thick enough to be a stew. It was like a kimchi soup, with bean sprouts and pork and various other ingredients I have no ability to decipher. Along with this main dish came 8 side dishes. That’s right, count ‘em, 8! A salad, made entirely of cabbage, with a sugary mayonnaise-type dressing, a seaweed soup, kimchi in the form of loose cabbage and also as a cubed, I dunno, rhubarb? Can you cube rhubarb? I’m rubbish at identifying these vegetables. Also, there were some strips of, pork? I’m not sure, though I liked the salty taste, some rice of course, and a fried fish of some sort. I ate a bit of everything, though I must admit, my chopstick abilities need some work. I’m okay with wooden chopsticks, but these nicer restaurants use metal chopsticks, and I’ve not gotten the hang of the extra weight. But I sat in my corner, bum on the pad that was on the ground, sitting over a table that was maybe 18 inches tall, and people watched as I stuffed my face.

I wish I had some pictures for you, but my camera batteries are dead and I still have to find a new power converter since my cheap Chinese one caught on fire. But that is now on the top of my list of things to do, so I will be able to post pictures once again.

After dinner I went to E-mart to buy something for myself this holiday season, I tend to be a cheapskate when it comes to things I could do without. But it was Christmas and I though maybe I’d buy a toy, like a yo-yo or something. I know, I know, I’m closer to the age of 30 than I’ve ever been, I have my own apartment, I make more than enough to warrant an elaborate purchase of, let’s say, a cd, but I just wanted something little and fun. Well, E-Mart was a mad house! I later learned that is somewhat of a tradition for parents to take their children there to pick out one gift. The kids only get one gift here, and after they are about 10 years old, they don’t get any presents. They get gypt! Gypt I say!

I looked for a power converter, couldn’t find one, so I enlisted the help of a pimply teenage boy, who had a hard time translating my odd hand expressions, so he recruited the help of another pimply sales assistant. How do you sign converter? Of course I said, ‘power converter,’ along with ‘electricity, watts, voltage’ but those are all obscure English words. So I reduced my need to a series of hand gestures.

First I pointed at a plug, then said clearly, and with pride, as I pointed to myself, ‘American.’ Then I pointed to the plug and said, ‘Korea.’ ‘American’ and ‘Korean’ and made a giant X with my forearms. I have observed that this gesture is common for Koreans, signifying a range of interpretations, like; we don’t carry that, or, we are closed, or no homework. Generally speaking, the giant forearm X means no, so I applied it to this situation, as in, my American appliances are not compatible with Korean wattage. A look of dawning came across one pimply boy’s face who took me to the plug adaptor section. ‘Okay, we’re making headway, but no, I need a power converter, not just a plug adaptor.’ Blank stares. So I reverted back to wild gesticulation. I like that word, gesticulate, though for some odd reason it makes me think of the word testicle, but anyhoo, FOCUS!

So I point at a plug, then say, ‘American’ and then pretend like I am plugging in an imaginary appliance, then I go on to pretend that it has caught on fire. How I do this is by wrinkling my nose to indicate a foul smell, and wave the imaginary smoke away. Then the fire got bigger, which I demonstrated by pretending to burn my hand, wave it frantically from side to side and say ‘ouch, ouch,’ and kiss my burnt fingers. The fire is now consuming the building and I scream RUN FOR YOUR LIFE! Which is a phrase all kids say, but when you think about it, that is actually a dire thing to yell, run for your life. Certainly not something that should be yelled in the excitement and endless possibilities of childhood. FOCUS!

I didn’t create the mass hysteria that ensued in this demented yet wonderful head of mine, but I did manage to convey my point. The one pimply boy turns to face the other pimply boy, and what do you imagine he said? (If you thought, ‘she’s crazy’ you get a gold star, but alas, no credit because that’s not the correct answer.) He said as clear as day, which is also an odd idiom if you think about it. I mean, there are plenty of days where I fumble around in apparent fog, but anyhoo, FOCUS! He said, ‘oh, converter.’ CONVERTER! Yes, I need a converter, that was the first word I said. Then he looks at me and makes a giant forearm X and says converter. Case closed.

So I went to look for a yo-yo or a paddle-ball or a cup-in-a-ball quaint toy that reminds me of the 50’s I never experienced, but got distracted my something shiny. I made my way, all will removed and being beckoned by shear instinct, to the necktie section of men’s apparel. There, glistening in holiday splendour, was my Christmas present to myself. A striped pink necktie, and for the screaming deal of 5,900 ₩, which is only $5!

Necktie clutched in my prepubescent boy hand, I paid and left the madness known as E-Mart. I took a cab back to the theater and watched a thoroughly entertaining film that lived up to all the hype and wonder of the spectacular special effects. A side note, all English movies have Korean subtitles, naturally, and when the movie speaks in a different language, I’m just out of luck, since there are no English subtitles. I’ve gotten rather skilled at interpreting the meaning in the actors words, and feel fairly certain that on more than one occasion, Sigourny Weaver herself was attempting to seduce me, but alas, that is another blog altogether.

After the movie I returned to my abode, played on the Internet some, read some thoughtful holiday emails, and waited for the proper time to call friends and family who had not yet celebrated Christmas. I spoke with my parents of course, my papa said Christmas wasn’t the same without me, which was oddly reaffirming, and my mom told me she missed me. I spoke to my Yia-yia and Papou, the latter being so hard of hearing he had no idea who he was speaking to until he handed the phone back to my Yia-yia and asked who I was. I should say we had an entire conversation up to that point. I asked him how he was and what he was going to do this Christmas day. He asked me how I was, said he missed me, and asked me how my family was. Maybe this should have tipped me off, you honestly, if you know my Papou, this just seemed like is usual quirky self. Once he realized I was speaking to me, he got back on the phone and started off with the notorious line that makes every family member cringe, ‘You wanna listen to me for a minute?’ As if we have any other choice, followed by inevitable phrase, ‘I bet you didn’t know that did ya?’ As if on queue, I respond, ‘No Papou, I didn’t.’

Soon it was time to sleep, so I put on the Christmas music my dear friend Sheena gave me, you know Sheena, my Indian friend (dot not feather) and drifted off while listening to Charlie Brown’s Christmas music. Of course I missed all of you, the 12 family members and precious friends who read this little blog of mine who comprise of my address book on my disconnected phone, but despite feeling homesick and a bit lonesome, I must say, my first Christmas away from home was pretty good. I am sad I didn’t get to hear my cousin Adam’s voice, he’s currently serving an LDS mission in Greece and got to call home on Christmas, but I have some very handsome pictures of him that will have to get me by.

And man o man do I look good in that pink necktie!