Culture Shock: A Haiku

Lunchtime chicken piece,

sorry that I did not eat.

I thought you were fish.

Bear Speaks to the Moon

It should come as no surprise to you that I like bears. I haven't worked with watercolor since the 3rd grade. I hope my technique has improved at least a little. It feels really good to be creating again though.

The text reads like so:

By what means do you hang

like quotations within quotations

marking feet and inches

up against this violet curtain

sheltering daybreak before

all hungry eyes will feed again?

The opening scene.

Shall we dance, just you and I?

a dress rehearsal before the curtain's rise

and if I say I only know a world

of glowing things that wear their bones

on the outside, would you think

I am so small?

Some who play behind your other face

have torn this world to pieces.

Final act called over thinking.

Expect the moon's response sometime in the near future:)

It Isn't Any Trouble Just To S-P-E-A-K

My school has a special education program. I have heard that special Ed is kind of a taboo subject in Korea, so I feel fortunate that the good people of 해서 Elementary have put together such an impressive program. There are two classes, each with their own teacher, classroom, and there are 10 students in the special needs category.

There's one student in general that captures my attention. I don't know his name. In fact, I don't know many people's names (I have almost 600 students), but I feel sorry that I don't know his name in particular.

He's a very joyful person, while I, in full posession of my body, and with a fully developed brain, am not. Not all of the time. Not even most of the time. I barely fit into the "some of the time" category. He's got a big smile, and he always squinches his face together when he's concentrating on something. They let him come to my 5th grade class. Even if he can't really learn much English, I think no one should be deprived of the opportunity to stare at the weird looking foriegner, especially not one so disadvantaged.

He did learn some English though. He learned how to say "hello," and he usually interrupts my teaching about 3 times a lesson to smile at me, wave and say hello. He is so proud of himself when I wave and say it back. It's as if he has unlocked some magic code that allows him to do something with me that his teachers can barely do...

Communicate.

Today, he was crying at the end of my class. We were learning about the past tense today. Every way we had of saying that something was done was now wrong. He tries so hard. I think that sometimes we don't get that. We see someone like him and we imagine that if we were in his place, we might not want to learn anything, because it would be so much harder. I noticed how wrong that assumption was about him today. Everything is so hard. He tries so hard.

Something struck me about him today. It was a tough day. Everything was wrong again. The magic code was broken. Communication was in jeopardy. When the bell rang, he brushed his eyes, stood up, collected his book like everyone else, and headed out the door. He stopped in front of me as I was waving to the other students exiting the classroom. He shook his hands urgently.

"Teacher! Hello!"

Hello. Goodbye.

"Goodbye."

I think his smile is a reflex. I think that instead of taking it out like fine china, using it only for special occasions, he lives there. That's the plate he eats off of every day. It was back, before it was even long enough to say it was ever gone.

Goodbye.

It's a revolutionary concept. He now speaks English twice as well as he could before. What I wouldn't give for that kind of progress in my own life.

His smile shames me. That I could be up against so much less than that, and yet...

I can't smile like he does.

I call myself a teacher. What do I have to teach but hello and goodbye? I think he can teach me how to smile.

The Birth of Uncool

I just started swimming laps at the local pool. I say local because it's in the city, but it's really really far from where I live. Perhaps it would not be so far if I didn't have to take public transportation, but it takes me about an hour and twenty minutes to get there by way of two busses and the subway. I think it's pretty lame of me that I want to travel that far just to goo swimming.

I have a beautiful body, in a sort of... untrue kind of way. I was never in the best of shapes. I mean, everyone is in some sort of shape, right? Mine is just less of a sculptural ideal and more of a ...muffin.

You know that part of the muffin that hangs over the side of those muffin papers that they put them in? Yeah, like that.

There are some overweight people who are actually pretty good athletes. I am not. I'm actually not even that coordinated. I can't walk in a straight line for very long without concentrating really hard. If I'm in a group talking to someone I kind of tend to pinball around a bit. It's okay, that's just kind of who I am. But I do want to change that. That's why I'm going swimming at the pool.

Words cannot describe how incredibly lame I look in my swimsuit, with my goggles that leave scrape marks on my nose because they are made especially for the shallow Korean bridge, combined with my swimcap (which the lifeguards make me wear, as though that will keep all the hair out of their pool) and my particular swimming style, perfected from years of never trying.

The pool is crowded when I get in. I feel (as I often do) that everyone is staring at me. I felt that way in America, when it wasn't true, but I feel it now all the more. I realized later it was because I was swimming in the wrong lane (apparently there are specific lanes for people wearing fins). I have to share this lane with 5 other people. I can feel their hands scraping my feet while they pass me. Everyone passes me. I really feel like this is not a place I should be. It has been a long time. Middle aged women are passing me, but I don't stop swimming until I have swum the amount I came for. Someday they won't pass me.

On the way back home, I pull out my flash cards on the bus. My flash cards are also extremely uncool. I have become known for my flash cards. I use them at work, on the bus, when I go home, and all throughout the weekends. I use them to learn to speak Korean. It is going very very slow. I have already learned enough Korean to thoroughly impress everyone back home, because I'm white, so I shouldn't know any Korean. I really don't want to impress people anymore.

Well... I wouldn't go that far, actually.

Let's just say that I don't want to want to impress people anymore.

I've noticed an interesting connection between coolness and success. Most successful people don't seem all that cool at first.

I'm not saying that successful people are uncool. In fact it is a very cool thing just to be successful. In fact I think that everyone in the world should always try to be as cool as they possibly can. Wear clean clothes, trim your nails, don't pick your nose, etc. There is nothing wrong with looking good.

Except when that was the entire goal.

Being cool means that you don't go places where you won't fit in. Being cool means that you don't try something when you know you will fail miserably at first. Being cool means always, always, always being in a situation you can handle, so that you always look good.

Again, I'm not saying that successful people are not cool, or even that they don't try to be cool, but when being cool itself is not the goal, a successful person can sacrifice his coolness in order to pursue success. I want to be like that.

So go ahead and pass me, Ajuma swimmers of Korea, I'm going to get faster, and I won't always look like a muffin. And go ahead and laugh at my flash cards, my so-called friends who spend their weekends getting drunk and the majority of their workweek on Facebook. I will speak someday.

I want to sacrifice for something better than cool.

Call and Response

Friday night. Oh, blessed relief. The weekend is finally upon us. Those of you in America will be jealous to know that I now live in the future, and as such, I get to enjoy the weekend sooner than you do. It's like eating ice cream before it melts. Can't beat it.

Had a tough week at the office though (I've always wanted to say that). It seems like I was working and sweating all the way until time to leave. I remember when I used to twiddle my thumbs all day and surf the internet. It's a beautiful thing, to be committed to something that takes all (or at least most) of your energy. It makes you worry less, to know that you did the best you were able. Even the worst days (there have been a few) aren't so bad.

I've been listening to old school Rogue Wave a bit lately (pre Zune commercial madness). I've noticed that a lot of their music involves call and response. I like that collaboration. I used to be impressed by guitar solos, but now I like duets. I like call and response, for some reason. For those of you who can't see me as I'm writing this, you'll have to take note that I have a huge, cocky grin on my face. Perhaps at one point I will explain this reason to you, but for now, is is enough to know that I have a cocky grin and I like call and response.

I've never been a rhythmic person. I don't mean musically (though I'm sure it could be argued), but in a sense of life patterns. I've never really been able to depend on what I would be doing from one day to the next. My life didn't really follow a pattern. I used to think that made me cool, like that somehow doing the same thing over and over was boring, regardless of what that thing was. It's like if I could have a conversation with Robert Johnson, I might ask him why all he ever does is play the guitar. Perhaps he should play the piano, just so people don't think that's all he knows how to do...

I'm getting distracted.

I love getting distracted.

My life follows a pattern now because I found something that I really want to do over and over again. It's not cool doing random things, hoping one of them is going to pay off sooner or later. I've done that for far too long. Now it's time to stop trying to be everything in the world and be something I'm often afraid to be.

Myself.

And no one else.

I know that sounds cheesy, but I'm a bit in the mood for cheese, despite my occasional lactose intolerance. No more whine, but cheese is nice from time to time.

Last thought: it's November soon, and I just realized that I accomplished almost all of the goals I had for this year. I have two months two finish writing my novel and find a girlfriend. Pretty good year, all in all.

Maybe I should cut my losses...

... Maybe I should start learning some new phrases in Korean.

... for the book, of course...

After All

I've decided to start writing again. I think it might be unhealthy for me to prefer writing my personal thoughts down on some website that I made public and posted a link to on my Facebook page rather than talking to a good friend about how I feel.

I'm a bit far from a good friend right now though. All attempts to be anything to anyone right now have been thwarted, and here I am again. Some sort of socially challenged forrest creature who somehow knows how to type. I wonder, in fact, if I really am alone here. If it's quiet for real now, even for the few who read this... whatever it is. Are you out there? I think you might be. I'm waiting on a voice from somewhere, something to assure me that I am facing the right direction before I start moving again.

Life is full of good things though. There are so many reasons why it's worth it to be alive, to try, to let something real in. I have seen and heard wonderful things, and if I have no one to call at the end of my day to tell these things to, I will have to write them down, with the hope that somehow they will be heard. At least one day I will come back and hear them.

My prayer is that somehow it will be enough to justify my existence. I feel like somehow it needs to balance out. Something bigger than the sociological, ecological, temporal footprint pushed into the Earth by the verb "to be." "To be or not" was never the question. We will be. To not be was not our choice. We must trust that with all the not be that never were, we were made to be, and our being was for the right reasons. It has weight. It is the only thing that really carries any importance.

Humanity.

The mess we moved into. The mess we made. The more we pretend that it isn't ours, the less our being pulls us to the earth.

There are oceans, you know? I've seen them. They cripple buildings from their foundations, and they grind the mountains into grains of sand. We're just calcium, plasma, and water. I've seen the ocean.

It's terrifying.

It's beautiful.

The most beautiful things in life are terrifying. The Ocean. Death. Truth. That voice you hear at night before falling asleep, only before falling asleep. You are too focused the rest of the day to allow it to speak. Too busy staring at the sand spread across this vast beach saying "not me, not me," over and over again as if that is going to make it true.

Yes. You.

but it's allright.

It's okay to let the ocean take you, to spin you around and dance with you. If you fight these tides, they will fight you back, but if you let them carry you...

...my God...

You can't imagine where you end up.

It's okay. It's okay because after it all, the pain, the suffering, the loneliness, the rejection, the sheer weight of the sand in your pockets, there is some thing bigger:

This world was made by love.

That's what he said his name was.

시 문 선 생 님

I am starting to think that miscommunication may be my favorite form of communication.

I have been at my school for about two days now, and I feel like a member of a family, most of whom can’t say much more than two or three phrases to me. The only exception is 소 양, (roughly pronounced So-Yang) my teaching partner. We still have a lot of trouble communicating though, and I am constantly scratching my head to figure out what she just said to me. There are a lot of awkward pauses, which make me laugh, which make her laugh, with neither of us exactly sure what is making us laugh. It’s fun to have no idea what you are doing.

The kids at the school are really excited that I’m here. I’m not teaching classes yet, but just trying to observe another teacher’s classroom proved to be too much excitement. I had to leave. I was preparing my lessons for when I finally get to teach (I believe by Wednesday of next week) when a crowd of 5^th grade boys burst into my room, trying desperately to unload all of the English words that they knew.

“Hello! Nice to meet you!”

“what is your name?”

“Where are you from?”

“What is your hobby?”

“What did you do for summer vacation?”

"Excuse me! Can you tell me what time it is? Thank you!"

It kind of reminds me of asking all the Spanish speakers I knew where I could find the library.

I know where the library is.

Al suroeste del salon de classe.

Gracias.

소 양 , another teacher (I forgot her name) and I got official leave from the school (which required three different signatures of approval) in order to shop for supplies to decorate our teaching room. Halfway through this, the other teacher said that she was tired and it was too hot. We went to rest up in a local coffee shop in the downtown area. 소 양 tells me that more than anything, she likes piano music and the smell of new books. I think we are going to get along really well. She studied Korean in college, and so has promised to help me learn. I was so worried that I wouldn’t meet anyone who would want to teach me. I’m going to take advantage of every opportunity I have to learn from her.

Part of my contract stipulates that I am supposed to have a washing machine at my apartment. I am excited about it, because it didn’t arrive the first day. I’m looking at it now, and I realize that I have no idea how to use it, as all the instructions are in Korean. I hadn’t even realized how many things I would not know how to do because of the language barrier. I also don’t know how to say my address. I’ll have to talk to someone about that. In the meantime, I’m going to push all the buttons on this machine until it washes something.

Someone once asked me if I thought it was possible to fall in love with someone you barely know. I still don’t know if that’s possible, but I now know how she felt. It’s not a person for me, though, it’s a place. I am so happy here. It doesn’t make any sense, but I can feel it. I want so badly to be as helpful to these people as I can. I want to be a good employee, a good student of language and culture, a good teacher, and a good friend. I’ve always tried to be above average at everything I do, but I’ve never really wanted to be the best type of person I was able to be. Maybe that’s what love is supposed to do.