Pantyhose…

must have been invented by a man. Why would a woman think that inventing a product into which one squeezes one’s legs into tubes that almost cut off circulation is a good idea?

Pantyhose are part of my uniform now. It has been years since I have voluntarily worn pantyhose. I had forgotten the idiosyncrasies of pantyhose. Such as. Pantyhose take time, a lot of time, to put on correctly. It never happens on the first try. And you cannot rush pantyhose. It’s sort of like writing. There’s the first draft. The revision. The editing. Then the final draft when you’re ready to walk out the door.

If you try to rush pantyhose evil things happen. Your fist suddenly bursts through a seam, sending multitudes of runs down your leg. Or, worse. Pantyhose always have the last word.

I only have a five minute break in between classes now. Enough time to return to my desk, get my books for my next class, take a sip of water, and go to my next classroom. But, sometimes, just sometimes, I have to also fit a trip to the bathroom into that 5 minutes as well. Like today. I was tugging on my pantyhose, preparing to return to class. Oh, there’s the bell. Don’t have time to do the re-tug and straightening. Okay, I’m fine. And I rushed out the door.

Pantyhose don’t like to be rushed. They like to be treated gently. Gingerly. Lovingly attended to. Smoothed and resmoothed. They like to think they are the sole recipient of your attention. And, quite frankly, they should be.

As I rushed back into the teacher’s room, I could feel stares upon me. But I’m getting used to that. Everyday I am met by stares, usually from Koreans. But here were 6 American men staring at me, no one saying a word. “What?” I asked with irritation. Chanta heard my voice, turned around and burst out laughing. She was laughing so hard she couldn’t speak. Tears formed in her eyes. She was gasping for breath. She finally took her hands and frantically rubbed her skirt, then pointed at me. I rubbed my skirt. Or where my skirt should have been. Oh, my god. I could feel the heat radiating from my face.

Pantyhose, oh, pantyhose, oh how you have forsaken me. Was it really necessary to capture my skirt, baring my legs (et al) for the world to see?

Things Seen On The Street…

A vending machine to recharge your cell phone. For only 78 cents, you, too, can have a fully recharged battery instantly.

Needlepoint pillows of cell phone numbers suction cupped to the front windshield of parked cars – just in case they are blocking your access.

80 kilogram bag of rice for sale. Who eats 80 kilograms of rice?

Sisters…

I have a younger sister and it is only in the last few years that we have become close. It is only within the last few years that we could be in the same room and not physically harm each other. It happened about the same time that she got married and I got divorced. Go figure. Many of my friends have similar experiences with their siblings.

Here, however, siblings like each other. They play together. They hold hands as they walk down the street. They help each other do homework. I love watching this.

I teach many pairs of siblings. One particular pair that I’ve taught since coming to Korea are Annie (a quiet, shy teenager who insists on being called by her “American” name) and Sang Min, her younger sister who has long, hot pink highlights in her hair. I adore both of them. I was preparing to teach Annie’s class. One of the teachers called my attention to the monitors in the lobby. “Who teaches that class? What are they doing?” Annie and Sang Min were in Annie’s classroom. They had turned out the lights and had hid under the table. We watched curiously on the tv monitors. The bell rang, so I went to class. As I walked in, they both jumped out from under the table and rushed at me to tickle me. I could only laugh. Sang Min then rushed to her classroom, giggling hysterically the whole way. Annie often talks about how she loves to play with Sang Min. Keep in mind, Annie is a teenager. Teenagers tend to hate everything. They’re doing something right here…

The Black Market

Chanta discovered the Black Market here in Daegu last week. She promised we would go together this weekend.

This morning we caught the bus downtown. We got off at a major department store (the landmark around which my life now revolves, how sad). She walked down a street, turned down an alley, turned down another alley, then grabbed my hand. “Here, in here.” Chanta, where are you taking me? It appeared that we were walking into racks of clothes. There were things hanging as well. Chanta, are you sure…. Several hanging bags brushed the top of my head. I bent lower and followed her. All of the sudden we were in a maze of tiny shops. Small tables packed with goods. Clothes hung, layer upon layer, on the wall. I felt like Alice in the rabbit hole. Everything was packed so closely together, every possible inch of display space was utilized. Which made me feel even more like an Amazon. I bent my head and continued walking. Mostly cosmetics, some clothes, some toiletries. Chanta dashed up a narrow set of stairs. “The good stuff is up here…” We arrived at a makeshift grocery store. We marveled at the products. Products that we knew their purpose. We didn’t have to guess. Familiar brands. Labels we could read. Directions we could understand. “Look, PineSol, oooooohhhhhhhhh.” I responded as if seeing a long lost love, “PineSoooooooool.” I have never fawned over cleaning products before. But seeing that bottle of PineSol made my heart flutter. “It’s lemon fresh scent, tooooooo…” But there was only one bottle. And we both coveted it. Should we rho-sham-bo? Flip a coin? Chanta offered, “I don’t want a whole bottle, maybe you’d want to share?” Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes. Do you have an extra container at home? Maybe an empty spaghetti sauce jar? “Yes, I do. Perfect. Let’s share.” We made our purchase and wove our way through the warren back to the streets of Daegu.

I scrubbed my floors today. With PineSol. I’m a little scared at the amount of satisfaction I derived from said task.

This Is Why I Love So-Yae…

The 6 retired Korean men I take Chinese calligraphy lessons with have become my friends. I look forward to having coffee and lessons with them each day, even though I rarely speak. I just sit there, listening to them talk back and forth. Occasionally I will understand a phrase here, a word there, and follow along. Sometimes Mr. Lee will translate a general idea.

This morning, I had finished my first scroll of the first stroke. (I have progressed from lines to boxes to circles to stars and now I’m learning the basic strokes – there are 5). “Co-pee time!” one shouted, followed by bouts of laughter. They always make me sit in the middle of the couch, patting the seat as I walk into the room, “Miss Lori, Miss Lori.” Khamsa hamnidaaaaaaaaaa.

As we sipped our cups of coffee, they talked about a morning talk show. I’ve never seen it, so I listened quietly, gazing from speaker to speaker. Then one man began to tell a story that lasted for about 10 minutes. This is what I understood: It was cold outside so he put his jacket on backwards. He was walking, or maybe driving, and got hit by a car. Then the room erupted in laughter. I sat there. Hmmm. I must have missed the punch line.

My classmate motioned to Mr. Lee. “Miss Lori. Tell! Tell!” Mr. Lee turned to me to translate. Here’s what really happened: My classmate’s friend had to run an errand. It was cold outside so he put his coat on backwards. He got on his motorbike to ride to the store. Somehow he hit a tree and fell off his motorbike. He was laying face down on the ground. Remember, though, his coat was on backwards so the buttons on the coat were actually on his back, facing upward. A woman saw the accident and ran over to the man to see if he was okay. She saw him laying face down, but his coat was face up. She thought his head had twisted off. Screaming, she reached down and tried to twist his head around. He was still in a daze from falling off his bike and couldn’t tell her to stop. She continued screaming and tugging until he finally came to enough to make her stop.

At this point I am laughing so hard I’m in danger of spewing my coffee. “True story! True story!” all my classmates exclaim. I can’t stop laughing, which produces another bout of laughter from the old men. I love these guys…

Ladies’ Night

Michelle, Cindy and I had plans to go downtown for dinner and shopping tonight. I met them at the school at 6, we caught the bus and we were on our way. Whenever I’m with them, I feel like I’m back in junior high school. For one thing, they both look incredibly young. On Michelle’s first day at work I mistook her for a new high school student. They have such an aura of sweetness about them. We always walk arms intertwined and usually end up giggling more than talking. And, it could be the language barrier, but the topics we end up talking about are very, well, interesting. They are very curious. They want to know what type of cosmetics I use. My favorite color of underwear. What I eat for each meal. What Korean pop stars I know. Who I think is cute.

We ate first at XN Milano, a large department store downtown with restaurants on the top floors. We decided on Chinese food – yummy. Over dinner I turned to Michelle and said, “You were very upset on the way home last Friday night. In the cab. Remember? (she nodded) I don’t understand why. Could you explain?” And here’s where life imitates art once again.

The Saga Continues…

Cast of characters. Me. Mr. Drunk Dialer. Boy #1. Michelle. Cindy. Boy Teacher #1, Boy Teacher #2 (neither present Friday night)

Hierarchy. Michelle and Cindy work for Boy #1. Mr. Drunk Dialer is Boy #1’s direct boss. Mr. Drunk Dialer is Michelle and Cindy’s indirect boss. He is sort of my boss.

Michelle explained Boy #1 has a crush on me. But, he thinks I like Mr. Drunk Dialer. So he was distraught on Friday night. Because he had organized the whole evening then Mr. Drunk Dialer invited himself along. He is friends with Michelle (as well as her boss). The more he drank, the more distraught he became. He was sharing his feelings with Michelle, but started touching *her* inappropriately (in her opinion – however, in the cab, she was so upset she said he was touching *me* inappropriately), holding her arm while he spoke, etc. She was very uncomfortable.

I suggested maybe he likes *her*. She interjected that maybe, but that would do [Korean word] to her. I looked up the word. Damage. Damage? Because he’s your boss? No, because he’s a different social class. Oh. My. Okay. Continue.

Then, to make matters worse, Michelle is, as she put it, “madly in love” with Boy Teacher #1. But she just found out Boy Teacher #1 is dating someone. And she likes this woman, so she is torn. She wants to hate her, because she loves Boy Teacher #1, but she is her friend. And Boy Teacher #2 is making advances towards her. She doesn’t like him at all. But he won’t get the picture that she doesn’t want to go out with him. He asks her, she says she can’t go, he asks her for another date, she says no, he continues. So all of these culminated on Friday night and she was distraught as well. The interesting thing is that all of the women in this scene were sober, all of the men were drunk. And I still couldn’t understand it.

I’m telling you, this is a tv show waiting to happen.

Photo Op

But on to the rest of the evening. We walked through the department stores, looking at this, looking at that. Trying on sunglasses, hats, makeup. Then, they wanted to get our picture taken. What? Pictures? What do you mean? And they pulled me into a, well, Glamour Shots, but without the glamour, type of place. “Friends. Pictures. Okay?” Well, okay. So we got our pictures taken. The photographer looked at me and shook his head. Very tell. Very tall. He had to adjust just about everything. The lighting. The stool. The table. He arranged us in several poses. Click. Look. Pretty. Click. Click. Good. Click. Click. Click. Okay. Bye.

Oops, I Did It Again…

We exited the studio. I mentioned I needed to get a haircut (meaning in the next few days). Michelle and Cindy dragged me upstairs into a salon. Oh. Not tonight. Really. “No, this good salon. Very good.” But, they were closing. No haircut for the miguk tonight. Michelle and Cindy chatted back and forth in Korean, giggled, then pulled me in another direction. Where are we going? I asked. “Karaoke!” they both giggled. I’m such a bad singer. “Us, too!” No, really, I took a singing class for people who are tone deaf. heehheheheheheheee. We arrived at the karaoke establishment. Which was not a bar, but a collection of rooms. Each group got a private room, where you could sing and dance to your heart’s desire. As soon as we entered the room, Michelle started pressing the buttons. She was a pro. She had a VIP card. She knew what she was doing. Disco lights were spinning; the room was transformed into gyrating rainbows. And Britney Spears was blaring. I really am in junior high. We had 2 microphones and a yellow tambourine. Song after song after song. After they had chosen several Britney Spears, Christina Aguilera, Madonna, and Ricky Martin songs, I suggested we sing a Korean song. Oh, yeah! they giggled. I don’t know the name of it, but I know the tune. And the words are right there on the screen, right? How hard could this be? I think I actually sang about 25% of the song. Mostly the last syllables of words: yo, ka, sa-yo, hay. Trying to process flashing Korean characters while singing to a tune you’re not *that* familiar with – it’s a task. But it was fun nonetheless.

At one point Michelle turned to me and said, “Since Boy Teacher #1 no love me – you sing me a love song, okay?” Okay, Michelle. Unchained Melody. But it was the traditional version, not the techno rap one I normally hear in the bars here. Though, I think that would have been more entertaining – techno rap Korean Unchained Melody sung by a tone deaf miguk.

We ended the night with “Under the Sea” because they said I looked like a mermaid the first night they met me – New Year’s Eve, with all my sparkles. As we were leaving, I realized we had laughed non-stop for almost 2 hours. I thought we were heading home, but they said no, we needed to pick up our pictures. They really did turn out cute. We chose the poses we liked the best, then they printed copies for us. While we were waiting for the copies, Michelle and Cindy tried to explain the whole Valentine’s Day, White Day, Black Day, phenomenon again. And I had not even gotten half the story before.

Hallmark, You Ain’t Even Got Game

Valentine’s Day was February 14 – the day for girls to give boys candy and frilly baskets. White Day is coming up next week – March 14 – the day for boys to give girls frilly baskets. Then there is Black Day – April 14 – for people who don’t have sweethearts to go to cafes and eat Chinese black noodles and hope to meet someone. Then May 14 is Ring Day, when you give a ring to a friend, companion, or lover. In June there is Rose Day, when boys give girls a single rose. Then we jumped to December, Kiss Day. But got sidetracked because when they said the word for “kiss” it is very similar to the word for “waterfall” so I thought they were describing waterfall day and I just couldn’t understand. Then our pictures were ready.

As we were looking at them, Michelle’s phone rang. She looked at the number, giggled, and handed the phone to me to answer. “Jobsa-yoooo.” It was Jin Young from work. He had just gotten out of class at the university and wanted to join us. Minutes later he was in the photo shop with us. He looked at the photos and said in Korean that they looked pretty but that I looked like Michelle and Cindy’s grandmother. I turned to him, “Agashi, ani-o ho-monii imnida.” Old man, I am not a grandmother. I’m sure the grammar wasn’t correct, but he understood and burst out laughing. “Who is this Korean with you?” he asked Michelle and Cindy.

Ghosts In The Machine

As we were walking to his car, he was making jokes about “ghosts” in the neighborhood. Look! He would point to nothing but thin air. Meet my friends the ghosts. I began talking to the “ghosts” in Korean, using every phrase I could remember. Hi, my name is Lori. Pleased to meet you. The weather is cold. I like coffee. Turn left here. He looked at me, shook his head, then pointed again. There, American ghosts. Speak to them. English only. Michelle and Cindy nudged him. Leave her alone. Let her speak Korean.

In the car, we were talking about our favorite restaurants. Jin Young turned to me, “Do you like sashimi?” No. Not the raw fish conversation again. Please. Yes, I do. And you? “Yes, it’s my favorite.” And in unison, we both said, “I take you to eat raw fish one day.” He looked at me in surprise, Michelle and Cindy and I just giggled. The perfect ending to a perfect evening.

Not the Most Gentle Bedside Manner…

That’s how I would describe the ophthalmologist I visited this afternoon. Which isn’t a good descriptor for someone who works with eyes.

For the past several days my right eye has burned and my vision has been a little bit blurry. I had LASIK eye surgery in October and am overly sensitive about the state of my eyes. I don’t want to go blind. I also don’t want to visit a doctor that I can’t speak to. The former fear won out.

I asked Little Kim for a recommendation for an eye doctor. He told me to come to the school at 2 and he would take me. Which is very kind, but I saw the potential for problems. I think Little Kim has good intentions, but he’s not the best translator. And to ask him to translate a medical condition – see where I’m going with this?

At 2, we went to the ophthalmologist’s office. We sat in the lobby and he tried to explain the game show that was on the tv. Something about someone calling all of his friends and saying, “Come here now.” But someone is a star. Maybe the caller? Maybe a friend? Then there are many women with silver pompoms. I never understood the concept. This wasn’t making me feel any better about my upcoming conversation with the ophthalmologist.

I was called into the office. The doctor was a small man who reminded me of a gyroscope. In perpetual motion. I said hello and he looked me up and down then laughed. First I sat in one chair. What’s the problem? I explained to Little Kim, he said something to the ophthalmologist. The ophthalmologist said something back. I looked expectantly at Little Kim. “Use eye drops.” I do. Here they are (I had brought them with me in anticipation of this question). The ophthalmologist disappeared. He came back with some individual eye drop samples, like what I used in the States, but can’t find here. Little Kim gave them to me and said, ‘Here, he give to you. They bad.” What? Why are you giving me these to use if they are bad? I looked for an expiration date. “No. Not bad. Good. But expensive. So he don’t buy.” Okay.

He looked at my eyes through one machine. Then he motioned me to another chair and had me read an eye chart (with numbers, not letters). But, should I say the numbers in Korean or English? And which counting system do I use if I say Korean numbers? Il, ee, sam, sa or hanna, tul, set, net? Oh, my god. I can’t remember the word for 6. I turned to Little Kim. He said, “Read numbers. English okay.” Okay. A Korean Vanna White appeared with a long pointer. Starting with the big numbers, moving down. Towards the bottom I had trouble. I squirmed in my seat, turned my head this way and that, guessing. She pointed to one row of numbers. “Mola-yo.” I don’t know. She continued to the next row. “Mola-yo.” I still don’t know, because you’re pointing at a row that is even smaller than the previous one. The next row. “Mola-yo.” Oooooh. As long as I made a sound, she thought I was answering. That I could see the numbers. I turned to Little Kim. “I can’t see those last lines.” Okay, okay, okay.

Back to the first chair, an office chair on wheels. I sat down, the ophthalmologist asked for my hand. My hand? He put it in front of a machine and poofs! of air came out. Then he put my eye there. Each time he shot air at my eyes it stung incredibly. After each poof! I shut my eyes tightly and tried to get them to water. While I had my eyes shut he came around and spun my chair around. I had my back to the machine now. He got very, very, very close to me. He pointed straight ahead. I looked. He tugged on my eyelid and shone a bright light in my eyes. He grunted and pointed another direction. This continued for a few minutes. Ow, ow, ow. Then he went back to his chair.

He started speaking. And speaking. And speaking. For several minutes, that felt like an eternity. He wrote a few optical terms in English on a notepad: cornea, retina, photophobia, blurriness. He stopped. Little Kim turned to me. “Okay, let’s go.” Wait. Aren’t you going to tell me what he just said? “Yes. Lobby.” So we went to the lobby. “He said no big problem. Use drops for 3-4 days and if still problem, come back. Test again.” Wait a minute. I’m using drops now. Regularly. And the problem has been going on for almost a week. So how will anything be different in 3-4 days? “Wait here.” He went back to the doctor. Talk, talk, talk. Back to me. “Different test. Drops in your eyes. Check inside. Very not watching 8 hours.” Ahhhhhhh. He wants to dilate my eyes to do other tests, but not today. Okay.

As we were walking to the elevator, Little Kim said, “You. In there. Look so afraid. No problem. Don’t worry.” Yes, I guess you’re right. But it’s scary to have someone poking at you, blinding you with a bright light, and saying things you can’t understand.

Frog Day

Today is Kyong Chik – Frog Day. The day in which all of the frogs end their hibernation and greet spring. Mr. Nam and I had plans to climb Palgongsan again today. I was looking forward to meeting my first Korean frog.

I woke up to a bright and sunny day – perfect for hiking. I layered and prepared to head out. Right as I was locking the door, I remembered how cold it was last time. But it’s so sunny – should I take my ski jacket? Just in case? No. Yes. No. Oh, let me just grab it. And I was off.

Mr. Nam and I drove the 45 minutes to the outskirts of town to Palgongsan. As we got farther and farther from the city center, the air became crisper and cleaner. More trees, fewer buildings. And…rain. Oh, no. We continued driving. As we began the ascent towards the park’s entrance, the rain turned to snow. Big, fat clumps of snow. Not just falling, but appearing as someone was tossing white flowers over the road. “Look, Rori, mountain happy to see you. Throwing snow to welcome you.” How could I not smile at that? The mountain was glad to see me.

By the time we parked the car it had ceased snowing. We began our hike. Through a woodsy area, along a stream. I asked Mr. Nam where were the frogs? He only laughed. The first part of the trail was gentle. A nice, wide, smooth path, meandering among tall trees. Then we began climbing. It was the perfect trail. Almost entirely rock. And a continuous rise. Stepping from rock, to rock, to rock. Up higher and higher and higher. The rocks, the trees, the path were all covered by a light dusting of snow, undisturbed by anyone or anything. It was magical. We stopped at a plateau to observe the view. Ridges for as far as the eye could see. The sky a cozy gray. The trees offering beautiful “nyun kkyot” – snow flowers. Mr. Nam turned to me. “I think you a very lucky woman. The mountain not always beautiful. But for you, always. From since, no, from now, I call you lucky woman.” I listened carefully. I am a lucky woman.

As we climbed we talked about many things – my family, his family, his siblings in Seoul, his daughter’s first day of school, where his wife swims, my school, my students… At one point while he was talking, I thought to myself, “This is my life now. This is a workday for me. Yet I can spend a glorious morning on the mountain with a friend. I’m not stressed out. I’m not worried about losing my job. This is nice. Life is good.”

As we rose higher on the mountain, it began to snow again. Maybe snow is not the appropriate way to describe what was happening from the sky. Dusting? Powdering? Falling gently? We reached another plateau where there was a cable car station and a coffee house. As we neared the buildings, I noticed two figures that looked like totem poles. “What are these?” I asked. Oh, those protect the building from evil spirits. I looked closer. They were grotesque. Contorted faces. Glaring eyes. Toothless scowls. If I was an evil spirit I’d stay away too.

Mr. Nam pointed to a far-away peak. See that? “Yes.” That’s Dong Bong. East Peak. “Yes.” That’s where we’re going. “Today?” Yes. Very good. “Okay…”

And we were off. Down, down, down. We had to traverse a valley then ascend another mountain to reach our final destination. As we were entering the valley, the temperature dropped by about 10 to 15 degrees. The snow became much deeper. Ice patches appeared. We stopped to don our ice clamps. The forest became much denser. The path was a mere snake, winding itself up and around, in and out of trees laden with whiteness. I had a sudden feeling of recognition. I’ve been here before. But it’s not possible. I quickly scanned the memories in my brain. Hiking, forests, snow, cold, other countries, no, no, no, no, no, but I know I’ve seen this before. Oh, my god. I am in C.S. Lewis’ Narnia. This was the exact image I had in my mind when I read The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe in 3rd grade. At that moment Mr. Nam turned around. “Okay? You are quiet.” Yes, yes, just thinking. Then he laughed. I looked at him quizzically. “You, you have a crown of snow flowers in hair. You are snow queen.”

We began our upward climb again. We met hikers on their way down. Again, all older. Groups of housewives. Retired couples. “Annyong ha-sayo.” “Yaaaaaay.” I learned that the literal translation of this phrase (used as a greeting, a “hello”) is “Are you at peace?” I like that. Almost all of the hikers stopped to talk to Mr. Nam. He translated, “They say Dong Bong is very good. We must go.” Okay. As I passed a group of women one of them laughed at me and said something in Korean. Immediately I laughed and said, “Yaaaaaaaay.” A few steps later it struck me. I literally stopped. I was shocked. In Korean, she had said to me, “You need a hat.” I had understood what she said. At normal speed. The first time she said it. I almost started dancing I was so elated.

As we neared the summit, the winds became stronger, the snow heavier. The one thought going through my mind was, “I am so glad I brought my ski jacket.” Mr. Nam said, “Do you remember?” Remember what? “This. Here.” No. “Here – where we climbed last time. See?” Ohhhh, I do see. But, we didn’t take the same path did we? “No, many paths lead to peak. Different.” We rounded the corner and I saw the 99 steps. Up, up, up. At last. On the top. The wind stung my face. My ears burned from the cold. We quickly looked around. We couldn’t see very far into the distance, but it still was marvelous. The icy trees. The snow covered stones. The opaque grey of the sky laden with heavy clouds. “Ready?” Through chattering teeth, I mumbled, “Yes.” And down we went.

I forgot that Mr. Nam doesn’t climb down the mountain, he sprints. I tried to follow his pace, but I’m just not that coordinated. I can move fast. Or I can move adroitly. But not both at the same time. Then there was the issue of the ice clamps on rocks. We would come to random areas in which the snow had melted. And the rocks were exposed. I felt like I was wearing my first pair of high heels. I would put one ice clamp down on the rock and my ankle would turn. I would try to straighten it out and would slip. My earlier pride at learning Korean was diminished by my lack of success at walking, something I’ve been doing for much longer.

As we neared the end of the trail, Mr. Nam slowed down. He walked closer and closer to the stream. “What are you doing?” I asked. He smiled, I want to find a frog for you. We both laughed. But, unfortunately, no frogs were seen on Frog Day.

In the car, he said, “I very worried for you.” Why’s that? “You teach now. Until very late at night. I think you – tired.” Yes, I am tired (we had hiked for almost 5 hours), but it’s a good tired. I feel very, hmmm, renewed.

Back At The Ranch…

I quickly showered, donned my uniform (ugh), and headed to school, still feeling rejuvenated from the morning’s hike. This is what met me when I entered the teacher’s room:

A: This is so wasteful. Why did they give one of these to each of us? (holding a “Progress of Classwork” for each class, each book, about 150 pages. We each got information for all the classes, even the ones we don’t teach.)

Me: I know. It is wasteful. I suggested they place one master copy in the teacher’s room for reference. But they had already begun making copies. Maybe next time.

B: Or they could just post it on the school’s web site.

A: No, not on the web site. Some of us don’t spend our entire lives on the internet, you know.

C: Besides, our school web site is crap. I don’t want to have to deal with it.

A: But this is so wasteful.

C: I don’t care if it’s wasteful. It’s not my paper.

Me: But the trees. All of the trees.

C: I don’t care about trees. Besides, paper is made from trees grown specifically for that. It doesn’t matter if they’re killed.

D: Well, this is just the Korean way. Everything is last minute. You can try to tell them something. But there’s no planning. They’ll never listen.

A: God. Do you have to be so negative about everything? Just for once, can’t you listen to what is said and not have a negative comment?

Me – exit stage left. The contrast between my two environments of today was too stark for me to process. I retreated to an empty classroom to grade my papers in peace.

Feed Me…

That must be the vibe I’m sending out. During so-yae (calligraphy) lessons this morning Mr. Lee, the English teacher, asked me if I liked Korean food. “Oh, yes, very much.” What have you tried? “Let’s see, bibimbop, mandu, muul mandu, bulgogi, kimchi, dak kalbi, nang myeon,…” Have you ever tried raw fish? “Yes. Sashimi. Many times. In America and in Korea.” In America? White people eat raw fish? “Yes…” I don’t think so. “Really. Yes, they do.” How? “Well, I’m from San Francisco and there are many Japanese restaurants there.” At this point the other men stopped what they were doing and gathered around. “So I have tried sushi and sashimi. I like it.” We will all go out after lessons one day. We will feed you raw fish.

This is twice in less than 24 hours that an older man has told me he will feed me raw fish. It just seems a bit strange.

After so-yae I went to the gym. As I came out of the locker room, the guy that runs the gym motioned for me to sit down. There was something white and sticky and shaped like a fish on his table. Eat, he commanded. “What is this?” Fish cake. Eat. I picked up a piece. Very … glutenous. And chewy. Not unpleasant, though. It had some beans in it, I think. He put a cup of coffee in my hand. I smiled and offered a gracious “Khamsa hamnidda…”

I stopped by the school to pick up a package that had arrived for me. As I was getting ready to leave, Michelle came up to me. Here, for you! And put a cookie in my hand. I’m very grateful for all of these gifts of food, I just wonder why so many people want to feed me now…

All That’s Fit To Print…

Congratulations, Ev! A story about Blogging, with quotes galore from you, was in The Korea Herald! Unfortunately, the article wasn’t included in the online version.