…to paraphrase my friend Elizabeth.*
“You are sick, so I recommend rice.”
– one of my co-teachers/the story of my Korean life
HILLARY, IN MANGLED KOREAN I hope you ate well.
PRINCIPAL, IN NOT-MANGLED KOREAN Tea house?
Getting through Gimpo International Airport was a little like Legends of the Hidden Temple. Can you get to the stationery store to pick up wrapping paper and scissors? Can you get your flight time changed? Can you run to make it to your now-earlier flight? Can you talk your way through the gate when you left your passport in your checked bag? Can you pacify the security officials who want to stop you from going because you are carrying scissors? Can you do it all while bowing to the right people and not causing offense? In a dress?
The answer to all these questions, of course, is yes, as I am currently sitting in an apartment in Jeju City, Jeju, South Korea, aka not Seoul, aka not Chuncheon. The whole adventure made me really appreciate my co-teacher a whole lot. She dropped her papers and the principal had to pick them up, she made us run to catch our flight, and she got lost on the way to the restaurant. In other words, she’s a lot like me. I feel kind of bad for telling one of my friends that I thought she was awkward, because clearly what I should have said is “awesome.”
My principal, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to enjoy speaking in either English or Korea. He mostly communicates through actions, including but not limited to:
- elbowing me and gesturing that I should eat
- forcibly removing my name tag
- making me run faster to the plane
Reportedly, however, he told the other teachers at my school that they got the best teacher. I say reportedly, of course, because I still don’t speak Korean, and my co-teacher told me that. He probably said that they got the sickest teacher, or maybe the most disgusting.
My host parents don’t speak English either, for the most part, but I think this is clearly the family with whom I am meant to be. My host sister is in eighth grade and she’s really into volunteering. My host brother is in sixth grade and says, quote, “My mother and father don’t speak English, but they say I am…mischief?” Meanwhile, I have managed to convey to them that I have a mother and a father, that my father is from Vietnam, that I have a brother and a sister and two dogs, that one of the dogs died, that I have lived in both Kentucky and Tennessee, that I didn’t wrap their presents because the wrapping paper I bought was really ugly, and that I am a walking ball of germs. Everyone here seems to be really into the fact that Dad is 빋남 사람. At lunch yesterday, all the teachers and principals present had a conversation that sounded very much like
She looks Asian. Her father is Vietnamese. Oh, her father is from Vietnam? What did you say? She looks Asian. Oh, it’s because her father is Vietnamese. And her mother is American? Yes, but her father is from Vietnam. Oh, that explains why she looks Asian.
They threw me a surprise party yesterday.
I have to say, so far, that I am very happy.
*Can anyone guess which city in Pennsylvania this quote originally referenced?
EDIT: My host mom has apparently decided that she wants to wear the shirt that I brought that says “Real Men Wear Orange…Tennessee.” Oh God.
Filed under: crushes, Fulbright, how we roll, life in Chuncheon, music, okay seriously Korea, orientation, pictures, poetry, reading
Standard conversations with my teachers:
HILLARY Bang-teacher!
BANG-선생님 (teacher) Yes?
HILLARY Doesn’t your last name mean “room” in Korean?
BANG-선생님 You call me over for that? That is not question.
in Korean
KIM-선생님 We talk about location. So right now I stand in front of the
HILLARY Oh! Blackboard! I know this one!
KIM-선생님 Um…yes.
Note: we learned “blackboard” on the first day. I tend to get so excited when I recognize words, however, that I call them out regardless of their relevance. It should come as no surprise to anyone, then, that Bang-선생님 had to reassure me repeatedly tonight that she does not think I am stupid.
Here is Bang-선생님:
And here is Kim-선생님, shown here with my friend Ariah:
And here is part of our class at a hof called 75 (or 칠십오 , if you’re into that sort of thing):
This was, of course, pre-Korean haircut. On this night (Thursday), it was just our class. Apparently we are so well known for our poor performance that the advanced teachers actually make fun of our Bang and ask her how the dumb class is going, and she gets really heated on our behalf.
Friday was all the beginning classes’ party. This is post-Korean hair. Which is $8, so I highly recommend.
The club was called “STOP!” Our teachers reserved tables for us and set a cover charge. Note: In Korea, hugging is regarded as strange, but drinking with your teachers is totally acceptable. The above is an abstract depiction of noraebang.
Korean hair:
Something was funny, obviously. You can see the top of this Yoshitomo Nara shirt (also $8, incidentally) that says “mumps.”
These are the pitchers our teachers bought us. Lest you think “Oh, that’s not so big,” let me inform you that my friend Andy, who is shown above holding the aforementioned pitcher, is 6’8″.
The rest of the subjects I have mentioned in previous entries as needing discussion also require photo viewing, and I do not wish to overwhelm the reader, so I’ll deal with these topics incrementally. I will leave you, instead, with some lyrics to a song that I like. Also, I did not bring any books of poetry with me, so I am putting out an official request: blog readers, send me poems you like.
orange ball of peace - the mountain goats
they wanted me to be a lawyer. they wanted me to work in a machine shop. they wanted me to be a designer, but I came out on top. I'm a fire-man. I'm a fire-man. stand and watch the smoke. see the flames rise to the sky. I stand and watch the flames climb higher. I feel the smoke get in my eyes. I'm a fire-man. I'm a fire-man.
Filed under: books, crushes, Fulbright, life in Chuncheon, okay seriously Korea, orientation
1. I’m going to Jeju-do! Briefly: I am living on an island with a teddy bear museum.
2. I blew 50000 won (approx. $50) on a winter jacket with a French military vibe. This was about ten minutes after I vowed to make a budget/stop spending money like the way it likes to rain.* However, it makes me feel like a legionnaire.
If only some rain would fall
On the houses and the boulevards
And the sidewalk bagatelles
It’s like a dream
With the roar of cars
And the lolling of the cafe bars
The sweetly sleeping, sweeping of the Seine
Lord I don’t know if I’ll ever be back again
*Who is this? Bueller? Bueller? Also, I think I spend the money because it’s brightly colored, and subconsciously I don’t think that it’s real.
3. I bought hangul stickers for my keyboard. In addition to the American and Korean alphabets, they have glittery cows.
4. I’m almost through with Sarah Vowell’s Assassination Vacation, which I borrowed from my roommate (Jen). To be quite honest, it kind of sucks. The material itself is really interesting; she tracks the first three presidential assassinations, which makes for entertaining reading even if, unlike me, you are not a fan of both history and crazies. Unfortunately, Vowell herself is a) nowhere near as good a writer as I was expecting and b) pretty annoying. I really wanted to like her, if only because she has indirectly contributed to more than one of my obsessions (This American Life, McSweeney’s). Besides, she voiced Violet in The Incredibles. But Vowell’s voice, when it’s not taking an insufferably superior attitude towards the parts of America that don’t include the east and west coasts, is remarkably self-centered. The story is not hey-look-at-these-assassins; it’s hey-look-at-me-I’m-awesome-looking-at-these-assassins. I might be inclined to be a bit more tolerant if her snobbery was a bit more original, but really: Bush-bashing? Midwest mockery? How novel. The ultimate effect of this approach is to weaken her overall point; I imagine that her audience, more than likely, is happy that the Union won the Civil War, so her failure to address the non-slavery factors that contributed to the animosity on both sides, as well as the ambiguous views on slave ownership present in both regions, simply makes it look like she’s being willfully ignorant in an attempt to appear clever. Not even her descriptions of the Oneida Community, a 19th-century Biblical sex cult, can redeem her. I want to see Stephen Sondheim’s Assassins now. But that’s it.
Intrepid Girl Reporter 
