Hello, everyone!
December's been off to a fabulous start, and the show, "SIX PLAYS. Four Nights. One Couch" opens this coming Saturday. Click the link below to see interviews with my friends and footage from our dress rehearsal last Sunday. I'M SO EXCITED!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=cmz-OdNgjNc
Tuesday, December 04, 2012
Saturday, November 24, 2012
GIC Day Dance
American, Irish, Canadian, South African, British, French, Australian, Korean. It's a crazy amount of fun to share in the talents of Gwangju's active foreigner community, the extent to which was showcased during Gwangju International Community Day earlier this month. Volunteers ran booths offering delectable food items, and the Talent Show was packed with gorgeous and wide-ranging performances. I could only sample the wonders of it all thanks to the nervousness that kicked in before my dance, but what I did catch was fabulous.
It felt wonderful to focus on dance again, if only for that week. My beloved Gwangju Family showed up to cheer and document my performance; and, in true family-fashion, insist that I was worthy of first prize. I did not, in fact, win a prize (or have any knowledge of the judges or their expectations), and watching the video made me squirm a bit because I'd love to do a few things differently. That said, it was enormously enjoyable to take part in the show, and I've posted the dance below, as promised. Thanks go to Brandon and Justin for filming it, and to everyone else who was there to support me!
To see more of GIC Day, you can fire up your Internet Explorer browsers (the video doesn't work otherwise) and check out the Korean news footage. My friends show up frequently throughout the 10 minute clip, and you can spot my face briefly a couple of times.
To watch:
1. Paste this into your browser: http://www.ikbc.co.kr/?r=home&c=2%2F24%2F85&uid=159338
2. Scroll to the bottom of the page where you'll see orange arrows and the word "VOD" in a box
3. On the left hand side, click the 1141 video
4. Coverage of GIC Day starts at 23:49
It felt wonderful to focus on dance again, if only for that week. My beloved Gwangju Family showed up to cheer and document my performance; and, in true family-fashion, insist that I was worthy of first prize. I did not, in fact, win a prize (or have any knowledge of the judges or their expectations), and watching the video made me squirm a bit because I'd love to do a few things differently. That said, it was enormously enjoyable to take part in the show, and I've posted the dance below, as promised. Thanks go to Brandon and Justin for filming it, and to everyone else who was there to support me!
Can you tell I forgot the last 20 something seconds and made it up on the spot? Oops! :)
To see more of GIC Day, you can fire up your Internet Explorer browsers (the video doesn't work otherwise) and check out the Korean news footage. My friends show up frequently throughout the 10 minute clip, and you can spot my face briefly a couple of times.
To watch:
1. Paste this into your browser: http://www.ikbc.co.kr/?r=home&c=2%2F24%2F85&uid=159338
2. Scroll to the bottom of the page where you'll see orange arrows and the word "VOD" in a box
3. On the left hand side, click the 1141 video
4. Coverage of GIC Day starts at 23:49
Monday, November 05, 2012
Taiwan! Visas Ready.
In September 2002, I met Jamie Hsieh. She'd just moved from Taiwan to Grove City, PA, and I'd just switched from a private school to the local high school. We went on trips together, participated in theater productions, went to school dances, and all the while discussed what it'd be like for me to visit her home country. I knew I'd like the Pocky candy she shared with me, and I was absolutely certain I'd consume absurd amounts of bubble tea in the land of its creation. The extent to which Taiwan could potentially blow my mind did not sufficiently factor into my expectations.
In September 2012, I hop on a plane with a bunch of friends from Gwangju and take off for Taipei. With one friend joining us after her later flight, four of us settle into the comfortable seats to make up for the less than ideal sleeping conditions provided to us on the wooden benches of the Seoul airport during the previous night. Slowly awakening to the customs cards being passed down the aisles, we lazily fill out the forms as the plane begins its descent.
One line on the card creates a bit of trouble. It reads, "Fill out your visa number below". Catching my breath, I glance at Brittany's card beside me. Her pen dangles above the same line, and I feel my head grow light. "We checked that, of course. We're all responsible people.... right?", I whisper. Her expression mirrors mine, "Yeah, of course. Let's not scare the other girls by saying anything until we're off the plane". While I don't find plane landings to be nearly as pleasant as the take-offs, this one feels far worse than usual.
Stepping from the plane, Maeve and Ciara appear no more at ease than Brittany and I. With sentiments echoing, "HOW could we make it ALL THE WAY HERE without checking if we needed visas?!", we queue up in the customs line, nauseated with the awareness that an immediate return flight to Korea is entirely possible. With only two people ahead of us in line, the internet on Ciara's iPhone kicks into gear. "Citizens of the UK... do NOT need a visa!!", shrieks Ciara, hugging Maeve. Brittany and I grab for the phone, and quickly confirm the same just as we arrive at the front of the customs line.
We meet Jamie outside the baggage claim, at which point the rest of my memories seem like a dream. She planned every second of it for us, packing each day with a phenomenal variety of activities and food samples and amazing sights. I'm still overwhelmed when I think about it all! My friend, Maeve, wrote a great article about the trip for Gwangju News, and I highly recommend reading it here: http://www.gwangjunewsgic.com/online/in-taiwan/. Also, she used my photos for the article, though the content is more exciting than the images, I think.
I'll turn it over to Maeve now, but one last note on the trip: people don't bow to each other in Taiwan. After a solid seven months of bowing at every greeting, departure, and thanks, our silly group managed to entertain Jamie throughout the trip by showing extreme courtesy to everyone we met. I'm curious to see if this habit carries over when I return home in the spring.
---
In September 2012, I hop on a plane with a bunch of friends from Gwangju and take off for Taipei. With one friend joining us after her later flight, four of us settle into the comfortable seats to make up for the less than ideal sleeping conditions provided to us on the wooden benches of the Seoul airport during the previous night. Slowly awakening to the customs cards being passed down the aisles, we lazily fill out the forms as the plane begins its descent.
One line on the card creates a bit of trouble. It reads, "Fill out your visa number below". Catching my breath, I glance at Brittany's card beside me. Her pen dangles above the same line, and I feel my head grow light. "We checked that, of course. We're all responsible people.... right?", I whisper. Her expression mirrors mine, "Yeah, of course. Let's not scare the other girls by saying anything until we're off the plane". While I don't find plane landings to be nearly as pleasant as the take-offs, this one feels far worse than usual.
Stepping from the plane, Maeve and Ciara appear no more at ease than Brittany and I. With sentiments echoing, "HOW could we make it ALL THE WAY HERE without checking if we needed visas?!", we queue up in the customs line, nauseated with the awareness that an immediate return flight to Korea is entirely possible. With only two people ahead of us in line, the internet on Ciara's iPhone kicks into gear. "Citizens of the UK... do NOT need a visa!!", shrieks Ciara, hugging Maeve. Brittany and I grab for the phone, and quickly confirm the same just as we arrive at the front of the customs line.
We meet Jamie outside the baggage claim, at which point the rest of my memories seem like a dream. She planned every second of it for us, packing each day with a phenomenal variety of activities and food samples and amazing sights. I'm still overwhelmed when I think about it all! My friend, Maeve, wrote a great article about the trip for Gwangju News, and I highly recommend reading it here: http://www.gwangjunewsgic.com/online/in-taiwan/. Also, she used my photos for the article, though the content is more exciting than the images, I think.
I'll turn it over to Maeve now, but one last note on the trip: people don't bow to each other in Taiwan. After a solid seven months of bowing at every greeting, departure, and thanks, our silly group managed to entertain Jamie throughout the trip by showing extreme courtesy to everyone we met. I'm curious to see if this habit carries over when I return home in the spring.
Bring on the SHEEP!
Hello, my dears.
I'm genuinely confused that it's November. All continues to go smashingly well, though a bit too quickly. At school, I just completed Phase 1 of a letter exchange project between my 7th graders and the 6th grade students at Grove City Middle School. I'll be sure to share some highlights in a later post (there are many). And, with just over a month left before "Six Plays" opens, emotions in that arena range from great excitement to appalling anxiousness. There's so very, very much to do, but it's all intensely good fun.
My dedication to yoga has dropped to once a week classes with the kids, though I've since supplemented my exercise routine with practices for an upcoming dance performance. Two weeks ago, my friends said, "Hey, we're helping to organize a talent show for the Gwangju International Center, but no one has signed up. Do you want to dance?" Hearing that first, second, and third place winners receive the equivalent of 300, 200, and 100 dollars respectively, I imagined doing a simple dance on a small stage in front of a few elderly Korean people. And so, to help my friends, I agreed.
I'm genuinely confused that it's November. All continues to go smashingly well, though a bit too quickly. At school, I just completed Phase 1 of a letter exchange project between my 7th graders and the 6th grade students at Grove City Middle School. I'll be sure to share some highlights in a later post (there are many). And, with just over a month left before "Six Plays" opens, emotions in that arena range from great excitement to appalling anxiousness. There's so very, very much to do, but it's all intensely good fun.
My dedication to yoga has dropped to once a week classes with the kids, though I've since supplemented my exercise routine with practices for an upcoming dance performance. Two weeks ago, my friends said, "Hey, we're helping to organize a talent show for the Gwangju International Center, but no one has signed up. Do you want to dance?" Hearing that first, second, and third place winners receive the equivalent of 300, 200, and 100 dollars respectively, I imagined doing a simple dance on a small stage in front of a few elderly Korean people. And so, to help my friends, I agreed.
Fast forward two weeks: I hadn't heard anything, so I assumed the show was off. But, no. Three days ago, I got an email showing my time slot in the performance that will take place on November 10th. It seems I'll be doing a solo dance after a kung fu demonstration and before a traditional Nepalese dance on a large stage near the city's main event center. The show also features traditional Peruvian dance, tae kwon do, and a wide mix of other performances.
I may be entirely out of my league, but some friends who critiqued the two-thirds of the dance I've choreographed thus far suggested that I won't embarrass myself entirely. Actually, they were more encouraging than that, and I'm having way too much fun practicing to drop out of the competition. I also value dancing on the same level as breathing, the extent to which leaves me somewhat unconcerned about actually winning any money for the performance. Still, I am planning a January trip to either Vietnam, Thailand, or the Philippines, so the extra cash would be lovely! I'll be sure to let you know how it all goes, successful or otherwise.
The biggest news of the past month is: I have future plans!! For a variety of reasons, I've decided to finish my contract at the end of the year, return to the U.S. for 8 weeks, and then take off for a year in New Zealand. Life in Korea is, and continues to be, intensely wonderful. I've also felt acutely that remaining here for a second year without any dedication to learning the language is a little sloppy. I value this experience so much, and I also think that being able to converse with and remember the names of your students and co-workers is important. Like, super important. My knowledge of hovers around a shameful 5% score in that category, and signing up for a second year without any intention of improving the situation is absurd. My attention is too focused elsewhere.
So, New Zealand it is! An EPIK friend tipped me off to the idea about a month ago, when she enthusiastically described the year she spent there through a company called BUNAC. Barring unforeseen opportunities, I won't be teaching in New Zealand. My friend worked for a government office, and I've read there are loads of opportunities to develop my skills in sheep farming. Also, the country boasts a fabulous variety of cheeses, a point in which Korea falls drastically short in comparison (a country with 70% mountains leaves little room for large animal pastures). Here, you can buy the equivalent of a low-grade package of Kraft singles for around $6. Heartbreaking.
For the next (ah!) 3 months, I'm completely dedicated to soaking up the joy of living in Korea. Brace yourselves for the inevitable overly-emotional, gushing blog post that I'll likely produce sometime in February when I decide that good cheese isn't a sufficient reason to move countries. Until then, I have an extensive to-do list, the first item of which includes completing my After School Conversation Class lesson plan for a group of students who all but refuse to speak in English. I'll keep trying to inspire them, but I sympathize with the fact that their attention is too focused elsewhere. It's hard to get frustrated with them when I have the same problem.
I may be entirely out of my league, but some friends who critiqued the two-thirds of the dance I've choreographed thus far suggested that I won't embarrass myself entirely. Actually, they were more encouraging than that, and I'm having way too much fun practicing to drop out of the competition. I also value dancing on the same level as breathing, the extent to which leaves me somewhat unconcerned about actually winning any money for the performance. Still, I am planning a January trip to either Vietnam, Thailand, or the Philippines, so the extra cash would be lovely! I'll be sure to let you know how it all goes, successful or otherwise.
The biggest news of the past month is: I have future plans!! For a variety of reasons, I've decided to finish my contract at the end of the year, return to the U.S. for 8 weeks, and then take off for a year in New Zealand. Life in Korea is, and continues to be, intensely wonderful. I've also felt acutely that remaining here for a second year without any dedication to learning the language is a little sloppy. I value this experience so much, and I also think that being able to converse with and remember the names of your students and co-workers is important. Like, super important. My knowledge of hovers around a shameful 5% score in that category, and signing up for a second year without any intention of improving the situation is absurd. My attention is too focused elsewhere.
So, New Zealand it is! An EPIK friend tipped me off to the idea about a month ago, when she enthusiastically described the year she spent there through a company called BUNAC. Barring unforeseen opportunities, I won't be teaching in New Zealand. My friend worked for a government office, and I've read there are loads of opportunities to develop my skills in sheep farming. Also, the country boasts a fabulous variety of cheeses, a point in which Korea falls drastically short in comparison (a country with 70% mountains leaves little room for large animal pastures). Here, you can buy the equivalent of a low-grade package of Kraft singles for around $6. Heartbreaking.
For the next (ah!) 3 months, I'm completely dedicated to soaking up the joy of living in Korea. Brace yourselves for the inevitable overly-emotional, gushing blog post that I'll likely produce sometime in February when I decide that good cheese isn't a sufficient reason to move countries. Until then, I have an extensive to-do list, the first item of which includes completing my After School Conversation Class lesson plan for a group of students who all but refuse to speak in English. I'll keep trying to inspire them, but I sympathize with the fact that their attention is too focused elsewhere. It's hard to get frustrated with them when I have the same problem.
Neighbors, Food, and Mind Reading
A while ago, a friend of mine posted the following note online: "I just answered the door to a huge bang. Shoved into my hand was a giant packet of toilet paper and a phone. The woman on the phone says, 'Construction will happen and it will be noisy. Please accept the toilet paper as our way to say sorry.' Classic Korea!" Rapid construction, consideration for the happiness of another, and the gift of toilet paper- her tale summarizes so much of what makes Korea so lovable.
The interactions with my neighbors have been slight. Aside from hearing the occasional light switch turn off, or a cough or shout, or passionate love-making session that echos through the shower drain while I'm quietly brushing my teeth, I rarely see the people with whom I share my paper-thin walls. There is, wonderfully, one exception. My landlord's mother lives on the third floor of my building, and her knowledge of my whereabouts leaves me almost certain that she monitors the security cameras.
My security camera theory explains her quick appearance at my door after I've just returned home for the evening, though it's only an easy explanation for the curious actions of this adorable little woman. With an almost perfect record to date, every (truly, every) time I've decided to splurge on a heap of tomatoes, cucumbers, -you name it-, she brings the exact food item to my door as a gift. It's happened with an uncanny variety of food, and it's not as though both of us are making only the most in-season selections.
Her thoughtfulness is so appreciated, and since buying food for her seems odd (particularly since I'll have to assume she already has whatever I choose), the best I've given her is a little card with a painting of a flower I made. I'm due to give her another gift, as one of our funny exchanges happened again only a few hours ago when I returned home with the first large bag of apples I've purchased in a month. What did she hand me? The most delicious, giant apple I've tasted in recent memory. If only we could speak the same language, I think we might have more in common than an odd habit of purchasing the exact same food on the exact same day. I'm very happy to enjoy this much, anyway!
The interactions with my neighbors have been slight. Aside from hearing the occasional light switch turn off, or a cough or shout, or passionate love-making session that echos through the shower drain while I'm quietly brushing my teeth, I rarely see the people with whom I share my paper-thin walls. There is, wonderfully, one exception. My landlord's mother lives on the third floor of my building, and her knowledge of my whereabouts leaves me almost certain that she monitors the security cameras.
My security camera theory explains her quick appearance at my door after I've just returned home for the evening, though it's only an easy explanation for the curious actions of this adorable little woman. With an almost perfect record to date, every (truly, every) time I've decided to splurge on a heap of tomatoes, cucumbers, -you name it-, she brings the exact food item to my door as a gift. It's happened with an uncanny variety of food, and it's not as though both of us are making only the most in-season selections.
Her thoughtfulness is so appreciated, and since buying food for her seems odd (particularly since I'll have to assume she already has whatever I choose), the best I've given her is a little card with a painting of a flower I made. I'm due to give her another gift, as one of our funny exchanges happened again only a few hours ago when I returned home with the first large bag of apples I've purchased in a month. What did she hand me? The most delicious, giant apple I've tasted in recent memory. If only we could speak the same language, I think we might have more in common than an odd habit of purchasing the exact same food on the exact same day. I'm very happy to enjoy this much, anyway!
Tuesday, October 09, 2012
How to Teach- Part 2
Before I moved to Korea, the content of the following video provided almost the entirety of my education on Korean education. For a new teacher, the rigor of it all sounded like a promise for effortless classroom management. The content of the video supports what I've since discovered, but academic intensity only goes so far. Take a peek at the video. After that, I'll fill in some gaps.
When I ask my students, "What did you do last weekend?", they scream (or yawn) "STUDY!". As if anything could possibly change from one weekend to the next, I always press them further, "And what else did you do?", knowing full well their answers will be, "Studieeeeeed! And played computer games!". Like an idiot, I hope desperately that some kid in the class will tell me a different story: went on a picnic, went to the movie theater, read a book... for FUN. Something feels oddly amiss here. Since I'm in no position to make real changes, my most subversive actions include telling students that rest is good, playing and having fun are good, and you can even do better in school if you're not overly stressed. Making those comments always leaves me feeling a little like a rebel.
While I search out videos and articles on educational philosophy that suggest other methods of learning (and, no, I don't think the US has it all figured out either), my students stampede their way from one class to the next. In short form, the next video provides a spot-on depiction of a student's day, right down to the metal lunch trays. My students confirmed it when I showed them the video, begging for repeats and shrieking with laughter.
"Just went to check on a group of 16 year old students who'd been accidentally left unsupervised for half an hour. This is what I busted them getting up to. Not exactly what I would have expected in this situation back home...."
Fun little story from the other day: I've been conducting an American culture/history trivia game with my students. One of the questions was, "Americans celebrate their freedom on this day."
Every student wrote down "Friday" as their answer.
Student: "Teacher, how to spell shupple dance?"
The teacher looks down at the paper and finds the student has written "supple dance". A seductive dance, surely, but further conversation clarifies that the desired term is "shuffle dance."
I entered a classroom today, only to be welcomed by a kid strumming a guitar and shrieking, "BETHANY, I LOOOOVE YOU! I LOOOOVE YOU!", until he dropped to the ground laughing (still strumming and singing).
Teacher: hey ladies! Do any of you have hairspray?
Girls: (completely serious) No teacher, we really don't use stuff for our hair. You should ask the boys for that.
While editing the school's English newspaper, I came across a sentence that read: "Olympic national team members' passion which is hotter than summer bore irreplaceable fruit." I just left it. It was one of the best sentences on the page.
More to come ;)
When I ask my students, "What did you do last weekend?", they scream (or yawn) "STUDY!". As if anything could possibly change from one weekend to the next, I always press them further, "And what else did you do?", knowing full well their answers will be, "Studieeeeeed! And played computer games!". Like an idiot, I hope desperately that some kid in the class will tell me a different story: went on a picnic, went to the movie theater, read a book... for FUN. Something feels oddly amiss here. Since I'm in no position to make real changes, my most subversive actions include telling students that rest is good, playing and having fun are good, and you can even do better in school if you're not overly stressed. Making those comments always leaves me feeling a little like a rebel.
While I search out videos and articles on educational philosophy that suggest other methods of learning (and, no, I don't think the US has it all figured out either), my students stampede their way from one class to the next. In short form, the next video provides a spot-on depiction of a student's day, right down to the metal lunch trays. My students confirmed it when I showed them the video, begging for repeats and shrieking with laughter.
This video always deserves a repeat!
Korean students spend a full day in school, enjoy a brief break around 4 pm during which time they inhale hotdogs from the street vendors, take music lessons, or play computer games in a PC room (they call it a pee-shee bong, bong= room), and then head to hagwons for more classes until 10pm. As the first video noted, many students attend classes on the weekends at hagwons now that public school classes only run from Monday through Friday. In the past, Guest English Teachers were permitted a two day weekend, while Korean teachers continued to work on Saturdays as well. The school year is longer this year as a result of the change.
I won't pretend that every moment of my after-school life gleamed with productive activities as a kid, though I question whether free time always results in time poorly spent. Developmental research consistently shows the value of creative play, and there's so very little time for it here. The students are more than capable of it when given the opportunity. Because, in the midst of the intensity, kids are still kids and ridiculousness is never far. To illustrate this, I've assembled a few brilliant moments from my classroom, as well as several shared by my fellow English teachers throughout the past couple of months.
I won't pretend that every moment of my after-school life gleamed with productive activities as a kid, though I question whether free time always results in time poorly spent. Developmental research consistently shows the value of creative play, and there's so very little time for it here. The students are more than capable of it when given the opportunity. Because, in the midst of the intensity, kids are still kids and ridiculousness is never far. To illustrate this, I've assembled a few brilliant moments from my classroom, as well as several shared by my fellow English teachers throughout the past couple of months.
---
"Just went to check on a group of 16 year old students who'd been accidentally left unsupervised for half an hour. This is what I busted them getting up to. Not exactly what I would have expected in this situation back home...."
---
Every student wrote down "Friday" as their answer.
---
Student: "Teacher, how to spell shupple dance?"
The teacher looks down at the paper and finds the student has written "supple dance". A seductive dance, surely, but further conversation clarifies that the desired term is "shuffle dance."
---
---
Teacher: hey ladies! Do any of you have hairspray?
Girls: (completely serious) No teacher, we really don't use stuff for our hair. You should ask the boys for that.
---
While editing the school's English newspaper, I came across a sentence that read: "Olympic national team members' passion which is hotter than summer bore irreplaceable fruit." I just left it. It was one of the best sentences on the page.
More to come ;)
Friday, October 05, 2012
How to Teach- Part 1
"You need to meet with the principal. It's very important."
"Okay, sure. How soon?"
"As soon as you can. She really wants to talk with you."
Had I offended someone? Do my teaching techniques need an overhaul? Despite some reassurance from Younga, I feel anxious for the few weeks it takes to finally arrange a meeting time. I hadn't visited with the principal, whom my students refer to as "Triangle Kimbap" due to an unfortunate hairstyle choice, since the first day I arrived in Gwangju. It was on that same day that we crossed paths at EMart, at which point I'd stocked my cart with only two items: wine and toilet paper. Watching her gaze drift over my cart, I said so-long to the stellar first impression I'd made an hour earlier.
Since then, I'd hoped that months of enthusiastic teaching had removed any concerns for my sobriety, but I wasn't sure. When I'm finally summoned for the Very Important Meeting, Younga leads the way to the office as I mentally prepare for the surely uncomfortable conversation about to ensue. We sit. The principal smiles. Someone brings tea. As she begins to speak, Younga translates the following series of questions while I nod and respond, waiting for the eventual smack-down:
"Are you happy here?"
Yes, very.
"How is your health?"
Improved, thank you.
"How is your apartment?"
Wonderful, ideal.
"Do you eat only bread?"
No... I love vegetables and fruit and many things that are not bread...?
Younga assures the principal that I break western stereotypes by eating Korean food often and only eating bread occasionally. The principal is delighted.
A discussion of my opinion on the school, my co-teachers, and job satisfaction follows, coming to an abrupt end with Younga's following translation: "She is envious of your youth, and she says you look like Brooke Shields from Endless Love. Do you have any further questions for her?" Entirely caught off guard, I thank the principal for her kind words and for the opportunity to work at her school. Conversation ends.
"Okay, sure. How soon?"
"As soon as you can. She really wants to talk with you."
Had I offended someone? Do my teaching techniques need an overhaul? Despite some reassurance from Younga, I feel anxious for the few weeks it takes to finally arrange a meeting time. I hadn't visited with the principal, whom my students refer to as "Triangle Kimbap" due to an unfortunate hairstyle choice, since the first day I arrived in Gwangju. It was on that same day that we crossed paths at EMart, at which point I'd stocked my cart with only two items: wine and toilet paper. Watching her gaze drift over my cart, I said so-long to the stellar first impression I'd made an hour earlier.
Since then, I'd hoped that months of enthusiastic teaching had removed any concerns for my sobriety, but I wasn't sure. When I'm finally summoned for the Very Important Meeting, Younga leads the way to the office as I mentally prepare for the surely uncomfortable conversation about to ensue. We sit. The principal smiles. Someone brings tea. As she begins to speak, Younga translates the following series of questions while I nod and respond, waiting for the eventual smack-down:
"Are you happy here?"
Yes, very.
"How is your health?"
Improved, thank you.
"How is your apartment?"
Wonderful, ideal.
"Do you eat only bread?"
No... I love vegetables and fruit and many things that are not bread...?
Younga assures the principal that I break western stereotypes by eating Korean food often and only eating bread occasionally. The principal is delighted.
A discussion of my opinion on the school, my co-teachers, and job satisfaction follows, coming to an abrupt end with Younga's following translation: "She is envious of your youth, and she says you look like Brooke Shields from Endless Love. Do you have any further questions for her?" Entirely caught off guard, I thank the principal for her kind words and for the opportunity to work at her school. Conversation ends.
A photo from my meeting with the principal.
Everything I told the principal was true: I'm definitely happy here and I only shove my face with loaves of bread when I'm way too tired to cook. Overall, I've found co-teaching to be the greatest challenge of this job, since it requires equal parts humility and assertiveness to establish a healthy balance of power. Learning to accommodate the personality differences of five different co-teachers throughout the week, while an intuitive audience of 40 or so middle school students watch our every move, I regularly get a vigorous work-out in interpersonal skills.
The majority of my English teaching friends were left to run the classroom alone from day one, but the teachers at my school actively attend and engage in every class. Any time I'm tempted to compare my situation to a particularly intense semester of student teaching, I remember how very many techniques I've picked up from co-teachers and feel less frustrated. Still, it leaves me a bit anxious to manage a class on my own, whether in the U.S., Taiwan, or another school in Korea. To anyone hoping for a definitive answer on my future plans, I still have no idea.
Communication with the other teachers in the school remains limited thanks to my nearly total lack of focus in learning the language, though I feel welcome and comfortable with every bow and "annyeounghaseo" exchanged in the hallways. Younga gives me reports like, "So-and-so said she saw you downtown the other day" or "A teacher from the first floor lounge said your dress is pretty", which reminds me that I'm included even when I feel like I'm just drifting among them or exchanging a simple "맛있어요!" (mashisoyo- delicious) comment over a snack in the teachers' lounge.
Occasionally, my inclusion is more pronounced. Take, for example, the day I was asked to make a speech about traveling for my school's tv program. On this lovely Thursday morning, both students and staff watched the video and were provided with a script I presubmitted under the illusion that one of my co-teachers needed to review it first. Instead, I watched in horror as the script circulated through classrooms and teachers' lounges as a homework assignment, topic for class discussions (not my classes!), and point of conversation among teachers (or so I was told). It's one of many times I've discovered that my words mean WAY more than I think they do, particularly when I don't expect them to mean much at all.
More on daily life at school to come. I've been compiling a mix of quotes and stories for a while now, so I'll be editing my way through the pile over the next week. For now, I'm going to spend a while googling my doppelganger, Brooke Shields, or maybe just stare in the mirror trying to see myself through the eyes of a 60-something Korean principal. Or not.
More on daily life at school to come. I've been compiling a mix of quotes and stories for a while now, so I'll be editing my way through the pile over the next week. For now, I'm going to spend a while googling my doppelganger, Brooke Shields, or maybe just stare in the mirror trying to see myself through the eyes of a 60-something Korean principal. Or not.
Wednesday, September 05, 2012
North Korea
I've thus far avoided writing about the relationship between North and South Korea because it's daunting. Very little of my position as a guest English teacher makes me qualified to offer insight into all the tragedy and confusion, though I've recently come across several stories worth sharing. The first came about last week in a conversation with one of my co-workers. I rarely hear any of them discuss North Korea, but when they do, it's brief and their sentiments seem hazy: Yes, it's bad there. Oh well, we can't do much.
Seongsu, one of the most popular teachers in the school and the one with whom I share a classroom, relayed his connection to the North in a ridiculous exchange last week:
Seongsu, one of the most popular teachers in the school and the one with whom I share a classroom, relayed his connection to the North in a ridiculous exchange last week:
B What?
S: Not the president, the job.
B:Seongsu, you want the job?
S: (clearly joking) Yes!
(Conversation leads to the horrors of living there.)
B:I wonder about the families that were separated.
S: My Grandfather was from North Korea. He was very wealthy, so he could leave. He owned a cinema.
B:What year did he move south?
S: I think 1960.
B: Your life could have been so different!
S: Yes, I could be in the military now. But maybe it would not be so different. My life is terrible now!
B:Your life now is as terrible as life in North Korea?!
S: (laughing) Yes.
He's kidding, of course. Studying for additional English certification exams has prompted his extended one-man pity party celebration. Hearing about his grandfather's move, however, drove me to find more clear stories about families who lost touch after the countries separated. Seongsu stated that he felt hardly any connection to North Korea at all, and knew nothing more of his family's situation. As one internet source I discovered noted, this kind of total separation could be the reality for nearly all of Korea within the next 5 to 10 years.
The 2012 documentary, "Divided Families", details the situation, and the following passage from a radio interview about it summarizes the situation well:
"The Korean War in 1950 left more than 10 million people separated from their families in Korea. Over the years, the South Korean government has taken a very active and supportive role in helping to reunite families forcefully torn apart by the devastating war. Since a landmark summit between the two Koreas in 2000, cross-border family reunions have been held on-and-off for more than a dozen times, connecting approximately 21,700 separated family members. But with tensions still high between the two Koreas, the talks for further reunions have been put on hold for the time being.
"The tragic story of separated families is not one that is limited to Korea, as many Koreans living in Korean diasporic communities around the world are known to be searching for their immediate family members in North Korea. A U.S. government report released in 2009 estimates that at least 100,000 Korean Americans living in the U.S. have family members in North Korea. My guest this week, Jieun Baek, has produced a documentary film titled “Divided Families,” which chronicles the stories of separated Korean American families.
"During our conversation, we’ll talk about how the film has contributed to raising the awareness of the needs and challenges surrounding the divided families issue in the U.S."
(To watch the video of this interview, go to:
http://world.kbs.co.kr/english/program/program_seoulreport_detail.htm?No=4118 )
Below I've included two video clips from the limited series of family reunions that took place in 2009. The first video provides excellent historical context, while the second shows heart-wrenching moments from the reunions. Both are intensely painful to watch, for the unfathomable reason that North Korean leadership insists on the misery of its people.
He's kidding, of course. Studying for additional English certification exams has prompted his extended one-man pity party celebration. Hearing about his grandfather's move, however, drove me to find more clear stories about families who lost touch after the countries separated. Seongsu stated that he felt hardly any connection to North Korea at all, and knew nothing more of his family's situation. As one internet source I discovered noted, this kind of total separation could be the reality for nearly all of Korea within the next 5 to 10 years.
The 2012 documentary, "Divided Families", details the situation, and the following passage from a radio interview about it summarizes the situation well:
"The Korean War in 1950 left more than 10 million people separated from their families in Korea. Over the years, the South Korean government has taken a very active and supportive role in helping to reunite families forcefully torn apart by the devastating war. Since a landmark summit between the two Koreas in 2000, cross-border family reunions have been held on-and-off for more than a dozen times, connecting approximately 21,700 separated family members. But with tensions still high between the two Koreas, the talks for further reunions have been put on hold for the time being.
"The tragic story of separated families is not one that is limited to Korea, as many Koreans living in Korean diasporic communities around the world are known to be searching for their immediate family members in North Korea. A U.S. government report released in 2009 estimates that at least 100,000 Korean Americans living in the U.S. have family members in North Korea. My guest this week, Jieun Baek, has produced a documentary film titled “Divided Families,” which chronicles the stories of separated Korean American families.
"During our conversation, we’ll talk about how the film has contributed to raising the awareness of the needs and challenges surrounding the divided families issue in the U.S."
(To watch the video of this interview, go to:
http://world.kbs.co.kr/english/program/program_seoulreport_detail.htm?No=4118 )
Below I've included two video clips from the limited series of family reunions that took place in 2009. The first video provides excellent historical context, while the second shows heart-wrenching moments from the reunions. Both are intensely painful to watch, for the unfathomable reason that North Korean leadership insists on the misery of its people.
"Korea's Separated Families"
Source: Arirang Today
"Divided Korean Families"
Source: Voice of America
--
While I was frolicking with strangely domesticated deer in Japan for my summer vacation, two of my close friends visited North Korea. Their stories go beyond my ability to relay to you. Thankfully, my friend, Paula, wrote a summary of her experience here: http://poulakell.tumblr.com/. Paula and Ciara also returned, generously, with a bottle of North Korean soju to share. It tasted uncomfortably similar to the smell of moth balls.
To conclude with one further example of the insanity, the following photos document a few of the scenes Paula captured during the Arirang Mass Games (note: 'Airirang' is a Korean folk song and, unofficially, the national anthem). As Paula notes in her facebook photo captions, "This is the 20,000 children turning over different coloured cards simultaneously to create different images. In total, around 150,000 participants of the Arirang Mass games... far exceeds the number of spectators."
Saturday, August 25, 2012
Japan and The Dong
Traveling is good. Traveling is fun. I wish a good travel for everyone. It can, however, result in certain quiet afflictions of the digestive nature. One type, in Korean, is called 변비, pronounced something like: pyeonpi. Its opposite, diarrhea, is spelled 설사 and is pronounced: salsa. No kidding. A friend of mine was alerted to this by his students, who warned, "That food will make you salsa!" My friend responded with, "Salsa?!" and broke into a smooth dance step. His students groaned, "Ohhhh no, teacher!" and proceeded to clarify the meaning.
Koreans accept discussion of bowel movements far more readily than I'm accustomed. During orientation, one lecturer introduced this video of Chan Ho Park, an MLB baseball player from Korea, as an example:
The orientation lecturer wasn't exaggerating. If you're interested in owning an adorable poop-shaped keychain, I now know where to buy one. If you want to reflect on where the bread you're eating will eventually end, I can show you the perfect restaurant in Gwangju:
I've also learned how to draw the cutest little poop you've ever seen. During summer camp, I peered over the shoulders of three students who were supposed to be inventing a new Olympic sport. The poster in front of them showed merely this:
In an attempt to explain themselves, one student pointed to his friend and said, "He loves the dong! He loves it! He only wants to draw it!" Throwing up his hands and shrugging his shoulders, the friend agreed, "I love the dong!". I responded, perhaps wrongly, by bursting into laughter. Moments like this leave me increasingly convinced that I need a secret camera to record this stuff. Thick glasses with a little microphone? Maybe.
Sooooo... Japan. I went there. It was marvelous. And clean. And oh-so very, very flashy. The fashion was everything I hoped to see, and the sushi transcended any conception I held of what sushi could be. Floating from one historic site to the next in a cloud of magical wonderment, I concluded that I'd reached a state of enlightenment. It was, as best I could explain, also the reason why a certain regular body process had stopped completely. Though it'd occurred before in times of intensive traveling, and more than a few companions have complained of the same issue, the duration of this experience was altogether new. Viewed in the best possible scenario, this entirely unanticipated spiritual promotion was at once pleasing and terrifying.
While the boxes themselves provided little encouragement, the pharmacist's English was great. All was soon enough restored to good working order, and I felt no qualms about moving forward as a normal human being. The rest of the trip was ideal. I played with semi-wild deer, curled up in a cozy bar in the company of new friends who swapped stories in Italian, Spanish, Japanese, German, Georgian, and some English, slept on traditional Japanese tatami mats, toured palaces and temples, and seriously considered moving to Japan.
I'm still considering it. But I'm also vaguely considering NYC, another year in Korea, and other vague possibilities that must begin to materialize by this October when I'm required to resign my EPIK contract or choose otherwise. If you know any excellent opportunities where you live for a certified art teacher who wants to pursue a masters degree in ESL, please let me know. I'm open to options.
Sincerely,
Bethany
PS- I LOVE hearing from everyone who reads this blog. It keeps me writing! Thank you!!:)
Koreans accept discussion of bowel movements far more readily than I'm accustomed. During orientation, one lecturer introduced this video of Chan Ho Park, an MLB baseball player from Korea, as an example:
The orientation lecturer wasn't exaggerating. If you're interested in owning an adorable poop-shaped keychain, I now know where to buy one. If you want to reflect on where the bread you're eating will eventually end, I can show you the perfect restaurant in Gwangju:
Dong= Poop. Bang= Bread
Dong also means "place". Each district of a city is a dong, i.e. Juwol-dong, Bongseon-dong
Photo Courtesy of Christopher Hurst
I've also learned how to draw the cutest little poop you've ever seen. During summer camp, I peered over the shoulders of three students who were supposed to be inventing a new Olympic sport. The poster in front of them showed merely this:
"~Ass Sin?" Not quite.
The squiggly lines at the top indicate scent only. I watched them draw this one.
In an attempt to explain themselves, one student pointed to his friend and said, "He loves the dong! He loves it! He only wants to draw it!" Throwing up his hands and shrugging his shoulders, the friend agreed, "I love the dong!". I responded, perhaps wrongly, by bursting into laughter. Moments like this leave me increasingly convinced that I need a secret camera to record this stuff. Thick glasses with a little microphone? Maybe.
--
Porta-Potties for this guy? Never.
Buddhist statue in Osaka, Japan
As nice as it was to gaze condescendingly at all the lesser beings, so tied-down by their need to schedule bathroom breaks, a sense of concern began to grow. I knew so little of the life beyond. And I'd just learned how to draw the dong! Was it now a useless skill? Ought I to stop eating too? Does a life of enlightenment offer any other benefits? At the peak of my distress, one Japanese architectural structure pushed me to the edge. Ladies and gents, meet the Asahi Building:
The Asahi Beer Hall
Tokyo, Japan
To quote from Wikipedia, "It is noted for the Asahi Flame, an enormous golden structure at the top, said to represent the 'burning heart of Asahi beer'... The Asahi Flame is often colloquially referred to as 'the golden turd' (kin no unko, 金のうんこ) and the Asahi Beer Hall itself as "poo building" (unko-biru, うんこビル) by many Tokyo residents". For a newly-enlightened being, the mocking glow of The Golden Turd from its place along the skyline proved to be too much. I bolted for the closest pharmacy where my bemused traveling companion and I poured over every box that might possibly alter my situation.
No English on this pharmacy shelf!
I'm still considering it. But I'm also vaguely considering NYC, another year in Korea, and other vague possibilities that must begin to materialize by this October when I'm required to resign my EPIK contract or choose otherwise. If you know any excellent opportunities where you live for a certified art teacher who wants to pursue a masters degree in ESL, please let me know. I'm open to options.
Sincerely,
Bethany
PS- I LOVE hearing from everyone who reads this blog. It keeps me writing! Thank you!!:)
Monday, August 06, 2012
This and That
Since I'll almost certainly be neglecting this blog until September, I want to give a few updates.
I've nearly finished teaching a two-week English summer camp to a group of 10 students.
The highlights include:
the kid that brought his large pet snake for no clear reason
my students Skype chatting about Kpop, girlfriends, and their appreciation for rice with my middle school brother and his best friend
watching the boys in my class dance freely to their selection of Katy Perry's "California Girl"
and realizing that one giant box on my co-teacher's side of the room is full of white gloves and Santa hats, not textbook materials as I'd assumed. I will definitely take advantage of this excellent resource next semester.
--
The Gwangju Theatre's "Your Words on Stage" project received more script submissions than we dared to hope, and we're set to run auditions at the beginning of September!
--
Yoga teaching and training continues to go marvelously well, and I'm still scheduled to teach a class to the teachers at Juwol beginning in the fall. I'm more than a little curious to see how that goes...
AND
in little more than 72 hours, I'll be en route to Japan in search of geishas, Harajuku girls, sumo wrestlers, kabuki, and the best sushi I can afford. Photos and stories to come. :)
I've nearly finished teaching a two-week English summer camp to a group of 10 students.
The highlights include:
the kid that brought his large pet snake for no clear reason
my students Skype chatting about Kpop, girlfriends, and their appreciation for rice with my middle school brother and his best friend
watching the boys in my class dance freely to their selection of Katy Perry's "California Girl"
and realizing that one giant box on my co-teacher's side of the room is full of white gloves and Santa hats, not textbook materials as I'd assumed. I will definitely take advantage of this excellent resource next semester.
--
The Gwangju Theatre's "Your Words on Stage" project received more script submissions than we dared to hope, and we're set to run auditions at the beginning of September!
--
Yoga teaching and training continues to go marvelously well, and I'm still scheduled to teach a class to the teachers at Juwol beginning in the fall. I'm more than a little curious to see how that goes...
AND
in little more than 72 hours, I'll be en route to Japan in search of geishas, Harajuku girls, sumo wrestlers, kabuki, and the best sushi I can afford. Photos and stories to come. :)
Friday, July 20, 2012
Dog Days of Summer
Disclaimer: If you're feeling queasy today and/or sympathetic toward animals (specifically: dogs), DON'T READ THIS ONE. I promise you a delightful post in the near future, but today's a bit messy.
Happy 초복 (chobok), everyone! Today we celebrate the first in a series of excruciatingly humid days by eating all of the dogs we've kept in our backyard for the past year. If backyard dog isn't your thing, you're welcome to sip from a bowl of chicken broth! I won't be doing either one, as the cafeteria staff failed to serve chicken broth and the neighbors next to my school didn't offer any of their dogs to me. The oversight is unfortunate, though I can hope to receive some consideration on the second (July 28th) or third (August 7th) hot day celebrations this summer.
If you're now feeling ill, I have a history lesson to ease your discomfort or at least distract you for the next few minutes.
Question: What did Korea look like 60 years ago?
60 years ago, Korea ranked among the poorest countries in the world, with the majority of the population surviving at or below subsistence. With the loss of more than 2.5 million civilians and roughly 90% of Seoul leveled in the Korean War, the country struggled to recover and adapt using whatever means necessary to survive. Today, Korea is in the top 20 of the world's largest economies, which they accomplished through sound governing, superhuman willpower, and some substantial financial help. As Irma Adelman, from the University of California, Berkeley, explains it:
"Economic recovery was slow; the average growth of per capita GNP was merely 1% per year; and the economy was kept from collapse only through massive economic assistance by the United States. No observer of Korea's development during the last fifty years can fail to be deeply impressed by its achievements...Korea has become a developed, OECD country, with a poverty population below 10%. From a country which, in the mid-sixties, was wondering whether its per capita income would ever exceed $100 per year, it now has a per capita income of $10000."
The rate of development boggles my mind. It's hard to miss the bizarre juxtaposition of Abercrombie-clad youth walking and texting their way past groups of ajummas, who huddle on the sidewalk sorting vegetables. Even more odd: the vegetable sorting often takes place directly in front of shiny new supermarkets, which regularly crop up overnight. Since moving here, I've become accustomed to seeing entire neighborhoods transform in a matter of weeks, with the abrupt leveling of dilapidated buildings and near-immediate Grand Opening Celebrations only days afterward. Meanwhile, the ajummas sort on, seemingly unphased by the rapid change around them.
My friend, Younga, shared that that many in the elderly community grow and sell vegetables to earn pocket money; and, more importantly, pass the time with a sense of purpose. It's still amusing to imagine my grandparents planted in front of WalMart, contentedly shucking ears of corn and shouting for the attention of shoppers.
All of this does relate to my original topic. Drastic differences in lifestyle exist between generations. The woman shown above likely lived through the war and maintains a life filled with hard work, though she's embraced the modern trends of iridescent purple coats and jet black hair dye. Koreans my age live in a world comparable to what I experienced in the U.S., complete with excellent roadways, advanced technology, and the availability of more sugary, packaged food than any person should consume. Dogs are subject to the generational differences, as well. Wedged uncomfortably between my school and a construction zone for a monstrous apartment complex rests a tiny old house, with a garden and... dog pasture, of sorts.
Once, as I watched the ten or so dogs happily wrestling eachother from the window of my classroom, my co-worker, Seongsu, stated, "You know, they will eat them in the summer". He quickly retracted his statement in response to my mortified expression, but eventually re-confirmed it. Along with many others, the elderly couple who live in the house have always eaten dogs in the summer, though all of my co-teachers are quick to assure me that they've never touched it. It's an old custom. "We must be careful not to judge them," Younga said, "but young people don't do it these days".
It took time for me to balance out my disgust. I'm not a vegetarian, so I do eat animals. Dogs are, in fact, animals. During my EPIK teacher training, I heard that a common greeting after the Korean War translated to something like, "Have you eaten today?". It's not a stretch to imagine the quite recent necessity of their consumption in Korea. And, more than that, the dogs clearly lead a happy life right up to the end. Had I not watched the sobering documentary, "Food, Inc.", about the American meat packing industry, I might have touted the superiority of how livestock are treated at home. Instead, I'm acutely aware that this situation just may be more considerate than the meat that comes from Hormel or Tyson.
Still, I won't be eating dog, along with the rest of my generation in Korea, and I prefer to remain partially oblivious to the exact procedures taken to supply my diet with meat (kidding. This makes me want to take more responsibility). Koreans do differentiate between pets and the dogs that are consumed on Chusok, but I feel ill at ease when strolling past a sophisticated animal hospital and grooming salon on this particular holiday.
In school, Younga asked me, "You've heard about 'The dog days of summer'? To beat the heat, we eat some kind of stamina food. There is a saying, 'We beat the heat using the hot food.' The older generation eats dog and we eat lots of chicken". If chickens ever wise up and become better pets, we'll have an even greater moral dilemma on our hands. We eat a lot of chicken.
As always, I welcome your comments, corrections, and suggestions. I know this topic is more loaded than my usual subject matter, so you're very welcome to share your thoughts.
For more information on the state of Korea after the war, check out these references:
http://are.berkeley.edu/~irmaadelman/KOREA.html
http://www.asianinfo.org/asianinfo/korea/economy.htm
http://www.history.com/topics/korean-war
--
If you're now feeling ill, I have a history lesson to ease your discomfort or at least distract you for the next few minutes.
Question: What did Korea look like 60 years ago?
Hint: Not like this.
Photo Courtesy of Stewart McKay
60 years ago, Korea ranked among the poorest countries in the world, with the majority of the population surviving at or below subsistence. With the loss of more than 2.5 million civilians and roughly 90% of Seoul leveled in the Korean War, the country struggled to recover and adapt using whatever means necessary to survive. Today, Korea is in the top 20 of the world's largest economies, which they accomplished through sound governing, superhuman willpower, and some substantial financial help. As Irma Adelman, from the University of California, Berkeley, explains it:
"Economic recovery was slow; the average growth of per capita GNP was merely 1% per year; and the economy was kept from collapse only through massive economic assistance by the United States. No observer of Korea's development during the last fifty years can fail to be deeply impressed by its achievements...Korea has become a developed, OECD country, with a poverty population below 10%. From a country which, in the mid-sixties, was wondering whether its per capita income would ever exceed $100 per year, it now has a per capita income of $10000."
The rate of development boggles my mind. It's hard to miss the bizarre juxtaposition of Abercrombie-clad youth walking and texting their way past groups of ajummas, who huddle on the sidewalk sorting vegetables. Even more odd: the vegetable sorting often takes place directly in front of shiny new supermarkets, which regularly crop up overnight. Since moving here, I've become accustomed to seeing entire neighborhoods transform in a matter of weeks, with the abrupt leveling of dilapidated buildings and near-immediate Grand Opening Celebrations only days afterward. Meanwhile, the ajummas sort on, seemingly unphased by the rapid change around them.
My friend, Younga, shared that that many in the elderly community grow and sell vegetables to earn pocket money; and, more importantly, pass the time with a sense of purpose. It's still amusing to imagine my grandparents planted in front of WalMart, contentedly shucking ears of corn and shouting for the attention of shoppers.
EMart's Greatest Competitor?
Photo Courtesy of Ciara Skelly
All of this does relate to my original topic. Drastic differences in lifestyle exist between generations. The woman shown above likely lived through the war and maintains a life filled with hard work, though she's embraced the modern trends of iridescent purple coats and jet black hair dye. Koreans my age live in a world comparable to what I experienced in the U.S., complete with excellent roadways, advanced technology, and the availability of more sugary, packaged food than any person should consume. Dogs are subject to the generational differences, as well. Wedged uncomfortably between my school and a construction zone for a monstrous apartment complex rests a tiny old house, with a garden and... dog pasture, of sorts.
Once, as I watched the ten or so dogs happily wrestling eachother from the window of my classroom, my co-worker, Seongsu, stated, "You know, they will eat them in the summer". He quickly retracted his statement in response to my mortified expression, but eventually re-confirmed it. Along with many others, the elderly couple who live in the house have always eaten dogs in the summer, though all of my co-teachers are quick to assure me that they've never touched it. It's an old custom. "We must be careful not to judge them," Younga said, "but young people don't do it these days".
It took time for me to balance out my disgust. I'm not a vegetarian, so I do eat animals. Dogs are, in fact, animals. During my EPIK teacher training, I heard that a common greeting after the Korean War translated to something like, "Have you eaten today?". It's not a stretch to imagine the quite recent necessity of their consumption in Korea. And, more than that, the dogs clearly lead a happy life right up to the end. Had I not watched the sobering documentary, "Food, Inc.", about the American meat packing industry, I might have touted the superiority of how livestock are treated at home. Instead, I'm acutely aware that this situation just may be more considerate than the meat that comes from Hormel or Tyson.
Still, I won't be eating dog, along with the rest of my generation in Korea, and I prefer to remain partially oblivious to the exact procedures taken to supply my diet with meat (kidding. This makes me want to take more responsibility). Koreans do differentiate between pets and the dogs that are consumed on Chusok, but I feel ill at ease when strolling past a sophisticated animal hospital and grooming salon on this particular holiday.
In school, Younga asked me, "You've heard about 'The dog days of summer'? To beat the heat, we eat some kind of stamina food. There is a saying, 'We beat the heat using the hot food.' The older generation eats dog and we eat lots of chicken". If chickens ever wise up and become better pets, we'll have an even greater moral dilemma on our hands. We eat a lot of chicken.
--
As always, I welcome your comments, corrections, and suggestions. I know this topic is more loaded than my usual subject matter, so you're very welcome to share your thoughts.
For more information on the state of Korea after the war, check out these references:
http://are.berkeley.edu/~irmaadelman/KOREA.html
http://www.asianinfo.org/asianinfo/korea/economy.htm
http://www.history.com/topics/korean-war
Tuesday, July 03, 2012
Bigeumdo Video
I have some ridiculously talented friends. Another EPIK companion, Corey, just finished a video that blends his island bike trip with the recent heart-shaped beach trip to Bigeumdo.
It's so beautiful that I'm in danger of watching it on repeat and accomplishing nothing this morning.
Enjoy :)
It's so beautiful that I'm in danger of watching it on repeat and accomplishing nothing this morning.
Enjoy :)
Monday, July 02, 2012
The Food Network? What?!
Pop Quiz: Who designed the posters for the Tony Award winning musical "Avenue Q" and worked as the Art Director for The Food Network for the past five years?
Answer: Gwangju's one and only Rani Cheema!
Rani and I met during EPIK training in February, and she's loved by everyone here for her boundless energy and enthusiasm. Curious to hear more about her pre-EPIK experiences, I figured that donning a pair of headphones and doing a public radio interview would be the best way to go about it. Follow the link below for five minutes of good fun, Bethany and Rani-style:
http://yourlisten.com/channel/content/16900822/RaniArtInterview
You can also view Rani's work at http://ranicheema.com/.
Rani!
Here, I hold a post-interview pose with the GFN director and head reporter. There was one like this of Rani, too... but it's blurry. whoops :P
Answer: Gwangju's one and only Rani Cheema!
Rani and I met during EPIK training in February, and she's loved by everyone here for her boundless energy and enthusiasm. Curious to hear more about her pre-EPIK experiences, I figured that donning a pair of headphones and doing a public radio interview would be the best way to go about it. Follow the link below for five minutes of good fun, Bethany and Rani-style:
http://yourlisten.com/channel/content/16900822/RaniArtInterview
You can also view Rani's work at http://ranicheema.com/.
Rani!
Wednesday, June 27, 2012
Heart-Shaped
Whyyyy can't I be a sun goddess? In Korea, it's desirable to be glowing white. Though I enthusiastically welcome the chance to put on shorts without feeling condemnation for the translucency of my skin tone, I've discovered that Korean cultural standards are more considerate than the Korean summer sun. To put it clearly: I'm so burned my ankles are swollen.
If I'd taken the hint from the scores of ajummas* who tread the streets wearing nothing less than massive visors, sunglasses, gauze face masks, head-to-toe lightweight clothing, and umbrellas, I might have been spared from my current agony. Instead, I chose to frolic freely from sunup to sundown on a private heart-shaped beach with my friends, wearing only a swim suit and three layers of 30 SPF. It was totally insufficient, and I'm left with the glistening memories of Bigeumdo Island and some mustard colored sunburn gel from the pharmacist to comfort me.
I grew up in western Pennsylvania, where a day at the man-made lake owned by Moraine State Park most closely satisfies the definition of A Beach. Floating in a 30ft by 20ft roped off section of murky waist-deep water beat swishing around in a plastic backyard pool, but I appreciate Pennsylvania for reasons other than the summer swimming options. The people are nice and I'm related to most of them. Additionally, we have nice farmland.
But with no community pools near my home in Bongseondong and a culture that rejects tanned skin because of its association with the working class, my expectations for discovering any calming place to swim this summer hovered near zero. Just as I'd resigned myself to dreams of future tropical excursions in southeast Asia, I learned of Bigeumdo Beach. Located around an hour by ferry from a nearby town called Mokpo, the location fit for an uncomplicated weekend trip. Facebook messages were sent, and The Family made arrangements to spend the weekend beach-side.
-
We board a ferry early on Saturday morning and arrive on Bigeumdo before 9am. Taxi drivers escort our twelve person group in a caravan of minivans along a narrow road past salt farms and rice patties, up and up and up and around a bend where our eyes greet the distinct shape of a heart far below. The beach looks exquisite, and it's entirely ours. We spend the day gasping at the novelty of it: in our 24 hour stay, fewer than ten other people wander across the beach. It's miles from any supermarkets, convenience stores, or traffic of any kind, and it feels glorious.
After pitching our tents in the sand, we pass the time by napping, swimming, napping, repeating expressions of incredulity at our great luck, and climbing the rocky forms that provide a majestic look-out point to the ocean beyond our little inlet. It is, almost certainly, the most beautiful place I've ever visited. With my head spinning from happiness (and likely dehydration from the quickly developing sunburn), I take a third nap and then lead a brief yoga session for the group just before the sun sets.
Hours after our campfire dinner settles, we return to the water for a night swim. We're stunned. The water GLOWS, and not a little: with every splash, dense, glittering particles of light gather among the drops and fade out quickly as they return to the water's surface. For any skeptics, I assure you that our perception was clear (no, um, substances were smoked, inhaled, or otherwise ingested). I also can't prove it with a photo. The best I can offer is a link I found after returning home in an attempt to understand the dazzling vision. (Check out: http://aquaviews.net/explore-the-blue/bioluminescent-plankton-what-makes-it-glow/# ) The photos in the article fail to capture anything close to what we saw, but the statement: "WE ARE IN A MAGICAL DREAM WORLD" most honestly captures our sentiments.
It still doesn't feel real, and I'm intensely glad that it was.
I'm off for now... I have a Korean final exam to fail tomorrow. Just kidding, hopefully. I intend to make up for three months of focusing my attention on other things with a sweeping review of how to give directions, tell time, list the days of the week, and many other items I definitely don't know at the present moment.
Today is 수요일. Pronounced: soo-yo-il. I sue people on Wednesdays.
토요일 means Saturday. Pronounced: toe-yo-il. I paint my toenails on Saturday.
I'm so ready for this.
Love,
Bethany
*In case you didn't see the link I attached to the last post, "ajumma" is the Korean word for grandmother. Contrasting the western expectation (or maybe every place outside of Korea?) that age brings softness and fragility, the ajummas storm through the cities with a fiery boldness that demolishes anyone in their path. They also dress the same, which looks really cute... until they jam an elbow into your side to board the bus first or tear down the sidewalk as though no one else exists. If you'll recall the 'tiny linebacker' massage therapists from my jimjilbang experience: ajummas. They're lovely.
If I'd taken the hint from the scores of ajummas* who tread the streets wearing nothing less than massive visors, sunglasses, gauze face masks, head-to-toe lightweight clothing, and umbrellas, I might have been spared from my current agony. Instead, I chose to frolic freely from sunup to sundown on a private heart-shaped beach with my friends, wearing only a swim suit and three layers of 30 SPF. It was totally insufficient, and I'm left with the glistening memories of Bigeumdo Island and some mustard colored sunburn gel from the pharmacist to comfort me.
I grew up in western Pennsylvania, where a day at the man-made lake owned by Moraine State Park most closely satisfies the definition of A Beach. Floating in a 30ft by 20ft roped off section of murky waist-deep water beat swishing around in a plastic backyard pool, but I appreciate Pennsylvania for reasons other than the summer swimming options. The people are nice and I'm related to most of them. Additionally, we have nice farmland.
But with no community pools near my home in Bongseondong and a culture that rejects tanned skin because of its association with the working class, my expectations for discovering any calming place to swim this summer hovered near zero. Just as I'd resigned myself to dreams of future tropical excursions in southeast Asia, I learned of Bigeumdo Beach. Located around an hour by ferry from a nearby town called Mokpo, the location fit for an uncomplicated weekend trip. Facebook messages were sent, and The Family made arrangements to spend the weekend beach-side.
-
We board a ferry early on Saturday morning and arrive on Bigeumdo before 9am. Taxi drivers escort our twelve person group in a caravan of minivans along a narrow road past salt farms and rice patties, up and up and up and around a bend where our eyes greet the distinct shape of a heart far below. The beach looks exquisite, and it's entirely ours. We spend the day gasping at the novelty of it: in our 24 hour stay, fewer than ten other people wander across the beach. It's miles from any supermarkets, convenience stores, or traffic of any kind, and it feels glorious.
After pitching our tents in the sand, we pass the time by napping, swimming, napping, repeating expressions of incredulity at our great luck, and climbing the rocky forms that provide a majestic look-out point to the ocean beyond our little inlet. It is, almost certainly, the most beautiful place I've ever visited. With my head spinning from happiness (and likely dehydration from the quickly developing sunburn), I take a third nap and then lead a brief yoga session for the group just before the sun sets.
Hours after our campfire dinner settles, we return to the water for a night swim. We're stunned. The water GLOWS, and not a little: with every splash, dense, glittering particles of light gather among the drops and fade out quickly as they return to the water's surface. For any skeptics, I assure you that our perception was clear (no, um, substances were smoked, inhaled, or otherwise ingested). I also can't prove it with a photo. The best I can offer is a link I found after returning home in an attempt to understand the dazzling vision. (Check out: http://aquaviews.net/explore-the-blue/bioluminescent-plankton-what-makes-it-glow/# ) The photos in the article fail to capture anything close to what we saw, but the statement: "WE ARE IN A MAGICAL DREAM WORLD" most honestly captures our sentiments.
It still doesn't feel real, and I'm intensely glad that it was.
I'm off for now... I have a Korean final exam to fail tomorrow. Just kidding, hopefully. I intend to make up for three months of focusing my attention on other things with a sweeping review of how to give directions, tell time, list the days of the week, and many other items I definitely don't know at the present moment.
Today is 수요일. Pronounced: soo-yo-il. I sue people on Wednesdays.
토요일 means Saturday. Pronounced: toe-yo-il. I paint my toenails on Saturday.
I'm so ready for this.
Love,
Bethany
*In case you didn't see the link I attached to the last post, "ajumma" is the Korean word for grandmother. Contrasting the western expectation (or maybe every place outside of Korea?) that age brings softness and fragility, the ajummas storm through the cities with a fiery boldness that demolishes anyone in their path. They also dress the same, which looks really cute... until they jam an elbow into your side to board the bus first or tear down the sidewalk as though no one else exists. If you'll recall the 'tiny linebacker' massage therapists from my jimjilbang experience: ajummas. They're lovely.
Sunday, June 17, 2012
Hike it, kid.
Getting back to the mountains: I was recently pleased to learn that on every other Wednesday afternoon the head of discipline at my school drags the worst kids along with him on a hike to the top of the highest peak near Gwangju. In rain or snow, burning sun or ice storm, they hike. Though the immediate effectiveness of such a punishment on classroom behavior remains in question, I now understand what my co-teachers are talking about when they refer to a student as, "one of the ones who hikes every time". It strikes me as a deeply positive outlet for students who struggle with their behavior, and I fully support it.
Rumor states that the average number of hikers hovers around fifteen, with repeat offenders making up a solid portion of the group. I've agreed to hike with them some day in the future, with the hope of improved classroom interactions. It's my dream to enjoy the company of all of my students, so perhaps an exhausting hike will lessen the cringing feeling that alights itself in my stomach when certain students enter the room. In the event that I do go hiking with them, I'll be sure to inform you of the results.
Since we had so much fun with links in the last post (see: Fun with Links!), I'd love to share two more. I'm certainly not the only person blogging in Gwangju, and the following posts offer excellent depictions of life in Korea.
1. This one, written in list form, provoked audible laughter when I read it. I lol'ed. You likely will too, and I recommend paying close attention to the ajumma portion. Their presence remains one of my favorite features of life in Korea.
http://partialunderstanding.blogspot.kr/2012/06/top-five-baffling-things-in-south-korea.html
2. In the second article, the author details two intensely funny scenes from recent bus rides. I had the privilege of hearing the stories in person, and his writing is so good that I couldn't resist sharing.
http://tommymryan.tumblr.com/post/24939401642/the-stone-collector
Enjoy! :)
Friday, June 15, 2012
Fun with Links!
To switch things up a bit, I have three links to share with you. I've posted them in interest order, which ranks inversely to the frequency that my voice is heard in each one.
1. Foreigner in Korea Blog
A friend just showed me this brilliant site, and my highest compliments go to whomever it belongs. It's clever and insightful and quite often totally inappropriate. If you prefer to avoid strong language, skip this one. To the rest of you, nearly every post is accurate to my experience here.
http://kikinitinkorea.tumblr.com/
2. Gwangju Performance Project Video
Some of you may have seen this on facebook already. In case you missed it, here's a supercool little video about the show I performed in. There are excellent interviews with my director, co-stars, and I show up a few times, as well.
http://www.gwangjunewsgic.com/online/2012/05/22/video-ives-just-got-to-dance/
3. GFN Radio Interview
Last Monday, my friend, Rachel, interviewed me about the upcoming theater project. Follow the link to hear us say "sooooo..." four times in the first thirty seconds (don't worry, we step it up the quality after that) in a 5 minute spiel about the project and why I value live theater.
http://yourlisten.com/channel/content/132765/Your_Words_on_Stage_?rn=2ip4byz0wybk
The images below show the recording studio and one of my latest poster designs. Look for it around Gwangju, and if you're a writer: submit your work! The Gwangju Performance Project needs you!
1. Foreigner in Korea Blog
A friend just showed me this brilliant site, and my highest compliments go to whomever it belongs. It's clever and insightful and quite often totally inappropriate. If you prefer to avoid strong language, skip this one. To the rest of you, nearly every post is accurate to my experience here.
http://kikinitinkorea.tumblr.com/
2. Gwangju Performance Project Video
Some of you may have seen this on facebook already. In case you missed it, here's a supercool little video about the show I performed in. There are excellent interviews with my director, co-stars, and I show up a few times, as well.
http://www.gwangjunewsgic.com/online/2012/05/22/video-ives-just-got-to-dance/
3. GFN Radio Interview
Last Monday, my friend, Rachel, interviewed me about the upcoming theater project. Follow the link to hear us say "sooooo..." four times in the first thirty seconds (don't worry, we step it up the quality after that) in a 5 minute spiel about the project and why I value live theater.
http://yourlisten.com/channel/content/132765/Your_Words_on_Stage_?rn=2ip4byz0wybk
The images below show the recording studio and one of my latest poster designs. Look for it around Gwangju, and if you're a writer: submit your work! The Gwangju Performance Project needs you!
Sunday, June 10, 2012
One of These Things
Early morning, mid week. A Google Chat message from another EPIK teacher pops up on my computer screen that reads:
"Bethany, I'm going to be on a televised game show."
"WHAT?"
"My students are on it. I'm pretty confused right now. I thought it was a radio show, but it's taped and I'm reading the script now."
"You're kidding. What time does it start?"
"1:30pm. There's a big, gaudy set and everything. I have to read the questions, and I would have shaved this morning if I had known!"
FAME. If I ever harbored a desire to experience life as a celebrity, my curiosity's been well indulged. After many months of this job, I continue to hear my name screamed and chanted as I walk through the school (except some clever kids decided that "Bethany" sounds like "battery" so they frequently shout that instead), people stop and stare in restaurants and on buses, I've been asked to join in photos with strangers on the street, and the ease of access to media channels continues to work in my favor. The same is true for my comrades, to frequent delight.
In addition to the opening example (which reportedly went well enough, after he recovered from the shock), another friend shares a bizarre story from his school's parent visitation day. He explains, "The principal came to my desk 20 minutes before the parents were to arrive. He told me, "Please make an announcement to the students in about 25 minutes. 'What would you like for me to tell them?'", he asked. The principal replied, " 'Just think about it'. And he walked away". The content of my friends' announcement over the school's PA system? Irrelevant. The sound of English echoing through the halls? Impressive.
The nation of Korea invited us with the expectation that we'd speak English. Classroom English counts for the majority of it, but I've come to expect spontaneous conversations with taxi drivers, passersby on the sidewalk, and most anyone under the age of seven. Thanks to opportunities made available through a couple of friends, I also get to flaunt my native language on the English radio program this coming week, and I'm training in Ashtanga yoga to assist with an English after school yoga class at a studio near my school. There's also a chance for me to lead an English yoga class for teachers at my school, but I'll need more practice first!
Though I can't fully speak for the experience of teachers living in larger cities, like Seoul and Busan, it seems that some of the enthusiastic response to foreigners there has waned. Trips to both places produced a level of distaste even among the members of my group, as we nearly took offense to the sight of so many western-looking faces. Grown accustomed to our appearance setting us apart from everyone else on the street, strolling through a foreigner-packed area reminds us of the culture shock we're likely to experience upon arrival at home. Meanwhile, a typical week in Gwangju feels something like this:
Given the situation, I'm often hyper-aware of the way my actions represent an entire country. If I'm loud, Americans are loud. If I'm miserable at speaking Korean, Americans boldly waltz into Korea without care for one of the most valuable aspects of the culture. So when people stare, I smile, lest they think foreigners are cold and unfriendly. It feels absurd sometimes, but the effort matters.
Thanks to a few negative interactions, I'm acutely aware that making a good impression goes beyond the immediate moment. Take, for example, the night my friends and I were rejected from a club prior to entering. Swallowing the weird phrase, "NO FOREIGNERS" while watching a group of Korean people walk directly into the building felt incredibly unreal. We were dressed appropriately for the venue, no one was acting distastefully, and the determining factor came down to our ethnicity. Sometime in the past, another group of foreigners, or perhaps several, ruined it for everyone. Thanks a lot, guys.
Discrimination is unpleasant. I get it, though. Living in an intensely homogeneous society where I don't speak the language creates an immediate spotlight effect onto my very presence. Children greet me with, "Hello, teacher!", even when I'm wearing sunglasses and feeling oh-so-Korean with my new haircut and outfits. Within the same week, I can receive a discount when buying shoes because, as a Korean friend translated, I "look like a magazine picture", and can also be overcharged at a restaurant because I obviously can't read the menu. It's simultaneous helplessness and empowerment, and I've grown accustomed to its quiet tension.
Yet, until and unless I establish myself as legitimate member of Korean society, weird run-ins will continue. Basic improvements include, but are not limited to, learning the language, trying a little harder to fit in, and spending more time with Korean friends. Without that, I'll remain separated, along with my sweet group of chatty English-speakers: frequently appreciated, occasionally scammed, and most often scrutinized from a distance.
On that note... I do need to study Korean. I have a test to pass in only three weeks from now!
Much Love,
Bethany ^_^
"Bethany, I'm going to be on a televised game show."
"WHAT?"
"My students are on it. I'm pretty confused right now. I thought it was a radio show, but it's taped and I'm reading the script now."
"You're kidding. What time does it start?"
"1:30pm. There's a big, gaudy set and everything. I have to read the questions, and I would have shaved this morning if I had known!"
---
FAME. If I ever harbored a desire to experience life as a celebrity, my curiosity's been well indulged. After many months of this job, I continue to hear my name screamed and chanted as I walk through the school (except some clever kids decided that "Bethany" sounds like "battery" so they frequently shout that instead), people stop and stare in restaurants and on buses, I've been asked to join in photos with strangers on the street, and the ease of access to media channels continues to work in my favor. The same is true for my comrades, to frequent delight.
In addition to the opening example (which reportedly went well enough, after he recovered from the shock), another friend shares a bizarre story from his school's parent visitation day. He explains, "The principal came to my desk 20 minutes before the parents were to arrive. He told me, "Please make an announcement to the students in about 25 minutes. 'What would you like for me to tell them?'", he asked. The principal replied, " 'Just think about it'. And he walked away". The content of my friends' announcement over the school's PA system? Irrelevant. The sound of English echoing through the halls? Impressive.
The nation of Korea invited us with the expectation that we'd speak English. Classroom English counts for the majority of it, but I've come to expect spontaneous conversations with taxi drivers, passersby on the sidewalk, and most anyone under the age of seven. Thanks to opportunities made available through a couple of friends, I also get to flaunt my native language on the English radio program this coming week, and I'm training in Ashtanga yoga to assist with an English after school yoga class at a studio near my school. There's also a chance for me to lead an English yoga class for teachers at my school, but I'll need more practice first!
Though I can't fully speak for the experience of teachers living in larger cities, like Seoul and Busan, it seems that some of the enthusiastic response to foreigners there has waned. Trips to both places produced a level of distaste even among the members of my group, as we nearly took offense to the sight of so many western-looking faces. Grown accustomed to our appearance setting us apart from everyone else on the street, strolling through a foreigner-packed area reminds us of the culture shock we're likely to experience upon arrival at home. Meanwhile, a typical week in Gwangju feels something like this:
Thanks to a few negative interactions, I'm acutely aware that making a good impression goes beyond the immediate moment. Take, for example, the night my friends and I were rejected from a club prior to entering. Swallowing the weird phrase, "NO FOREIGNERS" while watching a group of Korean people walk directly into the building felt incredibly unreal. We were dressed appropriately for the venue, no one was acting distastefully, and the determining factor came down to our ethnicity. Sometime in the past, another group of foreigners, or perhaps several, ruined it for everyone. Thanks a lot, guys.
Discrimination is unpleasant. I get it, though. Living in an intensely homogeneous society where I don't speak the language creates an immediate spotlight effect onto my very presence. Children greet me with, "Hello, teacher!", even when I'm wearing sunglasses and feeling oh-so-Korean with my new haircut and outfits. Within the same week, I can receive a discount when buying shoes because, as a Korean friend translated, I "look like a magazine picture", and can also be overcharged at a restaurant because I obviously can't read the menu. It's simultaneous helplessness and empowerment, and I've grown accustomed to its quiet tension.
Yet, until and unless I establish myself as legitimate member of Korean society, weird run-ins will continue. Basic improvements include, but are not limited to, learning the language, trying a little harder to fit in, and spending more time with Korean friends. Without that, I'll remain separated, along with my sweet group of chatty English-speakers: frequently appreciated, occasionally scammed, and most often scrutinized from a distance.
On that note... I do need to study Korean. I have a test to pass in only three weeks from now!
Much Love,
Bethany ^_^
Monday, May 21, 2012
Why Korea? Why EPIK?
Consider this potentially messy scenario: You have a college degree, massive student loans, no appealing job prospects, and a voice in your head that refuses to let you settle down until you've explored the world. It's a situation that could lead to months spent relying on the generosity of family members for housing, substitute teaching at a juvenile detention center for adolescent males, and tediously folding sweaters at Calvin Klein for eight hours a day, four days a week. Sometimes you babysit to fill the extra time, but mostly you wonder why you failed to put a little more effort into regular job applications.
um... it all worked out, okay?!
In January 2011, a Korean friend introduced me to the idea of teaching English in her home country, and I subsequently spent a couple of weeks considering it. The idea was put on hold, however, as I plunged into the chaos of student teaching, acknowledging my love for teaching art in the States, and half-seriously applying to 20 or so art teaching positions throughout the U.S. After my gleaming resume landed me two interviews and little else, Korea became my singular point of focus. I wanted to go, and I wanted to go immediately.
Earlier research taught me that hagwons (private, after school academies) allow foreign teachers to arrive in Korea at any time. The English Program in Korea, or "EPIK", which is sponsored by the Korean Ministry of Education, accepts teachers into the country twice a year: in February and August. Feeling certain that I couldn't wait that long to leave, I feverishly applied to a hagwon teacher recruiting company that abruptly vanished in mid October. It was weird and upsetting, and I realized that the safest option for employment rested with EPIK (see my later note about hagwons).
Today, I sit at my desk, listening to a sweetly accented rendition of "DO, A DEER, A FEMALE DEER/ RE, A DROP OF GOLDEN SUUUUN!" ringing down the hallway, and I'm exquisitely happy. To avoid excessive frivolity in my descriptions, I'll switch to a more useful numbered format titled:
Point of Adoration #1: I don't have to think.
Kind of. The challenges and opportunities in Gwangju that have set my brain on fire are of the life fulfillment variety, and not the basic needs kind. During every single step of the application process, orientation week, and the period of settling into Gwangju, I felt fully prepared and supported by the EPIK staff. The transition from curious traveler to established English teacher occurred with such relative ease that I still feel a little startled when I look back on it.
Allow me to clarify for a moment: the job is challenging. I work full time with five Korean co-teachers, and I teach every student in the school once a week (that's 22 classes with roughly 40 kids in each class). I've felt so grateful to have consistent clarity in regard to challenges like paying bills, setting up a bank account and cell phone plan, and finding a doctor when needed. Learning how to teach English well requires my full attention. The EPIK staff makes it possible to do so by removing the complicated guesswork that comes with settling in a new country.
Point of Adoration #2: I live here for FREEEE!
Really close to true. Most all teaching positions in Korea come with a free apartment, through EPIK or otherwise. My flight was also reimbursed, I'll receive money at the end of the year for a flight home (or a bonus if I resign my contract), medical expenses are teensie (think: roughly $4 for a visit to the doctor and a prescription once you've received your Alien Residency Card), and I make enough money to pay off loans at home while also traveling and saving money.
Added bonus:the cost of living is low and public transportation in Korea is GREAT. I can make it to Seoul or Busan (the two largest cities) for less than $50, round trip. Amazing.
Point of Adoration #3: Friends are also included in the EPIK contract.
(Unofficially very true, though it's perhaps your choice to dismiss them.)
After deciding to apply, the potential for loneliness became a top concern. The reality? My social calendar is so full I can barely think straight. During the week-long arrival orientation, hundreds of incoming EPIK teachers gather in one place to prepare for the year ahead and to bond, tightly. In my case, I met over 50 teachers from the U.S., Canada, South Africa, Australia, the U.K., and Ireland, all headed to Gwangju.
Nearly three months into the experience, we continue to travel herd-style and refer to ourselves as "The Family". Yes, it's cult-ish and slightly ethnocentric, but I like to think we drive each other to work and live with greater intensity. Nights out consistently mix dancing and drinks with lesson plan sharing, ideas for more effective classroom management, and a heavy dose of encouragement to ease the tension of working in such a distinctly unfamiliar job environment. It's beautiful.
To those inclined to criticize such blatant social separation from Korean society, I'll admit that I'm ideologically opposed to it as well. I do spend significantly more time at school (40 hours a week) than I spend with friends, and four of the hours spent with friends every week include Korean language lessons at Chonnam University (back to that driving each other to greater heights thing). So... there. I think that when you find yourself surrounded by people who care for each other and insist upon exploring every last inch of the world around them, it's best just to go with it.
Multiple Points of Adoration, for the sake of summary.
In case my previous three points haven't convinced you, here's a partial list of my activities from the past three months: I've traveled to Seoul and Busan, performed with a local English theatre group, attended multiple live music events (hit or miss on that point, really. Music lovers: don't make it your reason for moving here), joined the Gwangju International Center (which features an English library and many other cultural events, including a meditation group and guest lecture series), attended an interpretive dance workshop, camped at the gorgeous Wando beach, went swing dancing, and spent a full day hiking just outside Gwangju.
Currently, I attend Korean language class, yoga class (last night we practiced on a rooftop overlooking the city at sunset), and I'm working behind the scenes for the next theatre project. I also have plans for Japan and Taiwan in the works! :)
-----------
If it sounds like I'm bragging, I am... but my intentions are good! Since arriving, I've heard from a surprising number of people interested in applying for the program. The odds are high that if you're reading this blog, you know someone who might possibly be interested. While applying, I relied heavily on the reassurance of one friend of a friend (we have yet to meet!) who currently works in Seoul, and I'd love to help someone in a similar position.
Please feel welcome to email me with any questions you have!
Thanks for reading, and for allowing me to gush a little on this post.
Bethany ;)
Apply to EPIK! Here's the website: www.epik.go.kr
There are many recruiting companies who offer to make the process easier, but it's largely unnecessary. Most of my friends went directly through EPIK, and those who worked with additional companies received little additional benefit (if any) from the go-between companies.
The note I promised earlier regarding hagwons: some of them are great, but you need to be careful. If you want to take that route, I recommend privately getting in touch with a current teacher (not someone who is paid to bring you here). I can help you do that if you're interested. There are other viable options, as well. Since I came through EPIK, I can best speak to my experience, but I'm happy to put anyone in touch with friends I've made outside this program.
um... it all worked out, okay?!
In January 2011, a Korean friend introduced me to the idea of teaching English in her home country, and I subsequently spent a couple of weeks considering it. The idea was put on hold, however, as I plunged into the chaos of student teaching, acknowledging my love for teaching art in the States, and half-seriously applying to 20 or so art teaching positions throughout the U.S. After my gleaming resume landed me two interviews and little else, Korea became my singular point of focus. I wanted to go, and I wanted to go immediately.
Earlier research taught me that hagwons (private, after school academies) allow foreign teachers to arrive in Korea at any time. The English Program in Korea, or "EPIK", which is sponsored by the Korean Ministry of Education, accepts teachers into the country twice a year: in February and August. Feeling certain that I couldn't wait that long to leave, I feverishly applied to a hagwon teacher recruiting company that abruptly vanished in mid October. It was weird and upsetting, and I realized that the safest option for employment rested with EPIK (see my later note about hagwons).
Today, I sit at my desk, listening to a sweetly accented rendition of "DO, A DEER, A FEMALE DEER/ RE, A DROP OF GOLDEN SUUUUN!" ringing down the hallway, and I'm exquisitely happy. To avoid excessive frivolity in my descriptions, I'll switch to a more useful numbered format titled:
Why I ADORE Working for EPIK
(Please note: This is not a Jumping Photo.
It's a Hovering Slightly Above the Ground Photo, a natural result of the EPIK experience)
It's a Hovering Slightly Above the Ground Photo, a natural result of the EPIK experience)
Point of Adoration #1: I don't have to think.
Kind of. The challenges and opportunities in Gwangju that have set my brain on fire are of the life fulfillment variety, and not the basic needs kind. During every single step of the application process, orientation week, and the period of settling into Gwangju, I felt fully prepared and supported by the EPIK staff. The transition from curious traveler to established English teacher occurred with such relative ease that I still feel a little startled when I look back on it.
Allow me to clarify for a moment: the job is challenging. I work full time with five Korean co-teachers, and I teach every student in the school once a week (that's 22 classes with roughly 40 kids in each class). I've felt so grateful to have consistent clarity in regard to challenges like paying bills, setting up a bank account and cell phone plan, and finding a doctor when needed. Learning how to teach English well requires my full attention. The EPIK staff makes it possible to do so by removing the complicated guesswork that comes with settling in a new country.
Point of Adoration #2: I live here for FREEEE!
Really close to true. Most all teaching positions in Korea come with a free apartment, through EPIK or otherwise. My flight was also reimbursed, I'll receive money at the end of the year for a flight home (or a bonus if I resign my contract), medical expenses are teensie (think: roughly $4 for a visit to the doctor and a prescription once you've received your Alien Residency Card), and I make enough money to pay off loans at home while also traveling and saving money.
Added bonus:the cost of living is low and public transportation in Korea is GREAT. I can make it to Seoul or Busan (the two largest cities) for less than $50, round trip. Amazing.
Point of Adoration #3: Friends are also included in the EPIK contract.
(Unofficially very true, though it's perhaps your choice to dismiss them.)
After deciding to apply, the potential for loneliness became a top concern. The reality? My social calendar is so full I can barely think straight. During the week-long arrival orientation, hundreds of incoming EPIK teachers gather in one place to prepare for the year ahead and to bond, tightly. In my case, I met over 50 teachers from the U.S., Canada, South Africa, Australia, the U.K., and Ireland, all headed to Gwangju.
Nearly three months into the experience, we continue to travel herd-style and refer to ourselves as "The Family". Yes, it's cult-ish and slightly ethnocentric, but I like to think we drive each other to work and live with greater intensity. Nights out consistently mix dancing and drinks with lesson plan sharing, ideas for more effective classroom management, and a heavy dose of encouragement to ease the tension of working in such a distinctly unfamiliar job environment. It's beautiful.
To those inclined to criticize such blatant social separation from Korean society, I'll admit that I'm ideologically opposed to it as well. I do spend significantly more time at school (40 hours a week) than I spend with friends, and four of the hours spent with friends every week include Korean language lessons at Chonnam University (back to that driving each other to greater heights thing). So... there. I think that when you find yourself surrounded by people who care for each other and insist upon exploring every last inch of the world around them, it's best just to go with it.
Multiple Points of Adoration, for the sake of summary.
In case my previous three points haven't convinced you, here's a partial list of my activities from the past three months: I've traveled to Seoul and Busan, performed with a local English theatre group, attended multiple live music events (hit or miss on that point, really. Music lovers: don't make it your reason for moving here), joined the Gwangju International Center (which features an English library and many other cultural events, including a meditation group and guest lecture series), attended an interpretive dance workshop, camped at the gorgeous Wando beach, went swing dancing, and spent a full day hiking just outside Gwangju.
Currently, I attend Korean language class, yoga class (last night we practiced on a rooftop overlooking the city at sunset), and I'm working behind the scenes for the next theatre project. I also have plans for Japan and Taiwan in the works! :)
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If it sounds like I'm bragging, I am... but my intentions are good! Since arriving, I've heard from a surprising number of people interested in applying for the program. The odds are high that if you're reading this blog, you know someone who might possibly be interested. While applying, I relied heavily on the reassurance of one friend of a friend (we have yet to meet!) who currently works in Seoul, and I'd love to help someone in a similar position.
Please feel welcome to email me with any questions you have!
Thanks for reading, and for allowing me to gush a little on this post.
Bethany ;)
Apply to EPIK! Here's the website: www.epik.go.kr
There are many recruiting companies who offer to make the process easier, but it's largely unnecessary. Most of my friends went directly through EPIK, and those who worked with additional companies received little additional benefit (if any) from the go-between companies.
The note I promised earlier regarding hagwons: some of them are great, but you need to be careful. If you want to take that route, I recommend privately getting in touch with a current teacher (not someone who is paid to bring you here). I can help you do that if you're interested. There are other viable options, as well. Since I came through EPIK, I can best speak to my experience, but I'm happy to put anyone in touch with friends I've made outside this program.
Google Translate Fails Again!
As a follow-up to the last post...
I received this message recently:
중간고사 성적이 마무리 되었습니다.
일람표(교과목,학급별)및 성적통지표등이 처리되었으니 학생지도에 활요하실수 있습니다.
Google Translate offered this:
Midterm grades have been finalized.
Schedule (courses, per class), and was dealt with sexual guidance on report cards, etc. are hwalyohasilsu.
Also, I misinformed you on the Korean way to express "hahaha". It's like this: ㅋㅋㅋ. Thanks to the anonymous person who brought it to my attention!
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