Eating.Crying.Eating

"It's a kind of a fermented fishy, like kimchi, but fishy."

"...and the bones? Should I be careful about those?"

"No, you can eat them. They are soft. And this soup, it is a kind of a seaweed."

My co-teacher, Younga, always kindly describes each menu item to me in the school cafeteria line. While the daily options vary widely, everyone in the school eats the exact same meal. As I watch students pile their metal trays high with kimchi, white rice, rice cakes, seaweed soup, apple slices, and dried anchovies with peanuts, I scoff at the memory of brown bagged lunches. The peanut butter and jelly sandwich is so uninspired.

A note on my ability to eat the food: I like that I can count on flinging at least one item across the table during each meal, thanks to my infantile skills with metal chopsticks. My coworkers are generous people, who smile knowingly and tell me that I'm improving a little every day. The muscle development in the chopstick-using regions of my hand has seemingly made some strides since I first arrived. While my dexterity remains questionable, I've nearly moved beyond the highly inconvenient hand cramps.

The same goes for my spicy food tolerance. Earlier this week, Younga laughed and said, "You cry one time at every meal!" It's uncomfortably true; and, no matter how confident I feel while munching on a mouthful of unidentified vegetables soaked in red pepperish sauce, the tears inevitably come. I've never been one to cry openly, but perhaps the school cafeteria is the place to practice a bit of vulnerability. It's not an ideal location, but I did come to Korea with a commitment to embracing new experiences. So be it.