On Wounded Pride and Cryptic English

I don't know what's more discouraging-- watching one of my students rip her exam into shreds right before my eyes, or reading the almost cryptic writing that they hand in for their homework...

Today I handed the freshly graded exams back to my students and tried to temper their collectively wounded pride with a reminder that it's not the grade that counts, it's the effort you make. And if you truly tried your hardest, then that's what matters most. Erin, a slightly tempestuous teenager who usually keeps her lips too tightly pursed to allow a word of actual English to slip past them during class, surprised me today when she pulled what appeared to be an exacto-knife out of her innocent pencil case and began slicing her test score from the top page of her exam. She then proceeded to tear it into miniscule pieces, prompted no doubt by a duty to guard her sensitive ego from the bruising of classmates who ousted her with higher marks.

I slaved, I tell you -- slaved -- over preparing those exams. Couldn't she have had a modicum of respect and at least waited until after class to rip it up, instead of making a grand display of it on her desktop during class today? Forget her ego; what about mine?? (calm down, everybody, that's sarcasm.) That pretty much cements the deal that I struck with myself late Friday night after tearing through more paperwork than I've seen since my days working in the Human Resources department of a high-turnover company. Melanie, overzealousness is not thy friend. Time to take it down a notch and do thy job with a little less heart.

But then, I run across the seriously disjointed and almost altogether incomprehensible garble submitted by another student, Annie, later today. The handwriting was perfect, as was her spelling. But the rest of it sent me somewhere between guffaws and giggles. I will say one thing about my Korean students: for the most part, they are excellent spellers. Along with the study skills they've perfected in their Korean school system, they are more or less masters of repetition and memorization. But as I read (or tried to read) through her almost-too-short-to-qualify-as-a-paragraph paragraph, I had the funny feeling that I was reading something churned out from the "Korean to English" button on a web-based translation mill, such as BabelFish, or WordLingo:

Today with the moms and the bosom friends does a silt experience went together. Watch to shrimp, caught the clam and a beat from the silt and took the picture. And ate the lunch rice, made and did. Truth was fun. ~ ~ happy

Bosom friends. Lunch rice. This is good stuff, Annie. Just one thing -- what the hell is a silt experience?? ;) So I suppose I can't bring myself to do my job with less heart after all. These kids, snotty, sensitive, silly and everything in between, need good English like I need air to breathe. It's their ticket to a future filled with promise. Besides, at the end of the day, what matters most is that I'm making a difference, that my students are happy, and that they know they matter in this big world. I think my student Max sums it up quite memorably:

A school is funny so happy school but, school is sad too but, I Love school

On the bright side, I think it's safe to say I've got pretty good job security here in Korea... my students are going to be needing me for quite some time...

Seosanites Unite -- Foreigners on Facebook

Last Thursday night, I rode my bicycle to the Family Mart (Korea's version of the ubiquitous 7-Eleven) near Seosan's movie theater, to meet my good friend Chetty for a mid-week drink and chat. I had sent out an invite to several of the other foreigners that I've befriended in my few months here, and was expecting to see at least a couple of familiar faces sitting under the big, blue, plastic umbrellas on the corner when I pulled up. But I was bemused and surprised to instead find nearly a dozen strangers, including a couple of fresher-than-fresh recruits -- a cute young couple from the U.K., who had literally just arrived in Korea the day prior.

Over the next hour or so of laidback chatter, I realized how much things have changed since I arrived here nearly 3 1/2 months ago... And how my perceptions of Seosan as a small-town, off-the-beaten-path kind of place -- where I'd scarce cross paths with another foreigner for perhaps weeks on end -- has changed as well. I chose to come to Seosan for more reasons, obviously, than a high-rolling social life -- its charms (for me, at least) lay in its supreme accessibility to mountains and the coast, and its decent proximity to the action in Seoul (1h40 by bus isn't bad). Here, I thought, I'll have time to contemplate, meditate, and make progress on a number of personal projects that really don't require involvement by anyone other than myself. And I figured I could live with that, at least for a contract-length year. If I found myself going stir-crazy by that time, I'd just pick up and move on.

As time has passed, though, and as fate has led me smack-dab into the path of one foreigner after another, I've realized that living in Seosan really isn't quite as solitary as I had once imagined. Which isn't a bad thing, at all. It's been an education in human psychology to see how social boundaries that would exist under normal circumstances seem to all but completely fold when members of an absolute minority (such as the foreigners working as English teachers here) meet. It's almost as if we create our own little network not so much for friendship and comraderie, as for support and sanity. Getting together for a late-night conversation in the middle of the work-week, sitting on a street corner amid the trailing taillights of taxi-cabs and neon signs of nearby storefronts, we bond almost without consciousness, as if reaching out to others who also don't "fit" somehow restores our sense of belonging.

After getting home that night, I decided it was time to create an "official network" for all of us Seosan folks, especially so that the new people coming here could have a resource to tap to ease their adjustment. I've lived overseas before, and I know it can be a roller-coaster of a ride, trying to adjust to a new culture, strange foods, an incomprehensible language, and the hundreds of instances, large and small, that separate you from your former world and your place in it. It can all be quite overwhelming. Thanks to Facebook, anyone living in or around Seosan, South Korea, can find, with one click of a button, 25 other instant friends (and surely more to be found, as we get pulled into one another's paths).

And tonight, after connecting via our new Facebook group, "I Live in Seosan (and Surrounds)", about a dozen of us met together for a few rounds of bowling in Seosan's nightlife district. It was again a treat to just unwind and be social without the need to navigate language or cultural boundaries. Even if I do suck at bowling.

And I'm eager to see where this little social experiment of a foreigner community will go over time.... Will we organize activities and meet-ups more regularly? Will our numbers continue to grow? Will we find among ourselves the solution to one of the largest hurdles foreigners face while living abroad: finding a niche and filling social needs? Or will involvement in our own "exclusive foreigner circle" extricate ourselves even more from fitting in to our surroundings? Time will tell... in the meantime, I guess I better start learning a thing or two about bowling!

Surviving Exam Week

Another week has bullet-trained by, dragging me along behind it as I tried to keep up with the exam prep, testing, and grading that has marked the end of the bi-monthly grading period at my hagwon (private academy). Early last week, I held review sessions with all of my students to cover the grammar points, reading passages, and vocabulary that we've focused on since the beginning of August. Meanwhile I raced to finish writing up written exams for each of 16 classes, and began entering grades and comments on 119 report cards.

It's not such an easy thing to grade students on oral comprehension or intonation, I've realized. I try to be objective and consistent from one student to the next, to consider my justification for each category on the report so that I'm not just arbitrarily entering letter grades. But it all begins to blur together after a while, and after typing the equivalent of a mini-novel, I wonder how much of my personalized comments my students and their parents are going to actually comprehend anyway. Not to be rude, that's just the reality.

Thursday and today, I administered the exams, and madly graded thousands of test questions, trying to finalize all of the scores and grades and report cards before leaving for what promised to be an exciting weekend trip to one of Korea's famous fall festivals. It was all a bit much, and by tonight at 10:00 PM when I finally got home, I nearly fell into bed with exhaustion.

I had hoped to take the last bus out of town to Seoul, and stay overnight with a soon-to-be-friend Leah, who was also going to the festival. But as it turned out, the buses finished running before I did, and there went my chance to jump-start the long journey to Andong for the weekend festivities. Perhaps it was all for the best -- this girl was in desperate need of some rest.

So as my eyes fell heavily shut against the flicker of the TV screen, I made myself a promise -- I've never been a believer in doing things halfway, which generally means I OVER-do them instead. Exam Week was no exception. But I promised myself to be more of a slacker next time around, to spend less time and less worry on these grades and written tests and rein in my strong impulse to "do the job and do it right." I'm not sure exactly what that solution is going to entail, but if it can take the edge off of the flurry of academic activity that pummeled both me and my students this week, it will be a step in the right direction.

On Being a Giant Onion and Life as a Tasty Side Dish

Today, Harrison handed me two envelopes -- one with the receipt for my most recent paycheck deposit, and the other with a personal note, which I am gathering is a tradition with Harrison for each month that passes. In mid-July, after hitting my one-month anniversary at EGA, I opened the letters to find a warm, complimentary, handwritten message that really took me by surprise.

This was was work "family" I had been fortunate to join -- a welcoming, kind, and truly genuine couple who seem to truly hold respect for me and extend that respect in a number of ways on an ongoing basis. But to read Harrison's words, to see them in black and white, to think that he took the time to write a personal message of thanks, struck me as something incredibly simple and powerful. And I felt the same today as I read his message for my second month anniversary.

Just because I think Harrison's words have a sweetness and cultural richness of their own (and not because I want you all to think I am something spectacular), I thought it might be a nice touch to include them here.

Month 1:

Dear Melanie, Thank you very much for your passion and dedication to our students. From the beginning, we were amazed to see how professional but very friendly you are. As we get to know you more, we feel we are so lucky to have you with us.
Our students are happy to be in your class. You are a giant! You are like an onion which shows no limit or end. As you take off one layer, we are surprised to see the magic of your wisdom. Congratulations on your first month survival!
~Harrison

Month 2:

Melanie,
Thank you for your great dedication to our students. You survived from the "unique" hardships of the second month here. I'm sure that's the end of your bad experience in Korea and you'll talk about it as a tasty side dish while you are chatting with your friends in the future.
Thanks, Harrison

I find it interesting that in both, he refers to me and my experiences in Korea thus far with references to food -- onions and side dishes... what will next month's letter bring? Thank you, Harrison, for extending your warmth and hospitality to me. It has been a pleasure to teach at EGA!

Unstitched, and Unexpected Wrinkles

It seems like so much more than a week has transpired since I last set foot in my classroom. It's funny how elastic time can feel when you break outside the norms of schedules and appointments and responsibilities. Fortunately, I had the morning to try to remind myself where I had left off with my classes, and get my head out of the clouds with respect to all of the unexpected adventures this last week brought to me. I can honestly say that although as a whole, traveling solo in Korea was much more of an isolated experience than when I traveled through Europe two years ago, it still turned out to be an absolutely and unique fantastic trip.

I managed to meet party-loving locals, backpacking newbies and experts alike, fellow Americans teaching English abroad, and just about everything in-between. I slept on couches and firm mattresses and even the bare wooden floor. I hiked mountains and fortress walls. I waded through stream water, chugged chilly mountain water, bought tons of bottled water, and sampled some new teas. I soaked up the sun on pebbly beaches, slept through the rain plinking on rooftops, and shot frame after frame of Korea's photogenic faces (of which there are many). I reveled in the timelessness of Buddhist temples, stumbled upon ages-old stone-carved relics, circled a city by bicycle, and added a few new Korean dishes to my growing repertoire. It was by all counts a successful trip, and even with my debit-card disaster in Daegu, I would do the whole thing again in a heartbeat.

But, back to life and work as usual today. Or not. As it turns out, today brings me yet another unexpected wrinkle.

I went to see Dr. Shin this morning, for the follow-up appointment we had scheduled before leaving on my trip. I was sure he'd be pleased with the progress of my wound over the week that I had been away, and sure enough, things were looking good. So good, in fact, that right then and there he clipped out the stitches that had been holding my skin together for the past several weeks. And as quick as that, I had been unstitched. I asked Dr. Shin how many days until I came back again -- later this week? next week?

"No," was he reply, "Finished." And as much as the drudgery of daily doctor visits had been a bother, suddenly realizing I wouldn't be seeing my dog bite healer anymore was a sad thought. I hadn't realized this day would mark the end of my treatment, but here it was. So as we parted, I thanked him one last time for all his kindnesses. And then, I rushed back for my noon staff meeting.

Two hours later, while finishing lunch and preparing to pop out the door to begin teaching for the day, my phone rang. It was Laura, Dr. Shin's daughter, calling me from Canada. She had a favor to ask me, for her father, she said. Her father wanted to study English. Her father had a friend who wanted to study English as well. Would I teach them, two nights a week, after I finished my other work?

I wasn't sure how to respond. Dr. Shin had been such a help to me during my recovery. He had been patient and generous and consistent with his care. I didn't want to disrespect him for anything. But how did I navigate this? Was this meant to be private lessons for pay, or lessons I would volunteer in return for his favors in treating me as his patient? If these were to be paid lessons, I was contracted to teach for my hagwon only. Did I mention this to Harrison or keep it to myself? I didn't even know if I wanted to teach additional lessons. And I had never taught English to adults before... So many questions...

But my time was out. I had to get to work. I left her question to hang in the air, told her I'd call her back, and ran off to school. Dr. Shin is the expert at stitching up wounds... but what to do with this unexpected wrinkle?

I'm an Alien!

Wow, as of today, I believe all of the bureacracy of setting up life in Korea is done! Visa, check. Mobile phone, check. Foreign Residency Card... check! (It came in the mail Friday!!) And this morning, bank account, check.
Getting the Foreign Residency Card (aka my "green card") turned out not to be too painful, but with Korea's recent upgrade of requirements for incoming language teachers, there was a lot of runaround as most of the key people who are supposed to enforce the new requirements don't quite know what they're doing.
Take, for instance, my visit to the hospital just a few days after arriving. When my boss explained to the receptionist that I needed blood and urine testing for (for communicable diseases and drugs), they looked wide-eyed and a bit confused, and then began a string of phonecalls to find out what to do with me. From there on out, the experience was painless. The hospital was quite new and not especially busy. The medical workers seemed quite professional. And aside from having to carry my "sample" back to the nurse in an open container (plastic cup!), everything was on the up and up.
Harrison and I returned to the hospital this past Tuesday for the results of my testing. Everything was clear, which was not surprising but still a relief. (I've wondered what my recourse would be if my results came back with some question... would I be deported without further analysis? Did I have any recourse? Some things are better not messed with, and I was rather glad at least this part of my "initiation process" was straightforward.) We did, however, have to wait for quite some time again while the hospital staff tried to figure out what kind of documentation to give us. It seems I am the first foreigner to this hospital to request testing for alien status. I knew Seosan was small, but I didn't think it was THAT small!
After leaving the hospital, Harrison drove me to Taean's (next city over) Immigration Office, where I filled out a bunch of forms and left my passport in their careful protection. And apparently they processed me quickly, because Friday night, I had my green card in hand! It really helps to have a boss who is watching out for me -- I have read of quite a few experiences of English teachers in China who find out only too late that their visas, which their bosses were apparently attending to, never materialized, and they are forced to leave the country. Nothing like that here... fortunately :) I have to say, I am impressed with the efficiency of things in Korea. I guess we're getting off to a pretty good start!

My Battle with Bureacracy

Living in Korea Lesson #1: Never underestimate the amount of bureaucracy involved in getting your E2 visa!!
This process that I started literally 3 months ago is still not yet finished, despite the fact that I am actually here in Korea! After a quite lengthy, somewhat confusing, an often nerve-wracking paper shuffle, and a little good karma, I managed to get the green light to step onto Korean soil. Here is my E-2 visa two-step, in a nutshell (written especially for all of you who I know are secretly thinking, I want to teaching in Korea!! But... where do I start??):
The early part of the process involved applying for a new passport (my passport from my Round-the-World trip in 2006 was "seriously mutilated," according to the postal worker taking my application), which meant ordering a new birth certificate and getting my picture snapped. Then I had to arrange for fingerprinting at my local police station and forward them to the FBI with a request for my criminal report. Being that I was in Utah and my diploma was buried somewhere in a box in my parents' house in Pennsylvania, I next had to contact my university for a new diploma and multiple sealed transcripts. And then I waited... and waited... and waited.
The first to arrive was my new passport, which was utterly amazing. Without expediting my order, I received it in a week's time (when are government agencies EVER ahead of schedule?? I was amazed.). I was impressed with he new passport layout -- pages watermarked with symbols of American pride and heritage, and encoded with a microchip, plus biometric scanning capability of my passport photo. Most exciting was that they had returned my mutilated passport to me (I was told I wouldn't get it back)... so all of the stamps I acquired from stomping around Europe and Morocco) are mine to keep!! Then the diploma and transcripts arrived. And finally, the FBI report. As it turns out, they took me off the "Most Wanted" list. OK, kidding, I'm still on it. You would think that a report from the FBI would be "proof enough" for Korean Immigration. But no, they require a special seal to be affixed to your report, which is called an apostille. I'd never heard of one before, but apparently, after some such Hague Convention a few years back, a system was agreed upon for authenticating documents for international recognition. Quite a few countries now required that documents be authenticated with an apostille. As this is a fairly new requirement, I got quite a bit of run-around from the US Authentications Office (in Wash. D.C.) and the office of Utah's Secretary of State. No one wanted to take responsibility for helping me out. In the end, Utah came through. I had my documents notarized by a local notary, and then forwarded them to Mr. Sec'y of State for the official apostille. And you guessed it, waiting again to get them back in hand.
The next step was to FedEx my documents to Korea. OK, I way underestimated the cost of this! Copies of my passport, check. 3½ x 4½ cm photos, check. Diploma and transcripts, check. Resume, check. Employment contract, check. Criminal report, check. And last but not least, Korea's Medical Self-Evaluation Form, check. Sending this tidy little stack of papers over the Pacific set me back a handsome $78. And for that princely sum, it still took 4 days to be received!
Are we done yet? Oh, not even close :) So, Korean Immigration processed my documents and sent me a Visa Issuance Number. The next step was to forward another set of documents to the closest Korean Embassy within the U.S. (which happened to be San Francisco), along with this Visa Issuance Number, visa application, my actual passport, and of course, more money... followed by more waiting.
Normally, the embassy requires that you visit in person for an interview with a Consul (this is an official requirement for your E-2 work visa). Because I was living in Utah at the time, the embassy waived this requirement and allowed me to conduct my interview via telephone. (One word of warning: please CALL the embassy to make sure they received and are processing your visa... mine was lost in a paper shuffle in their office for almost a week while precious time ticked by. When I called, they told me they hadn't yet received it, and only later after I had confirmed delivery with USPS, did they find it!)
After completing my interview, the Embassy finished processing my visa, and then shipped my passport + visa back to me. I received it on Saturday, June 7th, just a few days before leaving the country. The whole process took about 2.5 months. (Note: If you're serious about teaching in Korea, go ahead and order your FBI report and university transcripts, dig out your diploma (or order a new one), and make sure your passport is valid. Having these in your back pocket makes you a much more attractive candidate and saves you quite a bit of time waiting, once you find your "dream job.")
That's it for this installment. Stay tuned for Part II, getting your Foreign Residency Card :)

Feels Like Home to Me...

It's a good feeling to have my bags unpacked, to look around this itty bitty living space and see that it's starting to resemble something I could call a home. I've rearranged the furniture a few more times (oh no, my inner perfectionist has emerged again!), and I think I've finally found something that works for me.
I've always more or less prided myself on being a person who is content with simplicity. I count it as a pretty big notch on my belt that I managed to live out of one big backpack for five months while tramping around Europe and Morocco a while back. So why has it been somewhat mind-bending to wrap my head around the fact that this little one-room apartment is where it all happens for me? I'm coaching myself through this one, a little at a time. I think once I get some of the outdoors in -- dress up the place with some splashes of color, a potted plant here, maybe an orchid spray there, green, green, everywhere -- it'll feel more like home.
I'm pretty satisfied with the packing choices I made -- it looks like I brought just enough clothing to fill my wardrobe, even a few hangers left over. And the books fill out my desk shelves nicely. All of my spices fit in the freezer (where hopefully, they'll stay fresh for quite some time). And my toiletries are happily sitting on the cabinet shelves inside my little icebox of a bathroom. And I really haven't come across anything yet while unpacking that reeks of impracticality.
I found a huge, glass bowl stashed under the gas range earlier today, while I was cleaning out remnants left behind by the previosu tenant. I got it out and turned it over and over, trying to figure out what it was... much too large for a serving bowl... a punch bowl? (here in Korea? come on!)... It took me a while to realize it was a FISH bowl. I'm now seriously pondering the idea of getting a pet fish (or two?) to keep me company while I'm here. I kind of like the idea of a tranquil little creature to share my home with.... Any name suggestions, anyone?

You Say Goodbye, I Say Hello

Saying goodbye… to my family, my friends, my home, my community, my state, my whole freaking country… and even to some cherished sentimental touchstones, which have been stuffed in drawers and closets and boxes for years and have managed to pass through my hands at some point during this hectic week as I sorted out what to take, what to leave behind, and what to let go… These past twelve days have been one goodbye after another, growing steadily in intensity, like the climbing decibels of a quickening drumbeat as it rises with crescendo against the lilting melody of life.

Yet here it is. This is my life. These are my dreams. My ambitions are coming into focus, in vivid, brilliant Technicolor, blinding neon lights flashing inexcusably right before my eyes. My foresight, desire, and gut-level decisions have brought me to this fork in the road. It is here, on the edge of morning, June 11, 2008, that I sit in my corner bedroom on the top floor in my parents’ home for the last time, my back sunk against the pillows three rows deep between me and the periwinkle-painted walls behind me, pondering where the road will carry me next.

The concrete facts I know: five hours from now, a plane will whisk me from Harrisburg to Chicago to Japan to Korea. 23 hours after touching off from Pennsylvania, I’ll be collecting my bags and looking out into a sea of Asian faces to find one that hopefully I’ll recognize from the handful of photos I’ve exchanged with my now-employer, Harrison. A few hours later, we will have arrived in Seosan, my home for the next twelve months, my eyes fighting to stay awake long enough to meet the family gracious enough to be my hosts during the week ahead, and to try out, for the first time, the cursory and obligatory Korean phrases I’ve practiced during the long trans-Pacific flight that has brought me here.

I’m feeling oh-so melancholy as memories rack up on top of one another in a paralyzing jumble, and I remind myself again how much I hate goodbyes. We’ll meet again, I’ve told many a friend in the last several days, because after all, I say, the world’s just not that big. Today we can crisscross continents in high-speed planes, bridges thousands of miles in milliseconds with emails and webcams and VOIP calls. We’re not so disconnected as we used to be, which is a comfort as I consider the fact that my favorite Italian meal is going to be one hell of a long haul away for the next calendar year.

Still, I gaze out the window, past the weeping willow with boughs sweeping the ground where I took “glamour shot” photos of Natalie, past the white picket fence and the spot where Emily and I played Boggle on that faded yellow blanket two summers ago. I look out over the magnolia tree where Mom and I found the panicked bird whose nest was endangered after an overambitious gardener cut back its branches a bit too sparsely. I pause on the flowerboxes that have always been overflowing with the bright colors of springtime, thanks to Mom’s green thumb, and the patio table where we’ve eaten many a breakfast during the warmer months. I walk my eyes down the steps to the pool and dip my gaze into the cool, crystal blue water, envisioning Michael and Daniel catapulting themselves off the diving board into jumps that earned top marks by our panel of family judges. I hear Lorelie’s laughter as she surfaces from her snorkel trip across the length of the pool in the aqua boots and fins I brought back from Florida. I smell the succulence of charcoal and marinade as Dad tends to the barbecue, cooking up a mouthwatering plate of pork steaks for dinner. And this is just one little portion of the memories I have wrapped up in this place that my family has called home for the past seven years.

It’s time to say goodbye, time to move forward with courage and hopefulness, time to keep believing in all the great and amazing reasons I chose this road less traveled in the first place. I’m a Robert Frost kind of girl at heart. I want the world to be my oyster, and I want to make my own path across it, one uniquely mine. I want to believe that the world will be different because of the journey I’ve taken to leave my mark. And it doesn’t start here anymore than it ends here, because there isn’t any end to this journey, this passage, this trailblazing, which is so essentially me. But I do know this: somewhere south of Seoul I continue my discovery. And somewhere between this place and wherever the roads next leads me, I’ll find part of myself and leave part of myself, adding another equation to the complex formula that is the universe. I suppose it’s time to dust off my compass and start moving my feet… Hello Korea, here I come.