Dedicated to the Truth

This past week my lesson for my eighth graders required me to teach them how to correct wrong information. This seemed easy enough since I was given a set of correction phrases to work with such as: “Sorry, but that’s not right,” “I’m afraid you’re wrong,” and “You’re mistaken.” Using Korean pop culture as my backdrop, I created a slide show where I provided students with three sentences: two correct and one incorrect. I instructed them to seek out the wrong sentence and then fix it using the phrases we discussed. They quickly caught on and corrected all eleven sets. After the slideshow was over, I planned to make the next activity about them. I ask students to write three sentences about themselves: two correct (truths) and one incorrect (lie). I asked all of my students if they understood and they all nodded and exclaimed “Yes!”

Walking around the room to check on student work and progress I noticed a trend—all students stopped after writing the two correct sentences. I quickly knelt down next to Ye Eun and asked her why she had stopped. Ye Eun looked at me and said “Teacher, I don’t understand number three.” I restated the instructions in a different way, saying she needs to write something about herself which is not true. Ye Eun just looked at me and asked “Why?” After having a similar conversation with a few other girls I realized they were not writing because they weren’t capable, but because I gave them a task which they are not familiar with—lying.

In Korean culture, honesty is not an ideal it is the norm. Here, everyone is honest and to the point, regardless of how harsh what they are saying sounds. To a Korean, being truthful is like making an observation; you simply state what you see. One example of this honesty is everyday at school at least three students say to me, “Teacher, you have a big nose.” I have learned over the last few weeks that my students are not saying your nose is ugly, but that I simply have a big nose (thanks Dad!).

Furthermore, this level of honesty is uninhibited by social taboos; nothing is off limits here. Here, talking about and discussing a person’s weight and physical appearance to her face is as normal as discussing the weather. Numerous times students have approached me to tell me they think I am beautiful. Flattered, I always say thank you and return the compliment. One day when this happened, the friend of the girl who complimented me retorted my kind remark with, “No. She is fat and ugly. Why do you think she don’t have boyfriend.” I did not know what to say. The girls weren’t laughing; they had just stated the situation as they saw it. From the numerous interactions I have had and witnessed with teachers/students at my school, it is evident that self-esteem is not a concept here. The rule is you state what you see and what you think without regard to how it might make someone feel. This is something I don’t think I can ever get used to. From now on my personal mission is to find something nice to say about every student I encounter. The concept of self-esteem may not have a name here, but that doesn’t mean my girls can’t feel good about themselves.

Where Professional and Personal Meet

After choosing to work with secondary students in America, my professors made a point to emphasize the boundaries of the student/teacher relationship. I was told repeatedly that I was to be friendly to students, but to never be their friend. The relationship my students and I would have would be supportive, nurturing at times, but above all professional. As I began to mentor the young men of the bridge builders program and as I student taught seniors, I always kept this advice in the back of my mind. However, as I get deeper and deeper into my teaching experience here in Korea I am finding that I must unlearn many of the things which were emphasized at university.

In Korea, the student/teacher relationship is complex; it is both professional and personal. While it is the teacher’s job to educate and scaffold student learning, it is also the teacher’s duty, and role in the relationship, to lead by example both in and out of the classroom. It is not uncommon for a Korean teacher to meet up with her students outside of school and join them for family meals or a recreational stroll. This past weekend Eric and I were able to experience these new-found boundaries first hand. At the end of last week, two of Eric’s third graders (9th grade in the US), Hyon Bom and Eun Jun, invited us to hike Mudeung Mountain with them. I must admit, I was a little apprehensive at first, but the desire to be shown a new area of town quickly trumped this feeling.

We met the two boys at the school yard and from there they took over, calling us a taxi and getting us to our destination effortlessly. A welcomed change since cab rides has proved to be a language challenge in the past. Once at the mountain, the boys began to explain how often they go hiking, the physical challenges which lay ahead, and began to inquire about our American life. However, the boys made sure to address us with the respect our age warranted us in Korean culture and were mindful to address us as “teacher” despite our requesting otherwise. Both boys were eager to practice their English as well as share with us some information about themselves. The duration of our hike was passed by listening to American pop music, building vocabulary and learning what it means to be a teenager in South Korea. Lastly, what gave the day an added twist was the boys funded our taxi trips to and from the mountain. Eric and I immediately offered to pay for it all, but our insistence was rejected. While this unconventional by US standards, it was a special honor for Eric’s students to be able to treat us to this experience. However, we could not let this good deed go unnoticed so Eric and I treated the boys to dinner before getting them home.

Korean culture has the highest hopes for the relationships of its citizens. Rather than scrutinize or judge the different relationships which emerge in the society, Koreans choose to see things for what they are; making a point to avoid searching for what relationships could be, either good or bad. This is a degree of levelheadedness I think I could get used to.

Balancing Act

Tomorrow marks the American, English, and Irish tradition of St. Patrick ’s Day. As this day comes to pass in the states I know many of my friends will be wearing green, drinking green beer, and eating corned beef and cabbage. What I love about this frivolous day in the states is everyone, regardless of age, seems to get into it. Whether it is my mother putting on a green sweater and shamrock pin or my friends going out for a night on the town, I know this day will not go unmarked.

However, here in the East, on the other side of the world, March 17th will come and pass without any recognition. At the risk of sounding like that American, this surprises me. Korea is walking a fine line between East and West. While many of the familial traditions, national celebrations, and reverence for the past are rooted in the East, the modernization of technology and pop culture are tugging this small country towards the West. In an effort to Westernize, Korea has attempted to adopt Western habits such as fancy, espresso infused coffee and Western ‘holidays’ such as Valentine’s Day. Despite these attempts to assimilate, the Eastern half of this country cannot help but give these new-found habits an Eastern twist.

The demand and desire for espresso infused coffee is great in Korea. However, one problem preventing supply from meeting the demand is coffee beans are not grown here. Korea heavily taxes all imported goods, making imported goods extremely expensive. So while Koreans want that Starbucks café latte, they would have to pay the equivalent of $5 USD for a small; that’s a lot of money for one cup of coffee. What’s the solution? Instant lattes. Here, one goes to the store and buys a bundle of small, individual packets containing a mixture of instant coffee, non-dairy powdered creamer, and sugar—just add water! The result can be more watery than foamy, but still sweet all the same. At least it is incredibly efficient, in regards to both time and money.

Valentine’s Day here is very similar to what we have in the West with one exception—it consists of two days here: 1. Valentine’s Day and 2. White Day. As mentioned previously, Korea is very relationship centered. In Korea it is very important that both individuals feel they are receiving the amount of respect they deserve, as previously determined through the establishing of boundaries. Thus enters the two different days. Valentine’s Day is on February 14th and on this day it is the woman’s job to get something for the man. Not unlike America, sweets and flowers are usually involved. White Day falls on March 14th and it is the man’s job to get something for the woman. This ensures that both parties receive something and the gifts exchanged are of similar value (unless the relationship boundaries permit this to be different).

Korea is walking a tightrope. To ensure she does not tip too heavily towards East or West, Korea makes adjustments—achieving the perfect ying and yang.

Snow and Silkworms

Even though it is already near the middle of March, that didn't stop the snow gods from throwing some of the white stuff on Gwangju. We woke up yesterday to a thick coating of snow that had fallen during the night. As I walked out the door for work, the snowfall began to increase. By the time I was halfway into my 15-20 minute walk, I was covered in snow. As I walked up to the school I could see snowball flying high in the air above the fence. The children saw me and I was quickly, and without my knowledge, drafted onto a team. Wondering why the boy was grabbing me and pushing me towards the fight while yelling something I turned and asked him what was going on. It was then that I understood what he was yelling, "shield!!" I was a human shield. I quickly tried to get out of in front of the boy but not before my legs where hit with a few snowballs.

In other news, I am officially a celebrity...at least at Mujin Middle School. I walk into school each day with the shouts and screams of the students ringing in my ears and I walk through the halls responding in turn to waving and bowing students. My proud march through the halls is quickly over however, as I enter the classroom and look upon 40 students who more interested in shouting and hitting each other, as well as asking me random questions, than in paying attention to my lesson. I get the standard questions (for Korea) such as, "Do you have a girlfriend", or "Are you rich?", but I also get strange, personal questions like, "When was your first kiss?" or, upon learning that I like to play soccer, "Do you have nice abs?" After struggling through a lesson trying to impart at least a small nugget of my immense wisdom and knowledge, the children (both boys and girls) leave the classroom shouting "Bye! I love you!" It's a contradiction that I haven't quite figured out yet...although Koreans as a group are very shy and reserved at first, they have no problem telling you how they feel about you. The children at school routinely tell me that they love me and that I am handsome (although one shouted that I was ugly, she'll get an F for sure!). It's just one more aspect of Korean society that I find both endearing and fascinating, I never know what they will say next.

After work, Dana and I decided to try one of the several dozen Korean BBQ places in the streets around our apartment. We ordered menu item #1, which turned out to be thin slices of tender beef that we then cook on a grill in the center of our table. Using various condiments such as garlic, cabbage in a ginger dressing, and red bean paste, we roll them in lettuce to make a wrap which is incredible. When we ordered something to drink we pointed at a picture of what we though was a soju bottle on the wall, but it turned out to be a sweet, fruity, rice wine that was great.

Full of BBQ and feeling pretty good from the wine, we decided to check out a neighborhood bar with a very promising name....Beer World! Flashing Christmas lights and wafts of cigarette smoke greeted us as we entered. We quickly noticed the plush deck chairs at each table(the kind you lounge around a pool in), and knew we were in business. We ordered one of the standard Korean beers (Hite, Cass, or OB Beer - all which taste the same) and settled in. Along with our beer came a strange assortment of bar food which we've learned is pretty standard in Korea. First is the puffed rice snacks which are fairly sweet and very addictive. Next came the tiny, but whole, dried fish with a dipping sauce. Finally came the most intriguing one, silk worms. I tried one and quickly learned that they aren't for me. Their a bit tough, so instead of biting all the way through one, the insides just kind of shoot out, which is a less than desirable outcome. At least I can say I tried them once though, however it seems that a few of our English and South African friends are quite keen on the silk worms.

On that note, I'll put an end to this rambling post. Until next time!

Collective Ways

The entire first week of school came and went. After giving presentation after presentation about myself, the sets of questions that followed my hi-tech introduction were all the same:

“How old are you?”
“What’s your blood type?”
“Do you like Korean food?”
“Do you like Kimchi?”
“Do you have a boyfriend?”

Class after class, regardless of what new information or new pictures I presented I would only be asked these five questions. I came to accept this as middle school curiosity, but when my colleagues began to ask me the same questions I was puzzled. Why did it matter how old I was, what blood type I am (an answer I still don’t know), or how much I liked Korean food? I kept these feelings to myself until curiosity got the better of me. On the last day of the week I asked my co-teacher/liaison what the significance of these questions were. I was told these questions establish what kind of relationship I would be able to have with the individuals who ask them.

When others ask me how old I am, they are asking how they should address me. The Korean language has special inflections and additions to words which display respect. Knowing each other’s age allows us to know how to properly and respectfully address each other. Apparently, asking someone’s blood type is like asking their zodiac sign; it is potential ground for bonding. Whether or not I like Korean food or Kimchi determines whether or not our relationship has potential to grow. Meals are group oriented here; sharing dishes and meal times is very special. People ask if I have a boyfriend, not because they are being nosy, but rather they want to know if I have a support system to keep me from getting homesick. If I didn’t I would be shuffled around from house to house for dinner so I wouldn’t have to eat alone.

Now that a few days have passed since learning this new information, I am starting to see, and learn, just how important relationships are in this country. Relationships are weighted so heavily here that the relationships you have with others decides what your boundaries are, both socially and legally. Coming from a Western country this shocked me. People openly admitted that they bend or break the rules for others depending on how good or how strong their relationship is with another individual. This is a concept that will take me a while to get used to, but I have to admit I find the collectivism here intriguing. Caring about another person is innate here, a natural instinct I wish more Westerners had.

Minority Figures

Moving to Gwangju was harder than I expected. Even though I knew a rooted lifestyle was waiting for me here, it was extremely hard to leave the sheltered environment of Jeonju University. At Jeonju life was easy—I was continually surrounded by 350 native English speakers, my meals were prepared for me, and I knew my surroundings well. While everything about Gwangju seemed unknown. Stepping off the bus I felt an immediate difference. Not only was I standing on one small block in a million plus population city, but I was no longer part of the majority. My light hair, olive skin and tall stature quickly put me in the minority. Which were both a drastic and an interesting juxtaposition to my former life in America.

After meeting with my new colleagues over lunch, where my need to fit in expanded my culinary tastes to raw beef, whole fried fish, and hazelnut bean paste, my mind began to ease. I realized while the task ahead would be challenging, it was doable. Two of my co-teachers, Ha na and Soo, took me to our new apartment and were also kind enough to take me shopping for some basics. After obtaining two mismatching plates, bowls, and cups and a magenta velour duvet (apparently all the rage in Korea) Eric’s and my place slowly came together.

After exploring, getting lost, and ultimately learning the small alleyways of our Namgu neighborhood we can finally say we are home. Namgu is a working class neighborhood of Gwangju, located a few blocks off the main subway line. Because Namgu belongs to the working class you will not find chain stores here. Rather, the narrow streets are lined with family run and owned fruit stands, sock stands, restaurants, and all-purpose stores. Despite the small town feel of this neighborhood, we find the restaurants and shops to be comparable to its surrounding metropolis.

Needless to say, we are the only foreigners in neighborhood. Every time I walk down the street I get half-a-dozen stares, a few old ladies pinching my arms and saying hello, and the local kiddos, who are brave enough, saying hello to me in English then quickly running away. Despite being stared at, poked, and followed on the street, everyone has been really welcoming and sincere in their ogling. They like that we are here, they respect what we are doing, and hopefully we will not disappoint.