Teacher Brian & Disorganized-Organization

Simplify, keep moving, simplify, teach, simplify again, sleep. That pretty much sums up my days in Korea thus far. For all who warned me of the trouble of traveling to a country with a completely unrecognizable language – of which I know nothing (save the lettering for chicken, a must) – you win this round. I have stepped back to the infancy of activities. It is absolutely amazing how much language impacts each and every act within our day. From the miniscule  moment of being signaled to cross the street in front of an idle, waiting car, to the much more important decision of what to order at a restaurant where nothing, including the price, is written in english. It is all a task requiring ones full energy and attention. This is not recognized however, until we step into a completely new set of characters that make up a completely new set of words which must be further translated to be understood. I may as well be in a diaper. I have been reduced to pointing, grunts and motions to hopefully reach an understanding when I seek a simple order of Kimbap, – The Korean equivalent of the hot dog, eaten as a quick lunch, at picnics and baseball games. Kimbap is essentially a sushi roll with cucumbers, carrots and danmuji (pickled radish) -  

a cab ride home, and directions anywhere. Lord knows what’s going to happen when I finally seek out the GS Mart for groceries and furniture. 

To say that the last week has been an eye opener would be a gross understatement. I have once again placed myself in the most humbling of circumstances, this time as the most obvious of outsiders, in the full pursuit of knowledge of the other, of the unknown. Yet, as I found constantly while in Europe studying Muslim societies in Belgium, the other, the unknown, is usually much closer to us than we wanted to believe, or could have ever imagined.

The first aspect of this society I have consciously absorbed is the rhythm. Like waves churning on a rocky shore, this place is in constant motion. From all directions there is movement, quick, frantic, yet with some semblance of control. To cross a street is a snappy weave amongst the various pedestrians competing to beat out the rapid walk signal against the ever looming threat of cabs seeking customers, and non-customers alike, and delivery men on mo-ped’s racing through traffic to their next stop. At all hours of the day, someone, and usually multiple people are wandering the streets. Where they go, where they come from, I have no idea. All I can ascertain is that behind the focus in their eyes, within the pursuit in their steps, there is some place of importance they are in search of.

And yet, although this motion is non-stop, and clearly driven, the biggest dichotomy is the pace, of which I have fully embraced. The motion which never stops is almost without tension. For, while as in the west I always sensed an urgency, a need to get from one place to another, within a fixed, scheduled time, here, I see people who clearly must get somewhere, for something, but the pace, the time at which it takes to get there, means very little. To an outsider this is both relieving and incredibly frustrating at the same time. It is relieving in one sense for those who sought a slower, less frenetic pace. Yet, when one is carrying an oversized bag next to their boss who is wheeling their other bag, and he stops every half a block to “chat” with seemingly random people, one must question whether a motive or goal would help to speed up the pace. Alas, the destination is always reached, and the trials are never worth the trouble of complaining. Like any new place, there are unseen oddities around every corner, new norms that we must adjust ourselves too, for we are in another land, where another way has worked, where another way is right. This recognition must be made multiple times each day, and acted out with each step we take.

I officially began my job on Wednesday, which is Tuesday night for everyone in the states. I have about twenty different classes, all with between 5-12 students, ranging from ages 7-14. The majority of my classes are younger, beginning english speakers who read lots of stories, spend loads of time sounding out words, and then lose all patience until I begin an English word game. The favorite is Hangman and a variation on Bingo, though Simon Says is a sure winner as it gets them up burning their seemingly endless supply of metabolism. To these children I am simply known as “Teacher Brian,” which they yell from down the hallway, at me in the classroom and whenever I see them at the market between classes. I cannot even begin to describe how much I am honored to be addressed in this sense, particularly since any time anyone yelled at me at my last job as a waiter was usually in a degrading manner that began with the address of “excuse me server,” and rarely ended with my name.

The next level, 9-11 year olds, are reading at a higher level and are beginning to write short papers. I really enjoy these classes because the material is a bit more interesting, allows me to teach them about the five-paragraph, personal and persuasive essays, and gets them thinking in english at a higher level. While the age seems to force them to retreat from any actual effort at the risk of classmates making fun of them, its amazing what they can produce when they do try.

The highest level I have taught thus far are my 12-13 year olds, who are at a conversational level, exude intelligence and curiosity and know things about Chicago like: The Sears Tower is there, Obama is from there, and it’s next to Lake Michigan. There are only four students in this class, so it is a nice break from the energy and chaos that sometimes ensues in my younger classes. Question and answers from the texts can lead to actual discussions in english on the topics we are studying. I know already that I will greatly look forward to these classes twice a week.

Finally, I have two classes of middle-school students who I will not teach until next week. Reason being, this week they were taking exams dealt to them four times a year in preparation for high school. From what I have heard these are similar to standardized tests we all know in the states, but while those simply gauged the credibility of a school district, these determine whether or not they move up a grade. From everything I have read and heard, the students study and study and study and are overworked, basically year-round through high school. Everything is in preparation for their high school exams which determines what college they get into. Once they receive that letter of acceptance, if it is at one of the five top, “Ivy League” schools, they are apparently set for the next four years. College, from what I have been told, is somewhat of a joke here. The University one attends means a great deal, but the work at that school seemingly means very little. This is a highly educated society, where everyone down to common street-sweepers have college degrees, yet it seems that the name of the school attached to the degree means more than the work accumulated. This is one of the many discrepancies I’ve noticed thus far in terms how rapidly Korea has evolved from a military dictatorship to the 10th largest economy in the world. More on this in a later post.

I also moved into my apartment Wednesday night. It is a small studio about ten minutes up the main street from my school. I have pictures posted below. While I was told in the job listing and in various discussions with the school that it would come “fully furnished,” apparently in Korea that just means bed. I do have a television which I turned on once and found 45 Korean channels and one that seems to show CSI non-stop, I guess it’s a craze here. I am fortunate because the girl who I replaced left me some cooking utensils, a night stand, a drying rack and taught me how to use the laundry machine which is all in Korean. I am requesting a desk, for right now I am doing all of my work on the floor, and I will likely purchase a small couch, coffee table and a rug so as to cut down on the echo that reverberates with each step I take. 

For those who know nothing about Korean bathroom, they are somewhat different from those in the US  in the fact that there is no shower, per se. The detachable shower is in the middle of the bathroom with a drain in the floor. Everything in the room gets wet, and everything dries in the same way as the tub would. While this is a bit strange at first, one realizes quick how much can now be done with the increased mobility. Along with getting myself clean, I was able to shave in front of a mirror, brush my teeth and floss all while “showering.” Amazing. Time in the bathroom is suddenly cut in half. I have yet to take pictures of this wonder of the far eastern world, but I will post them in the next blog writing. 

 

Bedroom From The Kitchen

Door to the kitchen and bathroom from my bed

 

 

 

 

 

 

I am leaving tomorrow morning (Saturday) to take the train to Seoul for the celebration of the Fourth. Two of my friends from high school, Adam Moret and Nicole Belica happen to be english teachers here as well, and we are going to attend a Korean Baseball game. What better way to celebrate America on the other side of the world!!!! I plan on taking tons of pictures there and will probably have lots to write about, so look forward to another post early next week.

I hope all is going well in the states. I was lucky to just catch the ending of the Cubs pounding of the Brewers, and  saw the Bulls finally let Ben “won’t pass” Gordon leave. Keep the comments coming for they mean quite a bit. I’m off to the school for preparations for the day. Take care all.

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