I can't believe I didn't post this before.

If you want a shockingly accurate depiction of the life of a foreign English teacher in Korea, this video is spot on.



Enjoy.

"I feel more like a stranger each time I come home."

This is going to sound hackneyed (But, a wise man once told me that the things that are most cliche are the most true--this is why they're cliche.): Now, I have two homes, but no place feels like home. I stayed up nights thinking about San Diego--my friends, my family, the weather, the food--and when I finally arrived, I felt weird; I felt foreign. I suppose everything was just as I'd left it, but it didn't feel normal anymore. Coming from a lifestyle riddled with confusion, certainty was a bit unsettling. But it did have its perks. I could customize food orders. I could read road signs and be certain if the people behind me were actually mocking me. I felt stretched thin at every social event. All my friends wanted to know the same questions: "How's Korea?" or "Hey, how's Korea treating you?" and even, "Hey man, how are you liking Korea?" My answers mustn't have been zany enough to remember. I love most of my friends. I shouldn't be complaining, really.

Part of me thinks I should consult my sister before doing this, but it's three in the morning on the West Coast, so I'll take the low road. I went home to the States mainly for my sister's wedding. You see, a lot of people were counting on me to give a brilliant speech and I didn't have anything else going on that particular weekend. Brilliance may not be accurate, but I delivered my best:

August 14, 2009
Brother of the Bride Speech Manuscript

Good Evening.

My name is Andrew and I’m the younger brother of the bride.

This speech is called: “What you can write on your flight to Sacramento the day before your sister’s wedding. Just kidding. Haha. No, but seriously.”

I’ve known my sister for as long as I can remember. Rumor has it she used to stand above my crib and sing lullabies to me and say, “Hello, little brother. I can’t wait to talk to you.” She would say progressively less cute things to me as we grew into our teenage years. She was born with a full head of hair—a halo of sorts—and by the age of two was having full on conversations with strangers in hotel lobbies. Again, this is what I’ve been told about my sister. I’ve been told that she is a great student and a loving girlfriend.

What I know about my sister is she has always been a great example for me…of what not to do. Take up a musical instrument? Not doing that. Join the marching band? Not doing that either. Go to UCSD? Naaaah. Become a social science major? Heck no! Watch countless hours of bad reality TV to escape my mind numbing everyday? Okay, we both do that. In fact, I’m coming clean. I’ve pretty much replicated my sister’s exact footsteps until she went to law school and I decided to move to Korea.

There’s this Korean proverb that says, “A matchmaker who makes a bad match deserves a slap in the face.” Fortunately for them this thing worked out, or Johno would have to go shopping for a new computer monitor.

In preparation for this speech, I kept on being haunted by this lurking question. One that I thought I should address. And that is, “What is love?” Not the Haddaway song. But real love. So, after many fruitless hours of pondering, I decided to do what any bright, resourceful person would do: I asked Ask.com—of course the ultimate authority on all matters of the heart. I typed in the keyword “love,” pressed Enter and accepted the top search result as absolute Bible. And surprisingly enough, I thought I got a pretty insightful breakdown of it. Thanks Ask.com. This is what “SelfCreation.com” had to say about love.

Basic Components of Love

Love is Accepting.

Acceptance is labeling someone as "okay" and having no particular desire to change them. Who they are is perfectly fine with you. You pose no condition on whether you will love them or not. This is called unconditional love. When your love IS conditional, the moment they step outside your set of conditions, love evaporates.

Love is Appreciating.

Appreciation is one step beyond acceptance. It’s when your focus is on what you like about another. We look at them and feel this sweeping appreciation for who they are, their joy, their insights, their humor, their companionship, etc. When someone says they are "in love" with another, they mean their appreciation is so enormous for this person that it consumes their every thought.

Love is Wanting Another to Feel Good.

We want those we love to be happy, safe, healthy, and fulfilled. We want them to feel good in all ways, physically, mentally and emotionally.

Myself, I know nothing about what makes a marriage work or last or how to make the perfect tuna casserole. So, I can only rely on what I read on the Internet or hear in silly emo songs. But I can tell you what I do know. This was written by a close friend of mine and I thought I’d share it with you:

Love is real

It is not just in novels or the movies

It is fact

And it is standing here right in front of you

So if you open your eyes

Oh what a sweet discovery

There is hope, and there is joy, and there is acceptance.

Love is real

It is not just in long distance commercials

Or something that you thought you felt back in high school

Love is real

It is not just in poetry and stories

It is truth, and it will follow you

Everywhere you go from now on

So if you'd just cast off your doubt

Then your lips would answer for you

Oh my darling, when you smile, it is like a song

And I can hear it now.

I can hear it now. -CO


So, all things considered, going home was almost dreamlike. It was strange to be suddenly in the presence of everything I had missed for 8 months - my friends, my family, Mexican food, English. But despite these familiar comforts, I felt like I was missing my other home the entire time. I missed the children waving "hi" to me in the street on my way to work. I missed the green of the rice fields. I missed having a secret language that only my friends and I could understand. I missed my students. I missed sitting home alone in the quiet of my apartment. I loved being home, but leaving Korea made me realize that I only had a few more precious months left, before I'm back to everything I understand. Everything I've already processed. Every flavor I've already tasted. I realized that my time in Korea is invaluable and I shouldn't squander it by wishing I was somewhere else. I am where I am and I need to live where I stand.

It's Tuesday and I have the entire day off.

Well, sort of. I still have to waste away in front of a computer screen for 8 straight hours. I can feel the energy leak from my fingertips, down my keyboard and die a slow, painful death on the floor beneath my desk. It's exam time and I'm staring listlessly at a blue and white horizon that will every once in a while dazzle me with something gossipy. I am a middle-aged, middle-American, middle-class woman who lives vicariously through cheesy TV romance and talks about K-Pop and the Hills with friends over dinner. What the hell have I become?! An illiterate jackass who revels in other people's drama, while too dumb or skittish to face my own? This is a silly existence. Waiting to breathe, waiting for friends, waiting for phone calls, waiting for afternoon trysts, waiting for paperwork, waiting for fucking anything. Anything but this.

"I see no difference between romance and solitude." -CK

On a manlier note, I'm eagerly awaiting football season to start again. I've been spending a lot of my idle thoughts on how the Giants are going to be this year. It seems like so much has changed; the roster looks completely different and a hell of a lot younger. Burress, gone. Toomer, gone. R. W. McQuarters, gone. Ward, Gone. Our new draft picks look promising, but then again, all of them do during training camp. Our secondary really has something to prove along with our wide-outs. We'll see how preseason looks.

Sometimes I forget that I speak English. This might be because this ability atrophies more and more the less and less I use it. It's always really gratifying when I can sit next to another English teacher at lunch time and rattle off all the things I did during the weekend so effortlessly to remind my Korean teachers that I am capable of producing sentences with more than three words in them--sort of like this one--that I am capable of having an intelligent conversation and that I have thoughts and emotions that cannot be sufficed with: "How are you?" "I'm fine, thank you. And you?" This was one of the great things about my dad coming down. Being able to speak with him at a comfortable meter, with a comfortable vocabulary, with familiar conversation topics. Talking about streets and businesses back home. Talking about football. Talking about family members and other relevant things to my life. Because of teaching EFL, I don't theoretically know two languages, but in practice I do: simple English (mainly consisting of simple vocabulary, sentence fragments and buzzwording) and conversational English (similar to this).

For example, yesterday in class, we watched a few music videos, Michael Jackson's "Bad" and Weird Al Yankovic's "Fat." I asked them to think about the similarities and differences in the two videos. I explained what a parody was by saying, "This video makes that video a joke." Of course, in concert with lots of gesturing. There's a Korean cognate for the English word "same" which is "same same." I initially said, while making eye-contact with the Korean English teacher as to prompt subsequent translation, "I want you to think about the similarities and differences between these two videos." (It was probably phrased simpler than this, but this is the gist of what I said.) And then, after a moment of silence, I said, "Ms. ____, could you help me explain this?" Blank response. So I eventually said exactly this, with gestures: "Think...(points)...ego, ego ('this, this' in Korean)...same same and not same same." Finally, after that explanation, the teacher and the students simultaneously knew what I want asking. Utterly exhausting. But, this is the language I use in class, otherwise, the students don't understand, lose interest and start talking. Then, I yell, "jo yong hi hae" (Korean for "stop talking") and slam a bamboo on the desk and the cycle repeats itself. The consensus among foreign teachers is that I work at the roughest school in the city and sadly, I believe it. There are no guns or knives, but frequently there are fights and the boys are almost completely apathetic to anything I have to say. But frankly, I don't blame them. They go to school from 8am-10pm, recessing only for meals and they receive no grade in my class and are tested on none of its contents. I would sleep and goof off too if I were under the same conditions.

On a brighter note, like I mentioned before, my dad came to visit me for the past week and a half. It was great to see family after a seven-month drought and be had a really good time. My plan was to take him all over the country, and I sort of succeeded, but my itinerary was undermined by the elements. It rain for the last four days or so that he was here. This was no light drizzle. I've never seen cats or dogs this big. We went to Busan (which is on the southeast side of the country and I affectionately liken it to San Francisco), spent about $70 roundtrip for transport, arrived the first night without a hitch and the next morning were greeted with copious gallons of rain. Maybe a torrent would be more succinct and accurate. My umbrella inverted and broke and I slipped and fell four times. This, however, is not a point of shame because my dad fell once. After a 45 minute cab ride, we made it to this temple on the beach, which even with the rain was absolutely gorgeous. I slipped twice there. I blame my shoes. But the rest of my dad's visit was great. We hiked up a mountain near my house; we went to the beach and the annual Mud Festival in my town; he met my girlfriend; I introduced him to all kinds of interesting foods (including bbanddaegi which are essentially fried silk worm larvae). We had a great time and I have no complaints. I'll add pictures to this when I get home. Cheers.

Nostalgia--accompanied by heated, pointless political discussions (especially ones that end inevitably with a disingenuous "agree to disagree"), gory slasher flicks, the emotions of someone I have ceased to love, a room full of chatty strangers, cult leaders, the two-party "my team is better than your team" system, realizing the person you've devoted your life to pleasing no longer loves you, and divisive belief systems--makes me nauseous. I've never been able to look at a picture that's more than 3 years old without feeling the bile wrench in my stomach, without feeling the taste of my previous meal paired with the taste of acid and self-loathing congregate on my tongue as to say, "What the hell happened, shortstack? You used to have the world by the balls."

Caught in my day-to-day. Eight to five. Eight to five. Someday, I'll know a life without chains and due dates and puppies nibbling at my ankles. The school year has picked up and I can't seem to put it down long enough to sit back in an easy chair and pound out this account. I find it much harder to reflect and rereflect when I'm busy and happy.

For the first time in as long as I can remember, it’s nice to be outside. The snow melted ages ago and I’m reaching for a cool glass of lemonade, sitting on my patio. Make that Pepsi. I wanted a burger this afternoon—on account of the fact that I’ve been saving myself, caloricly speaking, for the weekend. I walked to thirty minutes to the closest McDonalds rip-off (Lotteria) and found that the Boryeong oasis of Westernism had been torn to bits by a future enterpriser. I assume this is because it hadn’t been doing a lot of business, which baffles me because every time I walked into the place, I was stocked full of high school girls buying ice creams and soda pops and giggling about boys. And given that this is an embodied perspective, the main giggling was in response to me. I’ve had worse problems. So now, I sit here at a pizza joint a block away from the ghost of euphoria and stare at its dead, rotting carcass, thinking of all the memories we shared.

I would find out later that this was merely a renovation. The oasis is intact and better than ever. Time for pictures. Baby Buddha, the water salesman. Myonghwa and I went to this art exhibit in Insadong (the art epicenter of Seoul).

Hey, Readership.

I am happy. I feel like a bad Madonna song without all of the sexual overtures. All the pieces of my life are falling into place. I like traveling Korea, but I don't feel like I need it to say sane anymore. South Korea feels like home to me now. Not home home, but home. Since last I blogged, I've met some great people, but haven't experienced anything overtly extraordinary. I went to Seoul last weekend with a good friend and saw a Korean rock band that sang songs by Skynard and Elvis. We danced and laughed and drank in the street, thinking about nothing but our present elation and the feeling of communitas. This was the best night I've had in Korea so far.

A student of mine drafted a comic strip in which I, Andrew the superhero, killed and ate Satan. I am win.

This is going to be mainly a picture blog. I'll let them fill you in.

On the Road with Screaming, Unruly, Middle School Girls.

I wrote this blog a while back. I was on a train home from Seoul and I decided that vehicles in motion are the keenest places for inspiration. Springsteen talks a lot about the open road, or so I've heard from a friend who shares my name and wrote his Master's thesis on this motif. The passersby marveled at me, typing furiously in a language they couldn't understand. Unfortunately, I only had a New York minute before my time expired and without a word, the screen went black. Worse things have happened; I wasn't too hurt over it. My main concern, actually, was for my antsy readership. This sounds pompous, but I've gotten a few nasty emails nagging me for more output. I have a responsibility to the troops back home and I shouldn't let them down. Sorry, troops. I'll be home in August.

I've been on the road for almost two solid months. Kind of. I fit work in wherever I can, but it's more of a burden than a passion at this point. Well, until about three days ago, that is. I had an awakening of sorts on Tuesday. No glowing angels. No pervasive sun beams penetrating my third eye, but just an active decision to shed my woes and press forward. These aforementioned woes are mainly responsible my blogging lapse. I'd prefer to not go into it. I'd like not to immortalize my follies in prose. Too many people are watching. I've toured everywhere from Seoul to Busan (sea to shining sea, if you will, for you American types). I should accompany this post with photos of my travels, but some things take too much effort. Let's kick this old school.

One thing worth mentioning is this bookstore I found in Seoul. Let me back up for a second. After about a month and a half of the road, I was haggard and weary and ready for a break. I met this guy at Native Teachers' Orientation (which really isn't newsworthy on its own, but it's aiding this story) who had been in the country for as long as I had and I hadn't really met any foreigners thus far. It was his birthday last weekend and I decided to show him a good time in Seoul. We went to the foreigner Promised Land, Itaewon, which--legend has it--is controlled by the Russian mob and is sort of a seedy place to be on a Saturday night. It was a Saturday night and I was looking to test my luck. Andrew, 1. Unfortunate happenstance, 0. We hit the street after a grueling bus ride and a 30 minute, standing-room-only subway trip. Fair enough. I had had a long week at the office and didn't really have the time or energy to research reputable hotels. We (and by we, I mean me--He left our travel plans to my whims and incidentally, things turned out okay.) checked in to the local bathhouse for a one night stay in the dingy underbelly of Seoul. Wait, I got off-topic. I was talking about a bookstore. Whatever, this might be more riveting. We pet some deer in Seoul Forest (which translates to Seoul Soop: I found this funny.) and we saw a Buddhist temple that was advertised as one hundred percent gold, but once we arrived and saw the gold leaf flaking off of the pine columns, we thought differently. To keep the integrity of this paragraph- There is a bookstore in the COEX mall, which is this gargantuan underground shopping center, that has a slough of English books and I bought "The Omnivore's Dilemma." I had wanted to read it for a while and it was a worthy excuse to blow some Won. I have no regrets.

I am a full blown superhero. I started working at the local girls middle school and whenever I walk into a room, I hear the screech of female preteens. Really; it's deafening. Maybe I'm more of a rockstar. Yeah, that might be more accurate, given that I don't possess any supernatural powers or latently placed pyrotechnics. A swarm of fans shadow me down the hallways, beseeching high fives, my name, my age, and shockingly, my bloodtype. This is a big deal in Korea. Bloodtypes. Who knew?

I found a place that sells Cuban cigars. Thumbs way up. For interested parties: I got a Romeo y Julieta Churchill, a Cohiba Siglo II, and a Punch Petit Coronation. A starter kit, at best.

I'm signing off for now. I'll try to keep these more frequent.

Footnote: I just found my lost blog and perhaps this would have made for a better intro. There are some redundancies here, so look past them and enjoy the train:

"My negligence is inexcusable. I've been away from this keyboard for nearly three weeks now, but I can't say that it was because I didn't have time and I can't say that it was because I had nothing to write about. I've been on the road. I've been out in the God's grey, concrete wilderness and I've drank the local drink, danced to the local beat, and arrived in a constant state of departure. This was my charge over the past month: Travel, Travel, Travel until the blisters on my feet begin to bleed. I'm weary as hell; so, I suppose my goal was realized. I have a headache the size of Montana and my head is all battered with mental images of friends and temples and bathhouses and hustled city folk. It really wouldn't make for a good read if I recounted every mishap and spectacle of my time away, but I'll do my best to humor you with a few.

I'll start with the most recent and relevant event. I'm pounding out this letter from a moving train on its way home from Seoul. See, I took this bloke Jerry (whom I met at orientation, which by the way, was a colossal waste of time) out for his birthday, on account of the fact that this would be his first birthday alone. I was happy to do it and it gave me an excuse to go back up to Seoul. We stayed in Itaewon (the foreigner district), ate steak at Outback Steakhouse, spent the night a jimjalbang (bathhouse [It isn't as creepy as it seems.]) and toured Seoul Forest and a Buddhist temple made of a hundred percent gold. Opulence. I realized later that this was my first proper steak in a good six to seven years. I didn't dwell on it; I didn't want to think about the life I'd took. Bless my bleeding heart. I also found a proper pub--you know, the kind where you can play pool, darts, drink Guinness from the tap and meet your mates after a rough week in your little cardboard prison to remember that you still are human and that there is some animal left in your cardboard cut out body."

That's as far as I got.