North Korea Shells Yeonpyeong-do

So, as most of my readers know, I am not partial to writing something and immediately posting it on my blog.  In fact, I like to let me writing simmer, edit it, and post it when I think it’s fresh and ready to be read.  Today, however, I will go against my normal policy and I will write something then immediately post it.  I have postponed my ramen dinner, kitchen cleaning, and book reading to do this.  I have rolled up my shirt sleeves, put Skype on the “do not disturb” setting, put Linton Kwesi Johnson on random, and I just plastered my lips with Carmex because I know I’m going to be licking my lips a lot.  (As any of my friends or family can tell you: when I am focused I lick my lips madly and they get chapped.)

***

Today I got a cell phone, finally, and was overwhelmed with a sense of benevolence because my friend, Valerie, was so helpful: she gave me her old cell phone, she got everything set up at the cell phone store, and bought me a cup of coffee.  I felt amazing when I walked home with the coffee and fresh cell phone waiting to be used.  Actually, I was looking forward to a busy Tuesday.

After my first class, my co-worker Hank, who I sit next to, made an innocuous comment to me that North Korea was shooting at South Korea.  Like a ball hitting sand, the comment hit the surface of my brain and didn’t sink in.

“What else does the article say?” I asked curiously.

“Well, it seems that North Korea attacked some ships; it’s a naval fight right now.  Lots of shelling.  It’s in the ocean, not on the land,” replied Hank.

Other teachers overheard our conversation and then asked what was happening.  My good vibrations dissipated immediately as I narrated the article from Hank’s laptop.  The office was shocked.  Soon, I recognized a familiar feeling in the pit of my gut: a mild nagging paranoid sense of uncertainty—not yet fully manifested into actual fear.  The next bell rang before questions could receive answers and all the teachers went to our next classes. 

The next class I taught was made up of 8 Korean children, all around the age of 8 (so in American years, 6 or 7.)  I couldn’t administer the game I had planned, this sudden news flustered me, so I opted to finish our phonics book which was a boring route but the students were well-behaved.  I looked at all of them while I sounded out blended-l words and blended-r words, my mind wandered and although my lesson was faring well, I was battling paranoia and ‘what if’ situations.  I wanted to talk about the naval fight, but my kids were so young and so full of hope and…honestly…so bad at English that I kept my mouth shut.  Despite the gnawing paranoia in my gut I knew I had to be strong for these kids—for all of my kids: they are so young, they need protection, they need to see that I am okay.  I finished my class and gave out candy.

After that phonics class ended the teacher’s office was in a state of commotion.  Anyone with a laptop was researching, people were making declarations out loud, “200 shells fired from North Korea, South Korea responds with 80,” “16 are reported as wounded,” “it’s all happening in the West Sea,” it was a research-gathering frenzy!  One co-worker, Vic, I noticed immediately changed from his normal smiling-self and I could sense his concern.  He was a veteran teacher from the US, so to see his demeanor fold immediately made me more nervous.  We were all nervous though, and yammering, but the Korean teachers were quiet after the initial shock of the news.  It was like, they heard the news, they said a couple things, now back to work.

Class went on as normal too.  We had classes, then 10-minute breaks, then classes, then 10-minute breaks, and so on.  And during each break we discussed a little more what was going on between North and South Korea.  Of course, the gallow-humor surfaced, but I didn’t take part.  I’m a sarcastic ass, but something didn’t seem right about joking presently while South Korean marines were wounded (NOTE: 2 marines were killed because of the fighting.)

I taught my classes and I didn’t mention anything about the naval conflict until after 6pm when I had some older students.  Their English was better and I wanted to get their opinions—also, maybe, they had seen the news and knew more than whatever was circulating in the teachers’ office.  They all knew what was going on (most of them at least,) but they were as clueless as I was.  What had really happened?  Who fired first?  How many people were hurt?  Does this mean that school is cancelled?  What’s going on?  At 7:40pm, when one of my last classes was finished, the students immediately got out their phones, attached their antennas, and plugged in to the news.

The first thing one of my students had on her cell phone was a video of rounds being fired from the South Korean battleships.  It was simply a reel of different shots being fired from different sized cannons, then some clips of a ship smoking, then a clip of South Korean sailors.  They showed empty brass casings of HUGE bombs, at least 2 feet long!  While the video is going, I’m shouting and “oh my god”ing, but I realized that I was the only one and the students were giggling at me.  Sorry kids, I don’t know what came over me, I thought.  I left the room and still the teacher’s office was surging with palpable nervous energy.

Back in the office, Hank told me that he had served in the military (South Korea has compulsory military duty) and that once a similar situation happened while he was serving.  There was some kind of naval exchange and the military put him, and everyone else, on high alert.  He was given rounds of bullets and grenades; they were preparing him to fight.  But nothing happened.  In the office, people were passing around the idea that Kim Jong-un was posturing as his father was stepping down and he was stepping up.  Still, the only ones really concerned were the Americans.  The Korean teachers carried on as normal.  Maybe they were expressing themselves in Korean, which I couldn’t understand, but in English there wasn’t any sense of emergency from them.

Walking home didn’t give me the impression that it was dangerous or an emergency: families were out walking, kids were hanging out with their friends, and restaurants weren’t glued to the news—in fact, they were all watching their favorite nightly dramas.  Nothing seem disturbed or out of place.  I came home, my apartment was still there, nothing was different, but I still immediately went to the U.S. Embassy’s website and checked the latest news: as of 11pm, Korea time, this is all that I can find in regards to the maritime shelling.

***

When I was in Israel, I always got the feeling that although I was having a blast and everything was safe around me, it could still “go down” any time.  Luckily, when I was in Israel, both times, there were never any problems and I enjoyed my time very much.  Honestly, the feeling is the same in South Korea.  In Suwon, in my hometown, there isn’t a sense of emergency, there isn’t a feeling of impending doom, fear isn’t apparent on passing faces—it’s like being back in my office: my Korean co-workers carried on with their lives despite the news.  It didn’t pass through them rather they didn’t let the news phase them.

I feel that most of my young life was heavily influenced by a constant and irrational sense of fear.  A fear of not knowing, a fear of uncertain things, and a fear of ‘what if?’—but I knew that, before I came to South Korea, a situation like this could happen and now it has happened.  Fear cannot be the only emotion that navigates my life anymore and the South Koreans around me embody this notion also.  I will continue to write and update you, my readers, my family, and my friends.

Also know that a major contributor to my youthful fear was the media.  The news loves reporting the bad news and sometimes…it’s real bad.  It will replay the same gory videos and sound bites to conjure a false image of what is really happening.  Do not let the media make you think that South Korea is on fire or that right now I’m getting calls from the embassy to come to Seoul and leave.  It’s just not true.  Don’t believe everything the media tells you, have hope, and please pray for the soldiers that are wounded and for the families that lost a brother, a son, or a father today.

It is night now in South Korea and day in the USA.  Please, enjoy your days knowing that I sleep peacefully in South Korea.

Rachmaninoff & The Buddhist Temple

At a certain point in my life, before I started listening to hip hop and after my early exposure to classic rock & roll from my dad, around when I was in middle school, I started to listen to classical music.  I think, when I was at that age, I discovered how competitive school was going to be: all of my friends were in advanced classes, I was not, and I wanted to do whatever I could to get on their level.  So, somehow, I rationalized music as the source of making me smarter.  With that fallacious notion in my head, an on-and-off love affair with classical music developed.  It started innocently enough with Vivaldi and Bolero, matured to Mozart and Beethoven in high school, and in college I learned of Glenn Gould—but I never considered myself a classical music aficionado; I still don’t.

But, when Otto told me, in early September, that there was a classical music concert in Seoul, I immediately gave my consent to join him.  I’ve never been to a classical music show and I’ve never been to the capital, Seoul, either, I thought, I definitely need to open my eyes to new things while I’m here—carpé diem. 

“There’s a musical group giving a performance of Brahms and Rachmaninoff.  They’re going to play Rachmaninoff’s ‘Suite No. 2’—it’s a great piece,” explained Otto.  (Honestly, I never listened to Brahms or Rachmaninoff prior to this concert.  Like I said, I’m not an aficionado, I’m just down for the cause).

The travelling companions for the concert would be Otto and a girl that he was kinda seeing, we’ll call her Gloria.  Gloria had a car, she picked us both up, and we were off to Seoul.  The drive from Suwon to Seoul is less than an hour, but we hit a fair amount of traffic on that Saturday.

Gloria made me incredibly nervous while she drove and I was unsure of any speed limits or traffic laws while I sat in the backseat.  Ignorance is bliss so I closed my eyes and tried to nap in the backseat while Otto and Gloria talked.  I didn’t sleep, I didn’t nap, I just closed my eyes and wondered what Seoul would be like.  I’d heard of huge skyscrapers, millions of people—a real cosmopolitan metropolis—but I went to Seoul with no expectations, only grateful for the experience and companions.  Otto yelled at me from the front seat,

                “Billy!  Wake up, it’s the Han River!”

I looked out the window and saw the Han River, the 4^th largest river in South Korea.  The river originates in the North, and passes right by Seoul, so during the 80’s there were some foreboding speculations that the North may try to flood the river and as a result flood Seoul…but so far, no floods.  Our destination for classical music was in the City Hall area of Seoul, right near the Seoul Museum of Art (certainly a museum I will return to visit).  The concert venue was ChungDong 1^st Methodist Church of Seoul: it was an old brick building being renovated.  Throughout its halls there was a dusty smell, the echoing of feet from the hardwood floors and in the anterior garden there were two bronze statues of the first English and Korean priests…this gave me a sense of the church’s permanency.

                Before the concert we had dinner and ate budae jjigae.  I called this soup, “kitchen sink soup,” after the old expression that “they added everything except the kitchen sink.”  There were pieces of pasta, ramen, hot dogs or sausage, slices of ham, vegetables & beans—and it was so spicy—but I ate heartily and enjoyed the new dish…“no expectations, only grateful for the experience.”

                I sat in the middle of the pews with Otto and Gloria as the church filled up with a diverse mix of people.  The group putting on the performance was the Camarata Music Company and they started with Brahms and I tried staying focused but choirs just don’t do anything for me.  I did like the piece they sang, “O die Frauen,” but when I saw Otto’s head dip in boredom-sleep, I didn’t feel so bad.  When Brahms was finished I talked to Otto and he told me that the Brahms didn’t do much for him either, he was there solely for the Rachmaninoff.

                Being in a church you can imagine that eventually the topic of religion came up:  Gloria turned to me and said, “do you believe in god?”  I told her I did and asked her the same question and she responded as I had.  I explained to her that I was Jewish and she explained that she was Buddhist.  She said I was the first Jew she had ever met and I told her I would explain to her about my religion if she would do the same for me regarding Buddhism.  She smiled and said that there was a Buddhist temple nearby where we were.  “We should check it out sometime,” little did I know that “sometime” would be very soon.

                After the intermission, 2 pianists began playing Rachmaninoff’s Suite No. 2 and I felt myself lean forward in my seat: I watched the fingers of one of the pianists move deftly and diligently over the black & white keys…there was magic in that kind of action.  It was like the recital of a prayer, the way that piano was played; it was harmonious, organized, and beautiful.  The music passed through the church without so much as a whisper, I smiled and closed my eyes and tried to visualize the music in my mind.  Because there were two pianos, it was easy to imagine two lovers; the Suite No. 2, for me, was the evolution of love.

It all started off so innocently, so beautifully: the first moment that two people realize, oh my god, I’m in love with that person and then there is that period of total bliss.  Nothing can interrupt the love—not parents, not friends, no catastrophe or blessed event can distract these lovers.  They are a double helix of mutual desire and caring.  The piano sounds became denser and less joyous, but still beautiful.  Although the love was there it was strained and battling through the difficult times that all lovers must face.  Finally, in the section called eponymously, Romance, the hard sounds of the piano became confident and the love was true, it prevailed, culminating into the Tarantelle which was majestic, sad in a way, but always beautiful.

                I don’t think I cried, but a tear may have formed because of sheer disbelief at the beautiful music I was exposed to.  After the concert I felt inundated with emotion and thought, hopeful of love, in awe of how a man, Rachmaninoff, could compose such a thing.  In the car, Gloria suggested we see the Buddhist temple.  Otto and I were both feeling incredible after the concert so, yes, how could we deny two breath-taking experiences in one day?  Soon we were taking our shoes off and walking into the Buddhist temple, Jo Gye Sa.

                The atmosphere in the temple was silent, but it buzzed with prayer and piety.  The temple was not like the church where Rachmaninoff had just lulled me into dreamy romance, now I felt compelled to just keep my mouth closed as I stared at mysteries I had never seen before: In front of me 3 giant golden statues of Buddhist deities, interior architecture decorated in rainbows, high tapestries revealing faces of prophets, unknown figures to me, potentially Buddha—but how would I know?  I saw the lotus flower, dragons, tables with incense, and prostrated people in mid-prayer.  Rising, bowing, down on their knees—the process repeated over and over while their hands clutched a string of beads and their lips muttered prayers.  Everyone was seated on the floor on mats, my group sat directly in front of the others in prayers, at the foot of the golden deities.  I gawked stupidly and said nothing, afraid to embarrass myself or to insult the people at prayer.  My mind raced—I was having such epic pontifications that I could hardly contain myself, but I remained quiet.  I always considered myself open-minded, but sitting in the Buddhist temple was challenging: I was totally unprepared for this, I was still in Rachmaninoff-mode, and I was full of questions that I couldn’t ask because I wouldn’t dare break the silence inside the temple.

                When we left Jo Gye Sa and were putting on our shoes, Otto was the first to talk and he said, “I don’t think I was prepared for that.”  “Neither was I,” I said.  We walked in silence back to Gloria’s car, not because we were angry or scared, but because we were still processing our evening: first Seoul, then Rachmaninoff, and a final trip to a Buddhist temple—our senses were overwhelmed.  Gloria was generous to share with us the temple, but Otto and I may have bitten off more than we could chew.  We were still digesting our first Buddhist temple and Rachmaninoff as we drove back to Suwon.  Did all this really happen tonight?  I wondered.

                Looking back at that evening, I consider it one of the best experiences I’ve had in South Korea so far.  In every respect it was me going out on a limb and trying something new: visiting a new city, listening to new music, and learning about an unfamiliar religion.  At times I was comfortably taking in new sensations and at other times the sensations were bearing down on me, but that was okay: nothing was painful, it was all new, and it was all beautiful.  I had no expectations, and was grateful for it all.