California Again

                Coming home to America after 13 months in Korea was full of difficult choices: Do I stay or do I go?  How do I say goodbye to new friends and my girlfriend?  What do I do next?  And of course, the most difficult question: What youtube video do I post on my Facebook wall?  Notorious B.I.G.’s “Goin Back to Cali” or LedZeppelin’s “Going To California”?  Biggie’s ode to the West Coast was triumphant, vain, but I wasn’t feeling like that.  When I was packing my bags on August 28^th I felt sad with a tear in my eye.  Where had this year gone?  Already it’s over—but I feel like I just got here.  By the time I finished packing, the morning of the 29^th, I felt the heartbreak of leaving a place that I learned to love and saying 안녕히 계세요 to all of the people I connected with.  It was with a heavy heart that I chose Led Zeppelin’s transient love song…

“…Going to California with an aching in my heart…”

                Now it’s those difficult choices I made that I will remember the most about this experience in Koera: Just coming to Korea, in the first place, was such a dramatic decision that I’m still dealing with all the catch-up back home, nostalgia, and new opportunities that are now available.  For example, I’m planning on getting CELTA certified with St. Giles in San Francisco; that will be expensive, intense, and open the door for more international travel and teaching.  Another big decision was mustering up the courage to talk to my girlfriend.  It made my time in Korea even more special, but I still feel the heartbreak of leaving her and leaving Korea, I may feel this for a long time; that might be just the consequence of choosing to love and being loved.

                Sadly, I regret not updating this blog the most.  I looked at the Little Wolf Express today, saw that I hadn’t written anything since June, and I felt the pang of missed opportunity.  Why couldn’t have I put forth more effort?  Why didn’t I write more?  I remember that there were nights where, as I closed my eyes, I fleetingly thought that I should jump onto the computer and write about my day, work, my love life—everything—but I didn’t.  Instead, I closed my eyes, slept, and the next night the same thing happened.  The simplest choices still haunt me, but I’m doing my best to rectify them now.  Despite my regret and heartbreak, I can only smile as I look forward and reflect after my time in Korea.

                Far from being over, this blog needs new life breathed back into it.  There are so many stories and anecdotes that I want to share about beautiful Korea and the wonderful people I met.  I want my family and friends, all over the world, to enjoy my stories as I orchestrate my delicate insights and ridiculous adventures.  (Plus, I want to be a resource for anyone who might be curious about travelling to Korea or teaching English.)  Even though I’m back in the US, the events and decisions from Korea still live within me and they’re itching to be heard and felt.  Sitting down to write them out is the beginning.  Thanks for being with me this far, it was a good choice to stick around; I’ll make it worth your while.

The PC방 Phenomenon

Admitting you have a problem is the first step to coming clean and rehabilitation.  So, friends and family, I admit to you now that I may have a tiny problem: I might be addicted to the PC방 (PC room--pronounced “PC bong”).  There are PC rooms all over Korea and one down the street from my house.  They’re dimly-lit, with no windows or clocks, and stocked with rows of computers that run faster than what I’ve got goin’ on in my apartment.  Not to mention that the Internet connections inside are the fastest that I’ve ever seen anywhere in the world (sometimes downloading at 7 or 9 megabytes per second!)  For five hours on a great system while sitting next to me buddies it’ll cost me less than ₩4000.  Folks, it’s hard to say no to a deal as good as this...

And I’m not the only one, yes, there are others like me (or not like me, actually).  I’m firmly committed to the good ol’ fashioned sense of willpower.  Willpower will help me leave early when I need too, but it’s damn hard to just walk away sometimes.  I might walk in at 11pm, tell myself I’ll be gone at 1am, but the next thing I know it’s 1:43am; I’m staring down the spout of an empty Mountain Dew can, waiting for the next round of Counter Strike with trembling fingers, and I keep telling myself, okay, after this next round--I’ll go home--it’ll be time then.  But the next round comes and I stay put.  My butt is glued to the seat and so is every other butt in this place.

Last time I was in the PC room I stayed from 11pm to 6am!  My excuse was that (supposedly) there was a typhoon outside, better to stay put and keep out of the rain.  My girlfriend didn’t like that.  She said that I was acting like a little boy and she’s not too far off.  Invariably, on any given Monday, the male students at my academy relish in their PC room exploits, (e.g.) I played Maple Story for 8 hours, I got a head shot [WARNING: may contain expletive material], I ate so much ramen and then threw up!  For months I never thought of the PC room, it’s for these brats, I’m never going, but here I find myself watching Dogma [WARNING: may contain expletive material] and wondering if my stamina to lose in Counter Strike has returned.  I can afford to stop gaming for a couple hours, watch some movies on youtube or download torrents, and it will only cost me a couple dollars.  I didn’t know until I came to the PC room that it was so cheap.  Again, it’s hard to say no to a deal as good as this...

However, like any addiction, there is a price: The lights in this place, small blue fluorescent bulbs, were purposefully made to damage the vision of anyone spending too much time here.  (Maybe it explains why more than half of my students wear glasses.)  After hours behind the screen my eyes tend to water and I eventually tear [no mom, they’re not happy tears].  Plus, by spending my late evenings and early mornings in the PC room kills my sleep cycle: I go to sleep at 3am, wake up at 6am (because I still don’t have curtains in my house and the sun forces me awake), and then drift in & out of lucid dreams until noon.  I could see how someone more irresponsible could let this lifestyle take over.  Apparently, students regularly flunk tests and employees habitually lose their jobs because they couldn’t quit the PC room.

I hate to say it’s different for me, but I think it is.  I’m not a student, my responsibilities are handled before I walk in the door; I don’t start work until 2pm, and I only come here with my friends.  We sit down in a row, play games, listen to music, and hang out.  It’s a smoker-friendly cafe and if we weren't here than we’d be somewhere else, doing the same thing.  It just so happens that here we have stupidly-fast Internet, the option to play games, and cheap coffee.  I know it’s easy for social activities to evolve into personal addictions, but I firmly believe that this is different: my PC room exploits are a phase and this too will pass like the kimbob phase and the jjimjilbang phase.

I’m not at the PC room every day, but when me and the boys show up it’s always a late night.  I know the side effects, the costs, and the scary stories.  The PC room is like anything that a person might do with his friends, but the mere act of doing it borders on “in control” and “being controlled”.  A weaker person could get sucked away into cyberspace, but I’m really not good enough at any video games to commit to playing much longer than my patience will allow.  Like I’ve said, it’s hard to say no to a deal as good as this, it’s much easier to say 네.

The Heartbreak of the Muscle

When we last left our superheroes they were departing from a bus stop.  The EWHA-3 was protecting Stormy and a melodramatic end left the superheroes bickering.  Since then, the EWHA-3’s larger-than-life member, Muscle, had experienced heartbreak: His girlfriend surprised everyone and turned out to be an undercover agent for Team Avalon.  She infiltrated the EWHA-3’s small network and shattered the heart of our beloved Muscle.  Will his misfortune mean disaster for the rest of the group?  This episode begins with a grim text message sent through vastness of cyberspace…

The EWHA-3 - EPISODE 2 - The Muscle

SHE RIPPED MUSCLE’S F#CKIN HEART OUT AND DESTROYED MUSCLE’S HOUSE.  NEED HELP.  BRING MCDONALDS.

This was the text message that Brain received from Muscle.  It was 10am and Brain had only been asleep for three hours.  His mouth was a scratchy sandpaper sandwich; he skipped the more-than-necessary shower and took a cab to buy McDonalds.  He told the driver, “keep the meter running,” but the driver didn’t speak English so when Brain returned the cab was gone.  Clambering into another cab, muttering curses and Muscle’s address, Brain sifted through his blacked-out evening prior: It had really been one of “those nights” and now it was turning into one of those mornings.  When Brain arrived at Muscle’s apartment the door was unlocked and Brain let himself in.  Upon entering, Brain’s expression changed from concern to shock: his mouth and pupils widened as he surveyed the damage.

                Muscle was a small depressed island in a sea of angry filth: spilled boxes of cereal, crunched bits of cereal on the floor, bits of rice in stuck in cracks and crevices, a 36” LCD television idle on the floor, an overturned table, bed sheets and shards of glass strewn across the room, chopsticks and perilous knives ripped from the drawer now on the ground, the silhouettes and specters of violence.  The refrigerator in the kitchen was on its side, still plugged in, leaking chocolate ice cream.  Muscle was brooding in the center of it all, sitting in his red leather chair heart-broken.

                Only four hours had passed since Muscle’s girlfriend left the apartment that she savagely ruined.  Muscle, with all his might, could do nothing as his drunken love tossed his possessions onto the ground, scratched his face, and shrieked at him menacingly.  He begged her, “please stop!  You’re drunk—please calm down.  I love you.”  But, she continued to rage.  Eventually, his girlfriend’s anger waned allowing for a moment of sober clarity, a smirk, and Muscle wondered what was happening.  She smoked a cigarette then left Muscle in quiet horror.  Hiccupping, as she stepped through the kitchen, she mentioned something about spying for Avalon.  Muscle couldn’t remember everything exactly, he was in shock, but he remembered her sadistic laugh as she closed the door and disappeared.  Team Avalon had planted a sleeper cell, a spy, in the midst of the EWHA-3: she sabotaged the strongest member, Muscle, and left him a distraught wreck.

                “She went crazy after we left the bar last night,” said Muscle.

                Last night, Muscle was with his girlfriend, drinking substantially—which was normal—but, only in hindsight could Muscle see that alcohol was the spy’s instrument of manipulation.  Muscle’s girlfriend wanted to drink constantly, rapidly, and Muscle recognized this pattern, but ignored it.  (He could handle his liquor, but she was beginning to show signs that she couldn’t.)  The love he felt was strong, as strong as he was, and he thought that their romance would endure.  But, last night was the perfect storm.  It left Muscle devastated, text messaging Brain for double-quarter pounders.

Brain tiptoed through Muscle’s house like it was a mine field and sat on Muscle’s bed.  McDonald’s changed hands and both superheroes threw their wrappers on the ground.  They ate quietly.  Brain didn’t remember how last night led to this, he ate voraciously.

                “You’re destroying that burger,” said Muscle.  Brain looked down at the rest of his quarter pounder: he was nearly finished while Muscle had half a burger still.  Brain was a bear waking from hibernation, eating like a glutton.  He looked up at Muscle and both superheroes smiled meekly at each other.

                “I’m starved and hungover…  Muscle, what happened last night?” and together they pieced together the doomed evening.

                It all began and ended at a dive bar: The Wild Card was on a lucky streak while playing pool.  He hadn’t missed a shot for half-an-hour.  Brain was a mess, drinking soju alone and sleeping on a table.  Muscle showed up with his girlfriend, both had drunk 2 bottles of soju each.  They tried to revive Brain and get The Wild Card to join them.  However, Brain was out of commission and The Wild Card had left the bar.  (The Wild Card had a tendency to ride his lucky streaks wherever they took him; his disappearance was not mysterious, but expected.)

                So they had the beginning, but neither hero could recall what caused such a fury at the bar and such an epic finale.  Muscle remembered smashed soju bottles, pieces of green Jinro on the floor, slaps on the cheek, bear paws to the temple, getting 86’d, and a long walk home.  Muscle explained that when he got home he was ambushed by his love-turn-spy.  Muscle grew sullen.  He had scratches on his neck.  Muscle’s voice was shaky.  He still hadn’t told Brain that she was a spy.

                “Muscle thought she had sobered up and was ready to talk, so Muscle let her in,” he began.  “She went crazy, destroyed Muscle’s house, and left smiling, laughing!  Muscle let her in Muscle’s heart and she plucked it right out, like a pepperoni off a pizza.  Worst part about it, Brain, Muscle never saw it coming.”

The giant put his face in his hands,

“Muscle feels so weak,” he said.

“Muscle’s the strongest guy around, but Muscle feels like the way his apartment looks: dirty…like trash.”

Brain surveyed the room again, it was indeed a mess, and at that moment Muscle did embody his home: they were both disasters.  Muscle had let someone into his inner-most chamber, his heart, and was deceived.  His heart ached, he felt alone, but the Brain put his hand on Muscle’s shoulder.

“You know,” he started, “I’m not really good with these kinds of things…women and heartbreak—I kinda wish the Wild Card was here—he’s better with this kind of stuff.  But…um…look…it’s over with.  You fell in love, that was genuine, and no one can take that from you.  In fact, besides your apartment, you’re alright, except a couple of scratches on your face and neck—we can clean this up too, no problem—besides, who knows, if it wasn’t for her being drunk she might have really tried to hurt you.  Perhaps, you know, this is a blessing in disguise?”

Muscle looked at Brain deeply.  It was a moving speech, Muscle thought, but just a speech.  Nothing could spare Muscle the heartbreak or shame he was experiencing.  Brain still didn’t know that she was a spy; Muscle had to tell him:

“She was an agent, Brain,” said Muscle bluntly, “for Avalon.  She lied to Muscle and spied on us.”

Brain went silent and the news seemed to echo throughout the room.  Brain went to the bathroom and returned to sitting on the bed.  Muscle didn’t move from his chair; his palms, on his chin, held up his head.

“I shoulda seen it coming,” said Brain and he sighed.  “I think about everything, but I never considered her as a spy.”

“Muscle either.”

“I see it now, I get it: They couldn’t beat you up so they got a girl to beat you down and now we’re here in a sad mess.  We could get ambushed at any moment and we’d be helpless: I’m hungover and you’re heartbroken.  We’re worthless.  I’m not drinking ever again—where’s The Wild Card?”

And with serendipitous timing, Brain’s cell phone vibrated with a text message from The Wild Card.

NEED 2 MEET-KNOW BOUT THE SPY-GOT A INSIDE GUY WHO GAVE ME A HEADS UP-FIND MUSCLE-GET MACDONALDS-CALL U IN 1 HOUR

                Brain relayed the text message to Muscle and they both sat in a quiet stupor.  The absent Wild Card had pursued a lead and now his fellow superheroes felt even more pathetic.  They wouldn't have to catch The Wild Card up to speed because he already knew (somehow), yet here they were sitting feeling sorry for themselves.  That wouldn’t last long though,

“Well,” said Brain and he stood up, “I guess we just wait for The Wild Card…might as well clean up.”

                So, Brain and Muscle returned the chaos to tranquility and left the apartment looking as it usually did: a mostly tidy home for a giant man.  They each felt a little better as they cleaned, but they still were shaken.  No amount of planning could have prepared the EWHA-3 for this, especially Muscle.  As the giant man and his small ally swept and wiped away the residue from last night that old feeling of harmony was repairing Muscle’s bruised heart slowly.  Muscle felt relieved because he knew that even though he had been hoodwinked, he had acted genuinely: He had loved truly and he had friends that would be there for him with encouragement, a lead, and a greasy burger.  He could contain his heartbreak and sublimate that anger for wrath.  Team Avalon had pissed off Muscle and now he was biding his time until he could reciprocate: Muscle was going to seriously mess up someone else’s house.

Pardon the Interruption

The Little Wolf Express has been quiet, less announcements from your conductor.   Let me give you some perspective as to why I’ve been so quiet…

In February 2011 I became the Head Teacher at my academy; within 6 months of working as a regular teacher I was promoted.  That’s awesome, but it meant that I had new responsibilities.  I was in charge of training new teachers, organizing curriculum, and I committed myself to whatever things my academy would need.  At first, this meant fewer classes and training the new teachers, Beatrice & Wayne; I wasn’t bogged down with work, but this changed.  Soon I was staying for meetings that lasted until 1am, becoming emcee of speech contests, and translating culture daily.

I felt moments of intense frustration and impatience with this new position.  All the ideas I had, I shared, and then I saw them not come to fruition.  The system we have at our academy is functioning, but not at its full potential.  There is so much bureaucratic jargon, double-checking and triple-checking, and an over-emphasis of writing in English without reinforcing correcting errors.  At first, I was so hopeful, but I’ve lost most of the hope and realized that I can’t do everything.  There are too many bosses, too many opinions and way too many meetings that clog up the road for improvement.

The Koreans in my office have an obsession with meetings (note: my 1am meetings) and deference; while the foreign teachers have an obsession with directness, brevity of bureaucracy, and earned respect.  Of course, the two worlds collide and the resulting friction is damaging for morale: The administration and supervisors are left clueless and the foreign teachers are left grumbling, holding up the proverbial middle finger.  But, have no fear because here I come to grease the wheels and wipe tushies: explaining to the Koreans how foreigners will understand decisions, explaining to the foreigners how the administrators have their hands tied, and ultimately bridging the cultural gaps that separate the bosses and the workers.  So work’s changed for me.  I’m not just a teacher anymore: I’m a cultural puzzle-solver, I feel like the oil that keeps the gears lubricated and running.

And when the jigsaw of work seems too confusing and incongruous, my private life and love erupts like an untimely volcano.  Relationships end, new ones form, and I’m pulled like the racked man between obligations and opportunity.  On the one hand, I have my obligations (essays, diaries, and other commitments); and on the other hand, I have my friends, my girlfriend, and the limitless opportunities of enjoyment that they offer.  Often, I find myself after work (if I haven’t stayed at the office until 1 or 2am) exhausted or just wanting the immediate entertainment of music or television.  On the weekends, I have a Korean class and the savory moments off the clock; when does Billy write?

Yesterday it was humid outside and I smelt that familiar odor of moisture, distant sewage, and fish that first welcomed me to Korea.  I felt a twinge of nostalgia from when I first smelt that unique miasma that hovers around my apartment complex.  I thought, it’s warming up.  I can feel the humidity returning.  I’m leaving soon.  I’ll start writing more, for everyone, but especially for myself.  To record these moments and let you all know that the Little Wolf Express is still chugging.

86 Steps

Cold Korean mornings when I was dozing, wrapped in warm comforter, were met with a groan and a struggle.  Eventually, I would leave my apartment and walk to work (less than a mile’s worth of footsteps).  The last stretch of my walk to work is over a pedestrian bridge that crosses a busy four-lane street.  The pedestrian bridge is 5 meters high, blue, and contains 86 steps: 43 up, 43 down.  I don’t mind this walk, the 86 steps included, or the idea of a pedestrian bridge interrupting my “walking flow”; but, occasionally, when the streets are empty or it’s late in the evening, I will jay-walk the street and skip the pedestrian bridge entirely.  It’s illegal, but a lot of people do it; I had one co-worker, Teddy, who never used the pedestrian bridge.  He’d jay-walk in the heaviest of traffic.  He didn’t like the inconvenience of the pedestrian bridge.

I know the pedestrian bridge has 86 steps because I counted during the winter.  The roads, sidewalks, roofs, streets—everything—was icy.  More than once I tumbled to the ground because of walking on the ice and I started to fret over busted ankles and thrown backs.  When the pedestrian bridge got slick it was scary to walk on: the steps were granite, extremely slippery, and I imagined that a fall here would be crippling.  So, I took the pedestrian bridge slow: Calculating every movement, breathing and balancing, and eventually counting the steps I crossed until I reached the other side.  I wanted to know what I was up against—how many potentially ill-trodden steps separated me from work?  The answer was 86.  Every day I had 86 steps that I needed to take before I reached my goal.

On January 2^nd, 2011, I woke up in the late afternoon because I stayed out until 7am for New Years.  I groggily logged onto to Skype to wish my family a Happy New Year, but the New Year started off poorly: On New Year’s Eve, in California, my dad was rushed to the hospital and an MRI revealed that he had a subdural hematoma.  For weeks at work I was dismal and unanimated because I was waiting for my dad to have brain surgery.  Thankfully, relieving the pressure of a subdural hematoma is a “simple operation” for neurologists these days and my dad regained his health.  Today he’s fine.  While I waited for the calm of post-operation good news, I’d mount those 86 steps everyday and walk to work worrying about my dad.  Actually, I couldn’t get the 86 steps out of my head.  I started to think and dream of the 86 steps: I hate walking over the pedestrian bridge, it’s such a struggle, such a pain, I don’t want to do it—but I have to do it!  I figured it out eventually, I was obsessed with the obstacle that the 86 steps embodied.

 Everyone faces their own version of the “86 steps” and I think that’s what made me obsess about it: The “86 steps” idea was applicable to everyone.  Whether it’s the icy walk to work, or brain surgery, obstacles separate us from the goals we seek.  And, regardless of what our aim is, there will always be 86 steps—or something like it—that separate us from the end; it’s how we approach and deal with these impediments.  Sometimes we can bypass what’s in our way because no one’s looking or because “everyone else is doing it—so it’s okay.”  Teddy may have jay-walked every day, but it didn’t remove the pedestrian bridge and he was lucky that he was never hit by a car.  We might cut the corner today, but the 86 steps will be waiting for us tomorrow.

As my dad went through rehabilitation I could only think about the 86 steps that he faced.  I hoped that he patiently took each step of his rehabilitation the way I did during those cold mornings crossing the pedestrian bridge: Calculating every movement, breathing and balancing, and eventually counting the steps he crossed until he reached his goal.  May all my readers do the same as they cross the many pedestrian bridges of life that separate them from their their goals.

The Anguish of the Brain

Here's is some fiction that I've been working on for some time--it's the first in a line of short fiction pieces I hope to expand on: a mysterious team of English teachers turned superheroes.

The EWHA-3 - EPISODE 1 - The Brain

The EWHA-3 (comprised of the ‘The Brain,’ ‘The Muscle,’ and ‘The Wild Card’) wait at a bus stop.  A beautiful girl is with them.  The EWHA-3 wants to put her safely on bus from Suwon (their base of operations) to Seoul (the girl’s home); it’s close to midnight.  Wild Card comforts the girl (her name is Stormy) while his eyes scan the street, waiting for a bus to arrive.  Stormy clutches Wild Card like flood victim in a deluge.  She smirks because deep down she loves this attention and the thrill.  The Muscle brandishes his behemoth muscles wishing enemies would approach.  The Brain is the only one sitting on the bench of the bus stop.  He is deep in thought, frowning.  Dread, apprehension, and paranoia collide…his thoughts consume him…  The Brain began to brew upon the events at hand:

The evening is cool in Suwon, but I know it will warm up soon.  Despite the mild weather, a sixth sense inclines me to believe that we’re due for a fight…great, my glasses are dirty.  I need to clean these in case we’re ambushed.   I take the glasses of my face, use my shirt to clean them, and smear the grease and eyelashes into the frames.  I meant to clean my glasses this morning, but I forgot—‘the Brain’ forgot…I can’t believe it…why am I the Brain if I can’t even remember to clean off my damn glasses?

The three of us used to be normal men—English teachers—but the Sunny One’s interrupted our normal lives as soon as we arrived in South Korea.  We were destined to become the EWHA-3.  We received our roles, The Brain, the Muscle, and the Wild Card, then, without question, shouldered the burden of the superhero.  Suwon needed protection: Team Avalon was making wanton advances, and we were the last hope of the Sunny Ones—those orbital entities that bestowed upon us our remarkable powers and abilities.

My mind swelled while other muscles atrophied and I took on my now emaciate appearance, I am the Brain.  I’m smart, I’m on the brink of telekinesis, but I’m too lazy to “break through” that cosmic barrier.  The eponymous Muscle was gifted with enormous muscles and impenetrable skin: he could shield himself from bullets, he could repel oncoming cars with his bare chest—he was the brawler that no normal man was matched for; however, his swelling muscles did diminish his articulation abilities and he was reduced to speaking in the 3^rd person…permanently.  The Wild Card didn’t receive any physical change, but some things did change for him: he started winning more at poker, at Monopoly—at everything!  Something of a supreme lucky streak emerged.  He took vainly and although he wouldn’t admit it, he’s ego swelled.  More than Muscle or I, he exuded a “success” pheromone that enchanted women, especially the beautiful ones; it was because of that charm that Stormy desperately clung to Wild Card now.

Am I jealous of the Wild Card?  Am I jealous that the women, like Stormy, flock to him and I’m just a sideshow freak, like Muscle?  I look over at Muscle, he looks deeply down the road, perhaps having my exact thought, but my wonder is interrupted as the 707 bus headlights appear.

“Bus,” grumbles Muscle.

“Thank god!” mutters Wild Card.

“I thought we missed the last bus,” says Stormy.  “Good thing I didn’t.”

Stormy’s arms are wrapped around Wild Card.  I adjust my glasses.  She stares into his turned face, his cheek, and I know what she’s thinking: She’s thinking that she’s only worth something in the presence of the Wild Card.  When she gets on that bus, she’s just somebody else on the bus, she’s not Wild Card’s girl anymore.  Come over, wrap your arms around me—The Brain—I can please you.  I can entertain you, make you laugh, protect you, I can do all the things that you want.  Wild Card impatiently looks at the bus; he knows he should have put Stormy on an earlier bus.  Having her around is a liability.  All the women he has around are a liability or become boring for him.  The bus approaches, I can feel the vibrations.  When I turn around I realize that the bus has been at a stop light for some time and the vibrations I’m feeling are from Muscle walking around.  He’s a walking earthquake.  Is he jealous like I am?  Does he wish that women flocked to him like they did for Wild Card?

I’m engrossed in my thoughts when I should be strategizing, preparing—that’s my job after all.  I’m the one analyzing environments, wind currents, cultural implications, exchange rates, relevant historical details, and then spinning it all to benefit the EWHA-3—that’s my job.  I do those things.  When there’s a problem, they just say, “Brain, what do we do?” and I figure it out.  “BRAIN!  We’re outnumbered, the odds are against us, how can we survive this?”  And in a second, I figure it out.  That’s my job…that’s it: I’m the brain, he’s the muscle, and he’s the luck.  That’s the order of things, it’s inflexible.

The 707 bus pulls up in front of me and it gently comes to a halt.  But, it’s not the 707 bus, it’s the 3003 bus.  It’s not Stormy’s bus.

“Muscle thinks this is not Stormy’s bus.”

Wild Card strikes his forehead, swears, and Stormy’s eyes are glued to him.  She’s looking for any emotional indicators, but Wild Card is an enigma…you can’t read his face.

“Can I stay at your house one more night, Wild Card?” pleads Stormy.  “I missed my bus, I can leave in the morning.”

“I guess you have to,” says Wild Card with feigned regret.  He doesn’t really mind the warm body he’ll have in his bed, but she’s still an inconvenience, a liability.

You can stay with me Stormy.  I won’t be like him.  I’ll show interest, and listen to you, and give you real advice to help you.  I would never put you on a bus home—I’d always see you to your doorstep or make you stay with me.

Without saying anything, Muscle has left.  I can tell what he’s thinking: this isn’t my problem anymore.  Someone should have figured out that the bus coming toward us was the 3003 bus and the not the 707 bus.  I stare in the direction of the echoing footsteps when Wild Card calls out to me,

“Brain, why didn’t you know that this bus was the 3003?”

Why didn’t I know?  I know all the details.  Why doesn’t Stormy just come with me then, Wild Card, I’m not inconvenienced by her.  I want to be by her.  I want her to stay…with me.

And then, without forethought, caught totally off-guard, ambushed, I say,

“I don’t read Korean, Wild Card, how can I know the times of busses if I don’t read Korean?  I thought Stormy knew Korean, she should have been able to read the times.”

The 3003 bus departs with a belch of exhaust and Stormy glares at me.  I can tell she thinks that I’m useless and conniving.  Why did I throw her under the bus like that?  In a moment, Stormy turns with Wild Card and they walk away.  I’m left alone sitting, at the bus stop, it’s past midnight.  I adjust my glasses then take them off and smudge them again.  I wait for the 707 bus that never comes.  I sit and think about the way things have changed until the sun comes up, I’m not concerned about anyone’s safety anymore.  No one’ll come and fight the Brain by himself.  There’s no fight there.  I defeated myself today—no, the inflexible order of things defeated me today.  The rigidity, the frankness, the inequality…it’s just so damn hard to wrap my brain around sometimes.

The Brain walks home alone, but the streets of Suwon are safe another day because of his lone walk.  No one will dare attack the Brain alone—why would they?  It’s not even a fight, because it’s just the Brain.  There’s no Muscle, no Wild Card, there’s no EWHA-3.  But, by himself, the Brain exudes an atmosphere of self-torment and painful anxiety; no one need attack him because he’s attacking himself: self-sabotage.  Without knowing it, he relies on Muscle and Wild Card to propel himself forward, to lead the group, and not lead himself into a mired existence.  The same order of things that devastates him motivates him and keeps him going.

Until next time…

Next time, I'll introduce the muscle or the wild card, not sure which yet.  This piece was more melodramatic than I wanted, but the Brain really came to life when I was writing.  I imagine the EWHA-3 as a comic superhero team, so expect some action next time.

February in Itaewon

While I worked in Garden Grove, CA, I lived in Newport Beach for a year.  Newport was not kind: At least three times I was insulted because I was Jewish, I saw a friend assaulted (and need facial reconstructive surgery after), I had a roommate who was robbed at gunpoint, and the archetypal “bro” jostled me at every bar I visited.  Newport was the kind of place where trouble was easily found, a lot like Itaewon actually.  In February 2011, I lived in Itaewon, a district of Seoul, and I saw the grittiness of Newport reflected during that month.  Itaewon is a tough area of Seoul: The U.S. army base is stationed there and droves of the soldiers prowl the streets on the weekends, racial friction (between Americans, Koreans, Arabs, Filipinos and Nigerians) has caused much violence, and prostitution is a notorious pillar of the city’s underbelly.  However, even in the presence of some nefarious elements, I enjoyed my month in Itaewon as I enjoyed my year in Newport.  My tales from Itaewon begin with Seolnal.  (Seolnal marks the lunar New Year: The white tiger of last year recedes and the rabbit replaces it.  Seolnal was on February 3^rd.)

For Seolnal and for the rest of February I shared an apartment with a friend, Otto, in Itaewon.  The apartment was situated north of the Crown Hotel and down one of Itaewon’s many alleys.  Beneath our apartment was Manila Bar, a mostly Filipino bar, which was owned by our neighbors and served frosty San Miguel.  Manila Bar was a quiet dive, off the beaten path, but beneath Manila Bar was Venue.  Venue was a lounge-type club that buzzed and vibrated the floor of our apartment.  Venue attracted a hipster crowd that was absent of the aggressive soldier-type; it was the kind of place where I could gorilla clap without disturbing the vibe.  On Seolnal we went to Manila Bar and met a group of fellow English teachers; they took us on a wild adventure: Up “Hooker Hill” (no hookers encountered), into a dive bar called Carmen, and (around 7AM) Otto and I enjoyed late night/early morning double-quarter pounders. 

Itaewon has a Dr. Jekyll & Mr. Hyde feel to it.  At night, there is alcohol, friction, and so many women.  The women flocked to Itaewon and they were gorgeous.  The moon in the sky meant that the high heels were donned, the short skirts were adjusted, and groups of girls giggled throughout streets.  As the evening turned into the early morning the craziness of Itaewon accelerated: random hollering, inebriated yelling, dry heaving, pools of vomit, prostitutes, military police, arguments bordering on fist fights, occasional glass shattering, drunken singing, and the constant chatter of taxis and cars.  During the day, Itaewon was different though: The shops were all open, the salesman were outside offering “handmade leather vests”, the smells of exotic foods everywhere, and in the distance a vision of North Seoul Tower.  Itaewon was actually a family town during the day!  In my opinion, the best part of my time in Itaewon was treating myself to meals that I hadn’t had in a while: a burrito from Taco Bell, of course McDonald’s (breakfast and burgers), and a 12-inch Tuna on wheat from Subway.  Most of my meals though were not from American fast food chains.  I was eating Indian, Irish, Italian, French, Brazilian, Moroccan, and, of course, Korean food…I gained a couple pounds during February, but it was a savory gain.

While one must be careful in this city at night, it still had beauty to offer.  My advice: Take a walk, before the sun goes down, and see this city for what it is and not just the avenue of foreign shops and restaurants.  A sunset on one of Itaewon’s hills, above the chaos and looking at North Seoul Tower, is one of a kind.  If Itaewon was to resemble a person it would be a loud, threatening, muscular, cheap-beer drinking dude wearing Nikes.  (I swear I saw guys like that in Newport all over the place.)  Although Itaewon is rough around the edges, there are moments to be enjoyed there.

The Cell Phone Debacle

                When I came to Korea, I didn’t have a cell phone and not having a cell phone was like going on summer vacation: at first, I couldn’t get used to it then I got used to it, and I started to enjoy it.  I had phantom vibrations for weeks and when I rushed an eager palm to my pocket I would remember, Oh wait…I don’t have a cell phone anymore.  For a time I was complacent and enjoyed the freedom from phone calls and text messages; but, like the closing of summer, that complacency was coming to an end.  Soon I was washing phone numbers on bar napkins that I would keep in my pocket and forget about, I was making new friends and unable to coordinate lunch…I was realizing how important a cell phone was going to be in Korea.  I dreaded the realization, but I knew: I needed a cell phone.
                One of the teachers I replaced gave me his pre-paid phone, and I wanted to put more money on it, but that was a stressful and unsuccessful pursuit.  No amount of times, with cash in hand, was I able to register the phone to my name at the cell phone store.  Sure, there was a language barrier between me and the guys behind the counter, but I was waving green ₩10,000 bills in the their face and giving unscrupulous stares—Just put the minutes on the phone and I’m outta here!  No more foreigner in your store, c’mon, do it!  I want to give you money—take my money—put the minutes on the phone.

                (NOTE: Foreigners in Korea have to use pre-paid phones, in general, because their visas don’t allow them to stay for more than a year and cell phone contracts are at least a year; more often than not, a couple years.  E2 visas limit the person to 12 ½ months; as a result, foreigners teaching English don’t often get cell phone contracts or credit cards.)

                Three failed attempts frustrated me and I felt cursed.  I was furious and shamed, so I asked a co-worker, Hank, to help me.  We went to a different shop (which was probably for the best because I left the original shop mumbling obscenities and ruthlessly starred at the employees any time I passed by) and the same problem persisted: they couldn’t put money on the phone because the last person who had the phone did not switch the phone to my name before they left—now the phone was useless.  (Currently, the same phone is a paper weight in my room.  It’s still useless.)  I knew that I would eventually get a phone, but until I had one I felt like I was the animal at the zoo: I could look out through the bars, but that was it.  I was totally restricted.

***

                There is an asterisk to this story because I wasn’t totally without a working cell phone…  At some point, as I battled with the staff at the cell phone store, a friend of mine, Denise, gave me her old cell phone.  It was a little nicer than the phone I had, but it was bright pink.  Hell no, I thought, I’m not about to start using a pink cell phone.  Denise reminded me that I could change the pink cover, but I decided to waste my time…

When I hit rock bottom of my cell phone withdrawal, I e-mailed Denise and got the pink cell phone working.  Actually, Denise did all the talking, I sat there looking stupid and defeated, but in the end I had a working cell phone.  Sure, it’s pink—it’s still pink, I should say, I haven’t changed the pink cover (I doubt I will)—but the phone works.  Every once in a while some jerk in a bar makes a comment and I say to them, “whatever, I’m not from around here, someone was nice to me and they gave me their old cell phone, I can live with pink”.  My students at the English academy laugh at me and ask if I’m gay.

 “I’m not gay,” I tell them, “I have many girls’ numbers in this phone,” at which point I defiantly close my phone and the cover twinkles with shining lights.

My dad told me once, “A car is for getting from point A to point B, that’s it,” and I apply the same logic to cell phones: “A cell phone is for making calls, that’s it.”  Whether it’s sparkly, manly, old, or expensive, all that matters is that I can make a phone call or send a text message.  All things considered, I can’t complain about my pink phone… except that my ringtone is still Ke$ha’s “Tik Tok”…yeah, I’m not gonna change that either.

Surviving Kompasu

                I’ve lived through earthquakes, college finals, soul-crushing food poisoning, respiratory infections,  asthma attacks, torrential thunder storms, turbulence on airplanes, severe drunken blackouts, the wrath of an angry woman and even the blighted drive from San Jose to Santa Cruz on Highway 17—but, until I came to Korea, I had never survived a typhoon…and, since I’m still writing this blog, I clearly survived typhoon Kompasu and can now safely add that disaster to the list of things I’ve survived.

                In early September, it was starting to cool in Korea: August had been unbearably hot and humid, so I was grateful for the cooling that followed.  However, one day, during a lunch break, I was sitting in a restaurant eating some buckwheat noodles when a downpour began and I, without an umbrella, was stunned.  I should have expected the chance of rain with such humid weather: I’d been to the East Coast and experienced flash showers.  Little did I know that this moisture in the air, evident in the sudden downpour, was a precursor to typhoon season.

                In the beginning of typhoon season, I moved into my apartment (which was closer to my school and a blessing compared to the love motel).  The apartment had a kitchen, a laundry room, a bathroom, and a bedroom with two huge windows.  There were no curtains, so my nude yoga was put on pause, but I liked having such big windows: they opened my room up and they served as a natural alarm clock, while the alternative—no windows—was a dismal prospect.  So I stayed clothed more often, opened my windows for fresh air, and September continued.

                One evening in September I was drifting to sleep and suddenly I heard fierce wind outside my window.  I got out of bed, opened the window, and saw my neighbors clothesline whip violently in the air.  Trash and leaves danced like ghosts in the night while the wind moaned at me.  I immediately closed my window, got into bed, and pulled the covers over my head.  I felt like one of the little pigs threatened by a vicious enemy outside and I prayed for my house NOT to get blown down.

                The next day at work I had to express my surprise at the wind to my co-workers: had anyone heard or felt that extreme wind last night—I mean, my god, I thought my windows were going to get blown in!  It felt like a hurricane or something.  “Well Billy, this is typhoon season…duh!” that was the response at work.  “And, oh yeah, by the way, there’s a typhoon, Kompasu [Japanese for the archaic compass used to draw circles] coming up through Japan…should be here by tomorrow.”  Squealing with fear, this little piggy ran all the way back to his apartment, hoping big bad Kompasu would not blow his home down.

                It was pouring rain the day Kompasu arrived.  I felt like one of those old ladies from Mary Poppins when I was walking home—honestly, I could have been blown away the winds were that strong.  Despite the rain and developing thunder there was an eerie calm before the storm—I know it’s cliché, but it was eerily calm.  I had dinner, I had electricity (the storm hadn’t blown it out,) so I figured the worst had passed and I got into bed.  That’s a typhoon, I thought incredulously, a bunch of rain, some thunder, and a strong breeze?  I’ve had bowel movements worse than that.  I closed my eyes and pulled the blankets over me thinking that the Korean typhoon was going to pass Suwon calmly.

                Always when I am sure of something though, my expectations are revealed to be unfounded:  the pitter-patter of the rain turned into jack hammering, the wind howled like a big bad wolf, and it huffed, puffed, and tried it’s hardest to blow my windows in.  The panes vibrated, my bathroom door quivered, and I was sure that the windows were going to explode.  I was unsure of this kind of weather—this is the kind of weather that kills people, I fretted, this kind of weather swallows people up and spits them out like a chicken bone.   In good Billy fashion, I imagined the most diabolical and menacing hurricane outside my window and then imagined it destroying my new home, shattering my curtain-less windows, and wrecking Suwon.  Kompasu had arrived and I had severely misjudged it.

                The wind persisted, the rain eventually let up though, and I rationalized that if the typhoon was going to be as bad as I was dreading than my school would have warned me.  The prospect of work the next day overwhelmed my inklings to worry so I put in some earplugs (because the wind was that loud) and went to bed.  I remember my last though being: well, if I’m going to die by a typhoon, might as well be relaxed because it’s unavoidable.

                My apartment was still standing the next day.  I prepared for work, went outside and then realized that Kompasu did have its way with Korea: In Suwon, large branches had been ripped from their trees (while there were some incidents of uprooted trees), glass windows were shattered, banners were stripped from their posts, and bits of refuse had been strewn throughout the city.  In Seoul, the damage was much worse and it had halted the city’s subways.  In general, the damage was severe in the countryside, and the clean up afterwards took weeks.

                Now on my list of things I’ve survived is ‘typhoon’.  I was scared during the typhoon, but compared to how scared I’ve been during other calamites I’ve lived through I would rank it underneath an earthquake and underneath an asthma attack—staying indoors diminishes most of the effects of a typhoon, while staying indoors doesn’t do anything for an earthquake or an asthma attack.  If an earthquake is like that huge rolling boulder from Raiders of the Lost Ark and an asthma attack is like snorkeling with a straw than the typhoon, Kompasu, was like the big bad wolf that couldn’t blow my apartment building down and decided to make a mess instead.

                Typhoon warning, folks?  No worries: Stay inside, put some earplugs in, and wait it out.

A Budget

                In college I never had a budget.  I checked my bank account online, regularly, and then once the window was closed I pulled money out of ATMS, swiped my gold card, and used my VISA with discretion.  I was young, dumb, and running on plastic; I never went broke, but there were certainly moments where I thought, damn, I’m going to be eating at home for the rest of this month.  Naturally, after that startling realization, I would walk to the grocery store—convinced I was only getting the essentials for a week or two of home eating—and, almost always, I left the grocery store with food that I would eventually throw away next week.  The broccoli would get soft and brown, the milk got thick and stinky, and I devolved into a “Dollar Menu Junkie”…  Currently the “Dollar Menu Junkie” has been rehabilitated (or is merely hibernating), but the risk of blowing all my money on delicious yet unhealthy food is still a threat in Korea. 

                During my first 2 months in Korea, August and September, I was eating out for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.  Once I moved into my apartment I was able to keep fresh food so I cooked on my own more and labored to perfect the art of ramen.  But, having my own apartment with a fridge couldn’t curb those lunch trips to Lotteria or Egg Papa; I worked late and sometimes it was just easier to stop in at a local eatery (it’s called Happy Kimbob) and I’d let those two nice ajumma cook my ramen instead.  Plus, there was a whole new nightlife that I was getting used to: bars and clubs that needed exploration.  And it’s funny too, because beer is so cheap (soju is cheaper than water), but after a couple of beers, a couple of shots, a couple of hours—HOLY SH!T, how did this bill get so big?  I was going to bankrupt my Korean adventure before I’d been here for 3 months!  Otto and I brainstormed, we were in the same position, and we both realized that the simplest and most practical solution was a budget.

                After my conversation with Otto I started organizing columns and rows, setting up ‘sumproduct’ functions, and projected monthly budgets.  On one side of my budget, I projected what I was going to spend each month; in the middle of the budget, I kept track of how much money I had in all of my accounts (domestic and back in the US); and the largest section of my budget was dedicated to recording each purchase: I set up different micro-budgets like FOOD, DRY CLEANING, UPKEEP, and an ETC group.  (ETC is where I gather all the greasy receipts from my nights out.)  Everything was linked with different unique functions to calculate my micro-budgets, my monthly budget, and the total left on my South Korean debit account.  It took a while to get used to the budget, keeping receipts and writing down how much cheese ramen cost me for dinner, but it’s been a remarkable asset for me while I’ve been abroad.  I know when I’m spending like a New Jersey housewife and I know when my finances allow me an extra cuba libre. 

                If you are planning to go abroad than I recommend making a budget for yourself.  Often, when travelling, we don’t realize the value of the currency in our hand and we spend swiftly.  Maybe you’re like me and the money in your pocket burns a hole through your jeans and before you know it you’re down to half with what you started with—if that’s the case, start a budget.  Take an Excel class or just get ballsy and go for it (honestly, Excel isn’t that confusing and the internet is loaded with tutorials and FAQs).  Set a goal of how much you’ll spend and try not to go over, and if you do, it’s okay, just try harder next time and stay committed.  Have self-control and don’t let your money run you, run your money.  It’s never too late to start a budget and it’s sad to look back, broke, and think about how you could have used some financial advice, but now you have no finances to advise.  Whether you’re the “dollar menu junkie” or the Iron Chef of ramen, you owe it to yourself to be financially responsible…don’t go broke abroad…start a budget.

4 months felt like 20 minutes

Month 1: August

I felt like a goldfish in a bag with dunked in a new tank with new water—I was adjusting: temperatures, surroundings, everything was going to be new.  At first, the weather in Korea made me suffer and I despised the “night neck sweats”, sweating under my chin and my growing stubble annoying me when I tried to sleep.  Eventually I moved into my apartment and even that took getting used to: there was no bathtub, all my clothes would hang dry, and now I had a fridge which meant figuring out a regular diet/eating routine.  I was constantly getting lost.

My mind was freshly imprinting new landmarks, streets, and indicators: turn left here to get to work, take this street to get to Otto’s house, go this way—it’s a shortcut.  I was constantly meeting new people, new students, administrators, and I knew no Korean.  Within the first month I learned “thank you,” “hello,” “goodbye,” and “I want…”  I was a simpleton in a complex land of deference and unfamiliar smells.

Without resisting I dove into the Korean food, mouth open, and the only food I refused to eat was raw steak—no way.  Raw fish, sure; kimchi, down; sea snails, bring it on—but I can’t do the raw meat.  My cranky bowels adjusted and I ate out constantly.  Money was tight, I hadn’t been paid, but I operated with the hopeful notion of a soon-to-be-delivered monthly paycheck.

My closest friends, Otto and Ace, saw to it that my birthday was satisfactory and we adapted to our jobs.  Our training, turned out to be insubstantial, and I found myself desperately trying to learn the way my English academy operated.  But, I realized, that this job was no different than any other job I had had in my past: no matter how much training I might get, I am only satisfied and comfortable after  I learn the lessons for myself and actually start working.

Month 2: September

                September was cooler but it started out hot (I also started this blog in September.)  Eventually the weather became so moderate that I found the “night neck sweats” disappear and I didn’t need to use the air conditioning either.  That new goldfish feeling wore off and the grooves I had been fashioning were deepening with repetition: I knew how to walk to work confidently, I finally figured out how to get to Otto’s place, but my Korean was stymied…I hardly learned anything besides random words, cuss words, and interjections (“A-sa!” is similar to “hurray;” “I-go,” is something like “I’m pained” or “oh god;” and “hall” or “har” are something like “uuhhhh,” but not in a good way.)

                I was going out more: I found a café I liked, some restaurants that served food I liked (and I wasn’t nervous about ordering,) but Otto and Ace were definitely more independent than I was.  Perhaps it was because they were both older and well-travelled, but I didn’t try to keep up with them; I knew I had to go at my own pace and I really couldn’t match their rate of adaptation.  I was comfortable, but not settled, while they seemed to be molding to the environment perfectly.  At no point was I regretting my decision to come to Korea, but, at times, I wished I was more adaptable and knew Korean.

                My house was stagnating and I was getting desperately low on money because the soon-to-be-delivered monthly paycheck did not materialize as it should have and it became the I-promise-next-month-starts-the-full-paycheck-this-month-you-get-half-paycheck.  I perfected the art of making ramen, ate kimbop & apples for lunch, and tried to eat out as little as possible.  My co-workers were warming up to me and I was trying to figure out where I fit in at the office: of course I had my friends, Ace and Otto, but there was such a diverse spectrum of people that I found myself making numerous faux pas.  It couldn’t be helped, but I was learning.

                The English Academy lost its stress-factor and it became “the grind,” a job more or less.  I was getting used to how I was supposed to act with my students depending on their ages.  I looked forward to working with the older students, they could speak English better and I could communicate with them best, while working with younger students who didn’t understand English was difficult.  I battled this Korean mentality, which students have, of being quiet and not-speaking constantly: I encouraged my kids to participate (I gave them candy if they did.)  I danced and sang to make them smile, laugh, or look at me with that half-cocked-confused-puppy-dog face—anything to evoke some kind of emotion other than dreaded silence.

Month 3: October

                Giants baseball…Giants baseball…World Series…   What an experience?  (How about that bull pen?)  The playoffs were broadcasted on OBS (a Korean TV channel) and I would wake up in the mornings, usually 7:30am, to watch my Giants battle and eventually win the World Series.  In my pajamas I yelled like a hooligan whenever Ross, Renteria, or Uribe sent a ball over the wall.  Rest assured there was a proud Giants fan cruising the Suwon streets with the Orange & Gold SF hat and a huge smile.

                October was an incredibly emotional month for me and I was fragile in this new environment.  I couldn’t confide in my friends, we weren’t that close, and at times I was a nuisance with my incessant line-crossing, sarcasm, and dependence.  Despite this, I was still having a blast, and trying to become a stronger individual: seeking self-improvement, writing e-mails and reaching out to old friends, trying to talk less and listen more.  By the end of the month, Halloween, I was constantly reminding myself to be considerate of others and it paid off: I felt less in the hot-seat and grew closer to more of my co-workers.  I also got paid.

                October 31^st was Halloween, but hardly any of the Halloweens I remembered from home: no door-to-door trick or treating, no outrageous college parties, although there was still some dressing up.  At my English academy, we decorated the entire building in cobwebs, black paper over windows, and although it wasn’t spooky it was an attempt.  The kids loved it.  They dressed up, asked for candy, and, even though the drudgery of academy work loomed near in the future, they were happy to put paint on their faces, do the limbo, and eat some Hi-Chews.  I bought a Batman mask, which was a child’s size (surprisingly, not the second time I made this mistake: ask friends about last Halloween, my pirate outfit, and my belly.)  So, I decided to sport a gorilla mask for the rest of the Halloween festivities; I made a couple little girls cry, but this was only because I was a natural gorilla, a pro really.

The weather changed and my windbreaker at a point became too little against the big chill that came over Suwon.  Luckily there was a giant jacket in my closet, left over from the last tenant, and I donned it without hesitation—it passed the “it-smells-clean-test”.  The giant jacket saw many wild nights once it became a feature of my apparel and if the jacket could talk—I’d strangle it immediately.

Month 4: November

                I feel like a resident here, it took me 4 months to get to this point.  I know enough broken Korean to get around, I still have trouble in taxis, but I’m working on that.  Overall, November was a volatile month of apprehension, frigid weather, and the ending of my first session at the English academy.  I, finally, got to see what the entire process of teaching was like—one complete session—and I was overwhelmed when it was finished.  I just wanted to sleep at the end of November.  I wanted to hibernate like a bear: dig a hole in the snow, bury myself, and then sleep until the cold was over.  But that wouldn’t be a possibility because school would start again on December 1^st.

                Of course there was the North Korean attack on this tiny Western island, Yeonpyeong.   At first I was scared that my time in South Korea would be cut short, but based on locals’ response I realized that it was just another incident that didn’t faze them.  I tried to be unfazed as well, but family members and friends came out of the woodwork to check on me and I wasn’t as confident as I thought.  I was just as concerned as they were, maybe more, and the more we talked about it, the more nervous I got.  Eventually the whole thing blew over, people stopped bringing it up, but I felt emotionally vulnerable.

One day in the middle of November, after finishing a really long book, I came out of a coffee shop and looked up at the sky: it was snowing.  This was my first time seeing fresh snow fall from the sky.  I looked at the ground, there was no snow on it yet, and I looked back up—oh man, this is it! I thought.  This is the first snow of winter!  With what I can only describe as “the return of boyhood enthusiasm” I embarked on the funkiest James Brown steps, tongue out—catching snowflakes.  Of course it was cold, but that was 24 years in the making folks, and I got to move.

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.