Clueless in Korea

In the last two weeks while sharing with others that I will be going to Korea for one year to teach English, I have gotten a surprising response form several people. More than those that I have not received this response from.

“Korea. Wow that should be cool.  You can go and get yourself a nice Korean girl to bring back with you.”

At first, I thought this was funny, or at least an attempt to be funny.  It is not funny any more.  I do not know if the implication is that I need to go elsewhere to find women or that Korean women want American men so much it will be a breeze to acquire one, even for someone like me.  I do not know which version offends me more.

Starting with the humor directed at me, I am not going to Korea to “find me a nice one to bring home that will cook and clean for me”.  I don’t need anyone to cook or clean for me, I love doing both.  I do not need a slave.  I do not need to go elsewhere to find me a good woman, I don’t think.  I am not with a woman due to being in the wrong country or culture.  I am not with a woman for many reasons and I am offended that folks seem so convinced I need one to be happy or survive.  We do not all walk the same journey in this life, till now; mine has not included a woman to be a life partner and companion.  It is not that I do not want one; it is just not my highest priority or what has manifested.

The other theory of Korean women waiting for “American men like you to take them away from all that” is just downright gross to me.  Why do these people think Korean women are waiting around to be “saved” by American men?  We don’t seem to be doing such a great job with our own women, what makes anybody think we are such a premium that they are willing to leave their homes, family and culture just to be with an American man?  This is what I hate about being American. It is embarrassing how arrogant and egocentric we are.  To think we are the pinnacle of everybody else’s dreams and desires are so foolish and blind.  It is why a guy like George W. Bush can become President.  I wonder if we will ever accept that we are not “it” to the whole world.  In fact, many folks are disgusted in us and what we do and how we life.  At times, I am one of them.  I do not need to save any Korean woman or any woman from her world.  I do not posses any magical powers that any other man does not posses, especially not just being born in the USA as the sole characteristic that makes me a good catch.

I am offended, deeply.  One of the reasons I wanted to spend a year out of the country in a culture drastically different that the one I have lived my whole life is to se the world through a different set of lens.  A lens that does not see me or us as the center.  A world where we trumps me.  A world where family and community take precedent over personal ambition and goals.  A world where it is not assumed that I will always know what is best for everyone else because it worked for me, or at least it is what I have done, successful or not.

Sitting on a soft purple seat in Narita Airport I Tokyo waiting for my flight to Seoul surrounded by predominantly Asian folks, I am ready to leap, to learn and to grow.  I don’t think any one of them is sitting here thinking, “I hope that American man will save me from my poor Asian life”.  There is apart of me that does not want to meet any women in my year in Korea just to give all these folks the finger for their arrogance and self-righteousness.  Or, maybe one of them will “save me from all that” and I will stay here.  I am here to learn and experience news things.  My hope is that humility and respect are two of them.
July 14, 2008: Tokyo, Japan

Re: Being Offended (A rant)

I've finally moved this to the Prose board, as I thought it deserved to be here – I really think you can look around for a place to submit this, Michael - and ongoing stories of your impressions, especially on this subject.

I'd encourage you to keep adding specific detail, eg keep quoting what people say to you, and bits of descriptive detail as per Sitting on a soft purple seat in Narita Airport

Great stuff.

Sandra

Re: Being Offended (A rant)

Hi Michael,

I would just like to second what Sandra has said above. It is a very good piece though I would not technically call it  rant. A rant always has the flavor of irresponsibility to me which this does not have. I enjoyed reading it and can relate to the assumptions that are made, being a man also who does not have a “life partner” in his life.

Re: Being Offended (A rant)

Thanks Sandra and Andrew.  I appreciate the encouragement and fro pushing e to continue with this.  the only thing is that i am not clear what “this” is.  Any more clarity would be helpfuk, i am game just don't know what it is that i am game for.

Re: Being Offended (A rant)

Wheeee, I saw something interesting here (your posting dear michael) and just couldn't resist jumping in here (allthough in the middle of working day - I am so bad).

As a single woman I find this subject very interesting and I belive this applies to all “western” men. I know these types from here, who travel to Thailand etc. to get themselves a “real woman” (read slave) who will serve them in grattitude because they brought them here. In some cases they even pay a sum to companies that serve as “dating services” (find a wife). It's a business actually and there lies a lot more behind this than what the eye can see.

The thing you have stumbled upon is actually modern slavery and it would be very interesting if you took a closer look about it and wrote more about it. This is actually quite common in northern Sweden and Finland also, to bring Russian girls over and marry them and keep them as slaves at home (cooking, cleaning etc. puropses [fill in the blanks]) and not letting the girls enter the society in terms of letting them learn the language for example. So they are forced to stay with their so called men.

Ewww… it is really discusting business.

But, there are also those that are fortune-seekers among the women, at least from Russia and other eastern Europe countries that will seek for wealthy men in terms to get money, so this thing goes in both ways. I have met couple Russian girls that were really hard, they had the money in front of their eyes all the time and they could do a lot to get a man, any man.

What a great subject - so interesting!

Keep on writing about this, about your “friends” thoughts, what you see and experience.

xo
Nono

Re: Being Offended (A rant)

This is a thought provoking piece, Michael.  I found it interesting that you were so offended and wondering if people thought that might be the only way you could “get” a woman.  I also found it interesting (and perhaps a little naive) that you felt pretty sure that none of the women you meet in Korea were going to be interested in you justto come to the States.  As Nono stated, there are those types of women out there.  And yes, Russia is a more common place to find a “mail order bride” than, perhaps, Korea, but I'll bet the market is there as well.  There are men who desire a woman from another country who will possibly be a sub-serviant “good wife,” thus the market.  My next question is “why” and maybe with your explorations you'll come to some understanding of it and share with us. 

xo Ayla

Re: Being Offended (A rant)

It reminds me of something my mother told me one time.
She used to work for a dating service; a kind of the across-the-border type of thing.
She is fluent in both english and spanish and had experience in the whole “matchmaking' type of thing. so she was hired.
It was kind of a win-win type of game.
“Mexican woman seeking white American man. Needs papers to get into United States.” but in Spanish of course. My mom would then translate it.
“White American man seeking hardworking Mexican woman. Someone who is fully experienced in housework and child care.” in english, so my mom would also translate that. 
Then they would go out on a date. My mom tagged along. 
She would say something in spanish. Translate.
He would respond in english. Translate again.
This transfer would continue for weeks, months maybe.
They'd date
Marry
And eventually she would be naturalized
And he would have someone to clean his dirty chones
Sounds like an even trade?
Trust me, its not the first time it has happened.
How many poor mexican slobs have been saved by the
holy white American man.
Or woman.
Not the first time
Not the only people either.
So if your offended by your Americaness
are they offended by their Asianess?
or should I be offended by my Mexicaness?
or by your manhood?
or my womanhood?
When will we realize that we are not the saviors of the world? 

Re: Being Offended (A rant)

Hi FunkyD

Re: Being Offended (A rant)

michael,

just to let you know, i am willing to beat the crap out of anyone who assumes that you are there to take advantage. (well, maybe only in a verbal sense, i am kinda broken down to be doing any real fighting)  i have learned a lot about other, stuff i would have never have known just from reading your writing.   after all you are teaching these kids about use just as much as they are teaching you about them, and best of all you are teaching them to communicate in a different language which is a task far too many of us Americans refuse to undertake.

there, i said it. 

frances

Re: Being Offended (A rant)

“Oh Lord, please don't ket me be misunderstood.”

Re: Being Offended (A rant)

Michael, ditto to all that's been said by the others, and this is indeed a fascinating subject you've opened up, I imagine that a korean or any woman would love you for your honesty and clear thinking rather than any misplaced or misconceived ideas that you could/would “save them”. You refer to yourself as a “new writer” and I hate to judge, but I feel that thanks to this your writing has a lovely freshness and lack of pretention, keep on Writing; and wranting and wraving and all the other things you do so well.
peace backatcha
d'odder Michael-better known as Mike or Mikey_Dee

Re: Being Offended (A rant)

Michael:

I find this piece interesting as a counterpoint to your earlier work at offending others. In that three part piece the narrator was the agent of offense, while in this piece the narrator is being offended. Same voice, but an entirely different stance. In the earlier work, the narrator exteriorizes details, practically brimming over with sensuality. This piece is entirely abstract, cerebral, and aims for the reptilian limbic brain… yet both involve the same theme: empathy. That is at least what I am perceiving.

–break–

I insert the break in order to offer non-literary opinions into the mix. Kind of a spoiler alert. I think colonialism, because of its underlying narrative of a superior culture “training and educating” an inferior nation, creates a largely unconscious racial subtext that dominates our collective awareness. We have to deny ourselves the requisite empathy… to do otherwise is to see just how much of our luxury comes at the expense of their suffering. We see that our military adventures are what maintain our lifestyles… and the reason an anti-war anti-globalization movement fails to gain momentum is because deep down we fear losing our creature comforts. Those very creature comforts that these savage cultures supposedly crave.

When they say, “bring back an Asian woman”, this translates into, “go prove that everyone else is a slave to consumption.” They are trying to make you into a missionary of Orthodox Capitalism.

Re: Being Offended (A rant)

well said Zipper ~

Michael,  No way that wasn't going to open up a discussion, dude!  Hopefully we didn't misunderstand you completely though!  I get the same feelings when that happens to me - I must not have written it correctly

I know next to zip about S. Korean culture but would love to learn more - so keep writing!  I think we just picked up on a subject that confuses and somehow fascinates us.  It wasn't because of your lack of writing skill.

xo Ayla

Re: Being Offended (A rant)

Michael - your question as to what this 'piece is'. Well, I'd call it a kind of journalism – perhaps 'essay'. Aldous Huxley says of the essay:

“Like the novel, the essay is a literary device for saying almost everything about almost anything. By tradition, almost by definition, the essay is a short piece, and it is therefore impossible to give all things full play within the limits of a single essay. But a collection of essays can cover almost as much ground, and cover it almost as thoroughly, as can a long novel. Montaigne's Third Book is the equivalent, very nearly, of a good slice of the Comédie Humaine. Essays belong to a literary species whose extreme variability can be studied most effectively within a three-poled frame of reference. There is the pole of the personal and the autobiographical; there is the pole of the objective, the factual, the concrete-particular; and there is the pole of the abstract-universal. Most essayists are at home and at their best in the neighborhood of only one of the essay's three poles, or at the most only in the neighborhood of two of them. There are the predominantly personal essayists, who write fragments of reflective autobiography and who look at the world through the keyhole of anecdote and description.”

Re: Being Offended (A rant)

Hi Michael,

I think Sandra is correct in calling this an essay in a way. opinion pieces are one of my favorite kinds of writing to read and write. You might find that it fits into the creative non-fiction genre in some way. I do know that these types of pieces are very publishable and popular in many publications. You seem to lean naturally to this kind of writing. I agree with Sandra's comment to keep looking for ways to add the sensory details. It makes it even more real and compelling to read.


Andrea

Re: Being Offended (A rant)

Lessons learned: I

Re: Being Offended (A rant)

:-) Michael!

I like the integral pod's road rules… especially this one (slightly modified by me as they've got some weird html going on. I should add it to the commenting thread, other than it's already sooooo long….

3.  Discern your “emotional buttons,” or the things to which you hyper-react. In many cases, whether or not your judgment is true, a hyper-emotional recoil often means that shadow elements have been triggered, or as everyday parlance has it, somebody “pushed your buttons.” Simply notice this happening; try to make subject object (which, as we saw, is the fundamental rule of development). In other words, try to make the reactive self (the lower self) an object of awareness. Just see and feel your emotional reaction; you don't have to do anything else. It's that simple. Don't worry whether something spectacular happens or not; that very act has already caused transformation and dis-identification, and repetitions of that simple act will have a profoundly cumulative effect. Of course, you can do more work on it if you choose, but most essentially, they are ways to just further that process.
       You can investigate this more if you want. If someone or some comment gets on your nerves, what are you pushing against? Seek the underlying value in you that is trying to be expressed in your emotional charge. If you're experiencing strong recoil, resistance, or rage, odds are what you are experiencing is a symptom of your own shadow. If this is so, we recommend doing a little shadow work with your response. Again, don't make a big deal out of this, but work on it in whatever way you know how.
       If you don't want to do shadow work, or don't have the time for it, not to worry: as we said, simply feel the self that is recoiling and acting negatively. Simply try to make subject object. And then go on about enjoying the forum.

Re: Being Offended (A rant)

Korean Cafeteria Food for Kids


My first day at the elementary school I was about to become an English teacher for was quite overwhelming.  I arrived at my new room a little after midnight after leaving Newark, NJ, USA at 9:28a.m. the day before.  The cabdriver they had pick me up at the airport brought me directly to my room from Incheon International Airport.  The ride took about 80 minutes which I think I fell asleep briefly from the excitement twice.  He could not find my room when we got here but eventually he was able to find it.  A well-dressed, attractive young woman employee from the nightclub down street helped him.  I thought it was interesting that my initiation to Korea was founded on a nightclub girl who looked at me slyly like she already had dibs on me.  So far, I have not stepped foot in that club to hunt her down.

As I opened the door to my room to walk in, the taxi driver who spoke minimal English immediately stopped me and pointed to my shoes and the lowered space by the door for me to take them off before entering.  I forgot!  There was a hand written note informing me that my manger will be by at 11:00a.m. to take me to school.  By the time I showered, shaved and unpacked a few things, it was near 3:00a.m.  My small studio apartment has a main room with a metal sink, and counter next to the double gas burners across from the half-sized fridge.  There is a desk for me to work at and a tiny mounted table to eat at with two chairs with yellow metal backs and soft cushions for my butt.  The bathroom has everything necessary but no actual tub or separate area for the shower.  It is just another part of the bathroom in general.

After just a few hours of sleep, I woke due to the heat and noise of the city. I crawled out of bed, exhausted but even hungrier than tired.  I wandered around the neighborhood full of small shops, private English schools and many places to eat until I gave up trying to figure out what anything is before ordering.  I purchased a nice little portion of greens in a red chili sauce from a take-out place with a mother in daughter inside preparing the food and quickly went home to eat before meeting my new manager that the note stated I should not be late.  The food was hot, spicy and delicious and forecasted what kind of foods I would be eating accurately.

She showed up on time, smiled half-heartedly and asked, “Are you ready to go?’ as if I had a choice.

I said quickly and professionally, “Yes, just let me get my stuff.  How far do we have to go?” 

“Just a few blocks, the school is very close”.  Four and a half blocks to be exact, directly across from the police department and a small park with a basketball court.  Upon arriving at the school, my manger directed me to a series of “Cubby-holes” and lifted the third one from the right on the top row and said, “You can take your shoes off and use the visitor slippers for today.”  I put on a pair of soft, comfortable brown slippers with Korean writing on the outside.  Like she did at my room, she hurried me along to meet my co-worker in the after-school homework program.  Which I did, along with the principle, vice-principle and the school’s English teacher.  I did not recall any of their names or anything else.  Fortunately, I was saved by my favorite words in life spoken from my new manger, “Are you hungry?”  Those magic words that solve everything in life for me.

The school cafeteria was full of bustling kids grabbing trays with little metal dividers built-in and large canisters stuffed with metal chopsticks and soupspoons.  I watched and followed what everybody else was doing.  When we got to the front of the line, my tray was filled with large quantities of Kim chi, white rice, a yellow fruit sliced thinly and a seafood soup and a compartment with a pile of spaghetti.  My first real meal in Korea included spaghetti with a tomato sauce, pretty funny for an Italian guy from New Jersey, USA.  Everything was delicious, even the Korean-Italian spaghetti.

I have eaten at our school cafeteria since then.  Every meal consists of rice, Kim chi, a vegetable or fruit, fresh soup and something else. It is interesting to me that these elementary school children eat a more balanced and healthy meal then almost the entirety of American adults, forget about the kids.   They make the food fresh every morning with the clanging if huge pts and pans with the women in the kitchen hurriedly preparing actual real food for these kids every day.  There are no other choices except the one meal like there is in America, they all finish their meals and smile while eating, laughing and talking with their friends.  There is no fighting, casing trouble or anything else.  They are too busy enjoying their meal.  Outside of the amazed stares at “the foreigner”, they eat, laugh and talk.  What a great recipe for children learning and growing mentally, physically and spiritually.

Let’s do a quick nutrition analysis of Korean versus American school cafeteria food:
Frozen generic seafood sticks ——- fresh squid, crab and clam soup
Frozen fried chicken ——————-fresh chicken soup with a chicken leg in every bowl
White iceberg lettuce with a few slivers of carrot and a pale tomato—— Fresh Kim chi
Minute-made rice——— actual rice
Canned and processed Campbell’s soups———-fresh sop complete with vegetables and chicken, pork or seafood made daily

It is hard for me to imagine why American schools feed children the food they do.  Who came up with theory that kids will only eat food bad for them that is completely de-natured?  What are we doing to our children?

Re: Being Offended (A rant)

One Year in Korea

It is nearly 10:00p.m.  I am walking home from the grocery store after picking up some soy milk with a picture of a soybean on the outside, red leaf lettuce, ripe bananas and Korean Tofu.  I spent the day in downtown Cheonan for the first time by myself.  I braved the bus system without any Korean language skills and was successful in my round trip.  Of course, along the way I thought, “I must be going the wrong way” at least five times each way.  At least the attractive woman with the subtle, warm fragrance eased my fears on the return trip.  Yes, I made it safely both ways, walked around downtown, had some Kimpop as a snack in an urban park with concrete, tile and marble foundation and a really neat water fountain that raised and lowered its multiple sprouts.  For dinner I enjoyed a Korean table “barbeque” of marinated chicken with peppers, onions and very spicy.  It was fun eating it with the leaf lettuce they provided along with the Kimchi, pickled radish and a salad of green cabbage with sweet kiwi yoghurt dressing on top.

It has cooled tonight and the fresh air feels real nice on my skin after a hot scorching day.  There are kids walking around in small groups and as individuals.  They look happy, safe and free.  It is approaching 10:00p.m. and kids are out by themselves on the streets.  This would be unheard of back in America.  Kids and parents have been programmed to believe all children are unsafe by themselves anywhere, anytime, especially at night in an urban environment.  Not here in Cheonan.  Kids who barely reach my waist are out food shopping for their families, eating Korean pizza, laughing and playing.  There are many girls dressed in their uniforms with grey skirts and white button-down shirts from the private English schools they attend at night.  Boys dressed similarly with business casual pants and white dress shirts enjoying the nighttime after their studies eating ice cream on a stick from the convenience store Buy the way.  I see one of the students at the school I teach.  He is on his blue bike and comes up next to me with his face excited and points, “Teacher!”  I pat him on the head, smile and say slowly so he will understand, “Hello. How are you doing?”  He is so excited to see his English teacher form America he forgets what those words mean and just says, “Hello” the default setting whenever they don’t know what to say to a native English speaker.  I smile at his joy in being able to say anything to me.  He waves goodbye, turns his bike in the direction it was originally facing and says “Bye, Bye” in the exact tone and cadence that I used when dong our practice in class the other day.

I enjoy seeing the kids out at night walking around doing their thing.  They don’t seem afraid or even think they should be afraid, which is the thing that warms my heart the most.  They have not yet been brainwashed into believing they are a target and therefore should run and hide at home or be monitored by their parents or some other paid person 24/7.  Not here in Cheonan, maybe in Seoul, but not here in Cheonan- yet.  When will the West convince them that kids should be watched every minute of every day and that they are helpless and in danger.  That being a kid means you are not capable of much except going to school and helping with making chocolate chip cookies and brownies.  These kids are trusted and respected, and they have respect for the parents, teachers (most of the time) and adults in general. 
No, not here in Cheonan.  Kids here roam the streets at night and play basketball or badminton. At least, not yet.
August 3, 2008

The Korean Haircut

Re: The Korean Haircut

I was reading all of your posts, and it is quite refreshing. I love your honesty and the way you compare the two culturles in writing. For the past fifteen minutes, you have been my “eyes” to Korea and its culture. I love your observations and hope to hear more from you soon.

  - Tiffanie

Re: Being Offended (A rant)

Thanks tiffanie.  Like it or not, more will be coming. I am having funny observing and exploring life in korea. So far, so good.

Two Old Friends

Earlier today while waiting for the Orange #3 line subway to downtown Seoul, I observed something that has stayed with me all day.

A gentleman of at least sixty-five years of age was patiently, relaxing seated on a slatted wooden bench next to two women far enough away to probably not be traveling together.  He had that soft comfortable face that demonstrates successful life; one that has obtained success economically, socially and lovingly.  His eyes were focused in a non-focused manner.  He looked like he could sit there all day in his off-white cotton pants and white shirt with thin stripes were those of a man who can buy anything but doesn’t need to impress anyone any more.

All of a sudden, his expression changed to elation with his brown eyes wide, cheeks full and warm smile exuding joy.  He immediately stood up as he sees a friend walking towards him.  They both looked so happy and surprised to see each other.  I didn’t need to speak the language or understand HanGul to recognize that.

His friend was dressed similarly with thicker stripes on his shirt and slightly darker pants.  They both looked like what happens when life works.

The thin striped man gestured for his friend to sit next to him on the bench.  The energy and exchanges of words, smiles and warmth filled me up, as it did even more so to both of them beaming for all to see in Suseo station.  They mad me want to be old, to have experienced enough peaks and valleys to know they are neither peaks nor valleys, and just keep on walking.

It provides such hope to me to witness men sharing these kinds of moments together.  The moments were extended when it turned out they were both going to the same place, or just decided to after talking.  I sat next to them to continue to soak up the appreciation of these two old friends that bumped into each other while waiting for the Orange #3 line going towards Dahwia.  I didn’t go that far.  I followed the advice of everyone I spoke to that said I should go to Itaewon, “Where all the foreigners are”.  My gut told me that foreigners meant white tourists shopping and looking for American culture in the heart of Seoul, South Korea.  My suspicion was correct, they were all buying Puma, Nike, Louis Vetonne and Levis all the way in Seoul, instead of their local mall. I wished I had listened to my gut and avoided Itaewon altogether and sat next to the two old men and landed wherever they landed.

The richness of their eye contact, soft cheeks, warm words, voice tomes and energy is still with me eight hours later on that same orange #3 line headed back to the suburbs of Bandung.  These memories have made this ride almost as enjoyable as the one sitting next to the two old friends riding the orange #3 this afternoon.
August 8, 2008: Seoul, South Korea

Re: Two Old Friends

Man, that's beautiful, Michael. I love those two old guys, and as a reader I wish you had followed them, too. The story not taken.

Thanks for continuing this thread!

Love & peace,

Tom

Rediscovering Latin American Soul in Seoul

Discovering Latin American Soul in Seoul

I spent part of my afternoon at Deoksugung Palace and the Korean National Museum of Art after escaping Itaewon and all the American tourists buying Puma or Nike sneakers, Gap shorts and Levis jeans in Seoul, South Korea.  I have never understood why Americans fly all over the world to go shopping for things they can purchase at their local mall.  It is not like America doesn’t have enough malls, although I am not a very good American tourist, I must have missed the class on how to be a quality American tourist no matter where you go.

The Palace was elegant, homey, fun and stirred some old memories from different times and places from before I was michael.  I have been here before; not as who I am today in this body.  It’s nice to visit home away from home every now and then.  My heart felt full of times when I lived more focused and committed than I do today.  There was no remorse for the steps I have taken backwards, it was more about remembering who I am, and what and where I have come from as a human and as a Presence.

As invigorating as the Palace experience was for me, the art museum reached deeper.  It never occurred to me while riding the yellow, orange, brown and blues lines downtown that I would end up at a Korean art museum exhibiting Latin American art in downtown Seoul. I giggled internally when walking up the steps and could feel the smirk on my face.

The exhibit rocked.  Each viewing room and its theme touched a different part of me.  The first room full of work expressing The Revolution connected with The Revolutionary in me that is never too far from the surface.  Diego Rivera’s work got me the most fired-up with his passion and use of colors and texture that soothe and stir simultaneously.

The exhibit on mixing of cultures and races with black, brown and every shade of woman in between with their varied bodies, fashion, joy and pain reminded me of how long women have struggled for recognition and respect.

The final two rooms exhibited work focused on cultural and individual identity.  Of course, this is when I felt most connected with the artists and the brushstrokes and heart strokes of their lives as people.  Folks seemed to be moved by Frida Cahlo’s pieces the most, me, it was the force of Wilfredo Lam, Alexandro Xul Solar and Roberto Matta Echaurren.

Apparently I needed a dose of Latin American culture while visiting Seoul.  I am grateful to have experienced such beauty and passion here next to City Hall in Seoul.

Re: Rediscovering Latin American Soul in Seoul

Just makes me think that people are just people no matter who we are or where we are from =)

Re: Rediscovering Latin American Soul in Seoul

Very true D

A Korean Restaurant

“Annyeong-haseyo”

You will always hear this when you enter a Korean restaurant.  It is the greeting for Good Morning/Afternoon/Evening, and they mean it.  They will shout this out from the kitchen if they hear somebody enter.  There is not a clinical or air of western austerity, just a warm welcome, a bow and a tray with little metal cups and a 1 liter glass bottle of water from the tap you can pour yourself at your leisure.  Often the cook, host, owner and wait staff is all the same person.

If you choose a traditional restaurant, you will see a rack at the door when you enter to take your shoes off before entering the dining room.  There will be a slight elevation to distinguish the entrance for the dining room; they don’t waste space on hallways and things like that, everything is used.  Some nicer restaurants will have slippers for you to wear while dining, if not bare feet or socks will do fine.  Traditional seating is on the floor, again, nicer places will offer you flat cushions to sit on if you desire.  It is fun seeing mothers with children and businesspeople dressed professional all seated on the floor enjoying their meals.

The utensils, metal chopsticks and a soup spoons, are typically in a little box with a clear glass lid where you can take your eating utensils for yourself, along with a napkin holder with napkins that resemble tissues more than napkins in their thickness and size, nothing is wasted.  The floor typically will have a thin piled rug for each table and a real wooden table in a rectangular shape.  It is not unusual for strangers to share the same table, nothing is wasted and everybody is family.

If you do not speak or read HanGul, ordering can be tricky, even traumatic at times.  If you stare and look stupid long enough they will just bring you something traditional and smile warmly. They know foreigners do not typically eat food as spicy as theirs, so they will bring you a milder dish. There is no judgment for foreigners lack of knowledge, they feel worse about it than the customer because they really want you to feel comfortable and at home.  Quickly they will scurry away to bring the order to the kitchen and return with another tray full of “side dishes” that are to be shared by everyone directly from the dishes they come in.  There are no separate plates/bowls for each person with the exception of receiving a small cup of a broth-like soup similar to Miso soup to cleanse the palette before the meal, nothing is wasted.  It is fun to share food; it breeds warmth, conversation and closeness while enjoying the meal.  The side dishes typically will include a small dish of Kimchi and another small dish of pickled yellow radish sliced thinly, those are the two most common.  You may also find various forms of cooked greens with sesame or some other delicious sauce; small strips of seasoned pork, a flavored ground and textured bean paste or substance, or other pickled vegetables.  It all comes free with your meal, as does the broth-like soup.  While you are picking on the side dishes, your main meal will be served.  Most meals are made to be eaten individually but some are for more than one person and to be shared like all the other foods on the table.  If you are struggling with chopsticks, they gladly will bring you a fork without laughing or being insulted, they understand and accept differences.  Most meals come with a small bowl of rice in a metal bowl with a metal lid that can be taking on and off to keep the rice warm, or noodles.  There are rarely breads with a meal.  One of the most enjoyable features of Korean food is that meals have compatible foods that go with each other for taste, digestion and nutrition, all is on balance with each other.  The exception is the Korean versions of fast food like fried or BBQ chicken.  Most meals are based with a sauce of either red pepper, which is very spicy and hot, or a bean paste, except for meals that are stews, which can be anything that tastes and belongs together.  The juicy stews are such good meals and you will never leave without being full and satisfied with your body happy and smiling.

One area where my ego is out of balance is related to the consumption of food, specifically, quantity.  I have always eaten more than small families and when I was younger I thought that was something to be proud of like drinking more beer than others, which I also did as well when younger.  Korean meals are made to leave you feeling full and satisfied.  They are not based on leaving you still unsatiated so you will order desert, they want you pleased and full.  It is very difficult to finish all the food on the table, very difficult.  It is expected you will leave some of your side dishes or rice uneaten, it is not considered offensive to the cook, they want you to be full and complete when you leave.  Many restaurants will offer you a small cup of green tea or coffee flavored like some kind of latte-type thing for free when you are done. 

At most local neighborhood establishments, you will eat all that I mentioned made to perfection for the equivalent of between $4-7, yes, you read that correctly, less than eight dollars is the typical meal outside of Seoul, and not much more in Seoul.  They do not change the prices or quantities for lunch and dinner; you get the same good value and quantity every time you eat.  One other thing, they do not change their menus often and typically only have one or two “specials” which are not really specials since they are part of the printed menu on the wall.  Special means a little bit more expensive, like the equivalent of two dollars and includes more ingredients.

As someone who has been a professional cook and finds cooking to be one of my favorite activities, it is hard to choose not to go out to eat, since it is such good food, warm atmosphere and cheaper than preparing your own meals.  Like if McDonalds starting making real food by real people that was healthier than what you can make at home but in a delightful atmosphere.  Hard to get motivated to go to the store and put together a meal when you can walk a block in any direction and have ten choices to eat, much like most NYC neighborhoods but cheaper than home, better quality and taste.  There is no tipping as an added charge, and they include taxes in the price of the meal.  It really costs what it says it costs. They don’t need a tip to serve you well; they do it because that is what you do here. If all else sucked for me in Korea, which is doesn’t, I would stay here for the food till I learned how to make all the dishes traditionally.  The food and atmosphere is worth the trip all by itself. 

On the way out, “Anyeonghi-gaseo” goodbye, and another bow while you are putting your shoes back on your feet smiling from a great meal and good people.  Welcome to Korea.

August Nights in Cheonan

It is a cool night for August in Cheonan.  The humidity is still present, I can tell by the moisture in my apartment from the shirts, socks, underwear and slacks hanging to dry.  We have not had many nights like this in the five weeks I have been here.  I take advantage of the break in the heat and venture out for an evening walk with a stomach full of tofu, potatoes and carrots sautéed over green cabbage and a large fresh vegetables salad with sunflower seeds on top.  The oil and vinegar dressing I made reminds of home, my mother.

I walk out the front door of the Darae House where I live across the stone and cement walkway to the street cattycornered from the Blue Café still trying to seduce me in its doors unsuccessfully.  I pass the Cozy Café again peering in and wondering if it is really a café, or is it another code word for bar.  Everything else on Ssang-yongdong gil is restaurants with Korean names I cannot yet understand but can read without any comprehension.  I turn right up the slight incline to the main street in the Ssang-yongdong neighborhood before I get to the Police station with policemen always outside smoking cigarettes, since they seem to have little else to do.  I have been here five weeks and have not seen or heard anything producing evidence of crime in this mid-sized city of a half million people.  Next to the station is a lighted park with some cement seats and a basketball court with teenage boys shooting hoops.  A boy of about 6’2” is playing against two boys and beating them badly, he has skills and knows it.  I cross the street and see many families and young people playing soccer, basketball, badminton and just hanging around the dirt and gravel lot of Cheonanyoungam elementary school where I am a teacher.  I smile knowing that fun, family and community continue there long after I go home.  I like this school and the family-based feeling it manifests.  I continue around the corner to an area of the neighborhood I have not ventured to yet except by #14 bus to downtown Cheonan. 

They have nice wide sidewalks made for comfortable walking for families and relaxation.  Koreans love to enjoy a casual walk after dinner till late at night.  They are out most nights as individuals with iPods, couples holding hands, teens walking home from English academies and families being families.  I notice the soft, gentle pace of all the walkers, none have on designated walking outfits, none are with equipment to lose weight, and none are running in tight Lycra displaying their bodies.  They are walking for walking sake.  They look happy with smiles on their faces evidencing the simplicity of an activity of peace, community and health.  It is refreshing walking on these rose, yellow and green tiled cement walkways without observing people jogging in complete misery desperate to lose another three pounds.  No misery walking in Korea.  Walking is for health, not appearance.

After a mile or so, I mean about fifteen hundred kilometers, (I couldn’t resist); I walk up an incline to little park with benchs and a center resting area.  I sit and stare at the clouds hovering above; they are white, soft and mostly still.  The gentle breeze is not enough to get them moving, so I can see and take time to watch.  A young girl of about eight or nine runs up the hill excited, quickly looks at me and sits across from me to look at the foreigner.  She is careful to not be rude- her glances are brief and non-direct.  Since she is young, I know she can speak some English, I assume that is why she is here in the first place.  Young kids love to practice their limited English on foreigners. 

I say, “Hello”.
She smiles, containing her excitement and replies, “Hi!”  She looks away to not seem eager or disrespectful to an adult, especially a foreigner.  A moment later, she gets up, says, “Good-bye”, glances at me briefly and runs down the hill and across the thin side street.  She is back a few minutes later while I am still staring and appreciating the clouds and the trees.  I say, “Hello” again to make her feel welcome.  Kids here cannot wait to say “Hello” to anyone who will let them.  I am a willing participant at any opportunity I can get.  Who would not want to be the focus of these beautiful, excited smiles?
I get up to leave, and say “Good-bye” again.
She says, “Bye Bye”.
I ask, “How are you?”
“I am fine” she responds in perfect English as if she has done so every day of her life.
“Nice to meet you” I say knowing they are all taught to say this.
“Nice to meet you too.”  She bows, as do I.  I walk away smiling from ear to ear, she is beaming next to her little brother.

The walk back to my space is full of breathing in the night air, noticing young kids out walking, talking and riding bikes after ten at night and feeling Blessed to be here in Korea.  I reflect for a moment on how I will ever be able to return to a land without bowing, casual walking, friendliness, cops too bored to do anything but smoke cigarettes and families enjoying the night without regard for the hour embracing now and this moment.  I have a flinch of shame over how many nights I have been too lazy or distracted to make my evening walk here in Cheonan to remember life and why it is so special.  I stop at Tous les Jous and buy their last baguette for the night for the equivalent of $1.50.  I walk with it in my right hand past folks sitting on the floor of the restaurant on my right just before I turn towards my street.  Again, I peer in the windows of the Cozy Café without discerning any more than the other ten times I have tried and failed.  This was a great walk.  I walk up the steps to the second floor, entering my apartment and clothes hanging on my hand made indoor clothesline.  It is good to be home and actually have a home.

Korean Expectations

Be Nice, always
Be Happy, always
Be Respectful, always
Be Healthy, always
Be Yourself, always
Be Genuine, always
Be Smart, always
Be your Best, always
Be a Family Representative, always
Be part of Life, always
Be Open, always
Be Honest, always
Be Joy, always
Be Gratitude, always
Be Educated, always
Be Humble, always
Be, always

Re: Korean Expectations

This list kinda gets me. I think it's the always part.

I joined a Korean yoga group recently and one thing that impressed me was how amazed my teacher was at some of my traits and opinions. Almost as if it never occurred to her that people could be different. A person is a person is a person. How could I possibly take exception to things that everyone else found completely acceptable?

Being yourself at all times is a lot easier when everybody's the same.

Be an iconoclast, sometimes,

Tom

Re: Korean Expectations

Thanks for your insights Tom.

Re: Korean Expectations

First of all, thank you Michael that you have continued this thread and keep on giving us these glimpses of what you encounter over there. It is always a pleasure to read them and read them I do since I get all the postings in my mailbox.

But what gets me a bit and is striking that  the pieces come across somewhat biased as if Korean people are always happy and joyful. It seems so idyllic.

For example, I would go nuts if I had to be happy always. Hope you understand what I mean?
If someone dies you are supposed to smile? (extreme example, a poor one, sorry).

But do you know if it is “loosing face” in Korean culture if you show anything than happy face in public?

Since I am going to Japan next year I have studied the culture (from my sofa) a bit and I know that the Japanese society i built on high expectations on the individuals. They need to always be highly educated. Handicapped people are hidden since they are a shame, they are “wrong”.
The suicide records are among the highest in the world (as they said in a documentary). And what I know Japanese are also raised to showing a “happy face” and be good…

Maybe it is a really long shot to even try to see any parallel here (Korea - Japan), in that case, sorry if I offend you Michael, again, I seem to be so good at that. I am really happy that you are so happy over there, that is a blessing.

Keep on writing, I look forward to read it.

xo
Nono

Please Leave your Shoes at the Door

I enter the door of Cheonanyoungam elementary school for the first time after sleeping just a few hours from my journey that lasted more than twenty-four hours.  I am exhausted and anxious about the new opportunity that awaits me on the other side of the double glass doors to this large brick building an entire block long.  Just three steps in and my new manager stops me and points to my shoes.  Then directs me to the cubbyholes where the slippers for guests are kept and instructs me to take mine off and replace them with the slippers that have Korean writing along the top.  I internally smirk at the idea that I brought with me a good pair of shoes just to be professional at work and I will never where them in the building during my one year commitment here as an esl teacher.

For many years, I have practiced the Buddhist tradition of taking off footwear before entering the home.  The physical and mental decision to leave the outside world outside has been valuable and supportive to me in my spiritual development.  During my two weeks of notice before coming to Korea, I had forgotten that detail and was not aware that in Korea, public schools are treated like homes and no shoes are worn in the building.

As cumbersome as it can be when leaving for lunch or something to switch back and forth between shoes and slippers, I enjoy working in slippers.  I like teaching in slippers and the feeling of warmth and family that it creates.  Besides, they are much more comfortable and relaxing to stand all day teaching.  I bought my own pair to keep at the school and the vice-principal who is very worried how a man who is single will survive alone in Korea has given me my very own cubbyhole near the middle entrance to keep my slippers in.

When parents or even construction-type workers enter the building, they either bring their own slippers or wear the guest pairs available to anyone.  It brings me great joy to see men gutting and putting together the two new computer rooms and the new English teachers office in a form of slippers.  Quite different than the heavy work boots that men wear when working in the USA.  It reminds me of a piece on 60 Minutes I watched five years ago after a football game about mowing the lawn and gender.  The reporter explained how men wear heavy work boots when mowing the lawn with clothes built for protection from something dangerous.  He then showed brief videos of women mowing the lawn in pretty sundresses and sandals with summer hats and fashionable sunglasses.  His point was that men see any kind if outdoor work as an expression of their manhood and women try to find a way to enjoy experiences when possible (and get a “tan”) and see no reason to put on their “battle fatigues” to mow the lawn.  This is the image I maintain in my head about the contrast of intention and mentality of men that are Korean and American.  One is proving the size of his penis while the other is proving that being a man includes caring about children and the sense of home.

This is one of the ways that Koreans make schools feel like an extension of home to children.  There is no feeling if sterility, austerity or power from the teachers to the students.  The kids offer too much respect for that to happen, even if a teacher thought that it might be helpful.  Kids do not give teachers the finger, curse at them, sit in the back of the class with hands folded sulking or storm out of the room dramatically.  A child would not do this because it is not what you do to teachers AND it would be embarrassing to act that way in front of your friends.  It would demonstrate traits that children do not appreciate, so to act that way would cause them to be friendless and lose respect from their teacher and parents.  Here, losing respect is a big deal and something that children work very hard to avoid.   They want to be thought of as smart, hard working and caring, anything less is a reason for a child to cry out of internal shame.

I enjoy living and working in a land where slippers are worn in homes and schools, and a sense of home is more important than a sense of self-importance among principals, teachers, parents and kids.

Re: Being Offended (A rant)

Yeah, I did get that it was a list garnered from your observations, Michael, rather than written down in some Korean tome. And it's so true, at least in my experience of Korean folk. They seem honed down somehow, like smooth humans, or Puritans without priggishness. It's little wonder they stick with what they know. They sure seem to know it well. Hate to think of their children becoming contaminated with western advertising values.

The “always” part of it tweaked me out because it sounds so difficult. My dad always told be to do my best in everything, but I tried it a few times and it didn't pan out. My best is so much beyond my standard operating range that if I did it for a week I'd be insane or dead. Remember, a perfectionist is someone who can't do anything right, so not only is my best a failure in its own way, it's also extraordinarily stressful, that one-tenth of one percent of all the efforts I've ever given.

Does this edition of your list seem half-assed: (?)
 

Be Nice, sometimes
Be Happy, sometimes
Be Respectful, sometimes
Be Healthy, sometimes
Be Yourself, sometimes
Be Genuine, sometimes
Be Smart, sometimes
Be your Best, sometimes
Be a Family Representative, sometimes
Be part of Life, sometimes
Be Open, sometimes
Be Honest, sometimes
Be Joy, sometimes
Be Gratitude, sometimes
Be Educated, sometimes
Be Humble, sometimes
Be, sometimes

Tom

Re: Being Offended (A rant)

It is always interesting to me which pieces receive comments a which do not.  I have to say that i have not come up with figuring out why or when yet.  Tis being one that i posted because it seemed like a waste not do so.  It was not something passionate or connected to.

Re: Being Offended (A rant)

Hi Michael,

Just wanted to chime in and let you know that I'm reading as well.  It's fun to learn about the Korean culture you are experiencing. 

I was thinking about a Korean exchange student that my son hung out with a few years back.  This young man was so cool - I can't for the life of me think of his name because the kids all just called him  “Wang Chung” or something like that (affectionately, honestly) and he laughed and went along with it.  I think they may have been unable to remember his name themselves, although if Jesse was around he'd be able to tell me.  Anyway, this child was just a blessing to be around.  He wanted to try everything American!  I always felt a little badly that he got stuck in a little town in Idaho for his American experience but he made the best of it.  He played football, basketball, baseball.  He was terrible at all of it but everyone cheered him on when he got some playing time and he grinned from ear to ear.  I helped him dye his black, black hair white when the whole baseball team did it.  Well, orange.  I warned him beforehand that it was probably never going to turn white.  I felt terrible but he loved it!  He never cut his hair while he was here because as soon as he had to go home he had to go to military school so he was enjoying the freedom, like a 60's hippie!  I just wanted to share how much we enjoyed sharing this young fella's experience here in America.  He really was a neat kid.  He didn't want to go back and go to military school either, but he knew he had to.  Jesse heard from him a lot for the first few months he went back but then lost touch - his parents probably had to put a stop to the calls after receiving their phone bills! 

My point, not that I really have a point, wouldn't it have been fun to compare his “journal's” to your “journal's”.  I was wishing I actually had something like that to share here! 

Something I can't help but wonder about is how you know what, for example, the Korean restaurant employees are really thinking.  Do you really know they are so happy to serve you?   I worked in a Chinese restaurant for several years and the “face” presented was not the same as back in the kitchen.  I know, I know, this is Korea, not China.  Regardless, the Chinese I worked with did not like Americans at all, except me of course (tongue in cheek, they just liked my big blue eyes and another attribute we won't speak of).  One of the “brothers” married an American girl.  Whew.  That didn't go over very well.  Well, I came to really love this family of brothers who owned this place, and they did come to love me as well, but it was an uphill battle getting there.  Prejudices abound in all cultures.  SO if you got a response where you didn't expect one, it may have been one that was just  held back until it couldn't be held back any longer.  

It's good to look at the bright side of it all … but the negative comparisons to Americans or the American culture - well, ouch.  Most of us realize that our culture, our “ways” leave a lot to be desired but we're not all bad!  Most of us are even maybe more good than bad when you get right down to it. 

That said, it's still really enjoyable to read about your experience.  Fascinating even. 

xo Ayla

Re: Being Offended (A rant)

Thanks ayla for sharing your experiences with the exchange student and working at a chinese restaurant.

Re: Being Offended (A rant)

wonderful writing Michael - keep 'em coming!!

@nt ~)

Re: Being Offended (A rant)

Wow!  You really are a foreigner, or a minority, aren't you?  That must be so surreal!  And thank you for your reply - yeah, I might have been putting my own ideas of positive or negative into the whole equation.  Food for thought, which reminds me that your posts on the food make me very hungry for some good food and I don't even know if I like Korean food.  I love the whole thought of sharing your food and table with others.  And sitting on the floor.  I've always been a “sit on the floor” kind of person.  How does that work out for the elderly?  Have you observed them as being more flexible or do they have trouble getting up and down?  I'm thinking of some older people I know that have to groan and huff and puff to get up from the sofa … I keep encouraging my Mom to do some leg strengthening exercises to avoid that.  I'm way off track now, huh?

Yes, keep 'em coming, Michael. 

Loving You,  Ayla

Re: Being Offended (A rant)

Foreigner i am!

Finding My Path

I have walked these streets of Cheonan for more than six weeks now.  Originally through only Young Am dong, since that is where there are so many stores and restaurants in my section of the city.  I ventured further towards the Lotte Mart in my second week, finding clothes to wear to work, mops, cleaning supplies, neat pillows to sleep and meditate on (www.jayeonsum.com) that smell like a mix of sandalwood and cardamom with an orange/ochre cover and finally the immense food section with guys on loud microphones yelling about specials in Korean that just echo through my brain while sifting through Kimchi, bean curd, seeded dark red grapes, mandarin oranges, frozen Mondu (steamed dumpling with either Kimchi or meat) and mini shrimp that cost less than the equivalent of $2.00 for one serving.  Ironic for a guy who promotes the refusal to support major chain likes Wal-mart, k-mart or any other damn mart.

After my trip to Seoson, I returned committed to finding a real place to walk, a path with real live trees and grass and dirt.  Living in an urban environment that is fully developed with concrete everywhere was beginning to take its toll on me.  I ventured out into Ssang-yongdong and its massive white concrete apartment buildings with sidewalks of yellow, mauve and green with a middle row raised for those who cannot see to stay on the path forward. 

My evening walks have been a Blessing for me in their sense of feeling part of a community amongst the families, couples and folks walking, talking and relaxing on these beautiful summer nights here in Korea.  I found a really cool park with moms playing badminton with their kids.  Teens shooting hoops on a Saturday night and laughing about something and nothing.  The exercise equipment made for outdoor strengthening and stretching filled with families and kids playing and doing their thing.  Folks walking slowly riverside enjoying life, love and the steady stream flowing through life and Cheonan.  I enjoyed this walk so much I did it three nights in a row and one resulted in a fun conversation with a man who spoke good English and invited me to his home to hang out near midnight.  We ate garlic potato chips and he asked me if I wanted to watch Korean XXX movies.  It took a minute for my brain to filter through his Korean accent of English learned in Australia to realize he was talking about porn, when my face flushed and turned red before saying, “No thank you” shyly.

But still, no path of nature.

Until tonight.  I ate a massively delicious meal at this local place that folks sit on the floor on little gold or olive green pads stacked under the table.  I have eaten here twice before with my coworker and the lady promised she would remember what I liked so when I came in myself she could serve it to me.  She did, along with five side dishes including excellent Kimchi, sweetened onions, mung beans, pickled green beans with sesame seeds and roasted eggplant; these were just the free side dishes.  The meal itself was a stew with lots of black pepper, sesame leaves, chili paste and pork bones over white rice.  Heaven for 5,000 won, or five bucks in the U.S.  While eating my meal as were the three men across from me, the owner/cook/cashier/server turned into delivery driver on motorcycle and left the restaurant to deliver a meal with four customers comfortably enjoying their meals with no fear of theft or anything else.  She returned moments later smiling and laughing like she always does.

I left and ran into one of my favorite kids that I teach English to with her younger brother and mom.  She loves playing with me almost as much as I do with her.  Her mom was nice, genuine and spoke good English.  I left them and headed in another direction for further exploration of Ssang-yongdong.  I weaved through the winding roads of one of the apartment complexes to find a nice walkway with a sign pointing towards something that I could read the letters and pronounce but was clueless of the meaning.  I followed the arrows like a good little boy who eats his vegetables.  And there it was, a dirt path- real dirt complete with dirt.  I was so excited I almost trampled on an elderly man passing by as I entered the trail to somewhere.  There were grass, trees, bushes and dirt- old friends I have dearly missed; maybe more than friends and family back home.  I could smell the dirt and greenness of nature, smiling and smiling, maybe even giggling.  It being after 10:00 at night, it was dark hiking up the hill on the dirt path in my four-dollar brown sandals from CVS.  No problem, even for a guy like me with a light deficiency in both eyes.  Koreans line these paths with lights that are triggered by motion.  As I climbed the hill, every fifty feet or so another series of lights magically lead the way for me.  More giggles, one leading me to thanking God for me finally finding a place to walk, hide, reflect, write and feel Real whenever I need it, day or night just a few blocks from my home.  I walked for about a mile without reaching the apex.  More smiling at the thought that tomorrow I can do this with camera in backpack when light and bright and see Cheonan from above.

I have found my path.  I needed this.  As usual, I found it while wandering through life and Ssang-yongdong aimlessly in spite of myself.  Grace is a beautiful thing.

Re: Finding My Path

michael, I am with you as you wander around your new land and seeing the sites, tasting the great food, soaking up the intimate details of the korean lifestyle and feeling the connections with the local folk -  just merging with your spiritual experience…

a virtual trip to the east - many many many thanks……………

blessings,

@ ~))

Re: Finding My Path

Thanks @ntony, it is a pleasure riding on this journey with you!

Immigration Man

Standing online amongst nearly one hundred people, mostly Korean but many from other nations squeezing between the writing tables and the three desks of the immigration officers I started hearing David Crosby and Graham Nash singing in my head, “Let me in, Immigration Man, I won’t toe your line today, Can I stay another day?”  Yes, please let me in, or in my case, please let me stay another day, Mr. Immigration Man.  I will definitely toe the line, I swear, really.

The feeling of someone that you will speak with for a matter of minutes having such control over your immediate future is un-nerving, even stressful for me.  I am Ok with God in charge or me living with the illusion of being in charge but not a man I do not know who speaks broken English and whose job it is to make sure certain kinds of people are not allowed to stay in Korea.   Will I make the grade?  Do I look the part of the good American or the evil American? If you ask the three officers in Osaka last week that stopped me and threatened to take me to jail, I guess I do fit the image of the evil American.  A terrorist.  Me, a terrorist.  In between hugging hundreds of young Korean boys and girls of every day and being the one that the whole school says “Hello” to down every hallway, toilet and cafeteria?  The one who flew almost 8,000 miles to get here and made it through the scrutiny of many levels and layers of Korean government and Ministry of education?  The one who felt guilty for only praying and meditating for about 55 minutes this morning before rushing to the Immigration Office to participate in the madness of folks scurrying in all directions to fill out forms, buy proof of payment stamps and look “safe” while feeling very unsafe?  Terrorist? 

When there was only three people ahead of me in line, it occurred to me that the first man I would be dealing with was the guy who gave me long and hard stares when I was accompanied by my Korean co-worker to get my visa extended till I went to Japan to get my E-2 work visa.  Yes, he will remember me applying for my tourist visa and applying for an alien registration card now.  I need to get everything in order to not raise any suspicion.  I flatten my application form so it does not look messy.  I open my passport to the page of the work visa, so he doesn’t look at the extension from the tourist visa.  My two passport size and type pictures are in my hand ready to be attached, along with my proof of payment stamp.  Everything is ready.  “Please let me in, Immigration Man, I won't toe your line today.  Let me in”. 

My turn. I smile politely and hand him my paperwork.  He shuffles through them and his face wrinkles.  He did not do this for others.  What did I do wrong?  Does he remember me?  “Are you here by yourself?” He asks.

I answer slowly and sheepishly, “Yes.  Is that not OK?”

He looks down dejected, “Yes, that is OK.”  A minute later after shuffling through them again, he looks up, “Do you have any other documents?”

“Yes, what do you need?  I have them right here.”  I point to my large tan envelope tattered from all the places it has traveled in the last two months.

“Do you have medical examination form?”

“Yes, I am sorry I forgot.”  I quickly scrounge through my papers looking for the medical exam form from the hospital I picked up yesterday that I cannot read in HanGul.  I do not know what it says I do or do not have.  Phew!  I found it!  “Here it is.” I hand it to him.

He briefly inspects it and then asks, “Do you have a Guarantor of Employment?”

“What is that?”

“It lets us know you have been guaranteed a job here in South Korea.”

“Oh. I gave that to the officer in Japan when applying for me E-2 visa.   Do I need it?”

“Yes.”  He looks down and frowns again.  I can feel the pit in my stomach swelling.  “Let me in, Immigration Man, I won’t toe your line today.  Let me in.”

“Can we call your employer?”

I freak for a second.  I do not know the Principle’s phone number or name for that matter.  “Can we call my manager?”

“Yes.”  I hand him her business card from my wallet.  He then reaches into his pocket for his cell phone.  I lift my finger and say, “Please use mine” as I hand him my phone.  He accepts it with a smile.


They talk and argue in Korean for almost twenty minutes with the stares from the long line behind creeping up and down my spine and back slicing me to pieces.  What are they saying?  It is my life and I have no clue what they are talking about.  Helpless, hopeless and every other –less watching him become more and more frustrated with her on the phone.  Hs voice and facial expression are becoming tenser by the minute.  He then hangs up out of nowhere and hands me the phone.  He gets up and speaks to another officer who then stares at me and looks me up and down.  The piercing is now both back and front.  I had less scorn and scrutiny as a homeless man sleeping in my van for the five months previous to Korea.  He returns to his desk and asks for my phone again.

He calls her back and they speak a little more calmly this time.  Three minutes later he is off the phone and hands it back to me.  He says while looking directly at me,  “Get delivery certification and bring it back to me.”

“Does it come in the mail?”

“No. You get it over there” and he points towards the window, or is it the last desk, or Seoul?  The East Indian man behind me tells me, “You just go to the last desk and she will show you what you need.”

“Thank you Sir”, I say to him and leave the line to get this delivery thing that I have no idea what is, how long it takes or how much it costs.  I was second on line there and a nice woman helped me fill the form out.  “That is four thousand won sir”

Four thousand won.  I do not think I have that much on me.  I look through my wallet.  Three one thousand won bills.  I fumble around in my pocket to see how much in coins I have.  Exactly one thousand!  I hand her the four thousand won and lower my head in embarrassment.  She rubber-stamps the form and hands it to me.  “Please bring this back to the man at the other line.”

“Thank you.” And I walk back over there and stand on the side so he can see me.  “Let me in, Immigration Man, I won’t toe your line today.”  This song used to have such a different meaning to me before today.

He sees me and reaches out for me to hand him the form.  He adds it to the others and places a clasp on them, folds them along with my passport and places them on the far end of his desk in a different place then everyone else’s paperwork.  I stand there waiting for his cue on what to do next.  His cell phone rings, he takes it out of his pocket and walks away.  Ten minutes later he returns to his desk and starts back with the pregnant couple from India.  Several minutes later I interrupt and ask, “Is there anything else I need to do?  Or am I done?”

He smiles and laughs gently, “Oh. You are done.  Thank you.”


I walk away towards the door not really knowing what happened and whether it was good or bad. 

“Please let me in,
Immigration Man.
I won’t toe your line today,
I can’t see it anyway.
Won’t you let me in Mr. Immigration Man?
Can I cross the line and pray?
I can stay another day.”


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Re: Immigration Man

okay, you win…you got me holding my breath, waiting to hear whether or not you are a terrorist or just a man who cares….it was an excellent and i must admit breath-taking piece. 

I loved the tie-in to the music, it was great.  Bob Dylan, the whole concept of his work, I reckon that is kind of a generational tag there, but truly, truly fitting. 

Whew.  Thanks for letting me have my breath back, and keep on keepin' on.  I would really like to hear more.

frances

Re: Immigration Man

I am Ok with God in charge or me living with the illusion of being in charge but not a man I do not know…

This reminded me of when I went into day surgery.  I was having my tubes tied and I didn't have any idea about the process, it was all a first and I was feeling a build up of anxiety about it.

Before my d day, I went to sleep with a purposeful dream. I dreamed that I was the nurse and I was the doctor and I was every person involved in the operation. I was looking after me, with the care I would give anyone.

I have a strong faith in the universe supporting me and imagined that each person involved was the universe supporting me the best way I needed support.

This helped me go into the situation with a clear mind and trust. I knew it would be ok because that was my will.

When it comes to people we don't know all we need to do is find that spark, that level within them that meets us equally and supports us as we support them.

I enjoy reading your adventures :) thank you for sharing them!

xx azyh

Re: Being Offended (A rant)

michael,

Good for you!  No, no, great for you!  It is time people stood up for their bachelorhood or in my case bachelorette hood and say that they are quite content living with themselves and that they actually like their own company!

Geez….pairing up is okay for some people and not for everyone and for God's sake you are not over there on a shopping trip…. I don't understand why it is such a crime to be single and happy at the same time? 

Kudos, michael…kudos. 

frances

Re: Being Offended (A rant)

Thanks francis, you are a brave woman starting at the beginning of this thread.  and thanks for the support, even if i was desperately in need of a woman, flying, moving and become an english teacher is korea is a bit extreme.  if the goal was to bring me hoe a korean woman to take care of me and be my legal slave, i could do that online from the privacy and comfort of my home in the states online.

Re: Being Offended (A rant)

michael,

I don't see myself as brave, simply adamant and truly offended at the prospect of anyone going to another country to “pick up a wife”…geez.

Some people have no sense of honor now do they?  After all, a marriage is a partnership with both parties having the responsibility to be equal to one another… not one being subservient to another. 

God, it is almost like going to the pet store and saying, “Oh, I will have that one, it looks as though it will suit me” and then beating the poor thing because it pissed on your rug, or chewed up your slippers or…well, you know what i mean.  It is ridiculous, demented and just plain everyday stupid.

You hold on to your values my friend, hold them tight and don't let anyone tell you what you know you need….after all, it is your right to fulfill yourself by teaching others while being taught by them. 

It is also your duty to see things through your own eyes, not the eyes of someone who says, “Gee, while you are there, why don't you….”

Well, then, now I am getting off the mark.  Down with slavery.  There is too much of it in the world already. 

frances

Re: Being Offended (A rant)

Thanks francis.

Re: Being Offended (A rant)

michael,

good point about legal slavery.  but it also seems to me that some people just plain-ass like one another enough to want to spend their lives together….as i was saying, a partnership of equals.

it is true though, here in the states we put a nice name on it all, you do for me and i will do for you and lets trade partners at the dop of a hat, or when you get to be my age and that is too old for me i will trade you in for a couple of twenties…..that kind of thing.

but hey, that is what happens when someone wants what they want when they want it, and there are just too many willing and able to oblige.

frances

Sarcasm Enters Stage Left and Right

Like the South Beach Diet for those who think “thin is in”, the low-casm diet, sarcasm that is, has stripped off pounds of negativity so quickly I forgot what I looked like with the extra weight.  But like all fad diets, the low-casm diet imploded when faced with a free crème Berlet or Coffee Heath Bar Crunch ice cream from Michael’s Frozen Custard in Wisconsin.  In this case, the desert of choice was keeping company with those who value sarcasm above all other forms of communication- English-speaking white people.

This weekend I was visiting a friend in Busan, South Korea during the national holiday Chusak.  It is the Korean version of Thanksgiving that includes visiting and honoring ancestors passed.  This weekend, I certainly honored ghosts of sarcasm passed when giving the opportunity.  I was amazed at just how effortlessly it flowed out of mouth like waffles and vanilla ice cream dripping out the corners on an eighty-degree night in Seaside Heights, New Jersey.  Yes, sarcasm is back.

I had no idea how foolish I was in believing the progress in letting go of the darkest form of humor had nothing to do with me or any miraculous leap in spiritual development.  It was simply a case of not having accessible anyone who speaks enough English to understand sarcasm if I chose to express it.  No growth, no step up in commitment, no crossing of the Threshold- just no vehicle to harness the hidden and suppressed hate, anger and resentment in disguise known as sarcasm.  If you are trying to shed sarcasm from your daily diet; I can offer the quickest low-casm diet on the market- move to a country where no one speaks your language and it will fall away like The Atkins Diet with the same results until the source of the problem returns; then every inch of unnecessary cellulite regrows itself and looks less appealing than it did when it was part of your natural disposition.  I now know what I look like without sarcasm; warm, soft, gentle, open; and putting on the same old tattered coat will never feel as comfortable or acceptable again.

It is time to let go of these extra pounds of weight that I no longer need to survive or navigate my way through the world.  Goodbye sarcasm, I bid you farewell.  I am sure when I am not paying attention, I will embrace you like an old friend who still owes me the six hundred dollars he borrowed from in 1989 when his father died and I helped pay his family’s mortgage so they would not have to find a new home. 

Hello warmth and vulnerability.  I want to introduce myself; my name is michael and I have looked forward to meeting you for many years.  I hope we become close friends.

Re: Sarcasm Enters Stage Left and Right

Yeah like right I'm totally sure.

Good luck giving up sarcasm brother. That's one reason I feel like I'm a spoiled person. I've traveled so long on the sarcasm road that sincerity is a lost dream of innocence.

xoxo!

Re: Sarcasm Enters Stage Left and Right

thanks tom.  i was actualy looking forward to at least someone laughing at me a little on this one, i certainly am.  i am serious about my intention but realize there are so many layers of sarcasm that i too may not be able to acknowledge sincerity when introduces to it, not a reason to not give it a sincere ( i couldn't resist) effort.  if not successful we can exchange barbs on what fools “they” are, you know, the ones who still dream of innocence.  I do have to say that the idea of me adn innocence int he same sentence is actually quite humorus.
Peace,
michael

Re: Everything Shared So Far...

Michael,

I stumbled upon this thread (catchy first title!) and spent the last hour or so very agreeably immersed in your story of life in Korea. Thank you so much for putting your experiences here for us to digest. :-)

As an overall comment, I want to say that I am very impressed with the way that your writing has changed from the first piece to the later pieces. Sandra had given you some feedback after your first piece, about focusing on details, and I believe that you have been wildly successful in incorporating her feedback in your later work. Especially the descriptions of the food (even without you sharing that you're a cook and a foodie, I would have guessed as much given the delicious descriptions you provide)!

I have had such an interesting experience myself reading your work, as well as the comments of others to your posts. As an American, I feel myself sitting with your comparisons of US-culture vs. Korean culture and sharing in the ways you condemn our imperialism, capitalism and consumerism. At the same time, coming from a non-western culture (as my parents emigrated from India and raised me with a lot of Indian values), I have become particularly sensitive to stories from “western” eyes that idealize “eastern” ways. For me, there's a feeling of not “really being seen.”

Having said that, I really appreciated when you mentioned your  tendency to focus on the positive as you were finding your way amidst this culture alien to your own. It's a tough road to walk to be a stranger in a strange land and I admire the lens choices you have made in what you are writing.

My particular favorites: comparing American school lunch options to Korean school lunch options, the restaurant experience, the two old men at the bus stop, the children playing in the street late, the boy on the bicycle saying “hello”, the girl on the park bench practicing her English, the Immigration Man… such indelible imprints you have put in my mind's eye!

I am now officially a fan and am looking forward to more stories from you. I'm not sure if you care to, but I would love to hear some of the darker, less pleasant observations you have made of the culture. Perhaps you can tell us more about this back-troubling fashion habit of Korean women wearing high heels? Or anything else of the shadow-side of Korean culture?

- N

Re: Everything Shared So Far...

Thanks nishtha
I appreciate the lens you bring as well.  i am guilty of seeing things through the lens that is currently mine and accept that for the minute, i am somewhat blind in what i see or write about.  Funny that you bring up the high heals.  I have put off writing that piece sincce here about a week.  i have not reonciled just how judgmental such apiecce would be and until i do, i am afraid there will not be much diving but more a distant intellectual jaunt.  This is not a form of writing i apreciate as writer or reader.  i am not an intellectual and try my best to steer clear of that kind of energy and brain rhythm. 
i invite you to step in my toes if along the way i lean towards idealizing this or any other culture, that is not my intention.  I just tend to appreciate simplicity with modern technology balanced with humility.  For the most part, this has been my experience with korea (till this point).  i alos have wanted to write about bowing and how it has altered my life significantly since the day i arrived here and cannot sit and find the words to adequately express my appreciation for this practice.

thanks for braving the whole thread and for your support.
Peace, michael

How do you know?

Before I came to Korea, some of my friends were intent on me “finding a good one to take home with me”.  As offensive as this is to me and the women of Korea as a whole, it doesn’t mean since I have been here I have not reflected on the beauty, kindness, simplicity and grounded nature of many of the women I have encountered during my short time of more than two months.  In fact, the comments made before I hopped on the Airbus to spend nearly eight thousand miles in the air may be the thing that has kept me from exploring some options.  Well, that is not exactly true.

Here in central Asia, men and women do not wear wedding rings.  They do not actually display anything that would alert a would be pursuant that the individual they are about to initiate courting rituals with is already married.  Based on the fact that most adult Koreans do not just flirt with strangers who think they are attractive, there really is not a simple way to explore potential options.

I have reflected on what it would be like to be in your late twenties and single, which is the not the norm, and try to figure out whom you can and cannot pursue honorably.  Unlike the west, married women do not get their kicks out of flirting while married to prove to themselves they are still attractive.  Married women here are rarely focused on their ability to look “hot”.  So, how do you know?

Again, this is not like the States where asking someone out casually is common or even acceptable.  When men and women reach the neighborhood of thirty, the family places pressure on them to find a mate, even more so for women than men, which of course is not surprising.  When dating someone who has reached that age range, the expectation is that you are dating for potential marriage partners.  This increases the pressure for all involved, male and female. 

I am older and there are really not any women at or near my age that are not married, so the whole ring thing is not a big deal for me since they would all have rings if that were a social norm.  But this does not mean those in the thirties I do not look at as we peruse through the cabbage or mandarin oranges in the local market together.  I look at their shopping carriage and see items that indicate family: baby products, cleaning supplies, junk food and quantities too large for an individual.  In Korea, there are not women who are single with children, it just doesn’t happen. I do not know how prevalent abortion is here. There is a large Catholic influence and generally people hold more traditional values than many western cultures do.  I make the leap that they are not available without giving it another thought.  Besides, I do not know how or what are the courting practices here except that often families still arrange marriages.  Oh yeah, and I do not speak HanGul yet.

Leaving all the personal details aside, how would one know anyway? 
How would you know?

Bread and Walking

10:45p.m.  I promised myself I would go for a walk tonight.  I have not done so since I returned from Busan on Tuesday night, it is now Friday.  I motivate myself through putting a practical spin on my walk; I will stop at KB Bank, take out some money and pay some bills with the ATM machine.  Yes, pay bills with the ATM machine.  They don't use checks in Korea.  You either pay in person, online or by bank transfer, which can be done at any bank on any ATM instantaneously.  It is fun and I like paying bills this way, at least while it is a sixty-five degree night in Cheonan. Winter may be another story.

After taking care of my financial transactions, I asked my Higher Self which way to walk.  I crossed Ssang-yongdong gil 3 to the other side and walked along the three-lane road that goes through Cheonan to Asan and all points south.  As I walked down the red, ochre and forest green sidewalk in my $4.00 soft brown plastic sandals I bought from the Walgreen’s in Williamsburg, VA, USA; I received a rush of gratitude for the gift of walking.  It seems irrelevant how I feel, when I put on my sandals at night and walk these streets I feel better, alive.  My connection to Self and the world around me increases almost immediately.  Even though it is approaching 11:00p.m., families are still out walking and playing badminton in parks together.  Young kids and mothers hit the birdie back and forth while dads play with older children.  They do not have the same need for children having routines at night including bedtimes.  It is nice out, so they go out and be a family together. 

As I pass the wonderful plant shop were I picked up two little desk plants and a large floor plant of a variety I have not seen before a couple of weeks ago; I see the blue, white and red lights of the Paris Baguette on the left corner I was approaching.  I love that bakeries are often open till midnight for street wanderers like me.  I step up the ramp and inside the brightly lit shop.  The owner says “Aneoyounghi-gaseo”, good-bye, to the customer leaving and warmly greets me in perfect English, “Hello”.  I smile and return the greeting.  I search through the sweet breads and almost submit to the cream filled sweet potato bread but remind myself I do not want sweet bread.  I want a bread to eat with meals over the weekend, mainly, a killer vegetable and potato omelet, a Sunday morning ritual of mine.  I see the corn bread with actual corn in it that I enjoyed last week but then glance to the right and see the  Korean version of nine-grain bread.  American nine-grain bread is brown and dense, which is something I miss dearly.  Korean nine-grain bread is white bread with grains in it for flavor, not texture, substance or health.  Yes, the nine-grain bread is tonight’s bread.  I pay the 1,700 won, $1.70 for the half a loaf and refuse the bag when offered knowing I live only a few blocks away and really do not need it.

I cross during the red light after watching the young guy do it and slow down to take in the night.  On my right are three long benches that are really comment blocks with wooden planks on top to sit for a moment.  While looking up at the cement apartment buildings surrounding me, I feel moved to practice some sitting Qi Gong.  I have been lax in my Qi Gong practice and gladly jumped at the opportunity.  Three meditations later and a full belly of Qi, I decided that some walking Qi Gong would be a nice way to complete my evening walk.  I find Body Breathing exercises revitalizing and rejuvenating.  This was no exception.  Feeling renewed as i came upon the elementary school I am an English teacher for amazingly cute, enthusiastic and frustrating young kids.  I have noticed how much I enjoy walking through the property when not working, the sense of connection and community tend to produce warm and yummy feelings within the head, mind and belly.  I pass the market I shop at and then the aromatherapy store next to my home where I purchased some lavender lotion and liquid soap last Friday night.

I cross the street and down the mini hill that has a green and white tiled sidewalk and road, and there is my building with two apartments with lights on in the front side of the building.  I live on the side above the alley where the restaurant chops their vegetables and garlic.  Up the two short sets of ceramic stairs and home.  I put the key in the lock and the motion-sensored light turns on.  I step in and let my light brown sandals slide off my feet and smile again in appreciation of my home, both the physical space I live in and this place called Korea.

Re: Bread and Walking

michael,

first off, thank you for sharing this glance of your personal view, it was pretty much awesome, to get a shimmer of what you see, and how life is in your world.

secondly, about those $4.00 soft brown plastic sandals, without meaning to pry, oh shitmonkeys, i guess it will just ask and hope you don't get offended at my asking….here goes…..

do you wear those sandals because they remind you of the US, or because they are comfortable, or because you just haven't gotten around to buying shoes in Korea?  What kind of shoes do Korean people wear?

thanks again!

Re: Bread and Walking

Simple. I wear them because they fit easily in my back pack when i came here and they are just a few months old, and comfortable.  Seems silly to buy new oness just be “korean”.  

Re: Bread and Walking

michael,

a piece about fashion would be great, fashion in the US sure has taken a turn for the devastating indeed.  I really loved the idea of paying one's bills at the ATM, that would really make things a whole lot easier.

By the way, thanks for answering my question…i really appreciate that a lot.

frances

Boobs, butts, bellies and thighs

The first time I walked through Ssang-yongdong on that Tuesday night while it was still light out, I was struck by the amount of thigh on display in conservative Korea.  High-heeled silver sandals with straps around the ankles provide the platform for the exhibition.  The exhibition includes the silky-soft skin that is natural to most Koreans.  In fact, I have a friend in the states that the affectionate nickname that I use with her is Silky Pants, she calls me Jerk Face.    As I try not to be obvious or rude, my gaze slowly follows her calves all the way up to the thighs and right to her butt, literally.  Her shorts can’t be but an inch bigger than the skimpy bikini bottoms that American white girls wear to anywhere they can get away with.  I get that funny tingle that only lust hormones can produce as I bashfully walk past her and her almost blue denim shorts, I say almost since they barely qualify as “shorts”.  Images of hippie chicks in the sixties when I was growing up trying to piss off their parents come to mind.  The next woman I am approaching down the hill on the sidewalk on this unbearable hot 92 degree humid evening, is wearing white sandals with the same four inch heals and straps around her ankles.  Her silky smooth skin also is on display way up to her blue denim mini skirt that conjures up more images of sixties chicks pissing off their daddy’s.  As I now have enough time to lift my head up after this startling visual treat, her t-shirt goes all the way up to her neck, down to the edges of the bottom of her blue denim mini-skirt and the shirt has semi-long sleeves on this hot day in Korea.

I reminisce about earlier this summer in several college towns on the east coast of the states and how much cleavage was bulging out of push-up bras and bikini tops.  There are more breasts showing on the American female than the actual breasts of the Korean woman.  They do not show boobs, shoulders or bellies here, like ever.  The Korean female’s upper body is not on display in public but their legs and butts put the twenty dollar hookers outside Port Authority in NYC to shame, especially with the heals that bring me back to my younger years in bars with half and whole naked women with dollar bills tucked into their g-strings.  The g-string is the predecessor to the thong for those of you too young to know there was once a world before thongs that underwear went over your butt instead of inside.  With the exception of those who got paid to wear them or trying to spice up their personal life every now and then.  Yes, Korean women like to show their legs and butts, but no upper body, and they will never leave their homes without a bra or undershirt on, nipples are outlawed here.

Besides the obvious reason of being a guy who really appreciates the female form, what has caught my attention about these social mores is that on late night TV, woman show their boos all the time and the TV stations blur out any butts or pubic hair.  So in real life, boobs and bellies are a no-no, on TV, butts and pubic hair is a no-no.  In both, Korean women rarely wear anything that fits snug, alters or lifts their boobs.  It appears that Korean female celebrities are very comfortable with showing themselves topless in movies and TV, whereas American female celebrities have to be mindful of what they show and how it will effect future casting, while they walk around with their boobs on display to the legal limit whenever possible with underwear of any form a commodity.

Why is it that we have such curious contrasting and maybe even contradictory social programming about what and where it is OK and not OK to expose the naked body?  There seems to be no rhyme or reason that I can see.  I initially thought that it might be related to the fact that western women typically have larger breasts than Korean women.  After seeing them topless on TV all the time but not bottomless, my theory gets thrown out the window.  We certainly are an interesting species.  The fact that we wear clothes at all is somewhat bizarre, but the peculiar patterns that determine how that justifies which and when we expose any or all parts of our bodies is absolutely a mystery to me.  I doubt I will solve this mystery tonight, tomorrow, or the next night.  In the meantime, I will keep my eyes on things that are not as stimulating to the those senses and focus on things that are stimulating some the other senses like trees, mountains, patterned sidewalks of green, red and yellow and all the incredible little places to eat that line every road I can find with sights, smells and tastes that thrill even an objectifying male like myself.