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.

Re: Boobs, butts, bellies and thighs

michael,

i can see now why it took courage to write this piece.  amazing, simply amazing.

this may sound prudish, but really i don't care.  i wonder why women dress to entice men to lust after them and then scream rape when they entice a male with a low ability to use self control. (no reply needed here)

i guess this has been going on for longer than i will ever know.  interesting look at fashion, michael, thank you for posting this work, i can see it was hard for you to do.


frances

Re: Boobs, butts, bellies and thighs

Thanks francis

Re: Boobs, butts, bellies and thighs

michael,

yeah, i kinda thought there was a bit of looking at self here, but given that we all have hormones, and eyes, and it is hard for some of us to admit that there is some sort of hormonal release that occurs when we encounter something such as this…..hmm, tthere have been times when, oh never mind you don't want to hear about that.

thanks for writing this, it helps to look through other people's eyes once in a while.

frances

Re: Boobs, butts, bellies and thighs

I think I saw somewhere on this thread a note from you, Michael, about trying to figure out the reasons behind some posts here getting comments and others not.

I have a secret for you: it's most likely quite random. If you take me as a 'norm', it's random. I thought to myself, I'd like to read some Michael, so I came here, and popped down to the latest post, cause, well, cause it's the latest post. No other reason. I'd love to read everything on this pod, but that's physically impossible ( unless you are Jim but he's gone walkabout and perhaps he overdosed on words!)

Well. Back to your piece. As always, a very good read. Actually, not as always  - I sense something different in your writing - a greater ease, more openness. This is not about subject matter, it's about the writing, how things are written - more fully it feels to me, and it as if more confidence underlies the work, less holding back, and this makes it an even more delightful read than your early work. It's a subtle thing, you've never held back on content, so it's hard to describe what I mean. Something to do with the writing, as if you are not trying to be careful, not trying to 'please' the audience. And, thus, the work is even more pleasing…

Re subject matter - I won't go into depth. As always I'm more interested in 'the writing'. And, I think the subject matter is interesting - for anyone. I had no idea that it was more common for Korean women to display their 'bottom halves'.

One sentence that jumped out at me was this one:

We certainly are an interesting species. 

It made me think, who is 'we'? who is talking? who is the 'species'? I'd love this to be opened up more. The piece seems to be about women, rather than the 'species' as whole, and indeed about the narrator's feelings and responses - this is all just great stuff. Of course it's not just about women - it's about cultures and conditioning. But, I think this piece and the subject can go even deeper, exploring the narrator's feelings and responses - taking full, specific, personal responsibility for them - by exploring them - is, in my opinion. the only way to discover even more fully what it means to be human, human in a universal sense.

Engaging writing, engaging subjects. Great stuff, Michael.

Sandra

Re: Boobs, butts, bellies and thighs

Thanks sandra and francis

moms and little custodians

As I walk down the stairs from the third floor to the first, I am struck with seeing something I have not seen before in a public school, kids with mops and brooms cleaning the steps.  Little elementary school kids laughing and playing while cleaning and washing the steps.  Humm. Interesting, I think to myself.

One day later, I go down these same steps again to the cafeteria to enjoy some nice fresh squid soup with rice and a side menu that includes Kimchi, sesame greens and fresh dark purple seedless grapes.  But there they are again, but today, it is three girls instead of three boys laughing and playing while sweeping and washing the steps.  I wonder what they did to get in trouble, they all look so wholesome and their eyes are so clear and true?

Two months later I can answer that question: nothing.  In Korea, there are no staffs of custodians that come around and clean up the messes the kids make all day.  There is an overnight watchman who does a little but the custodians are the students themselves with some mothers volunteering every now and then.  The kids clean and wash the bathroom floors after school.  They sweep around the desks in the classrooms.  They wash the windows on the outside doors.  They really do everything but clean the toilets themselves.  The interesting part about this is they have fun doing it.  It is not a scene filled with moaning and groaning kids that make things dirtier just to never get asked to do it again.  They laugh and play and giggle the whole time.  I have not seen a miserable kid while cleaning yet. That doesn’t mean they want to do it or even enjoy doing it.  It just means they have fun since they have to do it anyway.  There are certainly areas of the school I work in that are not as clean as the staff of six custodians at the school I used to work at in Wisconsin.  But does it really matter?

These kids are participating in a meaningful way and take responsibility for their school along the way.  It is not surprising at all that they do not make as much mess of the school since they clean it.  Go figure?  I have reflected on whether it is this way out for economic reasons or for keeping things family-like and teaching valuable lessons during the experience?  They don’t wear shoes in public schools like home. They eat delicious well-balanced meals like they do at home.  Why not participate in the upkeep of the school like I imagine they do at home?  It would seem to be a logical choice for a school principle to make.  So the bathrooms are clean but don’t sparkle.  The floors don’t shine and the windows have some streaks.  This seems to be small price to pay for youth learning that part of life is cleaning up and doing your part.  Kids here are not treated as helpless beings that need their mommies and daddies to take care of them and wait on them 24/7.  They are little real people.  My gut tells me it used to be this way in other parts of the world not too fat back in our shared history.  I wonder why we abandoned this way of life?  Why do we expect so little from children?  Is making their bed and brushing their teeth really all they are capable of?  Evidence here says differently.  Is this just another consequence of affluence?  Kids are so accustomed to everybody doing everything for them that they become the helpless little creatures we treat them as?

Maybe one of theses days I’ll pick up that mop and do my part.  Probably not tomorrow.

Returning to Well

After about a week of feeling stuffed, exhausted and drained from taking an anti-biotic for the first time since the mid-nineties, it was time to get well again.  My co-worker insisted I get an injection before I get worse.  Out of lack of energy to argue, I agreed.  We called our manager and she said my insurance can be used anywhere and that I should definitely get an injection.  My inner resistance to THAT kind of treatment was suppressed due to not knowing how or what to do otherwise here in Cheonan.  I don’t speak the language and nobody I really know is involved in the kinds of treatment I would naturally choose.  I would go before work the next morning; I was about to enter the world of western medicine that I left behind more than fifteen years ago in the middle of South Korea.

I went to bed late, my typical method of resistance that extends the day to avoid tomorrow.  I slept later than was helpful, which reduced morning meditation and Reiki.  Certainly more evidence of inner resistance when I need to support my system greater.  It was beautiful outside and I started heading in the direction my co-worker who lives across the street from me said I could find a hospital for my injection.  When I arrived at the corner I was directed to, I looked for the hospital and only saw a children’s hospital.  I searched the area around the corner and saw a sign written in both HanGul and English: Oriental Medical Clinic.  I smirked and walked in the building trying to figure out which floor to go to since I could not read the information on the elevator.  I walked back outside and looked up at the green and white sign and counted the floors- one, two, three.  It is on the third floor.  I made a point of memorizing the name in HanGul to find it once I made it to the second floor.  I can read HanGul; I just don’t know what anything means yet.  I entered the elevator with a handful of other people.  There were two young schoolgirls dressed in uniforms that giggled and put their hands over their mouth at seeing a foreigner on the elevator.  How do they think we made it to the top floor of the World Trade Center without elevators?

The elevator doors opened, I turned left, no, I turned right and there was the same kind of white and green sign with the same words and an arrow.  I followed the arrow and when I turned the corner, I could smell the sweet and pungent fragrance of ginseng, schizandra and a host of other Asian herbal remedies filling my clogged nostrils with an aroma that woke up my whole system.  This I understand.

I opened the two glass doors with a twisted wooden branch as door handle and made note that like homes, restaurants and schools: medical clinic are also shoeless.  A pleasing sight to add to the aroma that welcomed me to the clinic.  I approached the desk cautiously knowing the hard part was about to arise, speaking to the receptionists who probably speak no English.  I was correct, they both froze when I spoke and looked away as if they were hoping I would magically disappear or become fluent in HanGul when they turned their heads back.  I didn’t. I pointed, my latest skill, to my throat and made a coughing sound, they acknowledged somewhat and pointed for me to sit down in the waiting area.  A few nurses walked by and covered their mouths while they giggled at the foreigner trying to receive treatment without communication.  I immediately felt shame and compassion for all the Latinos I dismissed as customers due to language in the mid-eighties when working for Radio Shack as a Retail Sales Manager.  Karma has a good memory; it lasts from lifetime to lifetime and certainly remembers 1985.

About fifteen minutes later I was guided by a nurse dressed in pink by my shirt sleeve towards the back area to a gold curtain which the nurse pointed for me to get up on the small carpeted table and lie down, I did.  When I wasn’t doing it properly, instead of returning to the pointing method, she just moved me to where she wanted me the way that nurses do.  A few minutes later, a woman, I assumed the clinician of whatever form of treatment they do, entered the little curtained off area and said, “Hello”. 

English! 

She asked me several question about my symptoms including typical Asian treatment concerns like, “How are your bowel movements?” “Are you sleeping OK?”  “Have you had an diarrhea?” Have you been eating well?”  This conversation was taking place while she was pressing her hands into various points around my digestive system.  Each time I made a face or sound, she pressed again deeper and asked, “Which hurts more this or this?”  She then asked, “Have you ever had acupuncture before?

  “Yes.  Chinese acupuncture in America.”

“Have you ever taken any herbal (with the “h” pronounced) remedies?”

“Yes, many including ginseng.”

“Do you like ginseng?  Does it make your stronger?”

“I do like ginseng.  It gives me more energy but sometimes I get shaky from it.”

“Are you allergic to anything” She pointed to her arms and makes motion to illustrate hives, “Hives?”

“I cannot take alcohol, and my mother, father and brother are allergic to penicillin.” It did not seem necessary to say they were allergic to penicillin since they are not alive anymore.  “I have never had any, since they told me I would be allergic too.”

“Korean acupuncture is more painful than Chinese.  This point on the bottom of your foot will hurt, please take a deep breathe.”   I did but it still sent a sharp pain through my right foot and ankle, which lasted only five seconds. “I give you three day supply of herbs for you to take, come back at 6:00p.m. since it takes three hours to make.  You come back Thursday see me.  OK?”

“Yes, I get off work at 6:00. I can do that.”

“OK. Twenty minute, needles.  Just rest. OK?”

“Yes.”  And she was gone.  It was only a matter of minutes before I could feel the little twitches and pulsing of the energy shifting and moving throughout my system.  It felt good to be placing my well being in the hands of someone like her doing something like this.  After a week of anti-biotic (anti-life) and cough medicine, it felt good to be treated in a familiar manner again.

That was Tuesday morning, it is now Friday night and I feel the best I have since the day I stepped off the plane in Incheon-Seoul Airport on July 15th.  My body feels healthy again and my cough and sinus congestion are almost completely gone.  It took sickness for me to notice my body was not operating optimally.  As usual, when looking for the hospital to take an injection I did not want, I wandered blindly till I found what I really needed, as usual, in spite of myself.  The Universe sure is efficient!

Re: Returning to Well

instantly absorbed in your tale - your writing flows like the yangtze……..effortlessly, with just the right amount of info v reflection,

keep ‘em coming, bro, they expand my autumnal rites..

@ ~)

Hope is in The Eyes

Eyes.  Eyes are where I see hope and inspiration.  Words often feel like a bridge but not the actual thing itself.  Eyes tell the true story for me.

Lately I have had the opportunity to stare into the eyes of many young and beautiful children that can't communicate beyond “Hello” and “Goodbye” with me due to language barriers.  It is such a powerful experience to share love, gratitude and connection through eye contact, bowing and holding hands or hugging.  It really shreds away all the other stuff that often gets in the way.

Soft eyes that are not filled with propaganda and the illusion of needing more and better also have inspired me lately.  The bulk of the youth here in South Korea are wholesome, even innocent in many ways.  It is not as much that they are naive; it is more actual wholesome instincts that are cultivated through their families, communities, schools and culture as a whole. They would rather be hugged, smile and laugh than be cool, tough and walk around pouting to get their way.  They genuinely want to be happy and share it with others. If I was a better author, I would be able to describe it more accurately.  They are trusted and respected, and honor that respect with respecting others and trusting others.

An example would be that in a city of half million that I live in, all the florists in the neighborhood leave their most expensive plants out at night without locks and security.  Kids are out till 10:00, 11:00 at night without supervision and nobody stares at them like they are bad and ready to do something wrong, and they don't.  Young children below ten years old are out at night walking around, playing and running errands for their parents.  Teenage girls walk home from their English, science and math academies after ten at night by themselves without fear and paranoia in their eyes.  I have eaten in restaurants that the owner and only employee leave while you are eating to make a delivery without fear of being robbed or anything, they just smile on their way out and do their thing.  You are respected regardless of who you are. 

This all gives me hope.  There is another way besides fear, power, sex and personal ambition.  This gives me hope.

As a side note, not necessarily for his stance on issues or the fact that he is Black, but Obama gives me hope as well.

Peace and Hope,
michael

Re: Hope is in The Eyes

I soooo resonant with this post michael!

Your words have built a lovely bridge on which I can walk toward you and/or alongside you… I feel exactly the same about EYES.

Thanks for sharing this.
Namaste.

Re: Hope is in The Eyes

Nishta i am Blessed to have you walking alongside me.

Re: Being Offended (A rant)

“Tom, have you ever thought about being a nonconformist, like the rest of us?” This was meant to follow Tom's post mentioning “iconoclast”

Michael, as a non american I would like to point out that you are providing a window into 2 CULTURES , not just Korean, but American too, and I am enjoying your clarity and detail,
blessings ,
the other Michael -known as Mike or Mikey-Dee

A little rant

 ”… like the rest of us?”

Oh ouch… feeling all gray all the sudden LOL
I love 'wild artist' concept. 'Wild artist' is the way my art teacher described a true artist, they always walk on the path of their own. He just loved when someone in the painter group showed up a side that was odd, fierce or outside the darn box.
Creative thinker (writer, painter, sculptor, musician…) can imagine that the half of the number 8 is perhaps 3 or it could be 0.

The person who first did levitation didn't know it is impossible.

There is so much things I know…

therefore I am gray

conclusions
conclusions
breathe
breathe Nono, you can still break your walls.

Michaelsits, your stuff is engaging and eyeopening. You stepped outside your borders and you liked it! Happy for this.

Nono

Re: A little rant

Thanks nono, gray and all.

Re: Being Offended (A rant)

Thanks Other michael/mike/mikey d

My New Korean Bike!

A silver frame with some cerulean blue mixed in.  The seat is grey and the rack on the back is sliver with grey fenders underneath front and back.  It is Korean made and new.  It arrived today in a box at the school I work at by delivery.  The bike cost an equivalent of about $55.00 dollars and the delivery fee about $6.00, it is the first brand-new bike I have owned since age ten when I had a Black Ghost sting-ray with a sissy bar in back, it was a five speed and I loved it till I crashed it going down a hill and landed in the hospital with five stitches in my right knee.  The scar is still there.  I have a new bike.

This is significant for many reasons; the one that moved me to start filling this blank page is that somewhere in the mid-late nineties, I made a personal commitment to stop buying new.  This commitment has included everything in my life except food, plant seeds and underwear.  I have been pretty vigil about this for the most part with a few alternative choices while traveling around in my van for five months this past year that added some new, simple tan leather shoes and a pair of Keen hiking shoes I found at a privately owned camping store for $30.00 at 80% off. I wore them bike riding tonight.   My commitment was about recycling more than anything.  Economy factored in since most of the last fifteen years has been one of part-time jobs or long-term retreats without income, to say money was not part of the equation would be misleading.  I have found ways to wear clothes that were either purchased at thrift shops or dumpster diving to support my professional, spiritual and athletic lifestyle successfully.  The few books that I felt the need to own a copy of came from half.com, garage sales and more dumpster diving.  Furniture has only been found through sidewalk dumping and an occasional garage sale.  That has ended now since residing in South Korea.  Koreans do not do used, period.

There are no thrift shops, vintage clothing stores, e-bay equivalent and only two days a year are reserved for garage sales, yes two very specific days, otherwise it is illegal.  Koreans do not believe in taking ownership of other peoples belongings.  I have asked why and received peculiar looks as if I was asking to have sex in a public place with a stranger in the snow or something.  They do not do used.  I assume that they pass on items to each other among friends and family since Koreans typically are frugal, practical, simple and ecological by nature.  My gut tells me they do not know why they do not buy used stuff really.  My gut also tells me this is one of the many Buddhist traditional thinking concepts passed on so long folks do not know its origin or purpose, kind of like wearing underwear, which really have no purpose, nor do top sheets in bedding.  The reason I think it is Buddhist is that I believe they do not want to take on somebody else’s negative energy, imprint or Karma.  This has always been a great challenge for me and my Teacher has several times questioned my choices on such matters.  Used items, regardless of what they are or why we buy them, carry the imprint of those before us.  A used bed carries all the sex, lust, dreams, nightmares, isolation and fears that have may have been part of the previous owners world.  And the reverse is true as well; the love, joy, sharing, connection, fantasies and mutual-orgasms that may have taken place between the sheets carry an imprint too.  What about a couch?  Have there been arguing, fights, seduction, television, violence or desperation in its history?  Furniture like homes and walls have histories, these histories can speak to us directly or not so directly but their voices will be heard.  So the challenge has been to discern before purchasing if my energy and their history can be well matched or not.  I have walked away from great and free items that rationally would be perfect for me but through inner discernment about possible contrasts in energetic tendencies.  I have bought used clothes that I gave away after one wearing since they didn’t feel right on my body or field.

Here in Korea that does not matter, the choice has been wiped from my range of possibilities.  I am both grateful and disappointed in this process. I always feel better when I make the decision, not when the Universe does it for me, which is not a complete truth either but another tale for another day.

I enjoyed taking my bike for a test ride tonight.  It is a small bike, really too small for my body.  As someone who has used bicycles as his main source of transportation since 1995, comfort on a bike is important to me.  But it is fine for the next nine months, if I feel guided to stay here longer; I will share this bike with someone else and get a better one that fits me.  It felt good sweating enough to know about it and letting the wind flow across my face and cheeks.  Seeing my neighborhood with new eyes that are moving faster than walking but slow enough to swallow my environment that busses cannot produce.  I love bike riding, it is such a nice and peaceful way to move about through the world. 

In 1996 in Bloomington, IN, USA, I was a guest at a meeting of The Simple Living Group.  They were discussing how cyclists tend to be kinder and gentler than motorists on the road.  My experiences echoed their theory on friendly bike riders.  I shared a story that then made my nickname “Smile Michael” from that day forward among this group of folks that became friends of mine.  There was this guy who owed a local rare and used bookstore on the square in the center of town.  He had great books at semi-fair prices but he is a miserable, unhappy, elitist who made the energy and the experience of shopping in his store downright awful. I stopped going there but used to pass him every morning while riding my bike to work while he walked to his store with that same “I’m an intellectual,  arrogant book worm who knows more about literature than you do you stupid un-cultured fool look”.  I said “Hello” to him and smiled every morning without even an acknowledgement for almost two years five times a week.  One day he nodded back to me.  A few months later, he said, “Hi” and almost smiled; the closest he came to an actual smile in my six years in Bloomington.  My work was done.  Another town, another bike ride.

I have a brand new shiny silver and blue bike, I cannot wait to see what new adventures it will bring me!

Re: My New Korean Bike!

I saw your post yesterday and was really looking forward to reading it. But my energy yesterday was very “up” and I was doing ten things at once and feeling really wonderful because I was accomplishing a lot in a very short amount of time.

And I am so, so glad that I waited until this morning to read about your new Korean bike…. This morning, I am sitting at my desk, with the sunlight filtered through the twittering eucalyptus leaves of my neighbor's tree, shining over my back and creating a beautiful dappled pattern on my desk, my keyboard, my hands as I type this comment to you….

It feels so resonant to be with your words in this moment.

As you mentioned the Korean culture having an unconsciousness around Why they “don't do used,” I am confident that you've hit the nail on the head. The karmic thing, the residual vibrations of previous owners, resonance or dissonance with history…

What a gift you have shared here, michael. What a gift.

My heart is vibrating out such love to you as I envision you riding your bicycle around your Korean town, taking in the sights and smells and sounds of your surroundings. If there are people like that bookseller you mentioned from your old town watching you on your bike, I am sure you are awakening their inner smile. I am sure of it.

Finally, I would like to remind you that, sometimes, an inner smile never actually makes its way to external expression. I find this is one of the great divides between an expressive culture (like American) and a non-expressive culture (like many of the Far Eastern ones). But just because they're aren't smiling back at you, doesn't mean you have to change what you're doing. Be who you are and do what you do michael. It's the greatest gift you can possibly give, to the world, and to yourself.

: - )

Re: My New Korean Bike!

Thanks Nishta

Re: Being Offended (A rant)

Michael,

I can really relate to this part of your journey. I wish I had had the time to keep up with every installment, but I have a lot going on right now, so it's not so easy to do.

The used/new thing is so interesting. Just the other day I went to the flea market at Pasadena City College, and I was amazed by how much old stuff there was. In America, we have made an industry out of selling and reselling other people's junk (treasures.)

However, my next door neighbors moved out last week, and they left behind a hamper. I really would like to have a hamper, and I wanted to adopt it. I tried to bring it in the house, but something told me “no.” They were a troubled family in so many ways. Right now, the hamper is sitting on my driveway tucked out of sight, but in the fresh air, clearing its energy. Sometimes I think, how silly, but then again…

I hope you enjoy that new bike, and whatever you lost in not being able to recycle, you will make up by not polluting by driving a vehicle, right? I love riding a bike, because it puts me so much more in touch with my surroundings.

I loved the anecdote about the bookstore owner. Even if he acted that way because he was insecure inside of himself, that daily morning ritual that you started with him changed his life in some small but meaningful way. You finally got through to him.

I always look forward to reading your entries, Michael. Thanks for sharing once again.

xo
Andrea

Re: Being Offended (A rant)

Dear Heart Andrea

Tang San Mountain Tonight

I put on my new waterproof windbreaker I received via a delivery guy last week for the first time.  I had already de-factoried it last week with a nice wash and ten hours in the sun hanging out my window and the smell is fresh air not plastic and chemicals.  This made me smile casually.   I stepped outside my, door and my neighbor across the hall was returning to her place and said “HI. How are you?” She meant it.  We met a few times previously.  She can speak English and is an English teacher at a hag won (institute) here in Cheonan.  “Good! I am going out for a nice walk.”

Her face looked puzzled.  “But it is raining outside.”

“I know. I said I was going for a walk, I didn’t say it made sense.”

She smiled warmly, “It should be good.  Bye-Bye.”

“Yes it should, thanks.  Bye-Bye.”  And down the marble brown and tan steps to the exit door and the stone and cement walkway in front of our building.  It is barely raining, one of my favorite walking environments, especially with the temperature in the lower sixties and dark.  This kind of weather seems to always facilitate reflection and sensory awareness that I typically do not have at my access.  I walked up the little hill across the street with the green and white concrete tiles to the main drag in my neighborhood.  My neighborhood.  Wow, I really live here now. I am no longer rock star nor Martian. I have achieved both neighbor and alien residentship.  I am an alien.  Many of my family members and friends have wondered if I was an alien for as long as I can remember.  They have proof now in the shape of an ID card in my black Eagle Creek wallet. 

There are less folks out on the streets than usual.  This makes me happy.  Tonight I brought my iPod and headphones seeking private time in public; hiding in plain sight.  I do not put on my headphones yet.  I want to feel the rain and hear the water and smell the freshness before I go inside the tangled web called my brain.  Maybe I should take a shot at walking up Tang San Mountain.  How muddy and slippery could it be?  I have now passed Young Am Chatam Hokyo (elementary school) where I am an English teacher.  I like teaching at a public school.  The sense of hominess that is present supports me being me and them being them.  Yeah, I will take a short walk up Tang San tonight.  How bad can it be?  I have my cell phone if it gets too bad.  Crossing Ssang-yangdong 2 and heading towards the back of Highvill apartments where the trailhead begins.  I hesitate at the trailhead, fear is ugly and ruthless.  I take my first cautious steps up the steps to the dirt trail. I see three young guys walking down talking casually.  They are not alarmed or cautious; I will be safe.  They are the last humans I see on the mountain tonight.  A rare contrast to the fifty or so I typically see at ten at night on a weeknight.  I am grateful  I will get rain, mountain, dirt and space while listening to the bugs and insects make their chirping and buzzing sounds.  They are different than what I know them to sound like back in the states, more buzzing than I can remember.  The dirt is soft but not slippery, which makes for a nice gentle walk. I slow down to breath in the smell of green, wet.  It is its own smell without name or identification but certainly fragrant and embracing all who care to give in to its loving sweetness.  The drops on my head are small; I take my hood off.  I want to miss nothing tonight.  Wet, the smell of greenness wet, the wet soft soil and the sounds of those who live here on the mountain.  Tonight is my night here since others chose to stay indoors tonight.  I feel bad that folks run for cover at any sign of inclement weather, it is such a treat on nights like tonight.  Then I again smile that hidden gesture of knowing a secret that you won’t share; the secret is life is good and I am on the mountain by myself.  The motion-sensor lights on the path tickle me every time they go off and on, I feel like I am walking through a scene in some movie from a time in the future or on planet Q or something.  Time to turn around; I have enjoyed the walk and the mountain, no reason to get greedy.  Besides, I want to listen to Vas and it seems like sacrilege to put on my headphones and iPod at a moment and place like this.  Maybe even blasphemy.

I reach the bottom and enter the sidewalk with ochre, green and burnt red tiles and start up the hill to the right.  I walk while searching for Vas on my iPod.  They rocked me last night on my bike ride and I want to relive that again tonight in slow-mo by foot. I pass a couple who gaze at me, I feel shame at now being one of the people I judge walking in public with headphones and shutting off the world.  I am back on Sang-yongdong 2 and turn left towards home.  The fresh air pulls my head to the right and I notice the signs for Boar English Academy and HanKook University for Foreign Studies with its green, yellow and white sign.  I approach the first of two Paris Baguette bakeries on my short walk home.  The have a new Korean wheat and buckwheat cornmeal bread I tried tonight for the first timer, it was good with my jinn Ramen and Curried chicken over a vegetable salad I had for dinner tonight.   I am back at Young Am Chatam Hokyo. I look up at where my classroom is.  There it is, third floor on the corner facing the police station across the street.  I am not ready to go home yet. I want to sit somewhere dry and appreciate the night air and mist.  I remember there is a small shelter near the soccer field across the door I enter and leave daily, since my slippers are in a cubbyhole there for me to wear every day at work. I love wearing slippers at work; it should be an international law that every school in the world bans shoes worn by anyone.  I imagine a lot less violence and disrespect.  I plop down under the shelter on the top step of the left hand side.  It feels nice.  Fresh, clean, alive.  I relax for just a few minutes. I am pleased and satiated; I do not want to be greedy tonight.  Take what I need and leave the rest for others.  Life is good.

I leave school grounds through the gate and turn right.  I pass the other Paris Baguette and Nong Hyup Bank where the Korean government sends my paychecks and takes out money to pay for the delicious lunches provided at school, and I wire money to the states to pay some old balances left from six months without pay.  The American dollar’s crash has cost me about four hundred dollars on Friday due to exchange rates having dropped almost 30% in the three months I’ve been here.  Should I go left up the hill by the park next to Mama’s Touch Chicken or the usual way? The usual way.  It occurs to me stronger and louder than earlier tonight. This is my neighborhood. I live here.  This is my home! I am a neighbor again.  People know me.  They cannot speak with me and do not know my name, but they know me.  We have exchanged bows and smiles- connection.  Warmth and respect do not need words. 

Tonight I will write about tonight.  I have written intentional lies my last three pieces.  Time to return to me, the real me.  Tonight is about me.  Well, not really, it is about us.  Our lives, our dreams and our moments together and separate.  We breathe, we eat and we love and then we cry.  This is who we are.  This is my home.  I live here.  I am a neighbor again.  I can offer my home to Couch Surfers again. I have a home. I see it, there it is right in front of me now.  I think I will go inside, turn on my MacBook, continue to listen to Vas and type till I am done.

I am done.

Re: Tang San Mountain Tonight

Man oh man. I hope Sandra gets to read this. It rocks, like this whole thread. This one post in my opinion is enough to justify the existence of humans in the eyes of God. I was there, in the rain, smelling the wet. Thank you.

It's probably just me, but I wish this thread wasn't named “Being offended (a rant)”. Because it is not about being offended nor is it anything close to a rant.

Love & Peace,

Tom

Re: Tang San Mountain Tonight

Thanks tom i appreciate your support.

i wrote one of the moderators to ask about changing the name oif the thread, i too think it is currently mistitled.  i was informed that there isn't a way to do that.  The suggestion was to start a new thread.  i had said that i wanted to end my period of being  'guest/toursit' and wait till i felt like a resident so the therad would have a different feel to it.  I think i have reached that point, now i just need title for the thread to start a new one!  Besides, the thread is getting pretty long now.  Ramses starts new threads when his get too long and he is the Master of the contijnuing thread, the template, the blueprint (since he is in Hawaii, can we make it a yellow or orange print instead of blue?).

Peace
michael

Re: Tang San Mountain Tonight

michael - I can change the name of the thread. what do you want for it?
it won't change the names of posts that also have the name - unless I go in and change each one by hand… but if anyone 'replies to thread' it should pick up the new title. And yes to a new thread when they get too long.

Yes, I loved this piece. Not got too much indepth commenting in me right now, but I liked everything about it, including the title. (btw I'm a vas fan!)

S.

Sirens

I am baffled, completely. I have been here in Cheonan, South Korea for three and half months and I have only heard three sirens during that period.  I live about three hundred yards from the local police station.  You would think I would hear them fancy sirens they have go off just to test them, like they do with fire trucks in the USA.

Siren #1:  In August, no September, no it was August I was taking a bus to Incheon-Seoul Airport for a flight to Japan, while trying to fall asleep from boredom and exhaustion of going to bed after midnight and waking at 4:445a.m. to meditate, catch two buses and make it to the airport on time; I heard my first Korean siren.  It caught me off guard due to my groggy state and the never before heard sound of a Korean ambulance.  It passed us in a hurry on Highway 1 in a buzz and flash.  I fell asleep a moment later.

Siren #2: A September evening walk through Ssang-yongdong on an atypically warm night but still cool enough to enjoy the occasional breeze and fresh air without sweat to get in the way.  I crossed Ssang-yongdong 2 towards the park I have a thing for, especially at night. It is an open area with pretty red, green, yellow and burnt orange tiled floor and benches along the perimeter in two semi-circles and a circular bench-like place to rest and enjoy the trees, grass and seafood restaurant across the skinny street.  I can see the stars and clouds anytime I go there.  I have painted there on Sunday afternoons to enjoy sun, air and well, painting.  This night I was still passing Highvill apartments across from the better Paris Baguette in my neighborhood when I heard my first Korean police siren.  It startled me.  The sound was foreign and piercing.  Almost nightly I walk past the police station twice on my way out and in from a walk wondering what a police siren sounds like here.  The first time caught me by surprise somehow.  I must be the inner anticipation of sitting on the circular bench-like thing staring at stars and nothing.  I stopped when I heard it moving closer, quickly and forcefully.  And there it was, a police car with blue and red lights and a siren.  I gawked at it like I do the first time I see a barely covered young woman in a bikini every spring like I have never seen a woman before.  I forgot where I was going when I was done gawking and the police car was out of my visual proximity.  Bikinis, yum!

Siren #3:  I was walking home from school and had just passed the police station. The police car went less than a block before finding whatever it was looking for.  I saw no urgency or criminals or anything.  Just a siren and a cop car driving a half block and the two tall thin male officers dressed in tan uniforms leaving the vehicle and standing by the patrol car looking at something.  Nothing happened that I can see but they stayed there for a at least the two minutes I watched from the corner where the silly looking blown up sign in front of the cell phone store is across the street.  I hate those blow-up signs I see around here at cell phone places.  Sometimes I feel like popping them when I walk by.  A product of growing up as a boy in America, the deep need to destroy thing because I can.  They don’t do that here for some reason.  I left to get home and take my nightly 15-20 minute Reiki nap on the floor before dinner.

I am baffled.  Why does a city with a half million people all living so close together not need police sirens for crimes or crisis situations?  How are there no fires?  Doesn’t anybody ever need to go to the hospital with an emergency?  I do not get it.  How is this possible?  I live two blocks from the police station and work across the street from it with my classroom staring directly at its front door with my windows open every day.  Where are the emergencies and crisis?  Baffled, simply baffled.

Vacations

i have strange relationship with vacations and the word vacation.  The word conjures up visions of white people all over the world having people of color serving them hand and foot like slaves.  There is no greater example of white privilege than vacations and how they are constructed in my experience. Where women do what they would never do at home and almost always regret, and men get drunk and cheat on the women that love them. Somehow folks think the are Karmically exempt on vacations. Shopping in malls in every corner of the globe still is shopping and making rich white people richer.  The Gap in milan is the same as the Gap in Seoul and in downtown madison, wi, usa. The excuse to spend wrecklesslly and treat the human body like a terrorist holding your child for ransom is obscene to me.  So in that sense, i hate vacations.  There are very few things in the world i hate- that definition of vacation is one of the select group.

OK, so what do i see as a vacation that is not despicable to me?  Time off to meditate, walk, bike ride, camp, write, paint, sleep, sing, hike, snuggle, be with those i love, meet new people on adventures, push beyond my comfort zone, enter communities quietly and humbly, not as a tourist or vacationer.  Help out a local organization while there.  Drop by the local parks and visit with people who talk to you because you are a nice person, not because you paid them to be nice to you.  Stay in a youth hostel, raizon, or a guest house.  Be with real people with real lives.  Walk gently and leave no foot print.  Beaches are my favorite places for time away from home.  Mountains are not far behind but it is still beaches when given the opportunity.

If never have tried it, traveling through Couch Surfing Project is my favorite way to travel.  The CS project is an international community of over 600,000 folks who offer their homes and or time to help your stay in their community feel like home, a real home with real people who are nice because they are nice.  There are no financial transactions made and i have made many great friends and companions that continue to be in my life.

Traveling by train is a ton of fun too.  It is slow, calm, gentle and a continual sense of meditative peacefulness.  Beats airports, airplanes, buses and cars by a long shot.  And you get to see the sites without adding  traffic or pollution to the communities that you pass through!  They still get to live their lives while you can appreciate their environment.

I do not like having external commitments.  That is the main function of vacations for me.  I meditate when the Higher Self says it is time.  I walk when the Higher Self says its time.  Eating, sleeping, napping, playing and everything else follow that same blueprint.  I enjoy meeting and watching new people in different places.  I learn so much about me and us- our similarities and differences.  We are such an interesting species.  Visiting Temples Churches and Synagogues is my favorite part of most trips.  I love learning how others relate to the Divine.

I rarely have the sense of “needing to get away”.  I like my life and what i do in it.  In fact, vacations and weekends are almost identical, just vacations are in a different location without the comfort of sleeping and cooking in my space with my energy surrounding me.  I usually miss home after a few days but enjoy the time experiencing different people, energies and environments.

Blindness

As the weather in South Korea starts to turn, so have the leaves.  I have been looking forward to this more this year than past.  I wanted to see what it looks like here in autumn.  It has arrived.  Red, burnt orange, orange, yellow, ochre, green and light green fill the streets of Cheonan.  Today, being a sometimes-sunny sometimes-cloudy day, I wanted to get out on Tang San Mountain with camera and hiking shoes to enjoy the day.  I did not leave my room till about 3:30, which was fine.  It is getting dark near 6:00 so I would have plenty of time to explore and take pictures of the trees and whatever else caught my fancy.  I got some great shots of the top of the white cement apartment buildings foreshadowing all the mountains in the background that surround the city of Cheonan.  I had not seen this view before since it was the first time I made it to this trail.  This one was more vigorous of an incline and had better unobstructed views of the city.

After about 45 minutes, I decided to take my first off the main path trail.  I knew I had time before dark and know my way around this part of the city well enough that wherever I ended up, I would be OK.  Along the way, I asked my Higher Self to be in charge and giude me where I needed to be, I trusted that and felt the support. I got lost and it took about a 1-½ hours to make it to the other main trail I typically hike on.  No big deal. 

I saw there was a set of steps with a sign marking to be only 0.2 km to the end.  The steps seemed to go forever but I had been in the middle of the woods by myself in search of solitude long enough. I thought some time walking on the street would be nice.  I started towards the top step and there was a woman by herself on the top step.  She was wearing a green shirt with a lighter green shawl around her neck and shoulders.  Her pants were black and she had semi-long black hair.  Everybody in Korea has black hair.  She was standing on the top stop in the exact middle twirling and rubbing her hands on a red leaf that looked similar but with less edges than an oak tree would produce.  I paused for a second before entering, not wanting to disturb her intense experience with the leaf.  She seemed so focused and single-minded.  About a minute later, I decided to slowly walk around her without breaking her moment.  I started down what looked like more than a hundred wood and dirt steps with a sharp incline slowly. I typically do not have good balance on steps for some reason.  I focused my energy to my feet and my balance improved.  As soon as I started walking, the woman in the green shirt started right behind me, like right behind me.  I felt a little nervous, since I am not accustomed to folks walking right on my tail in the woods, especially down steps.  I slowed to let her pass but she didn’t.  I stopped, stood to the right side and motioned for her to pass gently; she stopped right behind me and wouldn’t look at me.  I started again, walked about seven or eight steps and stopped again.  She stopped directly behind me and I again motioned for her to pass.  Again she did not, but this time she stomped her foot on the ground loudly.  Still no eye contact or acknowledgement.  I felt uncomfortable at this point.  What social/cultural boundary have I broken?  Is it not proper for women to pass man on steps?  Is she afraid of walking in front of me?  While finishing this third question, I approached a small bench inches off the trail on the right for folks to rest while trying to make it to the top due to the sharp incline.  These trails have many older folks enjoying them and a bench is a good thing.  For me, it was Blessing at this moment.  I stopped, and sat on the bench’s left side with my backpack still on, since I planned on only staying there till the woman in the green sweater passed and created some distance for me.  She stood right in front of me and stomped again.  Her expression was blank but intense.  I looked up and her eyes were closed.  She looked like she was forcefully praying or something similar.  I could feel her frustration and did not know what to do.  I sat there still leaning back against my black pack.  She started stomping more and did it several times, maybe eight or nine.  She became more forceful and firm in her stomping each time.  Her energy was strong and willful.  She needed me to do something but could not tell me or was not willing to do so.  I sat.  A minute later she started walking.  She walked slowly and I looked in another direction to not be rude.  About ten steps later, she started stomping again on a large white rock at a curve in the step-path.  She looked downright angry at this point.  I was scared. I did not know what to do but sit.  While she was stomping on the white rock, an elder couple with hats on passed her coming up the hill.  Another couple, going down, passed her and then she started walking again.  I felt a sigh of relief.

I waited about five minutes seated there on the bench to give her some space.  I recalled she never let go of that red leaf in her right hand the whole time.  I man and his son plopped down next to me, we exchanged pleasant glances.  Then it hit me.  It was not a social/cultural issue, the woman was blind.  She could not see and would listen for the steps of those in front of her to find her way down the to the bottom safely.  She was not standing at the top step to be with her red leaf; she needed a guide to make it down safely.  She was not avoiding eye contact, she could not see me!  My blindness was the problem, not hers.  A sharp pain ran through my gut.  What a jerk I am.  I felt shame and embarrassment.  I asked my Higher Self to send me where I needed to go and I was directed to lead her down Tang San Mountain safely. I failed and was somewhat rude along the way.  I prayed for forgiveness, stared to cry on the bench next to the man and his son.  They could not tell. I prayed for her. How could I do such a thing?  What is wrong with me? 

I got up to head down the trail.  I walked down the steps faster than normal.  I wanted to do something, anything but be alone with my shame.  I am such a fool.  When I made it to the bottom. There was a small park with a playground.  A couple of moms and kids were playing.  There was a woman sitting on a bench to the right.  I looked and it was not her.  I did a mental check to make sure I remembered what she was wearing correctly- green shirt with a light green shawl and black pants.  No, she was not there.  I walked towards the sidewalk I saw about fifty feet ahead.  I looked both left and right, across the street and in every direction.  She was nowhere to be found.  I started in the direction that I thought would bring me home since I did not recognize the streets or area that was around me. About fifteen feet to my left and there she was.  How did I not see her when I looked?  She was stopped with the red leaf in her hand.  She stood as if she was taking inventory of her situation, so was I.  She paused then started walking in the direction towards me very slowly.  She appeared cautious in her steps.  As I passed her on her left, I softly said, “ I am sorry” knowing she would not understand the words but possibly the sentiment and energy behind the words.  I sensed her focus was elsewhere and hearing some babble in another language by some guy was not high on her priority list at that moment.  I started walking again; tears were again building up inside me.  I am so blind.  I know nothing.  I think I do but I do not.  Blindness, total blindness.  I looked back and she was walking on the yellow grooved tiles that mark the center of Korean sidewalks for folks visually impaired.  Her strain and focus was intense.  I prayed for her. I prayed for me that I may learn how to see.  I prayed and held back tears the entire hour or so it took me to get back my neighborhood. Along the way, a few different groups of young kids did the “Hello” routine with the foreigner.  Typically I enjoy their enthusiasm and excitement.  Today I was too full of shame but I played along because that it was the foreigner does with kids, play along.  I stopped at ‘815’ grocery store to pick up some stuff for dinner.  The bright lights and activity startled me.  I brushed away my feelings and did what I needed to do.  I left with my backpack stuffed with chicken, curry, eggplant and cucumbers.  One block till home and still blind.  “I was blind, but now I see” runs through my head with its soft, warm melody.  Grace, that is what I need. 

Mother Theresa was once asked, “Why you pray so much?”

“Because I need it.  I don’t pray enough.  I should pray more so I could be of greater service.  I need it, that is why I pray.”

I need to pray more.  I am blind and need to learn how to see.

Re: Being Offended (A rant)

what a wonderfully told interlude, friend.  You have an honesty and refreshing openness that I so much empathise with.  This was an exquisitely choreographed tale and the eventual disclosure of your 'light bulb' moment came right on cue.

Cinematic in your writing, I have never been to Korea, but your words paint a picture of such clarity, that I feel at home there with you.

Myriad blessings,

@ ~)

A Local Korean Hospital

It was a Saturday afternoon, the weather in Korea is definitely cooling but it was bright and sunny.  I hated it.  I felt miserable and wanted to go out and play.  I have feet, a bike, mountains and sidewalks waiting for me but not today.  I have the common cold.  I had it last month as well, two colds in one year a record of sorts for me.  I am in a new land and my body is reacting to changes.  Last month I chose acupuncture and herbal medicine prepared by the herbalist at the Oriental Medical Center a few blocks away.  It worked out great.  This time I chose to go and get an injection at the local small hospital a block from the oriental medical clinic.  I want to feel well quickly, I have some things I need to do, besides, and I wanted to have the experience.

I walk into a large lobby with about fifty people of all ages sitting on cushioned red benches with a big screen TV set mounted on the wall to the left with some sit com that folks seemed to enjoy.  I see at the far end an information desk, I walk there slowly and cautiously not knowing the protocol and knowing that the language barrier is about to express itself again.  I feel sick and do not feel up to it, too bad.  I approach the desk and we exchange the simplest of English conversation including me pretending to cough, pointing and exaggerating my throat inflammation and showing my sinuses dripping.  I have become a method actor here in Korea as matter of circumstance.  They take my alien registration card; type some stuff in the computer and point for me to sit down while speaking in Korean as a matter of habit.  I sit at the other end by the door; it feels like I can hide better there.  Fifteen minutes later I get waved into a doctor’s office, he speaks minimal English and I repeat my Broadway performance of a sick man about to die from something awful. He smiles.  He tells me after a brief examination,  “You have the common cold.”  I reply without reaction, “I know.”

“We give you injection —– —- —- and three days. OK?”

“Yes, OK.”  Assuming that he meant I would either get some medicine for three days or come back in three days.  I do not know what he said in between injection and three days even after he repeated it twice.  I respected him and his time, it is not his fault I do not speak Korean.  A nurse shuffles me to another room and tells me, “Take your pants down for injection.” It then occurs to me the injection will be in my butt and not my arm.  I have not had an injection in my butt in probably thirty-five years. I panic briefly but then pull them down behind a red and white striped curtain.  Why the curtain if she is going to see my butt naked anyway? She re-enters the little space and rubs something wet and cold I assume to be alcohol on my butt and then rubs around for a second.  Somewhere during that, she injected me. I did not feel it or even know she was dong it yet.  Magic.  I go out to pay and find it costs the equivalent of $7.00! I am shocked. I pay and leave not believing I went to a hospital, was diagnosed, injected and left in less than thirty minutes and it cost about $7.00.  I picked up some groceries- oranges, tangerines, lemons, ginger root and other goodies to support my system and head home.  Fruit cost more than the hospital visit.  I feel better about an hour later.

It is now Tuesday night.  I am still sick, maybe worse.  It lasted shortly and I have a clogged up nose, coughing and yuckiness.  I decide after dinner I will return and see if I was supposed to come back after three days or not.  I walk in and nobody is in the whole waiting area.  I approach the desk again as I did the other day but now there are different folks and need to do the Hollywood thing again.  They are not amused.  They bring another woman out, a nurse who speaks English. She is kind and helpful.  After they figure out the intake nurse the other day decided to cut my last name in half, she brings me to the doctor’s office and joins us to help with language issues.  She does great.  We figure out that I was supposed to be taking medicine for the last three days and they gave me a prescription. I tell them, “I did not know if I was given a prescription or not and asked at the desk if I was done. And they said ‘Yes’, so I left.  I am sorry.  “No. We are sorry.  They should have told you”, the doctor says with the nurse nodding her head yes.  You can get another injection and we give you prescription for three days.  If you still sick, please come back see me.  OK?”

This time I understand totally.  “Yes OK.  Thank you very much.”

I am ushered to the other room and again pull my pants down to get the injection in my butt but she turns me around to do the other side.  She says while smiling, “Now you have balance.”  I laugh and before I know it she is done.  “Pull up your pants and I take you to get prescription filled.”

“No I can do it myself. Thank you.”

“There is nobody here.  I can help you.”

I let her lead me to the desk to pay before we leave.  This time it is only $5.10. I think they gave me a discount because of confusion over prescription.  She then leads me out the door to the little pharmacy around the corner.  We enter and she hands the prescription to the young lady and says something to her.  They bow.  She turns back to me, “I work from 8:00-midnight if you ever need anything.”

“Thank you very much.  Hopefully I will not see you again.”  She says, “Good-bye” bows and leaves.  I return the bow.  My prescription was filled about two minutes later.  The pharmacist said “Take after meals three times day.”

“OK. How much?” I make gesture of money exchanging hands.  It was the equivalent of $3.10 for tablets and syrup for three days.  I leave to go home smiling with my little pharmacy bag. 

Things sure are different here.  The presidential election has started in America.  I  already voted absentee.

Re: A Local Korean Hospital

I was looking for any excuse to add a post now that sandra had changed the titlle of this thread from Being Offended (A Rant) to Clueless in Korea inspired by Toms prodding.  Excuse granted.


I had just passed one of my favorite parks in the neighborhood with cobblestone walkways; a lighted badminton court, skating circle and paths and perimeter of the park are lined with pine trees.  On this day, their fragrance was sweet, and well, piney since it had rained a few hours earlier.  I started walking away from the park towards one of the trail heads at the base of Tang San Mountain and I noticed what would make a beautiful picture of a woman sitting on cement bench near the badminton court surrounded by pine trees and red, yellow and green leaves of various other trees. After taking a few photos that I was all excited about, I turned to start up the hill that leads to the trailhead.  There was a man standing in the middle of the street doing some stretching, not unusual, Korean men seem to stop and do stretching anywhere they feel like it.  He caught my attention enough to get my to stop for a moment and there it was on my left standing out above the wall dividing itself from the park- a large Golden Buddha!  It must be fifty or sixty feet high.

I walked all around the perimeter of the property to find the entrance into whatever that large Buddha was connected to.  Mind you I have passed this exact spot many times and had not seen this massive structure. I was so excited that I walked the entire square wall to find I was standing in front of the entrance. I entered not knowing if it was OK for me to be there or what was inside the gates.  There stood a Temple with turquoise borders, and two smaller buildings on its left and right.  I stood there not knowing how or if to proceed. I saw a couple of women scurrying about the far end of one of the buildings.   Headed in that direction to discover they had entered into a kitchen area door that was open.  I stood there till someone acknowledged me and asked if she spoke English.  She scurried away and yelled something to men sitting in the floor in the next room and then a man in a robe but not a monk came out to greet me. 

“Do you speak English?” I asked him.

“A little.”

“Is it OK for me to sit?”

“Sit, what is sit?”

I made hand motions to describe sitting in meditation, “Meditation.”

“You medititate?” he said surprised.

“Yes.”

“You know Buddhism?”

“A little.”

“It is not in English.”

“That is OK.”

He points to the Temple and said, “OK, you can meditate in the Temple.” He starts leading me towards the Temple.  He takes off his shoes, as do I and we enter.  He points for me to sit on the floor and walks across the room to get me a mat. He also comes back with a book, “Read book and meditate.”

I make the Korean hand gesture for no, crossing the arms like an X, “I cannot read.”

“OK, you sit and meditate.”  I do as told.

I sit for about fifteen or twenty minutes with alternating between eyes closed and open taking in the two Golden Buddhas and various offerings and artwork throughout the room.  The array of vivid colors of turquoise, red, yellow, green and off-white are tickling me from head to toe.

I decide I am done for today.  Get up and bow three times and take five minutes to look around the room. I am in awe.  I leave the Temple and he is outside looking at the flowers and mountain talking with a friend.  He comes to greet me.  He points and says, “Come look.” And he leads me on the path around the Temple to the large Gold Buddha.  We talk in front of the Golden Buddha.  He is a nice and simple man. I like him.  He invites me to come back anytime. 

“Is it OK for me to take some pictures?”

“Yes.” He reaches in his pocket and brings out his camera and shows me pictures he has taken of the Golden Buddha ands grounds.  I take pictures and bid farewell to my new friend sensing we will meet again.  He walks me out and shows me the building the monks live in.  I leave feeling very grateful and head up the hill towards the mountain.  The walk was more forceful and inspiring today than usual.  All this within five blocks of my space.  Clueless indeed.

Re: Clueless in Korea

After deserting this thread fro the month-long dive into nanwrimo and 60,000 words later, i felt the need to swim in familar, unfamiliar waters again.

Re: Clueless in Korea

You are not American, You are Korean

Walking up the steps passing hundreds of young boys and girls individually shouting to the foreigner who has been at their school daily for almost five months now, “Hello”, Ashley and I reach the platform of the third floor.  Lunch was delicious.  The cafeteria served a nice bowl of steamed rice (shocking), a seafood based soup with bean sprouts and shredded carrots, cucumbers and squash and side dishes (panchan) of Kimchi (another surprise), noodles with shredded veggies and a red sauce and an acorn fermented product similar to tofu but in brown with ridges.

“So Ashley, I have a question for you.”  She looks over at me with that look most people give me when I start a sentence that way- somewhere between fear and curiosity.  “Are Korean women so shy around foreigner males because you think we are bad or mean, or is it because you think we look down at you.”

She laughs, like most people do after the question that follows those intros.  “Michael.  Most men that are foreigners think they are so much better than us.”  She tilts her head back to demonstrate someone who has their nose up in the air. “They act differently.  We are from different cultures.  Most foreigners, especially Americans, are rude and usually only care about themselves.  W are not like that here.  It is a difference in cultures.”  She looks at me waiting to see my reaction.  “They are very rude”.  I am a bit caught off guard by her honesty, directness and language skills that instantly grew by leaps and bounds in two flights of stairs.  I feel a pinch of shame about me, where I am from, and what I represent.  I am one of those she is speaking of.  I say nothing.

“Michael, you are not like that.  You are not like American, you are like Korean.” She laughs again for the third time.  “You are not American”. This time said playfully.  “You are Korean”.

This time I join in her laughter.  “The funny thing is that in America, most people say I am not like them either.  I feel more Korean than American sometimes.  That is why I am so comfortable here.  I feel like I belong here.”

“You do. You are Korean Michael.” We both laugh and enter our mini teacher’s room that we share with two computer teachers.  The room is way over-heating from the heater in the ceiling.  The downside of sharing an office space with three young Korean women that are always cold.  Maybe I am not Korean after all.

Re: Clueless in Korea

Michael, I have really enjoyed your writings about Korea.  I have followed them for awhile and find them to be rich, sensitive – and so true to my own experience there.  I kept a journal while I was there, but it was personal and didn't chronicle “life in Korea” in the wonderful detail that you are providing here.

I was prompted to write this morning, instead of just lurking, because several Koreans told me the same thing:  “You are not American.  You are Korean.”  Like you, I didn't find the description to be entirely convincing (!), but I took it as the compliment that I think it was intended to be:  “You do not fit our stereotype of arrogant, insensitive Americans” or “We feel natural with you.”

Like you, also, it became clear to me that I actually am not quite “at home” in the U.S. – that my values and outlook don't quite line up with those of many people in America – so, I did sometimes feel more at home in this strange new place than back in the states.  But at other times it became very apparent that I was not, indeed, “at home.”

Have you ever had someone tell you that Koreans don't trust travellers?  That there is a general belief that people who travel far from home either must have problems, or must be fleeing something?  Several of my Korean friends told me that, by way of explaining why people on the streets or in other puplic places sometimes appeared to treat me with distrust or even fear.

Do you ever have any issues with being a perpetual outsider in that environment?  I spent two years in Korea, and I loved many aspects of it, but after that time (I was young - in my twenties) I found I had been somewhat exhausted by the “roles” and “projections” I had to navigate there, either being something of an American Celebrity, or being an object of curiosity or even a distrusted/disliked outsider (some college students on the streets would yell, “Go home, monkey!”).  Maybe you don't have to deal with that now – Koreans may be more open towards foreigners now than they were in the early '90s – but that was, unfortunately, a taxing aspect of my time there.

Anyway, thank you again for your lovely chronicles of your time there.  I read your entries with interest whenever I come across them.

Best wishes,

Balder

Re: Clueless in Korea

Thanks balder for choosing to end your time as a lurker and joining the ranks of those who can appreciate cleulessness, in korea or elsewhere.

Many thought-provoking comemnts, especiallyt eh celebrity thing.  truthfully, i do not like it.  i am someone who enjoys attention but ONLY  on my terms and of my making.  i feel somewhat unconfortable with attention that has nothing to do with me or myactions.

I feel like an outsider sometimes, which i do pratically anywhere, korea just happens to be where i feel ike an outsider these days.  It is something i have experienced since my eralry teens and accept it as such.  the hting i miss form tiem to time si the ability to have full, real and genuine conversation without langauge barriers.  i miss shairng and listening to other share what is moving them in the inner world.  One of the reasons that i appreciate DDland so much.

People have generally been very kind to me.  they have also been predominantly trusting of me iin degrees i am not accustomed to as someone who grew up 30 miles from nyc.  the second time i was at a local restaurant enjoying my meal, the owner/cook/server; had a delivery to make and just left on her motorcycle without any caution or anything else. She just left me in there eating my meal wihtout any “security”.  it startled me, since i had never experienced that before.  There has been several times that i have mistakenly over=payed and folks have given the correct change back, one time the lady came running out of her place to find me.

i find men are more untrsuting if me than women, but women are more shy, especially about using their limited english.

“That there is a general belief that people who travel far from home either must have problems, or must be fleeing something?”
No, i have never heard nor experieened this, maybe things have changed herre.  they actually travel these days as well. Many have gone to the usa or cananda and se asia.  If oyu mean do think folks who move far from home, as opposed to tourists, that may still be true.They do not understand why anyone would not want to be near their family, although i think the wenstern influences on young folks may change that in the near future.

Thanks again for coming out form the dark.
peace,
michael

Re: Clueless in Korea

When I first walked through Ssang-yongdong in mid-July, I noticed clothing racks in windows from the apartments of the higher levels of these large white cement buildings.  I recall thinking; “I think that is so cool that folks don’t use their dryers during the summer to save electricity.  What a great conservationist lifestyle.”  That was until I made my way into a few different apartments and observed that they do not have dryers.  Hummm.  Interesting how some of the buildings actually support the environment like this.  My small building is one of them.  We have a washer on each floor that is used by about six or seven tenants each. 

By late summer, I was getting the feeling that it was not just a building specific thing to not have dryers.  So, being Curious George, the next time I went to E-Mart and Lotte Mart; I looked briefly at the major appliances to see if they actually sold dryers.  They do.  BUT, there are about ten washers to one dryer available for purchase. 

See, in Korea, apartments are made with this little area of whatever width the apartment is as an extension of the living room or studio that is closest to the window for placing your clothes on a dryer rack to dry.  They do not use clothes dryers.  Really. They do not use clothes dryers.  They wash their clothes in these really cool efficient washers that look more like a huge bucket than a washer.  It has small agitators, and no, I am not talking about George Bush or his friends, I mean the little fins that protrude from the base of the washer to help shake things up.  Everything about the technology and design is simple, very simple.  In fact, there is a button that you can push and the washer will shake for about ten seconds to determine which water level is necessary and what cycle it will run at.  It then displays how long it will take on a red LED and begins it’s filling of the machine with water.  One does not have to figure anything out, the machine does it all for you.  If you are one of those controlling types that need to fuss and be in charge of everything in your life, there are buttons for you to set the cycles and water level yourself.  Otherwise, push the red button and come back in 50 minutes to empty your clothes out of the washer to bring your damp clothes to your little ‘balcony’ to dry. Done.  Minimal natural resources are used and simple, real simple.  Korean technology is aimed at simplicity.  American technology is aimed at lack of simplicity, the more you spend, the more buttons and gadgets there are to operate and repair when they break. Simplicity.

My space does not have one of those little ‘balconies’.  I have had to get a little more creative.  I hang a clothesline across my space when I need to dry clothes and hang shorts and pants on little hooks that are stuck to the ceiling for other stuff.  Big things I hang outside my large south-facing window to dry quicker.  I love it! It so much fun each time figuring how to find a way to get everything dry without interfering with my life.  I have not bought a drying rack yet; I don't like them or the way the look.  So, being an American, I have found a way to take technology that simplifies and complicate it.  Thank God shoelaces do not have any electrical appliances for me to complicate.  More importantly, I have found a way to leave the world of “I need my clothes dry now!” to “My clothes will be dry when they dry” and get added moisture in my room during winter nights as a bonus.  I started not using dryers for the most part about a decade ago. I am glad that the option has been taken from me completely.

What would your life look like without a dryer?

Re: Clueless in Korea

Covered: A letter to my two spiritual companions

January 3, 2009

Dear B. and M.M.;

It came to me in meditation this morning to share with you some reflections and experiences I had on a trip I just returned from Malaysia on Friday.  It may be quite long, so I invite you to read it when you have the time and a cup of hot tea.

When I was making arrangements to go to Kuala Lumpur and Penang, I was struggling with eh idea that I was going on a vacation to a tropical country.  As you both know, we do not do vacations.  But I had this strong sense I needed to do this.  I told myself that it was to get healthy since I have been struggling with three separate colds since the weather has changed here in Korea.  I needed something to justify my journey.

Upon arrival in KL, I was immediately struck by the Islamic influence everywhere.  Women covered in robes with hoods and men often wearing caps.  They looked so clear and focused.  When I looked into their eyes respectfully, they were clear, focused and present.  When passing women on the street, they avoided eye contact with all men and me.  A statement of which surprised and humbled me.  I veer my eyes towards too many women lustfully and pay a price for doing=g so.

The first time I was passing a Mosque, it was right after the call for Prayer.  There were many Muslim men and women focused onto entering the Mosque on time and in the state of mind.  It reminded me of the Cabbalistic Chassidim I have observed with the same intensity and focus.  Their clothes were distinctly different from what they wear during the rest of their daily life.  The men wore robes or clean white cotton pants with either white or a soft tan top.  Everything looked so clean and cared for; sacred.  The women wore dresses or robes and their colors were a little more diverse but still simple.  The simplicity and focus left me feeling somehow out of place in my shorts and t-shirt as a not so casual observer.  Knowing that they were sweeping floors, cleaning dishes, nursing children, cooking food, selling products and laughing with friends and family minutes before in their street clothes reached a part of me I do not let touched often.  They are doing it, really doing it.  The balance between sacred and mundane was evident in every movement and step.  I wanted to watch them in prayer but felt like that was not Ok although their were others doing so, and the sign said it was permitted.  Not for me though.  I was however given inner permission to walk around the grounds and sit on another occasion on a white cement bench about fifty feet away.  I experienced a need to wear robes, and head coverings like they do. I am aware this can be done energetically but the physical covering seems to help hold the energy and intention.  I am sense we can do this through Reiki as well.

My limited real life exposure to Islamic culture and living had previously been from friends, acquaintances, Muslim literature class and the Teachers that have been given to me like Rumi, Attar, Jami, El-Ghaazzali and Hadrat Ali.  They visit me in my dreams and in meditation.  I have never walked with them in their lives and communities to witness sacred community like I did in Malaysia.  There were Mosques separated by culture- Malay and Indian, and those were common and shared by all.  I was fortunate to be walking in between two of them on New Years Eve during Call to Prayer. It was powerful I=t of feel the Call in my bones and belly so deeply. I did not know what they were saying but definitely felt what they were offering.

My experiences amongst these Muslim peoples were humbling.  I remember having a somewhat similar commitment and dedication just a few years ago.  I have swerved sometimes far and not so far from this place to stand ad miss it.  Seeing it so commonly and without fanfare or ego was embarrassing and inspiring.  I have received Teachings for the Sufis but had never really felt the Presence in the lineage of the Islamic Teachers till now.  I am now connected tot hem in a way that was foreign or ignored.  It is not that I will now become Muslim or start following Islamic practices. It is more about the intention, commitment and dedication that are what is with me at hoe in Korea.  I need to be doing this stuff the way that I made the commitments to do when I came in tot his life.  This just getting by business needs to end.  Time to step up and stand the way I have been trained and allow the Higher Self to be in charge again.  My sense is that the forgiveness will come through renewed commitment and focus.  The attention to detail that these focus practiced was also humbling and created a pinch of shame inside me. I know better than to be so involved I the world as I have been and will continue to be until I give up the need to stroke and stimulate the ego.  That is my part. That is what I am responsible for.

On a personal note, the people and food in Malaysia was excellent. I was treated kindly, respectfully by the Malay, Chinese and Indian people alike.  The food was incredible and very inexpensive.  I am grateful to be home but already miss being there.  I hope this message was not too long but felt moved to write it and share it with the two if you, and maybe others as well.

Peace and love,
michael

Re: Clueless in Korea

Who are these women and why are they on my TV screen?

I have been putting off writing this piece for almost six months now.  Wow has it really been six months since I landed here in Korea?  Almost.

I have struggled with observing the way Korean TV portrays women in commercials.  They remind me of the stuff that was on TV in the states in the fifties and early sixties when women were dressed in expensive, perfect clothes to vacuum their living rooms with the hair perfectly set in a bun, make-up that most models would drool over and smiling from ear to ear like they are being romanced by Antonio Banderas AND Sean Connery on a solo vacation in Madrid.  They all have that glazed over I love being a dutiful housewife look. It just grosses me out sometimes.  I kept thinking at some point I would find some kind of acceptance or something but I have become even more intolerant as time has gone by.  I didn’t want to write this from such a judgmental, insensitive perspective but tonight it ached to see a woman smiling in her perfectly clean soft white cotton dress, skin without a blemish, hair that does not move, smiling orgasmically at the exterminator killing the cockroaches behind the fridgerator while her two angelic children stand on each side of her with arms around each either.  Eeeeeeww!  Somehow I found the cockroaches more acceptable than the woman herself.  Who would want to marry such a woman?

This is the standard portrayal of the Korean woman on TV commercials; The Stepford Wives meet Kim Eun Cheong (not a real name).  They have other life or aspirations but a clean house, cute children, happy husband and a perfect smile that has no color or expression of Self.  They live a martyr’s life in their kitchen and laundry room dressed in their white cotton and silk dresses that appear to have never been breathed on precious to that moment.  Men are rarely present in TV commercials, it is strange their lack of visibility. Was June Cleaver even this perfect?  At least Carol Brady had a housekeeper when looking like she had never touched a dish, mud stain or a child’s vomit.  We could count on Olivia Walton to be dirty, you know live up there on Blue Ridge Mountain with all that survival stuff going on before they went to bed at night with their absurd goodnight ritual:
“Ben: Goodnight Mama.
Olivia: Goodnight Ben. Goodnight Jim Bob.
Jim Bob: 'Night Mama, 'night Erin.
Erin: 'Night Jim Bob, 'night Grandpa.
Grandpa: 'Night Erin, goodnight Jason.
Jason: Goodnight Grandpa, goodnight Daddy.
John: Goodnight Jason, goodnight Elizabeth.
Elizabeth: Goodnight Daddy. Goodnight John-Boy.
John-Boy is standing outside listening to the voices. He answers quietly: Goodnight everybody, - I love you.”

The thing that irks me the most about these commercials is the fact that for the most part, Korean moms are simple, grounded and wonderfully imperfect people.  It is what I like most about them; they are regular folks who do their best dressed in clothes that make sense for the tasks of their day.  They bare no resemblance to these women who have a post-sex contentment over their Hauzen washer’s tiny bubbles filling their home to the ceiling with bubbles.  It would make more sense in the states where moms often wear make-up, fix their hair and change their clothes five times a day to look good for the other mother’s who live down the street and pick up their children after soccer practice but this is Korea and moms really are not like that here. 

Why does this still exist in 2009?
Who buys into this crap?

I only have thing left to say:
“Good night Jim Bob.”

Re: Clueless in Korea

Malaysian Street Women or How Michael Again Proves his Cluelessness

I was out walking through downtown Georgetown on Penang Island in Malaysia.  I had spent part of the afternoon in Batu Ferringhi on the beach.  I was ready for some dinner after a semi-clean shower that at least was successful in cooling me off from the almost ninety degree day on December 29th.  I left Night and Day Guesthouse an turned right towards Penang Avenue where I could find something interesting to eat.  What with so many choices of Indian, Thai, Malay, Chinese and combination of all of the above, how could I go wrong right?

Well, I am Michael and there is always the distinct possibility of me taking a simple task and finding away to turn it into something, clears throat, ‘interesting’.  This night was not except to that rule that I seem to live by.

I turned right at the street just before Penang Avenue and started towards the huge Malaysian version if a food court.  In Malaysia, they have these large sometimes covered, sometimes not areas with table and chairs outdoors where you just roam around the squared off section and choose different foods from around the world prepared fresh and VERY CHEAPLY of anything from satay chicken on a stick to nasi (rice) with anything you want on it to Mee (yellow noodles in a bowl with chicken broth) covered with your favorite sauces, gravy, meats or vegetables.  All the vendors are privately owned and operated by real people who eat what they cook for you too.  Yo can eat three main courses from equal the amount of cultures all for about $5.00.  I was just about to reach the entrance to this particular food court taking in the combination of curry, garlic and fish when an attractive and normally dressed young woman walks over and says “Hi” to me.  She seemed friendly so I stopped and said, “hello” back to her.  She had brown hair, about 5’ 5” tall average weight and a pretty but not extremely noticeable face. I believe she was Malay.  She would look normal on line at the bank, grocery store or the food court.  She had no heavy make-up or jewelry, no tight pants or deep cleavage.  Just a regular girl in her twenties who while we were exchanging “hellos” she casually reached over and gently started rubbing my penis!  Just like that!  It took my about a minute to collect myself and reel in my now ecstatic hormones to excuse myself and start walking away while she was following me.  I escaped by walking through the cemetery across the street without her following me.  It is amazing how the potential threat of a ghost haunting a person can be a source of safety in certain situations.

I ate a nice dinner at an inside Indian restaurant and found myself very attracted to everything that did not come into this world with a penis.  My senses were on high alert.  The Tandoori Chicken and garlic Naan were delicious. I left feeling satiated at least food-wise.  Time for a nice walk around downtown at night before I meet up with my friend Happy.

As I walked with increased sensitivity, I noticed there were certain women ‘stationed’ along the way. Growing up outside NYC I do have that kind of perception, if not slowed by distance and lack of interaction with that world.  There was this very interesting and attractive in a late night B mo vie kind of way dark skinned Indian woman who had dyed part of her hair with crimson streaks.  I’d by lying if I did not admit to more than passing acknowledgment.  She was wearing simple clothes but her eyes were wild, very wild.  Like cover of a romance novel type wild.  Then there was the Malay woman in her late twenties, maybe early thirties wearing a nice red and yellow traditional Malay blouse with jeans.  She was soft and gentle looking.  She does not have any of that rough, beaten-down and beaten-up, used and abused look of NYC street women.  I could see her passing the ‘mom test’ if I wanted to take her home for approval.  She had these nice warm, caring eyes and her voice was equally as soft.  The clue was her saying “Hi” to me three times and looking me up and down the third time.  I flinched and scampered away. 

I met up with my friend Happy later on and it turned out his car was parked directly in front of the dark-skinned Indian woman with the crimson striped hair.  She approached us and then actually just opened the back door to the car and started to sit down, as if invited and welcome!  Happy spoke to her in Malay and hew got out slowly.  He turned the car on while telling me, “She is on drugs.” Little does he know how easily that part was for me to identify.  She then opened the back door again and this time sat with confidence while he was forcefully telling her to get out.  At this point she started shutting the door like she was here to stay. He became more forceful and louder; she hesitated but eventually stood half in and half out. I told him to pull away and he did and she got out without closing the door.  Happy and I talked along the way about her, and street women.

I still have the impression that these women and their lack of outwardly distinctive presentation of self are so different than their American counterparts.  I have to say; it made me cautious when interacting with women the rest of the trip. Not to the point where I felt inhibited, just mindful.  This is such a stark contrast to living in Korea where I do not believe I have seen one prostitute in my about to be half year here.

In case I had somehow convinced myself that I have reached any level of higher knowledge or wisdom, my experiences observing and unintentionally interacting with these women has cleared up any false sense of spiritual development or enlightenment.  The Teachings come in all shapes and forms.  I am fortunate for the education in spite of myself.

Re: Clueless in Korea

Not with the Door Open Young Man


I was having a conversation with a female Korean friend over lunch the  yesterday.  We shared some brown rice that I over steamed, Kuk (light soup) and several Panchan (side dishes).  I thought this an excellent opportunity to dig into some social questions I had in my ‘whenever I get a chance’ section of the brain waiting for a willing informant on Korean culture.  I was ready to seize the moment like the shark I can be at times.

But first we had some business to discuss. I was meeting a mutual person few know for language exchange later on that evening and needed to work out the details since she does translating via phone for us sometimes.  Like most folks learning a foreign language, my exchange partner does better in person with understanding me where she can utilize facial expressions, energy, hand signals and lip reading to aid her comprehension of words and phrases.  My friend asked, “Where do you want to meet her tonight, that same coffee shop you went to before you went to Malaysia again?  You both liked it there.”  We did, but caffeine at night is not something that is supportive of positive circadian rhythms for folks like me.  So, with ignorance and naiveté as my guides I asked what I thought to be a reasonable question, “What about my apartment?  I do not have a good table for us to work on but the floor would be fine.”

“No michael, she cannot do that.”

Wanting more information and an explanation, Curious George became my next guide into ignorance, “Why not?”  Simple, direct and to the point.

“Michael, in Korean culture, a woman cannot be in a man’s apartment or room unless they are married or there is another woman present.”

Stunned and a little embarrassed, I proceeded with clarification to make certain I didn’t get things lost in translation, “You mean that you or her can never come to my place for dinner, to watch TV or drink tea without the other one present?”  I was hopeful there was a communication problem.

“No.  The only way is if we leave the door completely open so that your neighbors can see in.”

“You are kidding right?”  Still hopeful but starting to fade.

“No, I am not kidding Michael!  Korean women cannot go to a man’s room or he cannot come into ours until we are married.”

“So your boyfriend has never been to your room?”  Reaching now, knowing they have been best friends for seven years and a couple for the last year.

“No.”  I gulp and try not to let the Kimchi in my mouth choke me.  I succeeded at that endeavor but am struggling to swallow with the deeper one.

“Really?”  I had nothing else.

“Michael.  We can’t be seen with a man on the floor of his room or on the couch without another woman present unless we leave the door open.  People will think something is happening.  And it is also for the girl’s safety too.  Bad things happen to girls when they are left alone with guys with the door shut.”  She hesitates reflectively, “Do women do this in America?”

I am able to answer without laughing at her, Koreans or American values and boundaries or the lack of them. I silently reflect on how many different women’s couches and assorted other sleeping arrangements I have been offered and accepted through The CouchSurfing Project in the last year. “Yes, all the time. It is very common now for men and women to even share apartments together as friends.  We hang out together at each other’s places all the time and it is not a big thing for a guy or girl to just crash at the friend’s home if they are too tired to go home or something.  It is very normal in America.  I know that some married women will not be alone with a man that is not their husband down South but I think that is even becoming rare these days.”

“Really?”  Her face looked like she just saw a ghost, maybe two.

“Is this about rumors and gossip?”

“Yes, a lot if it is about rumors and gossip.  If people say the wrong things about a girl she may not be able to get married.”  My turn to wear the ‘I just saw a ghost or two look’.

We finished lunch with more digestible topics like children, English, Hangeul and Kimchi.  But is stuck with me all day!  At night, after our language exchange session at the coffee shop, I asked my language partner who does not command the English language as well at this point about this conversation.  It took nearly five tries to communicate the content enough for her to understand.  Her reply put this whole thing to bed for me, errr, maybe not a good choice of words.  “No Michael.  A woman cannot do that Michael.  I do not know why but it is never allowed.”

“So you or her will never be able to come to my place across the street from both of you and eat dinner or watch a movie with me and talk? Ever?”

“No Michael. I am sorry but we cannot do that.  It is Korean culture. I do not know why but it is this way Michael.”

I shared with her the part of my earlier discussion about safety and gossip.  “Yes, that must be why Michael.”

“This makes me sad.”  I stopped there.

I am still sad a day later. Partially since I cannot hang out with my friends individually and I for the most part, do not like crowds larger than two people. That is the self-centered sadness.  The greater ache is that of social norms that prevent love, friendship and relationships based on gossip and perceived or potential safety hazards.  Have we not gotten past some of this yet?  How can a college professor still not be able to keep male friendships and maintain her social and professional status?  AAAHHHHHHH!

I am sad, very sad. I was happier standing in my cultural bliss of ignorance less than thirty-six hours ago.

Re: Clueless in Korea

a thouroughly engaging piece of writing michael - it flows beautifully and as is often the case with your pieces, the denouement and unfolding of the story are exquisitely timed - am becoming totally addicted to your developing Korean adventure - thanks!

by the way, the penis touching incident happened to me once - is it not amazing how transparently defenceless we males become at times like that - like a baby being offered nourishment!!

blessings,

@ ~)

Re: Clueless in Korea

Utterly defenseless!  Like any development or awareness we have experienced disappears like magic!  It is amazing we are capable of actually surviving our own hormonal repsonses as often as we do.  A testament to something.

Thanks and much peace to you my friend,
michael

Re: Clueless in Korea

Just devoured the last two stories. Colorful, vivid images and mouthwatering details, countered by a haunting gray fog of sorrow. I am drawn in by the quality of what you are sharing here.  Will be back again.

Thank you.

Nell ;-o

Re: Clueless in Korea

Thanks neil.  It has been interesting for me as well.  Often i fel liek i am just along for the ride in my writing as well. Not sure if that is a fgood thing ir not, but the way my process seems to express itself these days.
Peace
michael

Re: Clueless in Korea

Like a Korean Virgin

I am sitting at my MacBook listening to the Buddhist Television Network in the background with volume at #1 about to dive into an area that baffles.  Being baffled is not a new or unexpected state for me, just one that well, baffles me.

As I have begun to form friendships and relationships here in Korea, an added benefit is direct sources of information that I would not be able to access otherwise.  This reflection comes from one of those opportunities.  My ‘informant’, who will remain nameless for obvious reasons, has no reason to lie or distort the truth.  She is trying to help me understand her culture as best she can.  I am grateful for her trust, respect and willingness to aid me in my continual process of learning.  These days, the ‘textbook’ I am studying is about male-female relationships, sex, gender roles, norms and expectations. I say ‘these days’ to make myself feel like it will someday be something different.

Today I had the pleasure of penetrating the topic of virginity and sexual activity in Korea.  I was flat out bowled over by what seemed obvious to my informant but oblivious to me. I appreciate her patience in this department since it took several restating of questions and answers to make certain I heard, understood and swallowed the information correctly.  I also need to add that any conversation that includes sex, virginity and prostitution as its main focal points will both maintain and distract me continuously.

“So, I have been thinking about what you said yesterday about the whole women leaving the door open or not be allowed in a man’s room or apartment thing. It really has caught my attention since it is so far removed from American culture and norms.  My question is; if men and women are not allowed to be in a room together alone before marriage then do they not have sex?”

“No, they don’t.”

“They’re virgins till marriage?”

“Yes.  Most Koreans do not have sex before marriage.”

“Both men and women?”

“Yes.  But more women are virgins than men.”

“How is that possible? Don’t the men have sex with women to not be virgins?”

“You know how in Korea all men have to serve in the military?”  I nod my head.  “Their senior and junior officers take them to get sex for pay. It is a regular part of what happens when boys go to the military.  Many say they have not done it but we all know they have.”

“So prostitution is how most boys lose the virginity?”

“Yes. It is very normal in Korea.  Most girls do not have sex before marriage.  If they get married and the girl has already had sex with a man, they will get separated immediately.”

“Really?” 

“Yes. Most men will not marry a women who is not a virgin.”

“Really?”  For a guy who talks as much as I do, my vocabulary as an English teacher was becoming very limited to just one word; Really? “It is like Muslim culture?”

“Michael, it is Korean culture.”  I am beginning to find out that the answer to anything that Koreans feel insecure or embarrassed about is; “It is Korean culture”.

I was about to say ‘Really?’ one more time but thought about it and tried some new words.  “So you are telling me that women that are between 25-35 years old and not married are virgins?”

“Yes.  It is very normal in Korea.”

“And boys that do not have sex with a prostitute in the military are also virgins till marriage?”

“Yes but many of them lie about it.”

“What percentage of high school students has sex before college?”

“High school students having sex?”  She is now the one who is sounding like I was speaking a foreign language(OK, so I am, but you know what I mean!) .  It was like she did not understand the question or it was a quantum physics equation.

“Yes. In America, it is very common for high school students to have sex before they graduate high school. In fact, most of them have more sexual partners in high school than I have had in my whole life.”

“Really?”  See what a good English teacher I am? In a matter of minutes I have Koreans mimicking my phrases like natives.

“Yes.  It is one of the reasons me and some of my friends that work with youth for a living do not want to work in high schools any more. The girls are too aggressive and we get accused of things that didn’t even happen.”

“Do you lose your jobs if that happens? If a teacher or counselor has sex with a high school girl, who gets fired?”

“The man! He loses his job, never can work with youth again and usually goes to jail for many years, sometimes even twenty-five years.”

“Really?”

“Yes. In 1997 I was accused of trying to have sex with a high school girl that was in a program I used to coordinate and I almost was arrested and prosecuted and I never even touched her beyond the way I would touch any boy or girl.”

“Really? So you can’t be a counselor any more in America?”

“I can.  There was a lot of support for me and things were sort-of resolved without any legal or professional consequences but I resigned from my job because all the girls thought I was some kind of a sexual molester and I knew I could not do my job effectively any more.  It was more about rumors and gossip than legal or professional.  Girls were afraid to be alone with me after that.”

“Did you ever talk with her about it?”

“Yes. She said she did it because she didn’t want to be on the camping trip any more and thought by accusing me of trying to have sex with her, we would go home.  Unfortunately for her, that did not happen and I almost lost my freedom and went to jail.  I asked her about three years later when hired by the University of Cincinnati to conduct research on the effectiveness of the program.  She said she didn’t even remember the situation. It meant that little to her.”

“You are lucky michael.”

“It didn’t feel that way at the time though.  So this doesn't happen here in Korea?”

“No.”

“Out of 100 kids in high school, how many have had sex?”

“They don’t.”

“Less than ten percent”

“Yes, maybe.”

“And of adult women, how many do you think are still virgins before marriage?  More then fifty percent?”

“Yes.”

“More than seventy percent?”

“I do not know exactly but more are virgins than not.”

“So a couple together for several years not married would never have been alone with a door closed or had sex?”

“Yes it is very normal in Korea.”

“Is this true for Japan and China too?” I asked this as a way to validate her statements and just in case what I had heard was completely untrue.

“No, just Korea.”  She laughs for the first time. I am not sure if it was because she thought it was funny or she felt uncomfortable. 

“I didn’t think so but figured I would ask.” 

At this point, we both had to go.  I was experiencing many different emotions including confusion, bewilderment, surprise, disappointment, erotic thoughts about having sex with a gorgeous thirty year old Korean virgin and a pinch of anger.  I was bothered by all this- what it says about Korean culture, American culture, men, women, social norms and programming, and just plain old judgmental thoughts in my head. 

It is now past midnight and this has taken up a large chunk of my mental process the rest of the day today.  I was looking forward for the opportunity to write about this to get it out and have a chance to process it.  I do not think it has achieved what I had hoped for. I still feel confused, disturbed and turned on by the fantasies in my head of these hot, adult Korean women in high heels, very short skirts that are virgins, real virgins. It is not necessarily a healthy set of emotions but the ones that I am experiencing at the moment. Tomorrow that may change, maybe not. 

I can’t help but wonder who is the oppressed culture; Korean or American?  At first glance through American lens, it appears that the Koreans, especially women are the oppressed people in these cultural, sexual norms.  But I am flinching to say that I am sold on that to be true.  The idea of not having any sexual pressure or expectations seems somehow very liberating and freeing for both men and women. If you already know you are not going to have sex with someone before marriage, it really clears so many things up right then and there.  What freedom we would experience to be able to love and learn about each other with sex not even a concern now or the immediate future. Not even a discussion topic, nothing, nada, zilch.  A complete non-factor in a relationship.  Friendship and companion really are why you are together, not just what we say to cover up what we may be truly experiencing inside but playing the waiting game to appear evolved.

Who are the oppressed and who are the free?  The virgins or the double-digit sex partners?

Either way, my Korean education continues.  As a side note, I am starting to learn some basic Hangeul and it feels good!

Re: Clueless in Korea

I found this very funny and very well written, Michael! I loved the asides about saying 'really' all the time and that she started to say it.
Just a lovely piece, altogether. Rather a lot about virgin fantasies that felt like either they wanted to be shortened (within the scale of this piece as a discrete story) or opened up (?!) and explored & discussed in the same clear-headed fashion (what exactly is it about virgins being a turn on? Is it purely an idea, or is it a reality - surely someone who 'knows' how to make a man feel good is more of  a 'real' turn on? etc). As part of a longer piece (and surely you'll be able to put these together in a book, I'm certain of this), it's great, just so long as bits like this are not totally left hanging. (sorry, can't seem to sound like I'm speaking in innuendos, I don't mean to!).

And, given that the 'story' is really about the -I- characters experiences in Korea, I'd say it's important to give weight to that rather than a self-exploration about sex. What I'm trying to clunkily say is something along the lines of a famous quote about a play - if there is a gun on the table in the first scene, then it had better go off by the last scene. i.e. if a reference is made to something in a story, memoir, whatever, then we need to follow it through, at least a little.

Love,
Sandra

Re: Clueless in Korea

Thanks sandra.  beofe i get to the writing comments, i wnat to share something funny.  Allday i have been vascilating between fantsies of 'breaking in” some gorgeous korean women and why is the idea og being with a virgin so desirable?  Exactly what you questioned as well.  the truth is that the programmed responses inside me have kept me from getting any closer to what is behind the fantasies.  Hormones win out over clear headed thinking, at least for now.

i thought about going into the fantasies more, and really going there with but felt like i wanted to eave it to korean culture and my reactions while in this moment.  I wamted to just share the i characters immediate reactions and leave a more detailed descriptionof i felt moved at another time.  Maybe even tonight.

the quote abot the gun is well taken. i get it.  More korea, less side tracking on sex and such.  What was the i charater's interst in finding out about korean virgins?  Why did he need to go into his peice about his past if he is not going to explore his current fantasies?  How does this infromatiom to relate to his experiences in korea as an american?

More to come!  I amstiil learning about korea, virigns(couldn't resist!) and wiriting.

Peace
michael

Re: Clueless in Korea

absolutely on, Michael!

.  I wamted to just share the i characters immediate reactions and leave a more detailed descriptionof i felt moved at another time.

Completely the 'right' decision for me. As this piece is a continuation, then you have time to write a 'chapter' on something more specific to the narrator's life, or simply - and perhaps this is the best option - to weave the personal aspects throughout the work, just making sure to develop anything that has 'juice'.  And Mikey is right, this is not just about Korean culture but also about the writer. This is what makes the work so interesting. If it was coldly 'factual' (?) about Korea, it would have, for me at least, limited interest. I remember reading the first drafts of Victor Chan's book about the Dalai Lama - The Wisdom of Forgiveness - and what was missing from those drafts was him. As soon as he brought himself into the picture, his own feelings about the experiences, everything got much more engaging… just as is here throughout your writing.

xo

Re: Clueless in Korea

Virgins Wandering The Streets of Korea

Walking down the slight hill of this section of Ssang-yongdong Gil, I see a woman in her late twenties or early thirties.  She is somewhat tall for a Korean woman, about 5’6” or 5’7”.  She is wearing an off white coat buttoned up to the top on this cold Saturday afternoon.  Her skirt is short- black, short and tight.  The black skirt is covering, barely, her thick black stockings that Korean women wear in the winter to stay warm.  G\Her red scarf is simple but looks adorable on her.  It is all a nice contrast to her typically Korean black hair and dark small eyes; hers are rounder than most but still very Asian.  I try not to stare but fail miserably.  She looks away nervously.  That is what they do here, look away.  The avoidance of any kind of sexual energetic exchange with extreme effort.  My mind wanders briefly back to thoughts of the conversation yesterday about Korean women often being virgins till they are married in their late twenties or early thirties.  She could be a virgin, a real live adult virgin!

My mind continues to fade from the physical world around me now that she has passed and I have moved towards fantasy. Not her, the cold wind blowing in my face as I approach the street corner across from Nong Hyup Bank with the green, blue and yellow sign.  The street corner, wind and cold are no longer noticed; I am in my fantasy of touching the adult virgin for the first time.  Gently caressing this uncharted territory.  The primest real estate, waterfront property.  The only real male conquest in this civilized world.  The Virgin!

Slowly letting her get used to having a man’s hands on her exposed skin. I take my time.  I want her to enjoy this too, although I doubt she will.  Thirty years of build up is too much for me to satisfy the first time. I will settle for her not having a nightmare experience.  Her breasts are taught to the touch, amazing for an adult woman.  Has she even touched herself this way?  Has she explored where no man has ventured successfully?  Does she even know “how to do it”?

Blood. It is primal in the male conquest.  Before we were scouring the earth’s surface for virgins, we were carrying our primitive tools and weapons to kill the animal.  Watch its blood trickle out as proof of our achievement as a man.  We have many shared customs throughout our history where the boy becomes a man when he produces the flesh and blood of his first kill.  The raw sensation of being the cause of this primal assertion of manhood can only be found in our world today in the breaking of the hymen with our original tool, some may say it is our original weapon too.

Is the blood the source of the fantasy? Or is the insertion in the tight little orifice that expands with heat and moisture?  Or is something else entirely? 

For me, I know part of the virginal fantasy is the deflowering.  The taking of her innocence and replacing it with my stamp.  She is now branded with my footprint from this point forward.  I do not know if it is programmed or primal but I get entirely turned on by the thought of the removal of innocence of a woman, making her somehow less perfect. Maybe I need her to be as imperfect as me.  Maybe I just need too feel like she is less than me.  Maybe I just need to see her degraded.  Maybe I just need to see her bleed.  My tool is strong enough to make her bleed. This is what I can do as a man. I can stamp her with my semen. No man or woman can ever do this again with her. Mine, mine, mine.

The light turns green at the crosswalk. I flinch when trying to figure out how long I was standing there.  Did I miss many green lights?  Do these Korans that I am fantasizing about think the stupid foreigner does not know how to cross the street?  Has the woman that I started this little trip back to times and places before times and places had names is not actually a virgin or even single?  Did she pick up some groceries on her way home to make dinner for her husband and children? Or did she just find out she was fired from her job at the women’s clothing store next to the high school?  Or maybe, just maybe, she had the same fantasy as me on her way home. Did her’s include blood, weapons, innocence released and degradation? Or is she going to Bible Study class with her parents at the Church she was baptized?  Oh, there is the apple guy. I think I will buy some apples from him. He always says hello to me.  I wonder if he has a daughter. Is she a virgin too?

Re: Clueless in Korea

hmmm… wondering what I set in motion here ;-)

I liked the last paragraph most of all.
I'm not sure why the rest doesn't grab me that much – I don't think it's because of any prudishness.

I think it's because of the many 'statements' of so-called truth. I'm not sure if they are meant somewhat tongue-in-cheek - if they are I need more indication of this.

e.g.
Blood. It is primal in the male conquest. / Watch its blood trickle out as proof of our achievement as a man.

while yes there are rituals that might seem to 'show' this - I'm not sure it's something true for all time, everywhere.

And this - Maybe I just need to see her degraded
such a 'hot' topic ( and I don't mean that way!) it surely deserves more self-reflection? Does the -I- character really want this? what does it mean for him on a personal level..
ah now I think I've got it.
Lots of reference to what it is to be a 'man' but not this specific man. I want more of that - or at least an awareness that he is making these anthropological leaps to validate his feelings. Maybe it's much closer to home?

dare I say more diving?

s.

Re: Clueless in Korea

Thanks sandra!

i did not feel like i 'hit it” when i finished writing this, close but not there.

I did not know i was gong to jump into anthropoligical assertions but it si what came out, and wanted to stay with the what i was feeling.  This was about uncomfortable to write andmore so to post.  Giaia and DD especially are primarily made up of women aspiring some level of consciousness.  I felt some embarassment and maybe even shame putting it out there but isn't that part of going fearwrd too? Posting what is uncomfortable or risky as well?

I thought this was gong tio be about the i character as well, maybe there is another dive in me but feel “all virgined out” at the moment.  Although the degrading thing is shaking around in my head and for my own exploration may need to dive in there, even if i do not share it with others.

Question:  When something rolls out from my mind as a statement of fact (the blood, manhood, etc) knwoing it is not a statement of fact but just what feels true to me at tthat moment, where do we go with that?  Not during the writing but posting and more importantly editing.  Is it Ok to leave our momentary or individual 'Truths' in the work knowing they are not universal and maybe not even mine?  There was a lot of force behind the blood-virgin connection and wanted to honor that force by writing it and leting it spill out.

And no, the statements were not tongue in cheek, but they may have worked better of they were.  they were genuine feelings/thoughts at that moment.

Peace and love,
michael

Re: Clueless in Korea

michael -
 I respect and somewhat admire your courage in putting out this post - I must admit to being uncomfortable, as a male of the species, to reading this representation of universal male attitude;  I certainly have had various fantasies at earlier stages of my life about women - tho' never about defloration and never violent musings - however, that is all they ever were - fantasies… 

I have to acknowledge, however, the reality of perverse male thinking, actions and psychopathic behaviour that has, does and, sadly, probably always will exist wherever there is human society.

It has taken me many years to come to terms with my own sexual imagination; I have learned to transform desires and channel the energy into more productive channels - this has, however, been a huge and long term project for me and I am always 'on guard' - I never underestimate the power of sexual desire.  But a part of the process in reaching a more enlightened and aware state of consciousness is surely in acknowledging our ancient proclivities and history.

Keep following and being true to your thoughts, friend - your honesty and integrity are to my mind, exemplary…

@ ~)

Re: Clueless in Korea

Thanks antony
I apperciate your words and thoughts, honesty as well.

I have considered al day deleting this post.  Not only is it not full of truths universal for men, it is not of truths that actually are true for me!  I took the dive, trying to go fearward  and this is what came out.  It deos not accurately portray anythign moer than my subconscious having a field day fro twnety minutes or so.  I did delete it from my blog, i do not want to hurt or offend anyone, nor incorrectly represent males.  I still may delete it from here.  It is amazaing what some semi-random musings can do to affect/effect(?)  my thought proces fro a day or so.  i do not know if i am more uncomfortable that i had such thoughts, shared them publically or that they can exist at all!

Clearly it has touched somethig inside me that is stirring my own pot.  I am interested and somewhat erluctant to see how this will evolve in my head.  Thanks again for your honesty and willingness ot share your experiences and insight.

Peace
michael 

Re: Clueless in Korea

Hmmm. Noticing some tiptoeing around some issues here. In order to prevent any deletion, I simply must dive in right here and now.

Wow. That's what comes to mind considering that  your piece on virgins resonates as profoundly truthful - and a hefty dive. It is so rare that one comes across something so raw and pure, written from the depths of the male psyche. Thanks so much for sharing this, Michael! From where I am sitting, there is no shame or guilt in any of it at all. How about this: response-ability: the ability to respond to ones thoughts and emotions without shame or guilt? It creates a sacred space. No one can ever get hurt when all involved use this response-ability tool. Thoughts are just thoughts and emotions body-thoughts. If we stop identifying with them - and instead - just observe them without shame or guilt - we get to be who we truly are.

How fortunate that you did have the guts to go there, Michael, to that place that is beyond politics, reason and any kind of analysis. It just is. That primal urge. The hunt - domination - surrender - making a virgin yours by leaving your mark. And I do believe that much of it is universal, as much as many of us may not like to know it at all. Thanks so much for going fearward! Between your writings I went from wanting to be a virgin to -thank goodness I am not a virgin anymore-! May I encourage you, Michael, to dive into your desire to 'degrade' the virgin and make her 'less perfect'. What part of you is (or where in your life do you feel) 'less perfect'?

Then I would love to see you go back again, get intimate with this  virgin and open up to the possiblity that you can provide her pleasures she never dreamed existed. Can you let yourself love her and truly be with her? Can you accept her fears, and share yours? Can you accept her tears? Can you cry with her? It (writing and sharing it here) may be very liberating, and who knows, you may find some increadible treasures along the way that may help bridge the proverbial gap that still exists universally between men and women.

I too, was shocked when my husband after many years of marriage told me he thought I was his. His posession?! “Yes!” He said. His eyes big in mirroring my astonishment. I gave him back my wedding ring in response. I told him: “No way - no how am I anyone's property! How would you like to be owned by someone? No? You would not either! See? Like you, I too belong to the universe. You may have my love - commitment to truth and loyalty. And yes you can count on exclusivity in terms of sexual intimacy.” I do remember this odd moment in our wedding ceremony where the mayor asked: “Who gives the bride's hand in marriage?” And I answered: “I do” as I found it really backward to have any man do this part. It is not customary in my culture (The Netherlands). Never in my wildest dreams did I ever think it would be interpreted as a transfer of property.

Yet I believe this is what makes this chemistry work so well. There is forever this hunt - domination - surrender - and leaving one's mark. A woman wants to capture the heart - not to tear it out, but to have an open exchange. To connect on all levels with the one she loves. Establish true intimacy. This is how she leaves her mark. Nothing will ever be the same again. The man wants to capture the woman, make her his. All of her. He leaves his mark. Nothing will ever be the same again. And as nothing is permanent, except love itself, this dance goes on and on, over and over again. And again!

The I-character in your story struggles with the virgin's perfection since how could he ever deserve to make such a perfect creature his? So he wants to corrupt her somehow, 'degrade her'.  I can believe that this too is rather universal. At the same time I believe we are on the treshold of new horizons in the relationship between women and men. A more balanced and co-creative relationship. Ultimately much more fulfilling and mutually rewarding.

At the root of the universal desire in men to degrade women, I imagine, is religious doctrine that has been around for many centuries. Religion has become corrupted by hidden agendas. The religions that are still popular these days are mostly dominated by men. This was not always the case. Massive witch hunts have killed wise and wonderful, powerful priestesses and other women in positions of power. The healing arts were dominated by women and after the witch hunts healing touch practices in hospitals were shut down and replaced by invasive and painful procedures. Still today the male energy is dominant in health care which really has become sick care and is seriously corrupted by greed as the original “do no harm” rule of thumb in health care was replaced by “profit” and “malpractice insurance”. The tide is turning with alternative and natural therapies gaining ground again steadily. There also is a growing trend of alternative therapies being offered in hospitals.

In christianity especially sex is considered 'original sin'. The virgin Mary was forever a virgin. Imagine that, the divine mother who actually had her baby unassisted in a manger - according to the story. Since there was no assistance we may establish that a c-section was not an option. She had the real deal: labor, including contractions and gave birth like all women did in those days: vaginally. Still she was forever a virgin. What motherfucker came up with that idea? Then again, why not be a virgin again after giving birth? Who says that is not possible? Anything is possible! What you can imagine is true according to Picasso.

Back to the topic of birth, as it reminds me of another myth. The idea that any woman could ever be permanently deflowered! I know of a video that explores the advantage of squatting while giving birth - working with, rather then against gravity. The purpose of this video is childbirth education. Anyway, in it you see a vagina opening to the crowning of a baby's head filmed from underneath the squatting woman. Then the folding/opening of the outer labia at the moment of birth - just when you thought everything looked so tight - no further opening was possible without tearing. And yet, no tearing! Just the opening of a most magnificent flower giving birth to this precious and perfect human being! And this image was repeated many times over. Different women, different babies, different colors and textures. Yet every time, there was this flower opening in all her perfection and glory. Sacred.

In Sanskrit the word Yoni is used for feminine reproductive organs - it includes every detail. Yoni. It's meaning: cosmic womb - divine source (of life). The Yoni is considered the doorway to understanding the mysteries of the universe. In Indian culture Yoni is often compared to a lotus flower.  As Sanskrit is one of the first languages known to us Earthlings - we may wish to pay attention to its accuracy and truth.

Look what you got started, Michael! Blessings to you. And honoring the male perspective too. Male dominance as we have seen, is unhealthy. Female dominance too. If we are to live in health and harmony there has to be a balance. Open communication - access - honesty - a simultaneous give and take - willingness to take risks in being vulnerable. That is courage, and you Michael, have shown it here. Thank you again!

Love,
Nell ;-)

Re: Clueless in Korea

i feel compelled to add to this conversation

Michael, I read your pieces and follow them with some strange connection that brings me a personal clarity each and every time.

I want to say, when the words are flowing and art of the story forming, it need not make any sense to the one transcribing. Because there are eyes that will read the piece and see for themselves answers that resonate a great personal truth.

in other words, if you don't like what you wrote, it simply means it was not for you to read. it was for someone else.

your virginity post, for my personal experience, gave me a clarity i needed on my journey with forgiveness. the words where what i needed to read to find something i didn't even know i was looking for.

my moment of 'deflowering' was one i harbored with utter embarrassment at my own absence of self respect and self control at the time.

for what it is worth, you gave me a window into a world alien to my natural way of thinking. i needed that window to understand what happened to me and why it happened and why i let it happen.

i am in a time of looking very closely at myself. the message for me at the moment is that the strength to love your dragons is greater then the strength to slay them.

your post helped me to love a dragon i slayed a long time ago.

thank you

xx azyh

Re: Clueless in Korea

“This was about uncomfortable to write andmore so to post.  Giaia and DD
especially are primarily made up of women aspiring some level of
consciousness.  I felt some embarassment and maybe even shame putting
it out there but isn't that part of going fearwrd too? Posting what is
uncomfortable or risky as well?”

Yes and no.

Finally into the meat and bone. Yes, I say finally, because this is the first time of the journey in Korea that was dive into the fear. Good dive! And so what if it just was the first in the row, raw and unfinished? Yes, maybe Gaia is not the place to post all of it (future dives in the subject) but, Michael, man, give us some credit that we are not clueless chicken, that we can't handle some diving of this nature? Are we not human too? Have we not lived? Do we not have fantasies of our own? Personally I do not wish to have any labels on me being a fragile “woman” who someone needs to handle with gentle care (it makes me 'angry' btw).

From my NaNo days I remember how “scared” I was when I dove into this area, and I say area, because your dive is so far from it anyways. But the healing I got facing this fear was incredible, it was so amazing when I finally understood… o boy.

I have been following your trip with great interest. It is darn interesting and I sense some kind of “soulmate” feeling with you too. I can relate with you. My quest in life have been a lot about balancing the masculine and feminine inside myself. It has been really horrendous at times and I have been so good damned stupid and stubborn with it. Ah man, is a long journey.

Well, I remember one posting above, far up there somewhere, when you (the -I- character) went in to a sauna, was it perhaps, and you sat there with Koreans in silence and felt good about not been able to communicate. It was a peaceful moment for you and you thought that it was more pleasant to be together with these Koreans that most of the Americans… well, you know what I thought it was? I thought that since you were not able to communicate with them they didn't put ANY expectations on you to say something and you didn't put any expectations on them. It's the energy. If they had been englishspeaking your experience might have been different. You just might have felt some kind of “duty” to say something.
That piece I found very interesting and I've been thinking about it a lot. It says so much.

So, please don't delete anything. It's really interesting to follow this journey.

Love and appreciation,

Nono

Re: Clueless in Korea

Hi Nono, Michael (and all),

Love what you shared here. Good to read about balancing your inner female and male energies, and how you go about it. You light up the struggle with humor. Beautiful.

If this is not necessarily the place to share any further dives into the subject, then where? I would love to witness this whole journey! Because I believe real treasures are often found in the darkest of places. And I believe in you, Michael. By all means if you just want to journal and keep your musings private you always can. It's just that in a group there is an enhanced perspective from many angles, unlike anywhere else.

Also, it may be wise to re-establish a clear boundary as has been around on DD. As what you are writing is in fact fiction (you are imagining interactions with the virgin and which thoughts/feelings this evokes) we are responding to “the I-character's” point of view. If we read the rules Sandra established we must always assume anyway that what we read here is fiction.

Love,
Nell ;-)

Re: Clueless in Korea

Lovely comments on all this, and I hope Michael you don't feel you have to delete the post anymore!

I like & support what you wrote here:

There was a lot of force behind the blood-virgin connection and wanted to honor that force by writing it and leting it spill out.

That force came through beautifully - could even have come through more in some ways.

Question:  When something rolls out from my mind as a statement of fact (the blood, manhood, etc) knwoing it is not a statement of fact but just what feels true to me at tthat moment, where do we go with that? 

For me the question is answered by the 'whole' in the sense of this as a much longer story. I will assume for now that this is to be a book. In which case you have so much landscape to explore and share. In a book, you would leave this piece as is maybe, and then feeling whatever feelings you had about the piece afterwards, you have the time and space to share those too - just as you are doing here. So where you 'go' is exactly where you are going :-)

If you were to think of publishing the piece as a one off - it's different. You might ask yourself what is being said here? What do I want to say, express, show?  As is, it might tell a very different story to something which is part of a longer piece.

Nell -

If this is not necessarily the place to share any further dives into the subject, then where? I would love to witness this whole journey!

We always have to take into consideration that this is a public group and that anyone of any age or sensibility could be reading & that we are bound by Gaia's Terms of Use. This issue has come up before and I totally trust that Michael respects the very soft boundaries DD places on certain material. I imagine he's already adjusted some of his terminology a wee bit…

If anyone is at all unsure if a piece is not suitable for DD then they can send it to one of the moderators first. And of course, we can always share privately with each other our work (as already happens) if it's potentially too graphic.

But yes, I completely support going into dark areas and there are even assignments which are about writing the 'taboo' subjects…

Love to all,
Sandra

Clueless in Korea

Thanks amazume, azyh and nono,

I apperciate your feedback and support.

nono- thank you for focusing on the writing and the dive itself.  I am grateful you were able to bpoth separate and integrate my procees as a writer and person together, this is very helpful to me. It is not that i do not think you caanot handle what i might post, i think youo could handle anything i can dive into and more nono but i remember not to far back sandra had written some stuff about approriateness of content and such on DD.  That comes to mind, as well as we di have some sensitive souls on thi spod and i want to honor them as well.  Not all of us walkk htorugh such graphic stuff as easily.

Amazume- thank you for your believe in me and your words.  The reason i would not post it here is partially what i wrote to nono, and also that when this kind if material gets posted, the focus then becomes about the content and not the writing itslef.  This si why sandra and nono directed their comments about the i character, not the author.  It is not necessarily the authors viewpoint or experience that we are reading, we want to comment on how we react and feel to the writing, not the author.  I realzie that is a problem with this particular thread sine it is mostly written about my real life experiences but that does not mean it is true or i do not alter it when writing if the enerfgy takes me somewhere else.  It took sandra several reminder to me to read the piece Diving Deeper: Notes along the Way #4 - memoir vs fiction. Sorry i do not know how to make it a link abot writing and commenting to get me to treat EVERYTHING as fiction. It has helped me comment on others peices and my own work.  OK, so what i am trying to say here?  basically that this is a workshop fro writing and i respect that, and realize that the strength of our community is in just that; providing as safe place for writing, readiing asn supporting each others as writers.  This is what we do se well, it then supports us as a whole through this process.  It is not personal.

I am glad that others ebenfit from what i post, i sure do.

azyh- our journeys do seem to have some common threads.  What a gift?

enough from me for now. I am not ready to explore this blood, degradation thing yet, at least no tonight.  between tghe writing of the peices, the actual conversations they created from and the covnersation/comments online here and my blogs have taken a lot out of me.  A sign that it is reachiing me deeper, a good thing but exhausting just the same.

Peace and love,
michael

Re: Clueless in Korea

Just a big hug of appreciation, dear michael.

Re: Clueless in Korea

azyh- our journeys do seem to have some common threads.  What a gift?

I think so :) Also, I will go back and re read all the guidelines, NaNoWriMo has spoiled me in my commenting. Back to following the rules and honoring the reasons why they exist.

apologies for the personal comments, please mods do edit if needed

xx azyh

Re: Clueless in Korea

azyh,
no reason to apologize not edit your comments.  I hope you did not take any of what i commented personally, same to you amazume.

It was meant ot be agentle reminder of where we are and what we are community is; a writing workshop. Our relationships that develop support his process, at least they have for me.  Yours being one of them.

And yes, you are not alone with needing to return to honoring DD  guidelines and remembering why they work so well for all of us.
Peace
michael

Re: Clueless in Korea

Dear Michael,

You have my respect and complete support.

In appreciation,
Nell ;-)

Re: Clueless in Korea

Sorry to hijack your thread here for a moment, michael!

I think it might be time to re read the post
On Graphic Material and the “I” Character
It talks a bit about why we comment as if the piece is fictional, and other issues.
There was also a longish discussion of it on the tree house some time back:
Two sides of the coin or why I 'hate' personal commenting

Azyh - I don't feel any need to delete anything here. It's all part of the process, and always a good reminder for all of us why we are here.

In my opinion, the way we commented and shared during NaNoWrMo was absolutely in line with the general commenting guidelines. For me it actually opened up something additional - which was sharing about our process and getting support for that. I don't think anyone in NaNo commented on the extracts posted as if they were anything but fiction - or commented much 'about' the content as opposed to the writing.

And (as opposed to some of the opinions on the second thread) I think it's fine to talk about the material and how it resonates with us personally or how it affects us personally. But main thing is to see if we can also talk about what it is about the writing ( as opposed to the content) that supports or creates this resonance/effect.

with love and gratitude to all,
Sandra

Re: Clueless in Korea

The 'virgin' ramblings keep stirring something in my pot as well, Michael.

Seems to me the “I” character hit on something universal when expressing an urge to make the virgin less perfect, to degrade her. He says it's not necessarily coming from him. It resonates as a universal thing to me. As consciousness is about being connected, about oneness, one can easily pick up those thoughts. Especially in an environment where one is deprived of intimacy with someone from the opposite sex.

Universal very much, as female genetal mutilation (far beyond cutting the foreskin as happens in males) is rather severe and traumatic, and still going on in several tribes. A cause many organizations are trying to reverse. Amnesty International being one of them. Several European and American OB-Gyn's now perform the surgery, I do not believe Amnesty supports it. In some European countries it is punishable by law when girls are subjected to fgm. Does not matter where it happens - in their native country or with an OB-Gyn under general anesthesia. There are OB-Gyns assigned to girls from these countries, and by law these girls get to be randomly examined to make sure they are intact.  If I were part of such a tribe where fgm were common, I may have a whole other perspective on the subject. Many women who went through the trauma themselves as teenage girls, insist on this procedure for their daughters - and I get the feeling it's not only driven by the fear their daughters would be kicked out of the tribe. There is a certain amount of pride in enduring the horror of it, and an identification as if it made them who they are now as adults. It is a very complex issue, and of course I am with Amnesty whose objective is to ban this entire practice.

Another end of the spectrum was brought to my attention the other day, when I made a new friend who just recently moved to the US from Egypt. Never mind her name. She considers herself an Arab, and was raised Captic Orthodox (very similar to Russion Orthodox and Greek Orthodox). She told me the women in burkas manage to rebel at the preposterous idea that their necks are reason for men to turn them into sex-objects. Necks are supposedly so erotic (and of course they can be) when one has a taste, but just at the very sight of a women's neck Arab men are expected to loose their common sense and any kind of restraint. There is a lot of freedom in the fact that no one can be recognized when all muslima's wear the same thing. So on their way home from the grocery store they may make a d-tour and get it on in a lover's car. After the little d-tour they get dropped off  and walk home to cook for hubby and family. I have another friend who occasionally lived in various middle eastern countries, who told similar stories. I wonder if they are just stories or if they are true. Does it make a woman more or less perfect when she feels driven to betray her oppressive husband? It probably depends who you ask: the husband or the lover… who goes home to his wife not having to answer to her. It is expected from him to have sex with anyone outside his marriage, even outside his faith. Does it make the lover any more or less perfect? No one really seems to ask that question much.

Conclusion: We've got a ways to go and grow in our quest to balance the woman/man relationship, within ourselves and as we relate to each other as men and women. And yet, now is a better time than ever to go about this quest with reckless abandon (fearlessly - with love and compassion for all involved).

In Loving Light,
Nell ;-o

Re: Clueless in Korea

The legend of the virgin

At first I thought about the myth of the breaking of the tight vagina.  Tight, never used, never soiled, fresh clean and wholesome.  Not tainted by men like me.  Safe from our touch, our thoughts our desires and our hate.  Not for you, hate for ourselves.  I hate myself.  How can I hate you if I do not hate myself first?

I want your blood.  It is proof of me as a man. I am not a man otherwise.  I act like a man but it is just that, an act.  Bare, empty and cold.  Just like my heart.  I want to pierce your love and your goodness.  I need to break you, to bring you down to my level.  I cannot look you in the eye right now but if I make you bleed, soil you, then we can be friends.  I think my past is gone but it is not.  I have made some peace with the memories and the actions but the scars of my actions scratch me deeper than you or any God could ever do.  This is Karma; this is my Cross to bear.  I have soiled you. Maybe not you specifically, but when we do it to one for you, we do it to all of you, the sisterhood.  I am guilty of this and other crimes against you and myself.  I still struggle at the mirror. Maybe that is why I never care what I look like, I would have to know first to care. 

I remember when my mother sent me a photo of me, her and my two nephews. It was during a period when I went without glasses to correct my vision, it was working.  I was so angry at the photo: why did my mother send me a photo of a guy with my nephews and my mother?  Who is he?  What is doing with them?  I was troubled, jealous, and resentful.  It was two or three years later that I figured out the guy in the photo was me.  I spent so little time looking at myself in the mirror I did not know I looked different than I remembered.  I cried when I saw that it was me.  My mother was dead by then.  I felt embarrassed.

No I do not deserve a good woman, a whole one.  I need her to be brought down to me.  How else can I look at her and love her, or worse yet, let her love me?  She needs to lose her sense of wholeness, of purity.  She needs to carry the same burdens I carry.  She needs to cry at night over what I piece of shit she is.  Then the pain really starts because she knows all the prayers and Rosaries cannot take back what is now tarnished and worthless. Her sense of woman.  She leaves one sisterhood and joins another.  They are different.  They sleep differently, walk differently, and stare differently.  I understand them; wholeness and purity are beyond my reach.  I cannot touch wholeness and purity, it will burn too much.

Blood. The symbol of truth.  Not the Hollywood blood but the real blood that separates protection and truth.