SoccerDaze

I’m not positive, but this might be one of the longest amounts of time I’ve neglected my blog ever since its infancy. Good thing it’s not a baby, amirite?

But seriously, apologies. Want to know why I didn’t blog for a week and a half even though I traditionally, neurotically bordering on pathologically post at least on a weekly basis if only to have an outlet for the adverbial adverbage swilling in my head? Me too. Got no idea, especially considering how impossibly awesome my students are this semester.

Bowen: smiling

For reals.

I’m not a gushing person by nature, but they're fantastic. And this is why:

Last Wednesday I first got wind that this Thursday would be another English department soccer game. I vaguely looked forward to it, but in the back of my mind was the isolation that comes with being the only American. The only girl. I remembered the first time I tried to play at Kosin and was sent away since no one had told me it was a student-only game. The weekend went by.

This Tuesday afternoon, I was walking up to my office when I met Bowen, coming down the stairs. Bowen is a third-year and built like a brick wall, expressionless even when he smiles. Even when he's talking, I don't think he actually moves his mouth.

“Five o’clock,” he said ominously, holding up a spreadeagled hand. “Five o’clock Thursday.”

Daniel

Yesterday, I was rushing off to class, perpetually late to morning freshmen English, when third-year Daniel skittered by. Daniel’s a shorter guy, an excellent student with a dorky laugh. He often skitters, but he can also skitter around a full complement of defenders, all a good foot taller than him and land a shot from the corner of the eighteen. “Oh!” He starts a lot of sentences with ‘oh!’ “Oh, Thursday! Five o’clock! Bye!”

Today, the much-anticipated Thursday, I finished off 9 am freshmen English and stayed at my podium as my students swarmed forward, rather than out of the doors. Chloe--tall, bright, perpetually late to class--checked her attendance record. Grace, with big dreams to become a cartoonist, always gives me a personal goodbye. El--my elfin student who loves fairy tales, once brought me pictures with which to decorate my office, and picked and personally brought me the most perfect pink lotus flower I’ve ever seen in my life--stopped by to tell me that when her boyfriend visits from Seoul she wants me to meet him.

Matthew--skinny as a beanpole with one of those smiles that proves “exuberance is beauty”--and Kaka--an older student, fresh home after his military duties, hard-working and aggressive--hovered nearby.

Skinny Matthew.  Not his real smile.

I raised two eyebrows at them, half-smiling. They’re both soccer-mad and the last time the three of us played together we connected on a few nice passing plays. I knew what they were about.

Kaka, the “hyung” or “older brother” in this situation, looked to skinny Matthew, who speaks pretty good English for a freshman.

“Um, at five o’clock, we are playing soccer. Together-?”

“Yep, I’m coming!”

Kaka

Truth was, I was waffling about it--it’s been a stressful week, I needed to relax--until that moment. Matthew grinned and Kaka broke out into his “Okay!” that sort of means, “Great/I agree/Good idea” all at once. Heartfelt, impromptu, double high-fives are my favorite.

The day passed in a high-stress, high-energy blur. By five o’clock I’d had a nice, throbbing headache for the past three hours and knots in my neck. My voice was disappearing from trying to control a 46-person conversation class.

But it was Thursday. Five o’clock. And  Brick-wall Bowen, Skittering Daniel, Skinny Matthew, Okay! Kaka, and all the rest of the soccer mad English boys were there: Hoon, Gerrard, Torres, Snoopy, Matthew2, Kevin, Steve, Jacob, Mike.

We didn’t win the game. I didn’t play well. But I think I’m starting to understand the power of Korean group mentality, the power of inclusiveness even on an avowed introvert. And it's great.

**For the record, these pictures were taken somewhat under duress (ala most things I do to my students here). During our English department retreat, I passed my camera around the circle and told them they had to take a self portrait. They hated it because they couldn't look at themselves as they took the picture like you can with a smart phone. Consequently the picture quality suffered because the kids were super awkward with my digital. Also, I promised the kids I wouldn't post the pictures on my blog. Sorry, Hannah. I lied.

Timeline

One of my favorite speaking class activities is making a life events timeline.

"Make a timeline of your life," I tell my students, "that includes the five most interesting, important events in your life. You have fifteen minutes: don't write your name on it until later!"

Fifteen minutes later I collect the timelines, number them, and tape them on the wall, sans names. Students have to read each other's timelines, ask questions, and figure out whose is whose. Then, when everyone's figured it out, names are written and I can give the kiddos credit for in-class participation.

It's a great activity for the first day or so of a conversation class. It's fun, low-pressure, and gives the students a chance to write and read before speaking. When they do speak, they have someone else's grammar from which to construct questions. It requires all sorts of students to speak to each other and it's a get-to-know you. On the teacher side of things,  I find out who can use the past tense reliably and who can't. Moreover, I learn about important events in my students' lives, helping me connect students to their English names.

It's also helpful with giving me perspective into the interesting, important events of my students' lives:

I worry about sex education in this country, but I'm happy at least that her
brother made the same list as her smart phone.

I enter the Kosin University: COURAGE.

I don't know what sick (or sike) tongue is, but I think the squiggles underneath are supposed to signify something pretty traumatic. 

This girl talks about her puppy in every class. And I have her four times a week. What's the Korean expression for "Please expand your vocabulary"?

Pictures are always appreciated, students. Always.

Sometimes I think my students don't realize English is a real language and that people will understand them when they speak it. 

Jason is okay now! Don't worry!

Ah yes. And there I am - right up there with new puppies, smart phones, and playing table tennis. YES.

Granched by Gratitude

“Grateful” is not one of the g-words I’m overly committed to. I’m more of a “gung-ho” kind of gal. Or “game.” I like gargle, gibbet grunge, garrote, and granched as well (though dictionaries say “granched” is made up).

Recently, I’ve been trying to kindle up some my feeling of being grateful for my job. Here in Korea there are three types of jobs for your average English teacher: public, hagwons (private academies), and university. From what I gather from my friends, public schools are a bit like factory work. Everyone wears uniforms, teaches with a co-teacher who will probably spend most of her time insulting, ignoring, or haranguing you. Hagwons vary based on their owners and the age catered to, but most can be summed up by expletives. Sometimes (meaning the first month) everything runs smoothly and the kids are cute, the owner sweet, and the hagwon filled with magical unicorns. Other times pay is withheld, hours are changed, and the kids are hellions born hiding their true demonic nature behind adorableness.

These jobs—public and private—are like coffins.

They serve their purpose—paying off loans—but you don’t want to be in one. Also, you can never get out of them. Seriously. Or you can, but you don’t get your free flight home which is where the metaphor kind of breaks down.

In Korea, university jobs are the buffet at this country-wide wake. Your hours are flexible, your students are fully-functioning adults, and your co-teachers speak English and usually understand words like “contract” and “overtime” and “the hell with this.” Plus you get vacation time which, for everyone else in Asia, is a joke.

So why am I not grateful for one of the best jobs Korea has to offer? For the past couple of months I would have griped about the salary (it’s lower than the coffins’), the administration (Lord, beer me strength), my location (I’m at sea, on a mountain, Isolationapolis), and bizarre standards( only 30% of my classes can get As, even if more have earned it).

But all of those are red herrings. The real reason is that the rigmarole isn’t worth it in the short run. The short run is blank stares and late students, miscommunications and blind lesson plans, chaos and apathy in turns. In other words, even if the buffet is great, it’s still the buffet commemorating a casket occasion.

It’s the end of the semester now and finally—finally!—I’m starting to remember why we teach: improvement. My students who come to class consistently have, as I’ve promised them, shown improvement. My global kids—some of the lowest English-speakers in the school—not only know how to say “I didn’t get a handout,” but they willingly speak for fifteen whole minutes in English. It took three months of vicious bullying, but victory, my friends: victory is sweet.

So I am grateful. I’m grateful to my global students for listening, learning, and letting me coerce them into speaking English. I’m grateful to my juniors who have overlooked my first-semester snafus teaching an upper-level conversation class and learned their grammar anyway. To my freshmen who made some excellent skits yesterday and who laugh at my jokes. To my literature students who argued Maya Angelou and “Phenomenal Woman” with me for over an hour: thanks.

I Medical

Sometimes I view my job here in Korea as a form of glorified cheerleading.

Me: How can you ask for a favor?

Freshmen: *cough* *pretend to look for a pencil* *glare balefully at the world*

Me: Look in the book—you can do it! “Would you mind…”

Freshmen: Would you mind . . . . mumblemumblemumble . . .

Me: Would you mind what?

Bill: Would you mind . . .open . . . window. . . mumbleshamefacedmumble

Me: Great, Bill! That’s it! Keep it up!

Bill: Would you mind window mumblemumbleducksheadmumble open me?

Me: Not really—but good job! John?

John: hurple?

Me: Almost! Would you mind opening . . . *point to the window*

John: win . . . dow?

Me: the window, but yes! Great job! Go team!!!!! *double thumbs up, smile, nod encouragingly*

I’ve found myself naturally adopting this cheerleading mentality with every Korean who talks to me. I nod. I smile. I throw thumbs up left right and center. Everyone needs more encouragement, right?

Wrong.

Remember my soccer buddy who is made of awesome and all things sweet? He came back the other day and took me to soccer, which was excellent fun. I wowed the little boys, got some exercise and a ride home from a guy called Young Boom.

Soccer buddy (in Korean): Do you have an English nickname?

YoungBoom: Ahhhhhh TIGER!!! YA!

Soccer buddy (to me):  “Boom” means “tiger.”

Me: I’m not calling him Tiger.

Soccer buddy: Okay, bye!

BoomTiger: Do you like . . . ummmm . . . cheekin?

Me: Um, yeah! Chickin’s good. *thumbs up*

I abhor chicken. It is greasy and makes my stomach feel like it’s hosting an unhappy but high on ecstasy amoeba party.

BoomTiger: Team. Cheekin. Eat?

Me: Um, no. I have to go home and study. Don't worry! I can take the subway.

BoomTiger: No! No! I drive. I medical. Me.

Me: I see. Cool. *thumbs up, smile*

BoomTiger: Gum?

Me: Sure! *anything-to-make-the-awkwardness-go-away smile*

It will take at least twenty minutes to get home. I ask questions—short, not scary questions—I chatter. I try to be a friendly, appreciative passenger. BoomTiger doesn’t know much English, but he asks questions, too.

BoomTiger: You like pizza? Chickin? Pasta?

BoomTiger: I drive car. You like?

BoomTiger: You like alcohol?

BoomTiger: You like music?

BoomTiger: Do you know ghjdiicsak? Music?

BoomTiger: Are you hungry? Food by Kosin eat?

I tried. I really did. I tried to stay encouraging. But when he said “Michael Jackson” and proceeded to belt a sampling of some incomprehensible rendition, wobbling his head back and forth like a mating peacock,[1] I shifted irreversibly into “polite.” Finally, as I was wondering what might possess someone to be quite so confident in their inabilities, he finished his warbling.

 BoomTiger: Shim shim? Do you know shim shim?

My phone dictionary displayed gratitude, heartfelt thanks.

Me: Yes. I shim shim. Thank you for the ride home.

BoomTiger: You. Phone.

Me: Hmm. Phone. Yes?

BoomTiger: Shim shim. Call!

Me: Ye-es.

I decided to check my phone again where I see the secondary meaning of shim shim. Bored. Meanwhile, BoomTiger has figured this out as well by calling a friend to ask him for the translation. I nodded and smiled, applauding the kind of efforts I rarely see even in my most dedicated students. Good job, BoomTiger! You tried really hard! Keep it up! Work on your verbs! I was already nodding and smiling when BoomTiger said, triumphantly:

BoomTiger: You bored. Call. Me!

Me: Oh. 

Oh please no. 

BoomTiger: Bored, yes. You? Me. Call!

Me: Oh, yes, bored, but--phone?

BoomTiger: You call. We food place. Eat. Alcohol. Okay?

Oh, be still my fluttering heart.

What went wrong? What could possibly make a boy think that, after sitting in the same car for ten minutes struggling to communicate the simplest banalities (even if she didn't already do that for a job), a girl would want to voluntarily sign up to do it again? Did I miss something? On the bright side, I've now got "medical insurance."

BoomTiger: You sick? Me call! I medical.

Oh good.

---

[1] Or rather, how I imagine mating peacocks do as they spread their useless but beautiful plumage.

A New Seong

            I saw a student on the bus last night, which ordinarily is some cause for awkwardness. Many students aren’t sure whether to bow or wave or pretend they don’t see me while fervently hoping I don’t see them and wondering “Why, O God, why don’t teachers stay in school where they belong?” Luckily this is one of my good students—outgoing, sweet, eager, smart—and as soon as he got off the phone he said hello. We chatted pleasantly the entire ride home[1].

            “So, what does your father do?” I asked at one point. We’re on the Talking about Family unit, so it's on the mind.

This boy, Peter Seong, is a theology major taking extra English classes because he wants to be a missionary. He’s my golden boy of that class, geeky-looking behind his glasses, sitting up straight and answering every question in class, smiling his kind of goofy smile. He runs and makes copies for me when I forget to bring enough. I assumed his father and all of his ancestors had been pastors.

            “I don’t know,” he said.

            Maybe he misunderstood the question. Maybe he didn’t know how to say his father's job. In one class I had a student tell me his parents were “printers” as if carrying on some kind of Gutenberg tradition.

            “I come from a broken home,” he explained, interrupting my confusion. “My parents separated when I was sixteen.”

            “I see." I silently gave him a vocabulary point. “So what does your mother do?”

            “I don’t know. I live with my grandmother.” The bus chugged up Yeongdo’s mountain and Peter had to find his grip on his handholds again. “It’s okay.”

            “Do you have any siblings?” I asked. Why doesn’t one of your parents take care of you? I wanted to ask.

            “Yes. I have one sister. She’s older than me. She’s 31.”

            “Does she live with you? Or…?”

            “She is getting married next week! Actually she was not a believer, but her fiancé’s whole family is Christian, so now she is!” He grins at me—beaming like the world is too small for joy. 

             Maybe it is.

            “So. . . how did you become a Christian?” I asked. How do you smile so much? I wanted to ask. What's the secret?

            “Actually, I wanted to die,” he explained. The bus chugged and jolted up a corner. Skinny Peter settled into his stance and held firm. “I went to a church. Just me. We were worshiping and God told to me—just to me—” He pointed to his heart. “He speak, ‘I love you. I love you always and I forgive you.’ I was weeping and I said, “Yes,” and . . .that is why I had to forgive my parents for separating. Oh!”

            He had to jump off the bus at his stop, but not before waving a cheery goodbye. Aside from his confusion with say, speak, and tell, Peter had completely surprised me. How could I have predicted abandonment and estrangement in his goofy smile, his sweet eagerness to please?

(And about the title: like I could help it.)

---

[1] A rarity; it’s a long bus ride.

Teach Me Easy

And so it begins with a typhoon.

Technically, I guess, it began yesterday, the day the typhoon was supposed to hit and then continued today, actual typhoon day, during which it rained half-heartedly and gusted a little more than normal. If this is what a Korean typhoon is, I am unimpressed.

But this year’s students are already shaping up to be an interesting bunch. In my 9:00 Monday class I have group “Power Rangers” of five boys whose English names are (chosen in an instant, mind you) Frog, T.O.P (name of Korean pop singer), Kancho, Zombie, and Twinkle. In yesterday’s level testing of the junior class, we had one student beg, “Teach me easy.” Luckily for him, he’s going to someone else’s class. Maybe.

Working at Kosin—and perhaps working abroad in general—is madness. “Fluid” might be a more polite way of putting it. I found out less than a month ago which classes I was teaching when. Less than a week ago, I got some of the books, and less than a day ago, I was still figuring out what exactly the classes were supposed to be about. There are still things I don’t know—how many students in each class, their ability, what book to use, when the books I ordered will actually be here and—naturally—what else will crop up in the next 24 hours.

For instance only five students out of twenty showed up this morning for my 10:00. The excuse?

 “So windy day, go to school is very difficult, Was allowed to the back of the class to the professors canceled. Sorry to think it is too profit convenience only.”

Flexibility, fluidity, madness—all are virtues for teaching at Kosin. Bending with the winds, but not breaking. So that when a typhoon hits, it’s not really that extraordinary.

(But my dream about the typhoon last night was. Scene:

            Dad sat up, startled in his café seat.

            “Did you see that?!” he gasped. “They just dumped a dead body in the river!” He pointed out the window behind me at the raging river splashing half over and half under a bridge. A car drove away, disappearing instantly.

            I shrugged. “Guess that makes sense. If I were going to drop a dead body somewhere that’s about where I’d put it…”

            But I stayed glued to the window, searching for the body amidst the waves. Two mini-tornados swirled into existence—a twisting morass of water and air that cleared out the river bed. There was no corpse.

Clearly I wanted this typhoon to be a little more epic than it is.)