1. This week, the Korean Fulbright Commission (officially Korean-American Education Commission, or KAEC) is throwing a two-week English immersion camp to middle school and high school kids from around the country held at the same site. This is of course mostly for the students, but it has also become a great training ground for us the ETAs. As such we will be teaching our first classes to Korean students in these testing grounds with overall good students before we're throw into the real things.
The Temptations, 1964 (read on; there's a reason I posted this picture)
However, I also know that there is a great performance aspect to teaching and as I have been thinking about it as more of a performance, somehow I've become more comfortable with teaching. I'm really excited, actually; I'll try to put on a show for these kids, and try to keep them engaged for 50 minutes with a reasonable attempt at an improvised, interactive theater performance. I loved my acting class last semester and have always felt reasonably comfortable on stage so the territory--at least in this light--won't really be all that strange. I feel grateful to all my greatest, most influential and most memorable teachers because I've really been thinking back about them and what made their classes so memorable.
My first lesson is going to teach the students (English Language learners) about rhyme through the classic My Girl by The Temptations. Luckily, this is a song that excites me a lot so at least I will have my enthusiasm to fuel me along, if not hopefully the other students as well. If you listen to the songs, it's sheer poetry: I got so much honey the bees envy me, I've got a sweeter song that the birds in the tress... People don't write like that anymore! Love it. I'll let you know how it goes...
2. A quick note on my identity: It has been a tremendous learning experience on a nearly revelatory level to be a Korean/Korean-American/America (I'm still grappling with all these different categories) back here in Korea. We have been told to wear this name tag so that the orientation site university summer students and administrators can recognize that we are with Fulbright (aka foreigners). Of course with those who are not Asian-American or Korean-American, that distinction can be made pretty immediately. But that's not the case with us who hold such phenotypic similarities, or more colloquially, us "Asians."
Here's a funny anecdote (funnier if told in person):
I enter the elevator on the 6th floor to get to the 2nd floor. Several native Korean students are in there chatting it up. They immediately notice my name tag, so naturally certain characteristics are attributed to me (as we all inevitably do as natural human beings in an effort to make sense of the situation and grasp the things we perceive); i.e. that I probably have no idea what they are about to say because, well, I'm a foreigner. Of course no one seems to notice that I have the most distinctly Korean name among all us "foreigners," but if one did notice, he obviously did not care.
We ETAs have been given CAPS keys, or all access-keys by the university for the duration of our stay as part of our dual protection under and abidance to both Korean and American laws (i.e. basic freedoms). This CAPS key is a sacred privilege on this campus because the curfew here is 11PM for all university students; if students stay out past then, they will not be allowed back into the campus and will have to spend the night off campus.
This happened to be the topic of this particular elevator ride, because I actually know a fair bit of Korean. I can comfortably pass as a reasonable Korean, knowing basic linguistic sensibilities and colloquial idiosyncrasies of this difficult language. But they didn't know that.
So they go off, swearing, cursing, dropping all kinds of F-bombs and cursing out the administrators for not giving them such access as well. Admittedly, it was both rather amusing and disheartening to listen to. After hearing them rant and spew diatribes, I stepped off the elevator before they since they were getting off on the first floor. As I walked out with that I'm-trying-to-be-cordial pursed-lip smile, they say with the broadest most beautiful and radiant smiles on their faces, "Bye bye!!!" as if they had just met with the President. It was incredible, the duplicity of their expressions; something I could not help but laugh and smile about of course.But the moral of the story can be drawn out.
I have felt a stringent and unyielding binary of my identity that I had not in such diverse settings as my home in northern California or at Pomona College. Without the badge of foreignness (my Fulbright name tag), I am a Korean who is fluent, indistinguishable, and accustomed and attuned to all the traditions and histories and subtleties of this culture. But as soon as I put that name tag of around my neck, I reveal my American identity, my alien and estranging veil. I know, I know, I know this is a ridiculously absurd attempt at relating back to history, but my experience has become the closest thing to the Star of David that I'll hopefully ever experience because of the absolute authority with which that name tag has commanded the presuppositions and conceptions of others about my identity. I would hope that if you are reading this now you know me well enough to know that I wouldn't make this comparison lightly or humorously or even without having considered the deep inadequacies of this vain analysis. But I hope you can afford me your understanding as I try to negotiate myself in this vastly different context.
So many will say there can only be an advantage. Perhaps, if one were to be a complete idealist blind to the defects of such a one-sided view. Because there are costs to the immediate judgments that befall one, especially in a country that is so cosmopolitan and intrigued by the apparent, the visible. There can be tremendous misunderstandings and huge things taken for granted by both parties which, if assumed without persuasion will only lead to hurt feelings and damaged relationships.
Thus ostensibly I can use my apparent dualistic identity as a tool, as a means to achieve near utilitarian limits. And yet this seeming advantage can become the tool and means for others to gain and meet their needs, to take for granted the exhaustion and emotional wear-and-tear that results from the transformation between modes of identity and ultimately utilize my transmutable capacities for their own gain (i.e. "You can speak Korean, help me out here.")
Look, there are a lot of subtleties to this argument I'm foregoing I know. I know there are many things for which I must be grateful, and there are too many things to name. I know this is an utmost privilege and should be cherished. I do all of these things, genuinely and consciously.
I'm just saying that it can be difficult and tiring at times.
More to come; thanks for reading.
Best,
Yoon-Chan Kim
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