Log54: Home

Hahaha, I couldn't put it any better.  As my friend and fellow ETA Neil says on his blog,


"I'm home. I don't care. This blog will be finished. It will have closure. Just not today."


Well said, sir.

Log53: The Confession

I just walked out of my first final class.

For the first forty minutes of class, we played a game called forty nouns.*  The students really enjoyed it, and we finished the game with ten minutes left.

Then came the confession.

I told them that I am leaving on Friday to go back to America.  They cried out boos and dour moans that needless to say flattered me.  Some gawked at the news, both stunned and dismayed.

I asked them who thought I could speak Korean.  Nonplussed faces and a scent of intrigue blossomed, as a few hands rose timorously.   Those who had stood witnessed raised their hands in testimony, quipping to others that they really had seen me speak Korean.  The number, however, was curiously small.

Students began testing the waters, shouting to me in Korean cajoling me to submit to that which I had forsaken.  Before me were some of my favorite second grade students, those with whom I had begun, and those with whom, poetically, I would end.  Their eyes implored something to hold on to, anything to wrap their eager minds around.  Anticipation electrified the room, energizing every nook and cranny and desk mark and shirts and windows as if these things would all unite in a blinding explosion.  My heart had begun revving up last night, and had now come to a fever pitch as it pounded mercilessly, savagely.  I had been waiting, imagining this moment for months, and now that it had come, and an ineluctable silence stared at me.  In a room suffused with propane littered with active C4s, I lit the match.

"나도--" (I, too--)

"Bat Shi* Insane" might be apt.

I had spoken only two syllables, but they smelled it immediately.  I had unleashed a predator into a den of puerile monkeys.  They pounded on desks, cried out like crazed chimps, shouted the lord's name in vain, jolted out of their seats, ripped paper (I'm not exaggerating) , climbed over and on top of each other and hit their heads on their desks.  Some simply sat there stunned and stupefied, frozen as if someone had injected liquid nitrogen into their veins.  Some looked back in consternation, a latent odium toward the man who had ostensibly deceived them for an entire year.  They simply could not believe that this foreigner, this man from strange lands with alien customs and wayward ideals, had begun speaking their native language, the words of their mother tongue.  And for what it's worth, he spoke it reasonably well too!  I collapsed under the podium in embarrassment and laughter.  

The pandemonium vanished as quickly as it had spawned, quickly overcome by another quiescence.  A pin drop could have torn asunder the fragile silence that held the cosmos together.

I finished my sentence:

"나도 답답햇어~" (I, too, had been waiting.)

Again, a blinding explosion of joy, dismay, surprise, shock, relief, stupefaction.

I began speaking to them in Korean, first addressing this truth I had been keeping from them.  I told them the reasons, then proceeded to share with them my impressions and what I had derived from my time with them.  I thanked them and asked them to try to stay in touch and welcome the new conversational English teacher with respect.

I had not realized how readily I had subsumed my teacher's persona, but I did not tear up as much as I imagined I would.  I had been fearing how difficult this week might be, but I think the professionalism I had adopted in the classroom--not to mention the unique teacher-student dynamic consecrated in this society--occluded my emotions from overwhelming me.

Then again, maybe it's also because I have to do this for nineteen more classes.

That said, I was a nervous wreck.  A heat burned within and my face felt hot, as if a spotlight had been turned on too brightly and for too long. 

Then to not only see the alacrity beaming from my students' eyes, but also hear them speak to me in Korean, with joy, with elation, all tinged in a chroma of bittersweet, only bolstered my love for them and reassured me that my time with them might have been worth something to them after all.

As I spoke though, I noticed one of my favorite students hold back tears.  His lips postured wry and his nose reddened.  A different student pointed this out, and a few others chuckled at this, not out of malice clearly, but maybe instead from discomfort, or even, sympathy.

I looked at him, and smiled the warmest smile I could.

He alone could have shown me that my efforts this year had not been in vain.  What fortune, though, that he was in fact not alone, but with seven hundred others who graced me with their smiles and love.

I told them they made me a better teacher and a better human being, and that I cannot thank them enough.

To close, I shared with them a quotation a friend of mine shared with me that morning:
"Do not cry because it is over.  Smile because it happened." -Dr. Seuss

As I opened the door, a din of goodbyes and "I love you"s trailed in my wake.  I walked out that classroom for the last time with a warmth I had never known.

Log52: Final Week

I am back from the weekend for the dawn of my final full week in Korea. 

Anticipation innervates my bones and sinews. The coming whirlwind will be replete with tasks, final meals and goodbyes, amounting to nothing less than an emotionally-charged week.

I hope I have time to think.

I begin my series of "last lesson"s tomorrow morning (I will teach twenty of them).  I am still not quite sure what exactly I will say to my students.

I am anxious.

Log51: Upload

Thanks to Dianna for recording and posting this (Youtube).

Final Dinner Performance: "An ETA Mash-up"

Sunday June 26, 2011, Dragon Hill Lodge, U.S. Army Base

Transcript:

[Well, I have the pleasure of not seeing any of you face-to-face, which will make this task much easier presumably but...

I don't really know who signed me up for this act but, 

I think he's foolish (I was referring to myself)...

But while I'm out here, 

I'd like you take you on a personal retrospective if you will 

on my previous grant year.

I seek your patience and forgiveness where it may be required.

Now, prizes for anyone who can name the song and title (I meant "artist") of each song I'll be covering today.]

to the tune of "Desperado" by The Eagles

Goesangun

Why don't you come to your senses

I've been out riding buses, for so long now

It may be rainin', but I just can't see past those mountains

You better let somebody find you (let somebody find you)

You better let somebody find you

Before I leave to get some tacos

interlude/narration to the tune of "Everday" by Carly Commando

[Mr. Kim Sung Kee is an English teacher at my school.  He is a very kind man, married, fifty years.  One day he comes up to me and says, "Hello."  Ah, Mr. Kim! How are you?  Oh very good, very good.  Great!

Silence.

I notice his necktie and try to make it a point of conversation.  So I tell him it's a very nice. Oh thank you, with a big grin on his face.

But then I see that he's thinking, he's thinking about something and I realize, oh well he was just complimented by a native English speaker, so of course he wants to return a compliment.  

So I wait.  And I wait.  Finally he says: 

"You have beautiful eyes."]

to the tune of "Easy" by the Commodores

[Of course, I'll miss all my goofy teachers,

But I'll also miss my students. Inevitably]

Know it sounds funny but I just can't change the word

It's silver, not "shil-buh"

Seems to me boys you know I've done all I can

Played games with candy and prizes

Now you're sleeping

Sleeping like it's Sunday morning

Now you're sleeping

Sleeping like it's Sunday morning

to the tune of "Goodbye My Lover" by James Blunt

[Of course I'll miss my students and teachers, 

but I think sometimes I'll miss the little things in Korea.]

Did I disappoint you, or let you down

Should I be feeling guilty, or let the judges frown

'Cause I saw the end before we'd begun,

Yes I saw you were blinded and I knew I had won.

And as you move on, remember me,

Remember us and all we used to be.

You touched my heart you touched my soul.

You changed my life and all my goals.

[I messed up badly.]

I know you well, I know your smell.

I've been addicted to you.

Goodbye, Samgyupsal.

Goodbye my friend.

You have been the one.

You have been the one for me.

Goodbye, Bibimbap.

Goodbye, Kimchi.

You have been the ones

You have been the ones for me.

I'm so hollow baby, I'm so hollow.

I'm so, I'm so, I'm so hollow.

to the tune of "Friends, Lovers or Nothing" by John Mayer

[And as we move into the final stretch of our journey,

we have to look at the big picture.]

Now that I am over as the Fulbright kind

I'll be dreamin' ways to keep the good alive

Only when I want is not a compromise

I'll be pourin' tears into your dryin' eyes.

Mail, Facebook or Twitter

There will always be more than one

Mail, Facebook or Twitter

It'll never be oh quite the same 

But stay in touch.

[I've made many memories and many experiences in Korea,

But what I've valued the most 

is that which I have derived and learned from the most,

and truth be told that's

all of you.

It has been my utmost privilege--and I say this frankly--

to have been part of this wonderful community and family.

Thank you so much.]

Anything other than send is no

Anything other than a Tweet is no

Anything less than a wall-post is cheating

Anything other than send is no

Anything other than a Tweet is no

Anything less than a wall-post is cheating

Mail, Facebook or Twitter

There will always be more than one

Mail, Facebook or Twitter

It'll never be oh quite the same 

But stay in touch.

Thank you.

Log50: A Few Moments

Today I concluded my three-and-a-half week long journey of speaking tests, an endeavor that required a 2-3 minute conversational interview with each of my 750 students.  

My penultimate interview occurred not thirty minutes ago upstairs with one of my second grade students.

His English is not very good, and his dream is to become a physical education teacher.  As co-captain of the second grade basketball club on campus, he is reputedly one of the most talented ballers on campus.  I have played with/against him, and he is as they say: quite good.  

He has always been a good student, but one who also exudes a humble, bucolic naivete.  His innocence recalls his pastoral roots: his parents are farmers and his elder brothers are planning on going to back to the farm as well.

Most interviews close with a handshake after I express my gratitude and wish the student good luck.  The student searches for an affirmation of this conclusion in my smile, then loosens the grip on the hand, stands up and walks back into the classroom.  Then the next student leaves.

This particular student described to me his family and his brothers' current circumstances.  He tells me he wants to be a physical education teacher because he is "good at physical."  I smile, and he imitates.  There is indubitable warmth between us, a true feeling of brotherhood.  

I wish him luck and shake his two bear-like hands with my right.  As he stands, curiosity goads him to ask me a simple question: Teacher, when you go America?  I tell him July.  In summer vacation.

Oh my Gahd, no teacher, he says, with a broad, idyllic smile on his face.  But it's a warm smile that is genuine and bittersweet.  It is steadfast in the wake of potentially unpleasant news. The smile oozes aplomb and sagacity beyond his years, and accepts the inevitable with a courage perhaps only seen in the young and the restless.

Call me, Teacher, he says with a softer smile.

I reassure him by asking him to call me if and when he comes to the United States.  He asks if I will come back to Korea, and I say yes but I don't know when.

Just yesterday a different class broke my heart because they were so unruly and disrespectful to the rules and atmosphere of the class (fortunately these less charitable ascriptions of this class is not unique; other teachers have felt the same way about this particular group).  

Today, this student transformed my spirits in just a few moments.

Gratitude is an awfully nice word.

Log49: Why Speaking Tests Are My Favorite Part of the Year

Hello, my name is Yoon-Chan Kim, and these are the students I teach:


Hello, my name is ___ and my dream is to be a neurosurgeon.

Hello, my name is ___ and my mother became an angel when I was two years old.

Hello, my name is ___ and I do not know my father.
Hello, my name is ___ and I am so scared because my father saw me smoking and has not talked to me since.
Hello, my name is ___ and I love Britney Spears.
Hello, my name is ___ and my father lives in Indonesia.
Hello, my name is ___ and I want to be a hacker for the government because I love my country.
Hello, my name is ___ and my parents do not have jobs.
Hello, my name is ___ and I am sorry to my family for my bad test scores.
Hello, my name is ___ and my dream is to be a novelist.
Hello, my name is ___ and I have not seen my mother for fifteen years, and I do not miss her.
Hello, my name is ___ and my dream is to be a fund manager because I grew up poor.
Hello, my name is ___ and I want to be happy.
Hello, my name is ___ and I do not know my parents.
Hello, my name is ___ and I am so tired of never feeling good enough because every time I try my hardest my grades are never good enough.

Hello, my name is ___ and my dream is to be a farmer.

Hello, my name is ___ and my dream is to be a barista.
Hello, my name is ___ and I am nervous.
Hello, my name is ___ and I want a beautiful life.

Hello, my name is Yoon-Chan Kim, and these are the students I love.

Log48: Quick Update

Slightly overdue, yes?


Yes.


I have about four weeks of teaching left.


I declined a job offer...despite the dismal economy, despite the adage "a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush," despite it being a really pretty awesome damn job.


I am currently searching for others.


I recently joined a flute ensemble which will be performing in a couple of weeks.  I have been practicing the flute daily but have not been exercising daily.


I am currently hungry.


And tired.


It's hard to believe I'll be out of here so soon.


I hope all of you are well!!!  More to come.

Log47: A Piece

"47" represents my alma mater, Pomona College.  I consider the following as a small tribute to my profound college experience.  I would love to hear what you think.

Long Live 47.

*           *           *

When it comes to religion, I am a frank dilettante.  I grew up without attending church or abiding by a canon. What little familiarity I do have with formal religion is a compendium of childhood memories including Buddhist paraphernalia from my grandmother’s home, family friends who were temple regulars, and the incoherent chanting of Buddhist monks.  My naïveté with other religions is also plain: my relationship with the Bible recalls an independent study course in college, and my conversance with the Koran refers to speeches by Malcolm X.[1]

And yet, from the absence of religion grew an ironic fascination with it.  Throughout my life, religion—in all its variegated forms—has never ceased to goad my curiosity.  I have tried to delve into religious discourse, plunging past the pages of Plato[2] and into those of Calvin and Augustine.  I have tried to understand religion in its physical realm, visiting houses of worship, rituals, and votaries: monks, ministers, and priests alike.  I have tried to live by the Millian dictum to confront the unfamiliar with inquiry not hubris, veracity not pretense.[3]  Fortunately, each experience has illuminated a part of the world in ways I could have never imagined.

Korea has proven no exception.

A little more than two weeks after arriving in Korea, fellow Fulbright ETAs and I journeyed to Haeinsa, a famed Buddhist temple hidden in the hills of central Korea. I did not know what to expect, but this haven proved to be more than just a quiet respite from language classes.  Our walk to the temple—enveloped by the mountain mist and lush forest leaves—could alone have been a meditative journey, but I knew I would learn something new when I arrived at the temple gates.

The austerity of the temple soothed my soul.  The scents and sounds of the scene summoned a youngster within me who once only knew the simple life: to just stand in awe of the golden figure’s filigrees; to observe and absorb, while eschewing obfuscation from concepts like morality or sin; to just live, unadulterated by worry or doubt.  Supplanting this childish giddiness with a quieter mirth, I walked past the courtyards and found the chamber housing the central Buddha.

I entered, infringing on the quiescence.  I waded through the laity, posturing myself among others and preparing to bow.  After a deep breath, I began just as I had done many years ago.  While prone, I let a few moments pass, then uncurled myself to standing again, taking a deep breath before repeating.  I bowed maybe twenty times, less to appease a deity and more to conjure the life I had before.

But as I bowed and whispered to myself the two prayers I knew from childhood, I wondered what my ritual really amounted to.  I wondered what exactly everyone there—from the monks to the laymen—was bowing for; the rather grandiose gesture seemed to violate the more introspective dimensions of Buddhist thought.  I always believed that Buddhism lay a vast distance away from many other world religions in its espoused asceticism and simplicity[4], but seeing everyone bow so heavily to these figures hundreds of times a day made me question my assumptions.  Nevertheless, I continued to bow, trusting that my continuous furling and unfurling would produce some infrangible good.

Three months later in Korea in early November, my high school minister invited me to help the Christian club run an evening service at an army reserve camp.  I agreed to play a solo and three hymns with some of my students, looking forward to the chance to not only bond with them, but also further assay the value and meaning of religion.  I viewed this opportunity as a chance to broaden my horizons and disabuse myself of old prejudices.  Yet little did I know that the service would regale the audience with an extravaganza rivaling a royal reception.

            The talents of these students stupefied me.  The vitality abounding on stage enraptured me, and I sat there, stunned.  The dance crew performed three choreographed routines to electric perfection a la the boy bands of the nineties[5]; the harmonies of the choir resonated within the hall and hearts of the audience; skits sparked unfettered laughter, and testimonials moved with poignancy.  The entire service exceeded two hours, but, as with any unforgettable performance, felt much too short.  As students beleaguered me with broken colloquialisms and cultural queries on the bus ride back home, I half feigned exhaustion and reflected on the long evening. 

What proved most striking was the austerity of faith these students evinced.  The rites seemed to entrance everyone, as if the Holy Spirit had already subsumed them into His kingdom.  The tenacity of the student performers pushed me to think about not just the cultivation of such fervor, but also the reward of such service: what did each student derive from investing so much into the production?  What blessings motivated such unabashed devotion and celebration?  To what end did they tout the probity of the Bible, the dereliction of sin, and the unconditional trust in a being beyond?  Questions collided with questions, confounding a mind already dazed from sleep deprivation.  I clamored to recall some of these questions on my ride to school the next morning.

Admittedly, Korea is one of the most religious countries in Asia.[6]  Hence, my trips to the temple and the church service were by no means my only encounters with religion here: I received numerous invitations to many churches; I befriended Buddhist monks on my travels; I met teachers here whose religiosity continues to humble me. I mention these two particular experiences only because of their revelatory scale.

Standing there in front of the Buddha, I tried to put aside burgeoning questions about faith and told myself to focus on the bowing.  I did not fight the meandering thoughts of home, grandfathers, friends or even the first two weeks of orientation, but I also did not grapple with them.  I acknowledged them as extant, but told myself to concentrate: to hone in on the inner peace that my bowing exacted. 

Slowly but surely, I began to feel a serenity and calm wash over me like an ablution.  At first I could not articulate how, but as I continued to pay my respects to the ethereal, the answer began to reveal itself.  I began to realize that the source of my growing inner peace stemmed not from the aftermath of my bowing, but instead in the very act of it.  It was the continuous furling and unfurling and whispering-to-self-old-chants-I-knew-from-childhood from which I derived a sense of renewal and clarity. My ritual was no means to an end; it was in fact, the end itself.

The epiphany proved no different under the cross.  Watching their heads tilt up toward the stage lights as if they were seeing heaven’s light, I saw joy beam from the smiles of my students.  They performed while embracing a haven beyond, seemingly untouched by the gravity that bound them to this earth.  Yet as I witnessed their lucidity and passion, a familiar set of questions began to inflame me.

With each choreographed step, harmonic shift, and enunciation, I began to see something very fundamental to these exhibitions.  I began to see these rites for what they really were: practice.  In spite of the highfalutin concepts, these dances to Christian music, holy hymns and canticles, and personal testimonies were all forms of religious practice.  They were not a means to inspire; they were themselves the end, the inspiration.[7]

The connection had been present all along.  The value of the bows is not simply what comes as a consequence of it, but also the thought and peace of mind that it demands.  The significance of dance, song, and speech in celebration of the holy trinity is not simply what they produce, but also the acumen such performances require.  These religious practices are themselves the objective, much more than strategic tools to attain some reward outside the method.[8]  The processes themselves—the very acts of doing and thinking—are what provide the space for reflection and introspection and, paradoxically, apprehension of profane humanity.  Perhaps what religious practice does, then, is militate against the erosion of basic thoughtfulness and awareness that actually constitute human compassion, empathy, and warmth.  In providing a regimented practice, religion provides an arena for introspection and humanism hard to find in the zeitgeist of modernization and technology.

Beneath the principles of religion that have always confounded me lay an impetus that compels us to reflect, act, and improve each and every day: practice.  Though my discoveries came under a religious light, the essence seems ubiquitous; whether it is religious or profane, artistic or athletic, practice provides us not only mental acuity to strive on diligently, but also the discipline to persevere.  Practice forges a fraternity from the fires of united struggle, allowing each of us to transcend our snow-globes of subjectivity and cultivate both greater self-awareness as well as greater compassion.  Practice empowers us to face doubt with aplomb, misfortune with perseverance, and tragedy with faith, in, if nothing else, people.

---

[1] X embraced brotherhood as articulated in the Koran and exhorted unity to realize economic and political self-reliance for African Americans in much the same way Frederick Douglass campaigned throughout nineteenth century America.

[2] Plato’s Allegory of the Cave seems exemplary, though his topics range far and wide.

[3] John Stuart Mill wrote in his 1869 magnum opus On Liberty that if “the opinion [or proposition] is right, [we] are deprived of the opportunity of exchanging error for truth: if wrong, [we] lose, what is almost as great a benefit, the clearer perception and livelier impression of truth, produced by its collision with error.”

[4] Though they vary by school, the Ten Precepts Buddhist monks and nuns adhere to are emblematic of Buddhist asceticism.

[5] In fact, the front man of the five-person dance troupe made a particularly lasting impression for his unrivaled precision and Michael Jacksonian conviction.

[6] Nearly two-thirds of the population explicitly accepts either the Buddha or Christ.

[7] To treat religious practice not only as a means but also an end itself recalls the German philosopher Immanuel Kant’s Categorical Imperative regarding humanity: “Act in such a way that you treat humanity, whether in your own person or in the person of any other, never merely as a means to an end, but always at the same time as an end.” (Groundwork of the Metaphysics of Morals)

[8] That is, when looking at the inner workings of an individual; we all know that religious practice can be a powerful political tool, or even a weapon.

Log46: Students

I must write an entry regarding how political theory -- especially via Machiavelli (don't be scared, I love my students too) -- is so unquestionably manifest in the Korean classroom (at least within my educational doctrine, haha).

But such is for a later time, I believe.

My first grade students seem to both respect me and like me.  Because I began this semester--and their classes with me--with at least a greater guise of confidence and a more veracious grasp on teaching, their first impression of me has made greater impact (compared to last semester).  In light of this, teaching them has been fun and somewhat easier.

The most vociferous among them is my 1-6 class whose energy and enthusiasm -- and their near adoration of me -- seem to know no bounds.

I walk into class today, and all rush to their seats as if Stalin had walked in.  Many start clapping for my entrance.  I hear shouts of "Oh my god you're so handsome" and "Teacher good looking."  On the board is written "You are very handsome, English teacher." I read it and ask if that's about me; they uniformly say yes.

Flattered?  Absolutely.

Confused because they--despite their apparent love for me--are still some of my loudest and most talkative students to the point of disruption and annoyance?

Absolutely.

I guess better this than a reticent bunch, right?

:)

Log45: New Students

No cigars for these students...

ME: What would you say if you wanted to borrow a pencil from your friend?
STUDENT: Give me pencil.

ME: What would you say if you needed to go to the bathroom?
STUDENT: "May I borrow your toilet, please?"

STUDENT: "May I borrow your pencil, please?"
ME: "Yes you may."
STUDENT: "You're welcome."

Log44: Unspeakable

http://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2011/03/13/world/asia/satellite-photos-japan-before-and-after-tsunami.html


The February 14, 2011 issue of Time magazine has on its cover, "Revolution, And what it means for the Middle East."  The picture is a worn Egyptian flag silhouetted under a glowing sun and upheld by the nameless apostates.  Their righteous hands carry the taut flag with a violent fervor, as if the flag were Liberty herself.


The news could not be sated by the wildly infectious revolutions occurring all over the middle east and north Africa.


Three days ago, the collision of four separate tectonic plates beneath Japan's eastern front registered an 8.9 magnitude earthquake on the Richter scale and caused a tsunami taller than ten meters to decimate Japan.


A village of 17,000 estimates a death of 10,000 from its town alone.


Over the past couple of days, few seem solicitous of the Arab world's cause.


Tragedies like the earthquake and tsunami in Japan militate against the vanity and futility of my prose.


The speed with which the world has turned to Japan--as well as the exigency and alacrity--speaks I think to a deep humanity in all of us.  International social, political, economic quarrels seem trifling when a blink from the world can change the future of humanity on such inconceivable levels.


Listen, watch, and read the news; grieving has not yet begun.  The glib reports might to the uninformed reader demonstrate an unforgiving and inhuman portrait of the landscape.  The nonchalance with which the news broadcasters, reporters, I, or anybody else I've spoken to, has approached this enormity is illustrative, not of our dissolute or immoral nature.


No, it rather speaks to the unspeakable tragedy of this spectacle; the utterly dumbfounding, stupefying, and tragically awesome power of nature; the inexplicable anguish.

Log43: The New Semester

The new year has begun, and I have already begun teaching.

Let me simply say that the inner serenity which was once a distant dream has thus far been both a haven and a vanguard during this new beginning.  

Last year when I was frightened and unsettled, I groped around for a suitable teaching persona which I could potentially grow into.  Knowing nothing about grassroots education (aka teaching) I wove a garish chimera whose design included persecutor, vaudeville, and a trying mentor.  Time and failure proved to be the best teachers as I tried to preen the outfit, and by the time winter vacation rolled around, my arms and feet began sliding into the sleeves and shoes of pedagogy a bit more comfortably.  

While the design is of course constantly in the works, perhaps it is this familiarity with an old costume I wore that has vouchsafed my easy transition.  I had at least some template of expectations and standards to which I could refer this time.  I knew the classroom, I knew the environment, and I knew how to walk in my unique ensemble.  I didn't know the students nor their comportment, but I knew myself much more.  I knew how to carry myself, and how to effectively communicate my ideas to my students.

This year I teach all first and second grade students, totaling to more than seven hundred.  Though the second grade students all learned from me last semester, they are in new classrooms with new classmates and still have voids in unanswered classroom dynamics and friends.  As for the first grade students, few, if any, know each other at all.

I have seen the consequences of giving a poor first impression on the first day versus a great impression on the first day.  In the former, your students see your hesitations and doubts because they are written all over your face.  In the latter, your doubts and locked away in a safe and forgotten for the time and your decision and word is final and unquestionable [not as a matter of myopia or wisdom, but simply confidence].  In a rather unforgiving environment where student motivation is as varied as snowflakes and only a few in each class care to learn the subject, much less actually comprehend it, the effects of those first fifty minutes last well into the semester and, perhaps if you do it right, into the livelihoods of students many years down the road.

I have yet thrown out anyone in my first grade students' classes.  I can't tell if this is a good or bad thing yet. :) Though I may have been astringent, I can tell that I have grabbed the attention of many of the students.  Simply put, I feel good about where I am with teaching right now; at least, with the first week.

Furthermore, with teaching much more grounded in my mind, my heart, and hence my life, I feel a vigor within me that I did not feel last semester.  I was always too exhausted last semester, too tired to do anything else.  

This year I feel very different.  There is a life and a jubilation within me, an excitement and positivity that goads me to strive on and experience all I can.  Perhaps closely tied to my resolutions to think more positively and strive on diligently, I look forward to a semester of unforgettable experiences, both in and outside the classroom.

Thanks for reading!  I hope you're all well!

Log42: Back

Back in Jeonju, and I teach tomorrow.  The new semester begins.

I'm exhausted.

Here we go...

Log41: Retreat

I have spent the past week back in Korea, and will now travel to Bali with some friends before school begins.  Unfortunately I am not sure how much computer access I will have.

In other news, my digital camera became defunct when I arrived in Nepal.  I bought a film camera (the type you have to wind up) cheaply and took pictures sparingly.  However, throughout the journey my skepticism goaded me to open the back of the camera and "see" if the camera was working.  I would later learn at the camera shop that letting light into the film damages it and leaves little hope of producing pictures.  The shop owner told me he doubted any pictures would be produced.

I received one picture.

I'm glad that the one I received was the single one.  Once I scan it and post it, you will see what I mean.

For now, I hope all is well.

Log40

"The really important kind of freedom involves attention, and awareness, and discipline, and being able truly to care about other people and to sacrifice for them, over and over, in myriad petty little unsexy ways, every day.  That is real freedom."

-David Foster Wallace (commencement speech to Kenyon College Graduating Class of 2005: Part I; Part II)

Log39: Back in Korea

I have been back in Korea for the past week, spending some time recharging and gathering myself again.

I have written much on my journey to Nepal, and hope to transfer some of the thoughts unto the blog.  The proper opportunity has yet arisen, but I attempt to make it soon.

I recently finished Robert Penn Warren's magnum opus All the King's Men, and have many thoughts about which I wish to write.  I have moved on since to the biography To the Mountaintop: Martin Luther King Jr.'s Mission to Save America 1955-1968 by Stewart Burns.  I am learning a lot.

More to come, I promise.

Log38: Kathmandu, Arrived!

I've been here for one hour, and it has already been an unbelievable, inconceivably amazing experience; an hour!!!

The airport was a sight (or rather, lack thereof because it was so small?), the airport exit had a ton of people, I found my people and the car ride turned out to be something straight out of the movies--no street lights, bumpy dirt roads, driving practices impractical/unimaginable in a Western world, and buildings and homes like I'd never seen before.  And it's pitch black now, so imagine what it must be like in a few hours.

I lucked out with my place though; you can immediately tell just how poor this country really is, relative, at least, to the worlds I come from (no moral valuations being placed, mind you; poor in the strictest, fiscal sense, let's not get too philosophical about this).

Also, fortuitously my camera has begun to die.

Awesome.

Here's to an adventure...

Hope you're all well!

Log37: A Trip

I am at Incheon International Airport.  It seems like just yesterday when I sat here writing just before departing to the states.  Here I am now more than a month later, about to board a plane to go to Kathmandu, Nepal.

I plan to write a lot while I am there; free-hand.  I am not brining my computer and will likely have limited internet access.

If you are wondering why I chose Nepal of all places, I will tell you that it was always a destination of great interest to me.  I aimed on studying abroad either there or Africa somewhere, but opted to spend another semester in southern California.  Since being in Korea, what seemed once like a long-lost opportunity had fortuitously come back, and I decided to take it up this time.

It will be an entirely new world, and I am anxious to see what I will learn from and about not only the country and culture, but also myself.

I am excited for this trip, and look forward to an immensely rewarding and rejuvenating experience.

I hope you are all well.  Thanks for reading.

Stay in touch.

Log36: Welcome Back!

Here I am, Friday evening (by choice; really, it's not as sad as some of you young folk may think it sounds) back in the homestay, relaxing, reflecting and cleaning my room after having just completed my school's winter English camp this afternoon.

Before I tell you about my winter English camp, let me say a few words about being back in Korea.

Many colleagues told me that as much of the United States--in all of its individuality diversity liberty and brimming glory--as we might enjoy, there would come a time when we would return to Korea and arrive with a curious sense of...home.  There would be a sigh of relief, a smile of warmth, a gravity that settles us in the most relaxing way possible.

Sure, it varies and depends on the person.  Sure, it matters what kind of traveling and travel experiences you have before you arrive back in the land of the morning calm.  Sure all those other potential causes and explanations matter to some degree.

But I was willing to give credence where it was due.  And I have been happy to say that my arrival in Korea--nay, more specifically, Jeonju--did feel like a certain home to me.  I felt an ownership of the city, I felt I had come back to a community, I felt as if I had created a bond with the city itself; like I had been a dandelion seed that flew across the Pacific, landed in a more rural region of Korea, and began growing my nascent roots (or what might be barely conceived as roots).

This is not to say this is my new home, because home, to me, has always been where the family is.  And my family, right now, is in California.  That has been, is, and always will be, home; where the family is.*

*1) For this reason, I cannot recall a time in college when I called my dorm room my "home."  I would always go back to my "room," but it was a "home" in as much as any other space I occupied temporarily would have been a home; in as much as the dining hall, the basketball gym, the classrooms, the campus grill, would have been a home.  I became attached to the entire campus certainly, but shied from calling a single room my particular space, or home.  
2) Now my own home which I will come to occupy and own will have a different tincture to the title of home. The title will be imbued with a different color, respect, and meaning.  But the kind of home that I now refer to, where you know that even at your worst the home will remain imperturbable, adamant in its position to be your touchstone and guide, is a home that never yields to give you a sense of ease and comfort and confidence.


Now, one could argue that anything after a twelve-hour flight in a three-seater would look and feel like a home.  Trust me, I could not agree more.

Yet, I guess I have become familiar with the city to some capacity.  I have met different kinds of people in a variety of lifestyles here: I found my barbershop (beauty shop, really) where the Korean middle-aged women come to shoot the breeze about their children and nephews and husbands and they see me and urge me to eat one of the pastries they brought in; I work at a school whose teachers I spend time with daily and whose students I run into often and engage with smiles laughs and all; I attend orchestra rehearsals whose members come from all over the province and span jobs ranging from pediatrician to elementary school teacher; I frequent a coffee shop whose owners and workers I have become friends with; I often take taxi rides simply because 90% of the taxi drivers in this city are disproportionately kind, interesting, and engaging people who seem to actually care whether you have a nice day or not; I live in an apartment placed smack in the middle of all these different parts of the city, with a family who both abide by and repudiate the many stereotypes of a modern Korean family.

I have come to love this quaint city for all its peculiarities and idiosyncracies, a place visibly teetering between modernization and the old guard, between wanting to develop and holding on to its title as the immovable and eternal bastion of traditional, historic Korea.

This is what happens.  Dammit.

I'm too tired now to say something about English camp.

Next time...

Much love; thanks for reading.

Log35: A Flower

Log34: 2011

The Year of the Rabbit.

2011.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9rFx6OFooCs&feature=related

I sincerely wish all of you the best.

Cheers.

Log33: A Year in Review

One of the nice things about being home is the opportunity to watch sports.*


*Two points potentially battle against my sentiments:
1) I have been in Korea for six months.  One could say, for as long as six months, or one could say, for only six months.  Grow up, it has only been six months.  Yet in doing so one potentially deprives the fullness of a moment, of a day, of a week and a month.  In any case however, this is point number one; I recognize this and accept it as a point of disagreement.  Six months can be eternal, or fleeting.  I understand that in the "broader scheme of things," six months really can fly by.  And they admittedly have; it's hard to believe that the new year has already arrived.   I recognize that to some, my bemoaning and protesting of the past six months illustrates an immaturity within me, a failure to disabuse myself from naive ennui. 
2) Sports, as a literal concept, of course exists in Korea.  Of course people know what basketball is, sure there is soccer, of course skiing and swimming are common.  Yet sports in Korea still has a distant vigor to it, a kind of veracity and immediacy with which children under ten approach going out and playing in the grass, a kind of strange remoteness that can be obfuscated in the commercialism of sports.  So much of American culture is significantly constituted by sports as a product.  Of course the major sports networks are foregone conclusions, but so also must be the ways we consider even the players--LBJ, Kobe, Favre, Strasburg-- basic human beings who too happen to have stories, worries, queries and concerns just as each of us does; they are products we consume, and love to live by as a source of comfort and reward.  I too, take them for granted, and have realized just how much I...frankly...missed it all.  In any case, the second point of disagreement is how I may not have given the sports culture in Korea enough credence.

As some of you may know, sports coverage love top 10 lists. 

So how else could I properly welcome the new year other than with an appropriate reflection of the top 10 moments of 2010 (NOTE: I deliberately stretch the meaning of the word "moment," extending it to a collection of moments that can amount to an entire day or two).

TOP 10 Moments of 2010 

(from My Little Snow Globe World, 

not the actual Real World that Matters, 

and ranked in a manner that is arbitrary and with meaning

only to the extent that they are memorable, 

but not to the extent that one is somehow significantly better than the other):

10. Snow (June & December)
I had not seen snow in fifteen years prior.  I saw it once in Colorado, and again in Korea.  Both experiences recalled my carefree and restless joys from childhood.  And its smiles.

9. Meeting the ETAs (July)

Six weeks in a marble-clad, Orwellian surveillance-wired, communistic/dictatorial university set in the boonies of Korea spending time with...highly intellectual, immensely diverse, incredibly interesting recent college-graduates from all over the United States?  Yeah.  It has been nothing short of great.


8. Seoul (December)
We went.  Had a great dinner, had great views, had a fabulous time.  Splendid.

7. Dancing in SF (June)

A night in the summer.  We went to San Francisco. Mesmerizing.


6. First day at school in Korea (August)

Send a kid to the disciplinarian, scream at a student, teach my first day lessons, get a written apology, have a butt-naked student in the back of the classroom.
How does this NOT make the top-ten list? Of the decade?


5. Student admitted to APU (October)

I help this kid prepare for an interview with Asia Pacific University (international university in Japan) for a week.  I'm scared because I'm not sure how much I can help him as he begins as a nervous wreck.  He seems much more confident the day before the interview.
I get a call from him Saturday afternoon.  The kid can barely breathe, but he's wavering between crying and laughing.  He tells me he got in.


Wonderful.


4. San Francisco Airport (June/July)
Many memories have been made here.  Much traveling has been made here, and many goodbyes had here.  One in particular; my older brother dropping me off at the airport...he was the last person I would see before my six months departure to Korea, and though I knew I would see my parents in Korea, I knew it would be a long time before I would see him again.  Seeing him get back in the car and drive away kinda sucked.  But it was a moment.  And an important one.  He's my rock.


3. Senior recital (April)
What a journey this was...from the hours I spent deciding what pieces I would play, to asking help from the various professors, to practicing into the wee hours of the night...to the moments I took my bows after each piece...to the moment I walked off the stage. Scrumptious.

2. Graduation (May)
Thank you, thank you, thank you. Not in the tone of Academy Awards (arrogant), not in the tone of the Queen of England (presumptuous), not in the tone of Kanye West who thinks he is the most deserving man in the world (condescending)...No, in the tone of a son, a brother, a friend who cannot seem to garner the right amount of words--nor the proper ones--to articulate just the sheer weight of gratitude and appreciation he has to the innumerable people who helped him get to such a point and without whom he would not be who he is today, this moment.

1. Fulbright (April)
This gets top spot because it was, unlike many of the others, an actual moment: a true instant in time when my life changed.  Greatly.  And it was one of those moments which so strongly remains with you that if you could, you could recreate every little molecule that you came in contact with and that you witnessed that very moment.

Story.  As a senior interviewer then working for the admissions office, I had been asked to have a nice lunch with parents of newly accepted students who were on a special visit with their achieving sons and daughters to learn about Pomona.  I sat down and had a great conversation with the parents with whom I had sat, telling them about the wonderful experiences I had at Pomona.  They inevitably asked me what I will be do following graduation, which I could not answer definitively.  I left, to go check my mail.
I saw that I had a large brown envelope.  It being lunch time, many students were in the mailroom.  I had been waiting for news for several months, and as soon as I saw that mailing address was from Korea, the nervousness overflowed from my mouth senselessly.  I began speaking gibberish as estranged and fearful eyes turned to watch me carefully.  I ripped open the envelope, saw "Congratulations," threw my hands up in front of strangers, explained to them to assuage their fears--"Sorry, I got Fulbright."--heard their congratulations, and set my phone ablaze with my furious fingers calling nearly everyone I knew.
I went back to the table from which I had departed not three minutes ago, and told them, "Okay, you know that question about what I'll be doing after graduation?  Well I have an answer for you.  I'll be on the Fulbright."  I hugged the fellow admissions officers who were there, called my parents, hugged my friends, and was in ecstasy for the next...week?

Honorable Mentions:

*USA: The fullness of unchilled Zinfadel from Napa Valley; the warmth of home; the juiciness of an organic apple in the middle of winter; the crunchiness of fresh lettuce; the unbending crispness of nachos; the thick, moist 2/3lb burger; the freedom of driving; the color green of grass and trees; English; ESPN; these are a few of my favorite things from the land of the free and the home of the brave.

*Grad Night: 
The last hurrah for departing seniors. Some friends were trashed, some friends were buzzed; some took glory in their success, some in their survival; some smiled with glee, some bawled in despair.  What a stir of emotions that evening proved to be.  What delight I did feel, and yet what fear, what gratitude...and what comfort in the arms of a friend.

*Final Mood Swing Party:
Ah, a cappella.  Ah, Mood Swing.  How I miss both oh so much.  And the partying shenanigans; how wonderful!  They were lovely times of a not-so-distant past.  

The above of course was by no means a comprehensive list.

This is about what I can do, for now, as I try to forge ahead in the new year...the year of the rabbit. :)

May Fortune smile upon all of us this year.