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.

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.

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."

Log31: Moved

*An aside: somebody told me I write my blogs in a very Faulknerian, stream-of-consciousness fashion.  Well, so let it be.  Haha.  This is, afterall, one manifestation of those things which occur in my head.  A kind of written puking of my thoughts, if you will. 

Moved. In more ways than one.

1]

Currently in Incheon International Airport, 3 hours prior to departure into SFO.

I have been in transit for many hours now, and will continue to be to arrive at my destination for a month.  I am excited and thrilled to be moving.  To be moved.

2]

Unlike the academic schedule in America, the academic calendar in Korea actually coincides with the solar calendar by which we all abide (i.e. students graduate in December).  This means that yesterday was the last day of 2010 I would teach my current classes of students.  Certainly I will see them again next year. 

That is not to say yesterday was unmoving.  For it was. Quite.

Although only a year separates the two graduating classes, there is an unmistakeable difference between the maturity of my first grade students and that of my second grade students.  That is to say, as energetic and lively as the first grade students have been, I have been able to connect much more strongly with my second grade students who, for all their irrepressible immaturity, still seemed to exhibit a greater semblance of self-awareness, a kind of adulthood.  My ascription of these characteristics may simply be due to the simple fact that they are bigger, but I doubt that such would be wholly justifiable.

To put it another way, it never quite felt like teaching with them.  I forgot that I was a teacher, and that they  students.  In retrospect, class with the second grade students felt more like  fifty minutes of fun, chaos, and a little bit of learning with about forty younger brothers: not the kind of brothers you let sit on your shoulders or play tag with on the playground, but the kind of brothers with whom you can laugh, joke, and share stories.

And maybe I felt that way because there was some level of reciprocation going on.

One would hope, anyway.

It seemed seredipitous, then, that my last day of classes would be on a Wednesday, a day when I teach three second grade classes: my "goofball" class, my "hell" class, and my "heaven" class.

For each of my "final" classes, I simply played games with all my students.  They complete finals, winter break was around the corner, and they were tired of studying.  They wanted to have fun, I wanted to have fun, I wanted them to have fun, so we played games: some mixture of Simon Says, Captain's Coming, Hangman, and 20 Questions.

After about 45-48 minutes of laughter and chaos, I sit them down, wait for silence, then tell them I would leave to America and that such was the final class.  I thank them, tell them honestly that I have learned a lot from them, and that it has been a privilege teaching them. 

It may seem like a negligible event, but to hear the collective "Awww~" or "Oh no~, teacher~," or even, "No teacher, I love you!" when I tell my students that I would be leaving is really touching.  I guess if one is wondering what love enfolded with respect and gratitude may feel like, teaching isn't a bad place to start.  I don't think I ever felt that kind of love before.  It's an immensely gratifying kind of love, loaded with respect, interest, care, and a weird sort of gratitude you often don't get between basic human relationships.  Of course there is the cultural Confuscian hierarchy curveball thrown into this dynamic somewhere, confounding this basic sentiment, but I'm willing to bet that this kind of powerful, moving impression can be generally shared by teachers all around the world.

The way they clap when I thank them, the way they look at me with attention and a kind of sad but grateful longing as I walk out the door, the kind of final "goodbye"s and "Peace!"s that I hear, the way certain favorite students of mine run out after class and chase after me to say a personal final goodbye to me, and thank me...these will last in my memories forever, and will forever be things I will be grateful for.  And it won't be because I enjoyed the attention.  Well, at least, not only because of it. 

It will also be because I really love these students.

I know, who would have thought, right?  Haha.

"July next year is going to be tough," I thought.  Give me another six months with these kids, and...I hope I will keep myself busy enough to not become too sentimental.

I will leave you with a couple of anecdotes:

***


1)


I walk out of my first "final" class of Wednesday (2-5) with the final "goodbye"s still echoing in the hallways.  I begin walking downstairs when one of the smart kids, Yoseb, comes chasing after me.  Trying to catch his breath, he says hurriedly, "Teacher! You go to America today?"


Yes, yes I do.


"No more class?"


No, I'm afraid not.  We continue to walk down the steps as students begin to flood the stairwell for their breaks.  A silence proceeds, and I look at Yoseb.  His face has that inward introspection with a hint of confusion, like a child in the depths of deciding whether a candy he just ate tastes good or bad, like a baby who just fell but is not sure if it warrants crying.  Yoseb is trying to process this.  I look down to make sure I keep my steps, and bow my head to the science teacher walking by.


"Teacher, why, why, why, why?  Why you leave?" 


None of it hit me at first: the pain, the sadness, the genuine disappointment in his voice.  My mind was too busy getting ready to pay off my phone bill, run to the bank, and give gifts to my teachers.  Then like a freight train that came two minutes late, the reality of the moment hit me mercilessly. 


Amidst the flurry of bodies flying past me, amidst the murumurs, shouts, and steps of students echoing in the frigid hallway, I stopped like I found a diamond on the ground.  I stopped, likea man who just saw in his mind's eye the wedding ring on the desk he forgot to bring to his own wedding.  I stopped, as I heard for the first time Yoseb's questions.  I stopped, to think about the reality before me.


I turned, slowly, to the Yoseb next to me who, on any given day would be the nerd who was really smart and would always try really hard.  I looked up at Yoseb, as his words began to register in my cranium after bouncing around in the hallways, then my ear canals, and then through the Eustacian tube.  I looked at Yoseb, and saw the blood rushing to his face, and light twinkle in the glimmer behind his glasses.  His face was torn with confusion, but rigid with all the cultural taboos of not crying instilled in him since he was a child.


My heart warmed, and I smiled.  I hope that manifested itself and helped to comfort Yoseb a bit, but he was still fighting a battle.  I told him the truth, that I would still see him next year.  I asked him to please come by the teachers' room and say hello.  I won't teach third graders, but I will still be able to spend time with them.


He tried to form words, tried to articulate, tried to describe that battle that was within, tried to make me understand something which he couldn't describe.  I saw it, in the head that nodded wordless, but in reluctant acceptance, the quick look down the hallways to see if others saw him in his moment of vulnerability, the quick look back at me for reassurance. 


And all I could do for him was smile.


I remember walking away moved, but not knowing what exactly that was.  When something like that happens, I guess you can't really put into words what happened.  Maybe that's why those moments are so moving, precisely because they transcend words and descriptive languages.


***


2)


I walk out of my last class -- my "heaven" class--trying not to wallow in the strange confluence of gratitude and sorrow of hosting that class for the last time, but instead transition into my travel mode of mind. 


Five steps into the hallway, as I begin to see the students pop out of the classroom doors like hamsters released from their cages, I hear a soft but confident "teacher," from behind me.  Two seconds later, another, but closer, "teacher."


I turn around to see Jinhwan, the smartest student I know.  He has that swagger too, and the confidence to go with it.  Overall a great student, a student you know can change something in this world for the better, and know he is capable of it.  I wish I had been able to take him out to lunch this year.


He takes a couple of steps to slow down from his hurried jog, looks me straight in the eyes--with strenght--, lends out his right hand without hesitation, and says, "I just want to say, thank you. It's been my pleasure."


I smile, still, thinking about that.  As I walk away after shaking hands, I steal a glance, and see him standing there, turned into his own world.  In that moment, he was thinking, reflecting.  In that moment, he was left wanting more.  And as he turned to go back to the classroom, and as I saw the nose and the eyes disappear from my sight overcome by the blackness of the back of his head, I saw his left cheek rise up, and the corner of his lips curl.  Upward.


I turned around to meet the stairs, and smiled.  Broadly.


Gratefully.


***

Log27: Let's Talk.

Over the past couple of weeks, I have been giving speaking "tests" in all my classes.  While I could have administered it in a variety of ways, I decided to really make it what it was: a test of conversational English skills.  So, we talked.  


Having a conversation with each of my 500 students in a private one-on-one setting has been, though potentially stressful to some of the students, possibly the best part of being here so far.   Each of the 500 names and numbers come alive with concerns, interests, and dreams.  So far, concerns have included fights with girlfriends, breaking up with girlfriends, stressing about tests, stressing about parents.  Interests have ranged from soccer and Starcraft to design and music composition.  Dreams have included becoming a diplomat, a president, a CEO of a big company, and a doctor, among other professions.


But they have also included something less practical, and more moving.


"Tell me, XOXO, what is your dream?"


"Teacher, my dream is to be a good father."


I sometimes wonder who is the real student.  


In addition, during a couple of these interviews, students actually just thanked me for being a great teacher.  They told me that my classes are a lot of fun and that their favorite class is English because of what I have done so far.


That many of these students have felt comfortable enough to not only share with me their personal matters like girlfriend problems or familial issues, but also tell me that they enjoy my teaching, has made me feel just wonderful, and awfully grateful.  It truly has been a gift.  I get to see the facts, stories, and the human that constitute each of my students, and they in turn have a chance to get to know me a bit more, to see the human behind the teacher.

And we begin to bond.  And love.

I am starting to really care about these students.  I think I'm really beginning to love these students, both individually and collectively.  It's almost like I embrace them like they were my own children.


Who would have thought?  Haha.

Log 26: A Quick Overview

Alright, as my father who was in Seoul a couple of weeks ago on a business trip advised me to do when I visited him, I will do my best to keep people informed with shorter snapshots of my life and goings-on, for your sake, and mine, because sometimes the pressure to complete whatever "magnum opus" I have begun becomes unwieldy and overbearing.  

So.  In a strictly unchronological order.


Thanksgiving weekend: An afternoon Thanksgiving "dinner" at Ambassador Kathleen Stephens' home in Seoul.  As I wrote to a dear friend, America had not tasted so delightful in quite some time.  I decided to perform some music for the event with my fellow ETAs.  The performances included piano, horn, flute (me), violin, voice, and a poem.  My performance went better than I had expected, especially in light of my uninhibited enjoyment of the Riesling they provided.  Sadly, I refrained from enjoying more once I realized that performances would commence after the meal.


Because I'm unreasonably light-weight when it comes to drinking.

A Gratifying Experience (mid-October) : I helped a high school senior named Min-Ho practice his interviewing skills as he prepared for an interview with Asia Pacific University in Japan: his dream school.  I felt confident in my role, as I had not only worked in college admissions but also received training as an interviewer.  We ran three mock-interviews in the week prior to his interview with APU.  He improved with each interview, and seemed to gain more confidence.


On November 5th, Min-Ho called me searching for both words and air.  He managed to get out what mattered; he was accepted to APU.  He will be a freshman beginning April 2011.

Would-You-Rather (mid November lesson):  
"Would you rather verbA A or verbB B?" 
EX: Would you rather swim with snakes or swim with crocodiles? 
EX2: Would you rather play basketball like Michael Jordan or dance like Michael Jackson?

"I would rather verbA A because reason"
EX: I would rather swim with snakes because crocodiles can eat me.
EX2: I would rather play basketball like Michael Jordan because I like basketball.


My question #2:
Would you rather meet Rain [male Korean pop star] or meet Lady Gaga?

Student answer (verbatim):
I would rather meet Lady Gaga because I sex her.

I allowed the students to form their own questions and ask me.
Here are a few, all verbatim:

1) Teacher, would you rather cute girl or sexy girl? [notice the lack of verbs]
2) Would you rather live USA or Korea? [caught me in a bind since they know I'm Korean and they don't like unpatriotic folk]
3) Would you rather marry American girl or Korean girl? [another patriotism thing]
4, and the worst one) Would you rather A-cup girl or C-cup girl? [again, no verb]

These boys need to get out more.

Log24: The Uninvited, Part I

Well, it's been a while since I last wrote anything at all, so please excuse the inevitable incoherence and disorganization that will follow.

First, I know the title seems really pretentious, and maybe to some, it already so obviously is.  For what it's worth, I ask that you please humor me and read on as I try to explain why I think the title is appropriate and, perhaps, try to remove the veil of pretension and illuminate a sort of truth lying beneath.

Over the past couple of weeks, I have had the privilege of witnessing a great range of moments, all of which seem to have entailed some entity or being positioned as a kind of outsider.  More often than not, I myself have occupied that place as one who is from without, a foreigner, in more ways than simply my nationality.  In other cases, I have witnessed another distinct foreign entity collide with the reality before and come to shed new light on my life.  The following experiences I share are prominent examples that not only try to live up to the different meanings embedded in the notion of "the uninvited," but also more practically illustrate the life I have been leading, and living, here in Korea.

I. In the House of God

Two Wednesdays ago, the school minister (I teach at a Christian high school) asked me to join students from the Christian club to perform some music at a church located within an army camp.  Always seeking performance opportunities, I agreed.  On the following Monday and Tuesday, I stayed at school until 8PM to rehearse with the students: three cellists, two violinists, and a clarinetist, all of who were, needless to say, cute.  Growing up in Korea where a student's life is not about which extracurricular activities he or she pursues, but if the activities are pursued at all, these students have admirably contuinued their trades -- albeit only to a more modest degree relative to their American counterparts (no more than two or three years) --, and I was very happy to see them enjoying themselves.*

*Those who do commit themselves to an (usually one) extracurricular activity (i.e. soccer) dedicate themselves as professional athletes would in the states, dropping hopes for a life outside of that particular activity (i.e. only soccer).  There is not enough time for a Korean "student" to be both a student and an experienced/formal/club soccer player, say (there really aren't any outside "clubs" or "youth" organizations for extracurricular activities here, so it's no wonder school athletes are not required to attend class).**

**I'm sure I'm generalizing, as I speak from the small window of reality that is I am seeing, so this is not necessarily capital-T THE reality.

On the following day, the students and I packed up after school to go lead the evening service at the church for soldiers, located an hour north of Jeonju (I forget the name of the town).   The bus ride proved an enjoyable but exhausting test of linguistic trial-and-error, as the students bombarded me with their recapitulations of English idioms, colloquialisms, and "proper" usage.  Still though, butchered English words, the stories told incoherently todl through broken English, and jokes reinterpreted and recycled from grade school rejuvenated me in both spirit and purpose.  These students began to seem less like "students" and more like humans; almost like younger brothers.

It was a cute little church that could seat maybe...70 people?


The minister, directing preparations.
 

The students preparing for the service. 
I would soon find out what an entertainment extravaganza the service would really be: singing, dancing, speeches, plays, and music.


Choral practice.


There was cross-dressing involved. For the sake of the soldiers...or so they said.  Harhar. :)

Now for those of you who may not know yet, I am not religious.  I did not grow up going to a church or abiding by a major religion's doctrine or creed.  Though I would name Buddhism if I had to choose a major religion with which my family and I seem to at least have a familial association, sacred spaces or houses of worship were not a large part of my family, much less my childhood and youth.

And yet, from the absence of religion grew an ironic fascination with it.  Ever since I came to have some semblance of awareness about myself and the world, I have always found religion fascinating both intellectually and personally.  I have always yearned to learn more about it, from it, maybe because of its absence.  To be sure, this intellectual intrigue has had to combat a serious visceral and strangely unexplainable disinclination toward what few interactions I have had with religious worship (mainly Christianity), and sadly I have no doubt that this immature self still lies deep within somewhere whining and kicking every time somebody comes to proselytize or convert me when I am not ready or willing.  Still, I have realized in the past couple of years that one of the best ways to learn from those things that estrange you most is to engage it directly and commensurately, to confront and delve into it deeply, but perhaps more importantly, openly. 

This trip was another opportunity for me to do just that; to try to open my mind by becoming steeped in religion, and to do it within the house of god.

*     *     *

   Man those kids know how to dance!  Imagine the preparations, the time they put into this performance!  Imagine all the things they wanted to do but had to cut out because of time constraints, imagine the number of hours these students had to put in on top of their already unreasonable workload, and imagine the courage it took for them to do this, all in the name of God and their fellow brethren!  And look at just how much they are enjoying themselves!  They are so passionate, so lost in the moment, so inexplicably happy to share with others the glory of God, and do so through holy song and dance!



     Who am I to say what religion is good or bad, or even deem what constitutes a "good" or a "bad"?  Look at them, heads tilted up toward the stagelights as if they were the sun God himself is shining down; look at the smiles and the unfettered happiness they derive from this service!  Is this religion?  Is this what it means to be a believer, a follower of a faith?  Is this what it's like to be so completely and absolutely free of your world and struggles and know of a haven beyond?  Why then are there degrees of religiosity?  What does being religious really amount to then?  Does this mean any religion is okay?  Am I willing to resign myself to religious or cultural or subjective relativity?  Is that what I am doing, or is my reluctance to do so already a demonstration of some greater "humanist," "objective" creed by which we all abide?  Am I arrogant in saying that?  Is their reality better than mine?

     Wow, maybe the way these students feel about religion is the way I feel about music.   Is this their sanctuary, as music is mine?  Does that mean music is a religion?  Am I religious then?  But is that even a fair comparison at all?  What the hell is religion anyway?

*     *     *

For what it's worth, these students are talented.  Their dances were well-rehearsed, their songs worthy of great praise, and their enthusiasm and devotion to not only the service and the audience, but also their savior, were inspiring.*  The chance to see these students working under a different element in a vastly different context helped me connect with them on a new level.

 

*With particular note to dance, the frontman was the smallest, but the best; that man was killing it, dancing with a Michael Jacksonian conviction. 

NOTE: Most--if not all--of the students who were involved in this service are all very good students in my classroom.  I teach all but a couple of them, and they are all very attentive and hard-working.  What appropriate conclusions one wants to draw from this, I do not aim to explore right now...

I was certainly an outsider; at least it felt like it, at least in my religiosity (or rather, lack thereof).  In some ways, one cannot deny that I was not; what is a "heathen" doing in such a sacred space?  Perhaps I have come to be saved, or more ideally to learn and embrace that which so many millions around the world have already done, for God is great and loves all of mankind, believers and non-believers.  To his house I have come, invited by his disciples (followers) to perhaps begin a renewal, a rebirth. 

So am I a born-again Christian?

No, not quite.

But perhaps what I gained was of greater value: a chance to certainly chip away at the ignorance that has kept me from seeing religion both theoretically and empathetically, but also widen my heart as human being; that is to say, help me become a wiser, more understanding, more compassionate, and more engaged human being; that is to say, a better person.  The service helped clarify that distant and muddled form that always was religion into a more concrete figure.  Witnessing the evening as that outsider unfamiliar with this particular denomination and culture of Christianity, I gained a clearer picture of what religion might mean and to what it may amount.  I have begun seeing religion as something crucial both personally and communally, and was humbled by the fervent devotion and unfettered love that the faithful had for each other, and for what lay beyond.  

Log17: Honestly? This is hard.

Smile, though your heart is aching
Smile even though it's breaking
When there are clouds, in the sky you'll get by
If you smile through your fears and sorrows
Smile and maybe tomorrow
You'll see the sun come shining through for you

Light up your face with gladness
Hide every trace of sadness
Although a tear may be ever so near
That's the time you must keep on trying
Smile, what's the use of crying?
You'll find that life is still worthwhile
If you just smile.

That's the time you must keep on trying
Smile, what's the use of crying?
You'll find that life is still worthwhile
If you just smile.

'Smile,' by Nat King Cole

*It has certainly been a while since I last tried to show some competence, or dare I say even eloquence, with the English language, so I beg your pardon should write like a fool.*

Has anyone else been having a difficult time adjusting to life in Korea?  Perhaps one would surmise that in light of how visibly upset I was on departure day I am weaker and more sensitive than others.  Maybe I am, and maybe I react without strength in new and foreign circumstances.


Smile.  I feel that's something I haven't done in a while.

Certainly I've smiled at the little antics my students have displayed or the warmth and support my teachers have shown.  Of course I've smiled, maybe even laughed, at the jokes and the buffoonery of high school students.  Frankly, who couldn't?

But you know that simple smile, the unfettered laugh that makes you forget everything and allows you to just live; to escape from the prison of things and time and be wholly yourself, unadulterated by questions, concerns, or thoughts?  The kind of joy you had when the recess bell rang, the kind of joy you have with your brothers, sisters and dearest friends, the kind of joy where you are joy and you become the very emotion you feel; the moments when energy positivity and love inundates you that you become ignorant of wrong, sin, or evil; the moments where you become the paradigmatic embodiment and emblem of the the very essence of life which compels so many of us to strive to improve this world: happiness.

This of course may be asking for a bit much, especially so quickly after arrival.  Besides, if these experiences were ever as common as we would want them to be, they might not be so memorable.  They might not be so valuable.

In addition, it is because we have the valleys that we have the mountaintops.  The struggle is to embrace both, for the journey is exactly that: a journey.  To find value only while standing among the mountaintops robs oneself of the chance to not only embrace and learn from all the little things that constitute life, but ergo to live the full life.  It is that Ubermensch-like courage, that Socratic acknowledgment of ignorance and willingness to accept the fallacies and misgivings we happen upon in our lives.

Of course, it's never this easy.


Such is the venture of the human mind, and the human kind.


But let me try to bring us back down to Earth.

These have been some trying times.


Confronted with a dearth of immediate things that help sustain me, I have struggled to gain equal-footing on this rocky landscape.  My greatest challenge has been the very duty I have been assigned: teaching.  With as much teaching experience as a 5-year old would have working as a paramedic, I have been battling to simultaneously gain confidence in teaching and display this very "confidence" to my students.  What irony, then, that one must demonstrate the very thing he does not yet have!  When inexperience is rooted deeply within, the branches of insecurity and doubt plague the conscientious mind and destroy the sediment that feeds it.  These inner demons cripple the soul and person, the profession and the students, and all those involved. 



So the fight is to uproot this beast through trial and error, failure after failure, and a quixotic relentlessness.  The holy war is waged within, to purge the incompetence through an ironically less-than-conscientious, almost primal brutality and thoughtless obstinacy, an unending test of endurance and stamina through which you simply cannot give up.  


On Friday, that stereotypically rebellious student who comes from a broken home tested me so much that I dragged him to the disciplinarian's office.  Ten minutes later I received an apology from him as he searched for both words and air amidst streams of tears.

Yesterday in class I made all the students in class do the wall-sit and count to 100 for being so out of line and hence disrespecting not only my time, but that of others as well, especially the students who were trying.  I yelled simply, "Do you think this is fun for me?  HUH?!"  I did exactly that which an English teacher adjured me not to do not half-an-hour ago: teach with emotion. 


So where can I point the finger?  To me?  To the students?  To the school, or education system?

Of course the standard answer would be, "a little bit of everything."  My incompetence compel me to put the blame on myself, for had I prepared a better lesson and provided the students a better learning environment, such drastic measures might never have occurred.  I also am gaining awareness of the image I may be putting forth to many of the students: a gratuitously draconian teacher who is trying to cover for his inexperience and inabilities through unfair treatment of the students.


Or maybe they just think I'm a jerk.


The students aren't stupid, and now I wonder to what extent I should try to rectify this image, if at all.  For the head English teacher has reported back to me that from what he has heard, the students are overall scared of me and that I have been able to take control of the class better than some of the past conversational teachers they've had.



But I can tell I'm thinking too much now.


My brother--also a high school teacher--sent me the following:

This is my desktop background now, for it recalls a kind of banner of iron-clad strength a sports team might harbor (the picture is from Underarmor, after all), or with which one must carry oneself especially in these tough times.  It gives me courage, and it gives me stability; in the very same way my brother always has.

"Does he cry about how he screwed up and throw a pity party, or learn from it and get better?" -My brother


Perspective.


Of course life is good.  Of course that these should be my quandaries speaks volumes for just how comfortable a life I lead.  Of course things could always be worse.


And I don't write all this for pity.  I of course appreciate and am grateful for the encouragements that may come forth, but please know that this exercise is a means through which I try to draw out some meaning, comfort, and maybe even some strength.  

"If you laugh, you think, and you cry, that's a full day.  That's a heck of a day.  You do that seven days a week, you're going to have something special." -Jim Valvano 




I feel bad to want to write this since it was used as the anthem of the Civil Rights movement, but as Sam Cooke once sang, a change is gonna come.

More to come.


-Yours Truly

Log16: Haha

Orientation warned us of the frequency of abrupt and unexpected schedule changes at Korean schools, and the consequences these changes would have on our individual plans.  These consequences seemed exclusively negative.


I planned on teaching four classes today starting at 10:30.  


Make that two, and let's begin at 1:30.


SWEET.

*Fulbright folk, not to say I don't like my job, but come on, some unexpected free time is always nice.

Log14: A Bit of Confidence Developing

So many of us often find recourse to, and find comfort in, relativity.  So relative to my first day of teaching yesterday after which I felt that I would rather have stepped in dog feces several times than to have felt as disappointed and discouraged as I had, naturally today would have had to have been a better day.  

But if one were to put aside relativity to the extent reasonable imagination could allow, today was a rather successful day along many fronts.


Though my first class was at 1:20PM, I had to be present to introduce myself to all the teachers at their weekly meeting at 8:00AM.  After my 20-second introduction, I had many hours to myself.  I still don't have my own computer at the desk, but I brought my laptop and luckily found wireless access.  And I still don't have a cell phone.

But let's just jump right in.

A friend of mine told me that perhaps I am high off of power right now.  Perhaps I shouldn't become a politician.  Let me know what you think:

Grade 1, Class 3

I abused this class pretty badly.  Once class started, I locked both doors.  One student came in late, and I asked him to stand in front of the class and repeat a humiliating dance move 10 times, saying "I'm a Star!"


Then another student made fun of me (by imitating the way I said something), and I asked him to do five "I'm a Star"s and 10 push-ups.  Later he would write a 2-truths-and-a-lie statement about a classmate, calling him a disabled person, after which I made him do 15 push-ups.  I told the class I would not tolerate such things.

I then saw two students hit each other, and I asked them to do the wall-sit with their arms stretched forward.  Afterward, I spoke to them personally and told them not to do it again.

Yeah, I taught...sort of.  The rest of the lesson stayed the same.

Grade 1, Class 4

 The class captain was late -- of all people -- so I made him do the ten stars.  The class as a whole was being very rowdy (I guess it's the time of day as well; last class before classes are done) so my disciplinary tone came at the expense of the entire class, rather than one student (i.e. after they quiet down, I would look at them and say, "We're not all stupid, right?  We can think, correct?...etc.)

This was the first class where I got volunteers (2!) for the beat-box challenge during my introduction (since I like to do it).  They were really good, in fact, and they enjoyed the show put on by their classmates.  I could tell I began building some rapport with the class as a whole, while still willing to call them out for their stupidities.

In any case, as we proceeded with 2-truths-and-a-lie, the critical revelation came during one of the student examples.*  [*Mind you, this entire week I had been saving facts about who I am until the last five minutes (i.e. name, where I was born, whether I'm Korean or not).]  One student's lie was that he had a Lamborghini.  The student writing this on the board didn't know how to write it in English, so he wrote it in Korean.  When I began reviewing the statements, I repeated the statement saying the word Lamborghini in normal American accent.  Now, I could have made the argument that non-fluent foreigner could still have deduced the word from the pronunciation of the word as well as student reactions.  But I just smiled because the students became so wildly passionate and enthusiastic at the prospect of my being Korean; it would be a secret revealed unto them.  Unfortunately, I let a genuine smile out, and these kids read me like a book.  They figured out I was a Korean, at least by blood.

This was the best class I had so far.  Everyone was engaged, everyone was attentive, and I had most everybody's enthusiasm and energies.  It felt great.  

At the end when the class bell rang and they figured out my name via hang man, I asked them to call me Mr. Kim, then began to walk out with the class captain to talk to him.  I expected all the students to rush to put their things away and want to book it, but they were just--and I'm going to sound so conceited and arrogant and I'm so sorry but this is just what I subjectively saw--so arrested in their seats, nearly mesmerized; they didn't move!  They acted as if they wanted more, and wanted class to go on, for the show to continue.  When I began to leave, the entire class exploded with "Good-bye Mr. Kim!" and "Bye bye!" as if I were to never see them again, as if I were a celebrity.



I knew I had their attention at least, and today was a great confidence booster.  


But what do you all think, high off of power?


In Other News...


After classes, I ironed my shirts at home then talked to one of the ETAs, who I think probably just had her worst day yet while in Korea.  Hearing about it made me cringe and suffer, and all I could do was sit there and be Skyping her.  Poor thing.


Afterward, I played basketball with the English teacher who isn't even a co-teacher but has really taken me under his wing.  He is the youngest male teacher there and, as I soon learned, has been yearning for some company: an young, energetic type who can roll with him.  He has had a difficult time adjusting and his experiences have made him more of an outcast than a prominent teacher.  He is a temporary teacher so already has less invested, but he has been very active teaching and his role at school.  


One of the advantages, I will say, about being somewhat fluent in Korean is the opportunity to learn from and about these other teachers in ways a greater language barrier would not permit.  After basketball, I learned a LOT about him.  He really opened up, telling me about his girl situation (broke up with ex in May), his personality, his greatest weaknesses, his dilemma at the school, how he got to the school, what he wants to do in the future...I mean, I probably said four sentences in the 45-minute conversation.  Just how comfortable he felt telling me all this was impressive, and the amount of information that actually registered in my head proved encouraging.  He has also been providing essential guidance and cultural to-do/not-to-dos with teachers and others, and I just feel really fortunate right now.


Argh, so many things I want to write about, so little time!


I should go to sleep.  I have an early morning tomorrow.  I still don't have a cell phone.


So what do you guys think, power-high?  And if so, how do I come down from it?

Log13: First Lesson Ever and a Humbling Experience on a Revelatory Level

FIRST DAY

Wow teaching is a bit** of a job.

Let me first preface by saying that after venting to a friends and family for the past several hours, I feel much better than the following may suggest.  Regardless, I feel to share with you (and frankly myself too) my experiences would be worth the time and effort.

I am exhausted, drained, and mildly uplifted after a strenuous day.  In light of how much music has always meant to me, I feel as if someone walked over, took my flute and broke it in half.  Does that make sense?


Perspective.


What can I say?  The first class was as humbling as if I had been denied admission from every college I ever applied to.  I ATE IT.  It was bad.


Clearly, it might have been fruitful if I had prepared a bit more.  On the other hand, one may argue no amount of lesson-planning could have prepared me for my first classroom teaching experience.  Either way, the following is the given:

1. This is an all-boys high school.
2. Each class has about 40 students.
3. The class I teach is a conversational English class that--unlike other English classes that divide the students by ability levels--includes students of all abilities (near-fluent/fluent to asking for help with every statement I make) and all levels of motivation (engaged and enthusiastic learners to sleepers).
4. I look and sound like a Korean, like one of "them."
5. Unlike 95% of the other schools at which ETAs are placed, my school rarely utilizes the computer in class.  They have them, but 1. they are slow 2. they are locked 3. they require the teacher to bring his/her own mouse and keyboard separately.



In reality though, my most memorable and impressive classes never used technology.  But perhaps that's biasing my form of learning over others.  In an ideal world I would be within waving distance of the kind of impact that environment had on me.

The Lesson

Self-introduction
Rules
Two-truths-and-a-lie (write three statements about yourself, two of which are true and one of which is a lie.  Others will guess which of the statements is true). 

The Plan

Go in there, hard.  I will not have the advantage of captivating the students with a kind of "foreign" aesthetics or unfamiliar beauty (they were seriously confused at first).  I will have the opportunity to demonstrate to them that I will be their conversational English teacher.  I aim to subvert the students' expectations of a lenient classroom environment (presupposed for nearly all conversational English classes) by being extremely strict, and if necessary, draconian.  I will not take chances knowing the barbaric and primal tendencies a herd of pubescent males could have.

1) Class 2-3 (Grade 2, class 3)

I would learn later that this class is rather infamous for being a difficult one to manage.  That I kicked one of the students out 30 minutes into my first class, then, should come as no surprise.  That I walked out of this class flustered to say the least, should also then come as no surprise. 

I knew they would, and I was prepared; the vocal ones began shouting questions to me without raising their hands, interrupting my speech.  I would give them a look and tell them to raise their hands if they needed something or wanted to say something.


I continued with my introduction, when one particular clown in the back--who clearly enjoyed the presence in his class--continued to shout smart-ass answers to my general class questions.  After my repeated attempts at ignoring, placating, then addressing the issue to him in front of the class, I got fed up and told him to leave my class.  He would say "Sorry teacher, sorry" but I simply repeated "Get out of my class now."  I told him to sit along the wall and wait until I came to get him, which would be twenty minutes later at the end of class.  
The lesson itself went very poorly as well.  The class is so large, that there is little time to pay attention to every chatter, every comment that a student whispers to one another while I am on the other side of the room.  Group-work seems nearly impossible unless I command their attention with absolute authority, something that seemed not even visible on my horizons.  Needless to say, the team activity to get them to play Two-truths-and-a-lie failed because splitting them into any form of group work only led to them chatting it up in Korean or just goofing off.  I felt couldn't help individual students without totally losing the class.

Because the motivation levels also varied so much, no one seemed engaged.  They found the class boring, and simply zoned out.  Participation was minimal and forced, and self-generated enthusiasm would be a concept alien to those 50-minutes.

The class bell rang, and I asked to talk to the class captain, who ended up being the vice president of the student body; by no means did he exude the leadership skills one might presume in the election into such a role.  I then went outside and talked to the clown and told him that I think he's a good guy and we can have a good time, but that I need his help.  Fortunately, I took the bus ride after school with him and another clown from a different class (fortunately because I knew I was quickly building rapport with them).

Intermission


So after that class and through lunch, I felt extremely disappointed, so much so that I questioned my reasons for being here, my worth as a teacher, and what would actually be worth the times of both me and my students.  I felt I had chosen a poor lesson, executed it horrendously, was extremely inefficient with the time, and overall presented myself as and extremely disorganized and unprepared teacher who clearly gave a contrived and unconvincing image of a gratuitously stringent teacher.  Needless to say, I felt miserable.  I received consolation from two of the English language teachers.


2) Class 1-8 (Grade 1, Class 8)

I tried another tactic this time.  When the bell rang at 1:20PM (1:20PM~2:10PM) I locked the doors to the classroom.  I began the class regularly, then had two late-comers show up.  Shocked and bewildered, they asked that I open the door.  I asked them what time it was, and asked them not to be late again.  Once they entered I made them do ten repetitions of an embarrassing dance move, at which the rest of the students laughed.  I knew I had a slightly different beginning, since I began building some rapport just through the laughs.  Albeit the humiliated students probably were less than pleased at this new and unnecessarily dickhead of a teacher who posed as if he were "all-that," but I knew it would be easier to make good with them later.


As class went along, one student had his cell phone.  I confiscated it, and he b*tched and moaned but I ignored it.  I would give it back to him after class, only after I told him never to let me see it again because then I will take it for a week.


The students out-right told me the game was boring, and because I was less-than-willing to fight that battle, I acquiesced and changed plans.  I improvised and played hangman with my name.  Class management and classroom accountability still proved to be very poor, and very difficult.  I walked out feeling only slightly better.


3) Class 2-4 (Grade 2, Class 4)

My most successful of the day.  Since teachers told me 2nd graders are more spoiled (since they are friendlier with the teachers and have spent time on campus), they told me they will be more difficult to manage.  So I decided to go in there strong.

I didn't kick anyone out, but I overheard a couple of students whispering to each other, "Holy shit he's fu*king scary," and, "Wow he might cut my head off with a samurai sword."  I'm glad to be hearing that than its antithesis, whatever that may be.

 I drew out my self-introduction quite a bit, playing a longer flute phrase and also encouraging a beat-box challenge of sorts.  Students started pointing out students who were reputed clarinetists or beat-boxers or rappers.  They were enjoying themselves, I was enjoying it as well.

I shared with the picture of Arnold Schwarzenegger, governor of the great state of California.  I then told them that I will give 1000WON (~$1) to anyone who can spell his last name correctly.  I toyed with the two volunteers by pulling out my wallet and flashing them the money.  They enjoyed the shenanigan immensely.

I scrapped the group-work part of two-truths-and-a-lie and simply had volunteers come up.  Luckily I picked some volunteers whose presence was known in class, so it was never awkward up there.




I realize now, upon reflection (and thanks to this blog really), that what I must exploit in Korean classrooms that is not extant in classrooms in America is the unbending dominion group-mentality has over the students and the learning environment.  The influence the herd can have on the direction of the class and the learning and, ergo the energy and enthusiasm of the environment is unimaginably strong.  Thanks blog.


I finally asked the students to call me Mr. Kim, because with my name revealed to them as "Yoon-Chan," I knew that within Korean dynamics such informality would destroy the teacher-student respect and association crucial to a productive and rewarding learning environment.  It could be different if I had an American name, but for now I feel comfortable as is.  My job is to be a teacher to them, not their friend. 


I'm not trying to change the world, I'm not trying to save lives.  I'm trying to be the best that I could be given the circumstances I have been provided and the responsibility I have been handed to be a conversational English teacher here for a year.


But overall, y'all, what do you think?  Too harsh?

Log12: #1

My first lesson is in less than 12 hours.  I am nervous, but anxious as well.

In considering what teacher persona I wish to present, I have decided that I will be very strict the first couple of weeks at least.  I see the students once a week, and I want to make an impression; I want them to remember me and know that I may not be the fun/let's-play-with-the-foreigner teacher...not yet anyway.  I will ask for respect.

This will entail that I try to embody my older brother's most awe- and fear-inspiring aura of intimidation.  When he is mad or serious, I'd rather sit at the dentist's for four hours than be in the same room with him. 

I hope tomorrow goes well.