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.

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.

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."

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!

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.

Log23: Quick

Sorry it's been so long!

I've been working on a real entry for quite some time, and it will appear soon, but in the mean time, a really quick update...

Tuesday, November 9, 2010:

I talked to 6 students individually on the topic of "why-are-you-acting-like-a-twelve-year-old," confiscated 4 electronic devices, kicked 3 students out, shut down a class, received 1 note of apology, sent 1 student to the disciplinarian, and made that student cry.  

All that said, none of this really "got" to me emotionally throughout the day.  I've been able to remove myself emotionally from these circumstances more.  Still, the numbers don't lie; it wasn't an easy day, and I wondered a little what role teaching would really have in my life.

Wednesday, November 10, 2010 (during "Would you rather" lesson):
 

ME: "Would you rather forget who you are, or forget who everyone else is?"
STUDENT: "I would rather forget who everyone else is because I can live without others but I cannot live without myself."

Realize the student is learning English as a second language.  Needless to say, I was impressed and humbled less by the student's choice, but much more by the construction of the words, the ease with which he articulated them, and the critical thinking inherent to such a statement.

More than anything else however, I am reminded why education can be so rewarding, and why teachers around the world pursue this noble profession.

One of my worst professional days juxtaposed with one of my most profound "teaching" moments yet provides an exciting point of discussion...but it might have to wait a little.

For now, adieu.  More to come...

Log19: Catharsis

Overdue?

Yes.

An exhaustive retelling of the past couple of weeks?

Wishful thinking.

Can I try?

Absolutely. 

At the end of last week, I had begun to see from a distance a kind of dim aura of "the blues"; the kind of aura you see on the eastern horizon as you drive into Sin City, the kind of faint glow you see on the furniture when you sit by a gently-lit candle.  Rest assured, I did not see the aura of the clinically-conceived blues -- the blues, aka depression -- but rather that of the mercurial, episodic blues that leads you to a bit of a funk for a few days.  Of course, one could say "the blues" by definition is everything but mercurial or episodic and is nothing but a deep and harrowing experience so my last statement involves a contradiction in terms and henceforth is incomprehensible, and so on and so forth. 

For those of you who might be concerned right now, please don't be; I'm doing very well.  I am of course grateful to your kind hearts, but I want you to know that I would never let myself come near to that because I've seen what it is capable of.  And to me, there is a matter of choice here.  There is agency.*

*Which of course could be considered a privilege; one could argue that some must simply resign to the environmental conditions in which they have found themselves in order to simply survive.  If so, then I will accept that agency is a privilege, that I am accorded that privilege, and that I am willing to take advantage of it.

But -- and to quote a dear friend -- "who knows these things."

In any case, I remember one particular day that proved to be the turning point.

I had been having a rough week as I continued adjusting to the sights, sounds, and subtleties of the new world (not to mention to my school, my job, and my home for a year).  I remember feeling frustrated, almost furiously so.  Vexed by the inevitable vicissitudes the heart and mind suffer during any venture into a foreign frontier, my volatile desperado wanted out and to unleash violence upon all things friend and foe.  I felt at once vulnerable and unforgiving.

I sought fulfillment.

And so, I ran.

I remember that feeling vividly; a tingling craze crawling up and down my limbs like some alien virus, priming my body for some inhuman ritual.  I felt my toes, feet, legs, fingers, arms and torso jitter and twitch, as if they were microseconds away from rocketing out of my being.  I was on the brink of eruption, and if I had stayed in my tiny room, an internal supernova would have ruptured my cosmic continuum, and I would have imploded a la the subsequent black hole.

I told my hfamily that I would run around the block.  They tried to discourage me since it was pouring rain, but I saw it as all the more reason to go.

And boy did I run.  

I know, this can get grossly trite and cliche very quickly; "and I ran and I ran and I ran.  I felt like I could have run for weeks, months, even years.  I felt alive, I felt free, so revitalized..." adjective, adjective, adverb, adverb, descriptive words, trying words, contrived-and-uninspired attempts at recounting what I felt.

I guess such banalities are banal for a reason though, because truth be told, that's exactly how I felt.

It was liberating.

It was invigorating.

I did feel like I could have run for weeks, months, even years. 

I did feel as though the wind had breathed new life into me.

And somehow during those 45 minutes of running -- a nearly mindless physical activity that cleanses the soul and lets the mind rest -- I found inspiration, and hope, and courage: things that typically require some level of cognition and volition.  I rediscovered a bounce to my gait, a vitality in my limbs, and a smile on my face.  The outdoors became a temple, my jog my prayer, and the rain my fountain of youth.  Tremendous, I thought, the power of exercise and the oneness of the human body, mind, and spirit. 

The other avenue which I had not walked down for many days happened to be that of music.  I did not realize just how integral music would be, but I quickly learned that music would be the match that lights my fire within.  I picked up the flute after my jog, and practiced.  I did so only for a short while due to the lateness of the hour, but oh how it returned me to my senses!

Music has been a peculiarity in my life.  I discovered it when I moved to America, and has since never let it go.  Strange, I thought, for more often than not students' practice of music (in whatever form it may be) wither with time and the onset of new responsibilities.  I always thought I would have the same fate, and perhaps I will in time.  But to this day, such a fate is still inconceivable.

Or I just don't want to face that fate.  Maybe I'm fighting it.

But there has to be a reason, I thought, that I looked up the contact information of various music professors at the local universities and sent them e-mails.  There has to be a reason I did not give up after I received MAILER-DAEMON rejections of my letters.  There has to be a reason I did not call Jeonju University Department of Music, but instead went to the university after teaching one day, asked around for the arts building, went straight to the office of the instrumentalist professor, sat in front of her office for an hour until she finished her lesson, then knocked on her door to speak to her in person.  There has to be a reason I risked looking like a fool and idiot.

Thank goodness Lady Luck happened to be there.

I knew she was a graduate of Julliard and Stony Brook, so while her competence in English was absolutely expected, her welcoming spirit to a complete and utter stranger asking for opportunities and help like a bum off the street -- especially in this more conservative Korean society there the people you know has more weight than your individual merit -- was a welcome surprise.  She welcomed me to join her chamber music classes, and has since informed me via e-mail of a professional orchestra that her colleague is starting and about which she will inquire on my behalf.

And I think there has to be a reason I called my aunt who is a violinist in arguably the best symphony in Korea (KBS Symphony), who told me about the principal flutist there, who now got me in touch with the principal of the Jeonju Symphony.  And I think there has to be a reason I have met with this principal, and plan on taking lessons with her starting this coming week.

This isn't fatalism.  I am reluctant to believe that.  Again, I think there is agency.  And the reason is based in this agency, and the individual capacity to affect change.  The reason is based in autonomy and self-reliance. 

There is a reason I have been so proactive not out of interest but more out of necessity.  Music -- albeit in the form of Western tradition that I have been seeking -- is to me like food, water, thoughts, and dreams.  Music just has not gone astray from my life, nor have I ever even considered that it would.  It was always a matter of when, and never a matter of if: of course I will continue flute in high school; of course I will continue flute in college; of course I will bring my flute to Korea.  Why wouldn't I?  That would be like questioning if I would bring my ears with me to high school, or my Adam's apple to college, or my nose to Korea.  There has never been a question in my mind.  It was thoughtless, it was inconsiderate, it was reflexive; of course I'll continue to play music.

So where do I go from here?

Who knows.

All I know is that I won't feel completely human without music this coming year, so I hope I can really delve into -- and possibly join -- an ensemble, or musical community soon.  Wish me luck in that regard.

Another aspect of my life that has been improving this past week has been my job.  Teaching this week went better overall than I had expected, in part due to my change in attitude.  Now mind you the difficulties have not changed; my best day was possibly Friday, and it involved two wall-sits and sending two others out of class -- from a single class (let us also not mention the student who wrote me a two-page apology letter after speaking to the disciplinarian about his being completely nude in the back of my class). 

But I decided to change my mentality.  I decided to be selfish, and try to enjoy my life a little bit more.  Try to find the positives in the little things, find an excuse to feel at peace, to smile, or even laugh, even if that comes at the cost of truth.  Be willing to lie to myself a little bit, and maybe, maybe even gain "the clearer perception and livelier impression of truth, produced by its collision with error" (J.S. Mill, On Liberty).  Learn to be happier.

So when the students acted strangely, I made fun of them in jest.  When they made strange noises, I reacted bewildered and almost humored by their silly antics.  I tested them with jokes and humor just as they wanted to test me with their rambunctiousness and misbehavior.  I talked to them, showed them my smile, and even laughed with them.

And I can see its rewards, not only in its pedagogical utility, but in my life, my person-hood, and my well-being.

The aura I see now is not of the blues.

The aura I see now, though still at a distance, is one of a golden glow, of a brightening dawn, of a new morning.

Read into the imagery what symbolism you wish, but I have intended the connotations and emblems to be as transparent as they may seem.

"The night is darkest just before dawn."

Maybe I'll begin to like this place, and maybe even start to really enjoy myself here in this strange new world.

All the best,
Yours Truly

Log18: This is where I be

There is much to be said about the wonders, tragedies, and mysteries of life.  But sometimes, one wonders what all our efforts to speak about these matters really amount to, because sometimes things are just inexplicable, unreasonable, mystical.

Best wishes.

In other news...

Welcome to Jeonju.  A bridge I across most days...

On the street where I live...

The high-rise apartment where I live...

The living room with my younger host brother. And yes, TJ, that is still the very Nalgene you gave me last year.

My accommodations.

Lifesaver.  My home believes the fumes from the AC machine is unhealthy.

My closet.

 

 My host brother: elementary 6th grade.

The products of our collaborative efforts.

The street my school is on.

My school.

Every hallway in the four-story building looks like this .

The foreboding stairs.

And in case you forgot.

Cheers.

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?