Here I am, Friday evening (by choice; really, it's not as sad as some of you young folk may think it sounds) back in the homestay, relaxing, reflecting and cleaning my room after having just completed my school's winter English camp this afternoon.
Before I tell you about my winter English camp, let me say a few words about being back in Korea.
Many colleagues told me that as much of the United States--in all of its individuality diversity liberty and brimming glory--as we might enjoy, there would come a time when we would return to Korea and arrive with a curious sense of...home. There would be a sigh of relief, a smile of warmth, a gravity that settles us in the most relaxing way possible.
Sure, it varies and depends on the person. Sure, it matters what kind of traveling and travel experiences you have before you arrive back in the land of the morning calm. Sure all those other potential causes and explanations matter to some degree.
But I was willing to give credence where it was due. And I have been happy to say that my arrival in Korea--nay, more specifically, Jeonju--did feel like a certain home to me. I felt an ownership of the city, I felt I had come back to a community, I felt as if I had created a bond with the city itself; like I had been a dandelion seed that flew across the Pacific, landed in a more rural region of Korea, and began growing my nascent roots (or what might be barely conceived as roots).
This is not to say this is my new home, because home, to me, has always been where the family is. And my family, right now, is in California. That has been, is, and always will be, home; where the family is.*
*1) For this reason, I cannot recall a time in college when I called my dorm room my "home." I would always go back to my "room," but it was a "home" in as much as any other space I occupied temporarily would have been a home; in as much as the dining hall, the basketball gym, the classrooms, the campus grill, would have been a home. I became attached to the entire campus certainly, but shied from calling a single room my particular space, or home.
2) Now my own home which I will come to occupy and own will have a different tincture to the title of home. The title will be imbued with a different color, respect, and meaning. But the kind of home that I now refer to, where you know that even at your worst the home will remain imperturbable, adamant in its position to be your touchstone and guide, is a home that never yields to give you a sense of ease and comfort and confidence.
Now, one could argue that anything after a twelve-hour flight in a three-seater would look and feel like a home. Trust me, I could not agree more.
Yet, I guess I have become familiar with the city to some capacity. I have met different kinds of people in a variety of lifestyles here: I found my barbershop (beauty shop, really) where the Korean middle-aged women come to shoot the breeze about their children and nephews and husbands and they see me and urge me to eat one of the pastries they brought in; I work at a school whose teachers I spend time with daily and whose students I run into often and engage with smiles laughs and all; I attend orchestra rehearsals whose members come from all over the province and span jobs ranging from pediatrician to elementary school teacher; I frequent a coffee shop whose owners and workers I have become friends with; I often take taxi rides simply because 90% of the taxi drivers in this city are disproportionately kind, interesting, and engaging people who seem to actually care whether you have a nice day or not; I live in an apartment placed smack in the middle of all these different parts of the city, with a family who both abide by and repudiate the many stereotypes of a modern Korean family.
I have come to love this quaint city for all its peculiarities and idiosyncracies, a place visibly teetering between modernization and the old guard, between wanting to develop and holding on to its title as the immovable and eternal bastion of traditional, historic Korea.
This is what happens. Dammit.
I'm too tired now to say something about English camp.
Next time...
Much love; thanks for reading.
Saturday, January 29, 2011
Friday, January 7, 2011
Sunday, January 2, 2011
Log34: 2011
The Year of the Rabbit.
2011.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9rFx6OFooCs&feature=related
I sincerely wish all of you the best.
Cheers.
2011.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9rFx6OFooCs&feature=related
I sincerely wish all of you the best.
Cheers.
Log33: A Year in Review
One of the nice things about being home is the opportunity to watch sports.*
*Two points potentially battle against my sentiments:
1) I have been in Korea for six months. One could say, for as long as six months, or one could say, for only six months. Grow up, it has only been six months. Yet in doing so one potentially deprives the fullness of a moment, of a day, of a week and a month. In any case however, this is point number one; I recognize this and accept it as a point of disagreement. Six months can be eternal, or fleeting. I understand that in the "broader scheme of things," six months really can fly by. And they admittedly have; it's hard to believe that the new year has already arrived. I recognize that to some, my bemoaning and protesting of the past six months illustrates an immaturity within me, a failure to disabuse myself from naive ennui.
2) Sports, as a literal concept, of course exists in Korea. Of course people know what basketball is, sure there is soccer, of course skiing and swimming are common. Yet sports in Korea still has a distant vigor to it, a kind of veracity and immediacy with which children under ten approach going out and playing in the grass, a kind of strange remoteness that can be obfuscated in the commercialism of sports. So much of American culture is significantly constituted by sports as a product. Of course the major sports networks are foregone conclusions, but so also must be the ways we consider even the players--LBJ, Kobe, Favre, Strasburg-- basic human beings who too happen to have stories, worries, queries and concerns just as each of us does; they are products we consume, and love to live by as a source of comfort and reward. I too, take them for granted, and have realized just how much I...frankly...missed it all. In any case, the second point of disagreement is how I may not have given the sports culture in Korea enough credence.
As some of you may know, sports coverage love top 10 lists.
So how else could I properly welcome the new year other than with an appropriate reflection of the top 10 moments of 2010 (NOTE: I deliberately stretch the meaning of the word "moment," extending it to a collection of moments that can amount to an entire day or two).
10. Snow (June & December)
I had not seen snow in fifteen years prior. I saw it once in Colorado, and again in Korea. Both experiences recalled my carefree and restless joys from childhood. And its smiles.
9. Meeting the ETAs (July)
Six weeks in a marble-clad, Orwellian surveillance-wired, communistic/dictatorial university set in the boonies of Korea spending time with...highly intellectual, immensely diverse, incredibly interesting recent college-graduates from all over the United States? Yeah. It has been nothing short of great.
8. Seoul (December)
We went. Had a great dinner, had great views, had a fabulous time. Splendid.
7. Dancing in SF (June)
A night in the summer. We went to San Francisco. Mesmerizing.
6. First day at school in Korea (August)
Send a kid to the disciplinarian, scream at a student, teach my first day lessons, get a written apology, have a butt-naked student in the back of the classroom.
How does this NOT make the top-ten list? Of the decade?
5. Student admitted to APU (October)
I help this kid prepare for an interview with Asia Pacific University (international university in Japan) for a week. I'm scared because I'm not sure how much I can help him as he begins as a nervous wreck. He seems much more confident the day before the interview.
I get a call from him Saturday afternoon. The kid can barely breathe, but he's wavering between crying and laughing. He tells me he got in.
Wonderful.
4. San Francisco Airport (June/July)
Many memories have been made here. Much traveling has been made here, and many goodbyes had here. One in particular; my older brother dropping me off at the airport...he was the last person I would see before my six months departure to Korea, and though I knew I would see my parents in Korea, I knew it would be a long time before I would see him again. Seeing him get back in the car and drive away kinda sucked. But it was a moment. And an important one. He's my rock.
3. Senior recital (April)
What a journey this was...from the hours I spent deciding what pieces I would play, to asking help from the various professors, to practicing into the wee hours of the night...to the moments I took my bows after each piece...to the moment I walked off the stage. Scrumptious.
2. Graduation (May)
Thank you, thank you, thank you. Not in the tone of Academy Awards (arrogant), not in the tone of the Queen of England (presumptuous), not in the tone of Kanye West who thinks he is the most deserving man in the world (condescending)...No, in the tone of a son, a brother, a friend who cannot seem to garner the right amount of words--nor the proper ones--to articulate just the sheer weight of gratitude and appreciation he has to the innumerable people who helped him get to such a point and without whom he would not be who he is today, this moment.
1. Fulbright (April)
This gets top spot because it was, unlike many of the others, an actual moment: a true instant in time when my life changed. Greatly. And it was one of those moments which so strongly remains with you that if you could, you could recreate every little molecule that you came in contact with and that you witnessed that very moment.
Story. As a senior interviewer then working for the admissions office, I had been asked to have a nice lunch with parents of newly accepted students who were on a special visit with their achieving sons and daughters to learn about Pomona. I sat down and had a great conversation with the parents with whom I had sat, telling them about the wonderful experiences I had at Pomona. They inevitably asked me what I will be do following graduation, which I could not answer definitively. I left, to go check my mail.
I saw that I had a large brown envelope. It being lunch time, many students were in the mailroom. I had been waiting for news for several months, and as soon as I saw that mailing address was from Korea, the nervousness overflowed from my mouth senselessly. I began speaking gibberish as estranged and fearful eyes turned to watch me carefully. I ripped open the envelope, saw "Congratulations," threw my hands up in front of strangers, explained to them to assuage their fears--"Sorry, I got Fulbright."--heard their congratulations, and set my phone ablaze with my furious fingers calling nearly everyone I knew.
I went back to the table from which I had departed not three minutes ago, and told them, "Okay, you know that question about what I'll be doing after graduation? Well I have an answer for you. I'll be on the Fulbright." I hugged the fellow admissions officers who were there, called my parents, hugged my friends, and was in ecstasy for the next...week?
Honorable Mentions:
*USA: The fullness of unchilled Zinfadel from Napa Valley; the warmth of home; the juiciness of an organic apple in the middle of winter; the crunchiness of fresh lettuce; the unbending crispness of nachos; the thick, moist 2/3lb burger; the freedom of driving; the color green of grass and trees; English; ESPN; these are a few of my favorite things from the land of the free and the home of the brave.
*Grad Night:
The last hurrah for departing seniors. Some friends were trashed, some friends were buzzed; some took glory in their success, some in their survival; some smiled with glee, some bawled in despair. What a stir of emotions that evening proved to be. What delight I did feel, and yet what fear, what gratitude...and what comfort in the arms of a friend.
*Final Mood Swing Party:
Ah, a cappella. Ah, Mood Swing. How I miss both oh so much. And the partying shenanigans; how wonderful! They were lovely times of a not-so-distant past.
The above of course was by no means a comprehensive list.
This is about what I can do, for now, as I try to forge ahead in the new year...the year of the rabbit. :)
May Fortune smile upon all of us this year.
*Two points potentially battle against my sentiments:
1) I have been in Korea for six months. One could say, for as long as six months, or one could say, for only six months. Grow up, it has only been six months. Yet in doing so one potentially deprives the fullness of a moment, of a day, of a week and a month. In any case however, this is point number one; I recognize this and accept it as a point of disagreement. Six months can be eternal, or fleeting. I understand that in the "broader scheme of things," six months really can fly by. And they admittedly have; it's hard to believe that the new year has already arrived. I recognize that to some, my bemoaning and protesting of the past six months illustrates an immaturity within me, a failure to disabuse myself from naive ennui.
2) Sports, as a literal concept, of course exists in Korea. Of course people know what basketball is, sure there is soccer, of course skiing and swimming are common. Yet sports in Korea still has a distant vigor to it, a kind of veracity and immediacy with which children under ten approach going out and playing in the grass, a kind of strange remoteness that can be obfuscated in the commercialism of sports. So much of American culture is significantly constituted by sports as a product. Of course the major sports networks are foregone conclusions, but so also must be the ways we consider even the players--LBJ, Kobe, Favre, Strasburg-- basic human beings who too happen to have stories, worries, queries and concerns just as each of us does; they are products we consume, and love to live by as a source of comfort and reward. I too, take them for granted, and have realized just how much I...frankly...missed it all. In any case, the second point of disagreement is how I may not have given the sports culture in Korea enough credence.
As some of you may know, sports coverage love top 10 lists.
So how else could I properly welcome the new year other than with an appropriate reflection of the top 10 moments of 2010 (NOTE: I deliberately stretch the meaning of the word "moment," extending it to a collection of moments that can amount to an entire day or two).
TOP 10 Moments of 2010
(from My Little Snow Globe World,
not the actual Real World that Matters,
and ranked in a manner that is arbitrary and with meaning
only to the extent that they are memorable,
but not to the extent that one is somehow significantly better than the other):
10. Snow (June & December)
I had not seen snow in fifteen years prior. I saw it once in Colorado, and again in Korea. Both experiences recalled my carefree and restless joys from childhood. And its smiles.
9. Meeting the ETAs (July)
Six weeks in a marble-clad, Orwellian surveillance-wired, communistic/dictatorial university set in the boonies of Korea spending time with...highly intellectual, immensely diverse, incredibly interesting recent college-graduates from all over the United States? Yeah. It has been nothing short of great.
8. Seoul (December)
We went. Had a great dinner, had great views, had a fabulous time. Splendid.
7. Dancing in SF (June)
A night in the summer. We went to San Francisco. Mesmerizing.
6. First day at school in Korea (August)
Send a kid to the disciplinarian, scream at a student, teach my first day lessons, get a written apology, have a butt-naked student in the back of the classroom.
How does this NOT make the top-ten list? Of the decade?
5. Student admitted to APU (October)
I help this kid prepare for an interview with Asia Pacific University (international university in Japan) for a week. I'm scared because I'm not sure how much I can help him as he begins as a nervous wreck. He seems much more confident the day before the interview.
I get a call from him Saturday afternoon. The kid can barely breathe, but he's wavering between crying and laughing. He tells me he got in.
Wonderful.
4. San Francisco Airport (June/July)
Many memories have been made here. Much traveling has been made here, and many goodbyes had here. One in particular; my older brother dropping me off at the airport...he was the last person I would see before my six months departure to Korea, and though I knew I would see my parents in Korea, I knew it would be a long time before I would see him again. Seeing him get back in the car and drive away kinda sucked. But it was a moment. And an important one. He's my rock.
3. Senior recital (April)
What a journey this was...from the hours I spent deciding what pieces I would play, to asking help from the various professors, to practicing into the wee hours of the night...to the moments I took my bows after each piece...to the moment I walked off the stage. Scrumptious.
2. Graduation (May)
Thank you, thank you, thank you. Not in the tone of Academy Awards (arrogant), not in the tone of the Queen of England (presumptuous), not in the tone of Kanye West who thinks he is the most deserving man in the world (condescending)...No, in the tone of a son, a brother, a friend who cannot seem to garner the right amount of words--nor the proper ones--to articulate just the sheer weight of gratitude and appreciation he has to the innumerable people who helped him get to such a point and without whom he would not be who he is today, this moment.
1. Fulbright (April)
This gets top spot because it was, unlike many of the others, an actual moment: a true instant in time when my life changed. Greatly. And it was one of those moments which so strongly remains with you that if you could, you could recreate every little molecule that you came in contact with and that you witnessed that very moment.
Story. As a senior interviewer then working for the admissions office, I had been asked to have a nice lunch with parents of newly accepted students who were on a special visit with their achieving sons and daughters to learn about Pomona. I sat down and had a great conversation with the parents with whom I had sat, telling them about the wonderful experiences I had at Pomona. They inevitably asked me what I will be do following graduation, which I could not answer definitively. I left, to go check my mail.
I saw that I had a large brown envelope. It being lunch time, many students were in the mailroom. I had been waiting for news for several months, and as soon as I saw that mailing address was from Korea, the nervousness overflowed from my mouth senselessly. I began speaking gibberish as estranged and fearful eyes turned to watch me carefully. I ripped open the envelope, saw "Congratulations," threw my hands up in front of strangers, explained to them to assuage their fears--"Sorry, I got Fulbright."--heard their congratulations, and set my phone ablaze with my furious fingers calling nearly everyone I knew.
I went back to the table from which I had departed not three minutes ago, and told them, "Okay, you know that question about what I'll be doing after graduation? Well I have an answer for you. I'll be on the Fulbright." I hugged the fellow admissions officers who were there, called my parents, hugged my friends, and was in ecstasy for the next...week?
Honorable Mentions:
*USA: The fullness of unchilled Zinfadel from Napa Valley; the warmth of home; the juiciness of an organic apple in the middle of winter; the crunchiness of fresh lettuce; the unbending crispness of nachos; the thick, moist 2/3lb burger; the freedom of driving; the color green of grass and trees; English; ESPN; these are a few of my favorite things from the land of the free and the home of the brave.
*Grad Night:
The last hurrah for departing seniors. Some friends were trashed, some friends were buzzed; some took glory in their success, some in their survival; some smiled with glee, some bawled in despair. What a stir of emotions that evening proved to be. What delight I did feel, and yet what fear, what gratitude...and what comfort in the arms of a friend.
*Final Mood Swing Party:
Ah, a cappella. Ah, Mood Swing. How I miss both oh so much. And the partying shenanigans; how wonderful! They were lovely times of a not-so-distant past.
The above of course was by no means a comprehensive list.
This is about what I can do, for now, as I try to forge ahead in the new year...the year of the rabbit. :)
May Fortune smile upon all of us this year.
Saturday, December 25, 2010
Log32: Home
Things I already like about home:
Cheese
Red wine (not chilled)
Driving
Bed
Space and high ceilings
My old flute
Family
Couches
Multiple rooms
Weather
Mexican food
List to be continued.
Cheese
Red wine (not chilled)
Driving
Bed
Space and high ceilings
My old flute
Family
Couches
Multiple rooms
Weather
Mexican food
List to be continued.
Thursday, December 23, 2010
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.
***
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.
***
Monday, December 20, 2010
Log30: Yay
California, California, California...
You have never quite looked so close...and yet so far...
Miss you.
I have some thoughts about being a teacher and my students right now...but currently...I'm at school...and I have to take care of logistics...
Also, I'm going to Nepal from February 2-9. Katmandu and Pokhara, probably. I have no travel buddies yet, but I think this will be a great experience for me, even if only to travel on my own.
Very excited.
You have never quite looked so close...and yet so far...
Miss you.
I have some thoughts about being a teacher and my students right now...but currently...I'm at school...and I have to take care of logistics...
Also, I'm going to Nepal from February 2-9. Katmandu and Pokhara, probably. I have no travel buddies yet, but I think this will be a great experience for me, even if only to travel on my own.
Very excited.
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