Random Rambles and Reflections [3]

For your enjoyment, I bring you a brief series of updates and reflections on my life in 대한민국.

English-ee Crew-uh 2.0
The Banji English Army recently added one more to our ranks. Because fifth and sixth graders are now required to study English three, rather than two, times a week, a new Korean English teacher joined our party of 3 at the start of the new semester. This involved some office rearranging strikingly similar to my own arrival, although this time I was the one who knew what was going on. While I wont actually be co-teaching classes with Miss Kim, she has been an excellent addition to the office. Not only do I now have one CT with an English name, one whom I call her Korean name, and one whom I call Miss ____, they all seem to refer to each other by different names than what they have told me to call them. For example,  Julie will sometimes ask me what "Scarlet" said to do? It took me a good three months before I realized she was talking about Juha who, when in the U.S, went by the English name Scarlett. Miss Kim, on the other hand, calls Juha "Miss Shin." Additionally, Miss Kim gets confused when I talk about Julie instead of Nam Sang-un, Julie's Korean name. Needless to say,  some days there is a fair bit of confusion in the English Village. Welcome to Korea.

Since her arrival Miss Kim has also told me the the following: She cannot swim, it is too hard, she just sinks. I have never had jjimdak (my favorite Korean food) before coming here because in the US I only eat fried chicken and jjimdak is boiled.  She has never seen anyone adding milk to drip coffee before. Korean men are bad drivers; thus, when a man cut her off on her way to school she was mad and wanted to fight, so she drove in front of the car, cut him off, and slammed her breaks. She is envious of my ability to think of creative games and use Microsoft Powerpoint.  Her last native speaking co-teacher used to come to school drunk, and got pissed when she asked him about it. She doesn't know how to plan her lessons. She thinks I am a very good teacher, and has never seen a NET who works so hard.

I'll take it.

For the record, she used to teach middle school and I actually think she is a very good teacher.
Rock on Miss Kim, you make my life more interesting every day!

Hey kid, are those things painted on?
While in many ways Koreans look to, and adopt, aspects of American culture, in terms of fashion they align far more closely with our Western Euro counterparts, especially when it comes to choice of denim. Many of you maybe thinking, "Hey now, FTW, a good pair of Levi's is TOTALLY our thing. Maybe. Maybe not. All I am saying is this, I teach classes full of kids age 9-12 (and spend a good deal of time being gawked at by those age 6-8) and this week realized the following: At any given time, roughly 95% percent of my students (boys and girls alike) are wearing skinny jeans. Often, said jeans are acid wash, and have heart shaped back pockets (again, boys and girls). Sometimes, I suspect they are actually hybrid jeggings. The other 5% of students are likely wearing their gym uniform.
I wish I had a better photo... It's fricken adorable, there is no way around it. There is absolutely nothing like seeing an army of acid-wash, skinny-jean clad kindergarteners running down the street, to start your Monday off an a giggly note. 

꽃샘추위
Spring is upon us here in the ROK and yet, there is a saying in Korean, "꽃샘추위" which translates roughly to "sudden frost in spring" or "spring frost." Korean's will say "Winter is jealous of Spring," and thus even after its seems that the winter wonderland is on its way out, a few days of frost will sneak in before its is truly over. Alas, those Korean's are so smart (and could just as easily be describing the weather in the Midwest.) Just when I thought it was time to send home my boots and parka, last week we had a blizzard. It started off a perfectly clear morning, so much so that when one of my students told me, "Teacher! Today, it's snow!" I was all like, "You crazyyy boi!" and shrugged it off as a miscommunication. Little did I know that, 6 hours later, I would be trudging home, engulfed in big puffy white flakes whipping around in the wind. Silly silly me. While I remain optimistic and am signed up to go spring hiking in the South this weekend, I am going to hold on to those boots until I am quite sure Winter's jealousy has subsided.

Potluck
My friends are fabulous and, as it's usually me, myself, and three empty rooms, it was wonderful to fill my apartment with chingus on a Saturday night. About twelve of us ate some delicious food, enjoyed some vino and maekju, watched such fine cinematic works as Rebecca Black's "Friday." and "P-I-Z-Z-A slow down," and spent a few wonderful hours chatting, and singing, and playing games. Life is pretty good these days, and my friends are pretty rad for making the trek all the way down to my weird little Korean suburb.
감사합니다 친구!

For once, I left my camera on my desk and simply enjoyed the company of friends; so, these few photos must be credited to Mr. Brandon Baila, thanks friend! 

HGTV Love
Due to my weekend guests and my not wanting to appear like a total slob, Friday night (and again Sunday morning) I swept and scrubbed and lint-rolled and sorted and gave my apartment the good old fashioned Spring cleaning it deserved. I posted pictures of my humble abode ages ago, but as it has transformed from weird empty apartment to slightly less weird and empty home over the last few months, I figure it's time for an update. While I cannot bring myself to invest too much time, energy, and ca$h-moneyyy, in an apartment I will be vacating in (now) five months time (so weird..can't even talk about it) since my arrival I have been on an endless mission to make my little slice of Jangdang feel like a home, albeit a temporary one. Through a combination of Daiso (dollar store) purchases, school copier enterprising, Thailand love, and some good old fashioned dumpster diving,  my place has come to look a little something like this...

Reunited and it feels SO good

I finally got a new set of watercolors last week and have since spent many hours on my couch, with a cup of coffee and a pad of paper, totally and completely happy. Moral of the story? Watercolors are good for the soul. They are not, however, good for ones ability to accomplish anything else.

“Screaming is bad for the voice, but it’s good for the heart” — Conor Oberst

Anyeong[hikheseyo].
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On Time and Belated.

First order of business: Today is a very special day. Technically yesterday in Korea, but for those in
the US of A, today March 24, 2011,  a most wonderful thing is happening!

My Grandad, one of the most amazing, wonderful, and kind people I know, turns 80 years old today.
80 years strong rather, as he still makes plenty of time in his life for things like mountain biking and downhill skiing. I can only hope that at 80 I am half as healthy and happy as he is!

So, from the future, I wanted to take a moment to wish him a most wonderful, amazing, relaxing birthday and a future as full of love as the last 80 years!

I Love you Grandad! I wish I could have been with the family to celebrate!

Second order of business: A very belated חג שמח to all my fellow Members of the Tribe.

I couldn't let Purim pass without a few delicious hamentaschen in my life and, seeing as I no longer live down the street form Mendel and Henya and Jewish bakeries aren't so common here in Jangdang-dong, I decided to test my hitherto untapped skillz.

Not the most perfect Ham's I have ever seen and yet, not my most horrifying culinary experiment to date. I sort of followed Martha's instructions, sort of didn't, sort of improvised...you know how that goes.  Luckily (much to Irv and Bubbie's dismay) I think I have quite sometime before I have to be Little Miss Jewish Mommy; so, I guess I've got a while to practice.

I hope everyone got to eat at least one delicious thing this week.
If all goes according to plan, my people here in Hanguk will bring lots of delicious things to my home for potluck tomorrow. But, as much as I love all things delicious, at the end of the day their company is just enough for me.

Anyeong[hikheseyo].
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On the off chance that you were wondering... I have been listening to this Jeremy Larson album on repeat for about 72 hours. It is prefect for right now. You should try it. It's worth it. I promise.
(Also, I take no responsibility if it's not your style.) 

(source.)

Fallen Icon.

Oh 홍대, 홍대, 홍대.
What to say? What to think? What to do?

What is Hongdae exactly? What does it mean? Hongdae is, in the most literal sense, the small patch of Seoul surrounding Hongik Univeristy.

More than its geographical location however, for many of us, Hongdae means the freedom of the weekend. Hongdae means jabbering with friends in English and meeting Korean's who aren't terrified to speak to you. Hongdae means eating mysterious fried food out of carts at 6 am, and stumbling onto an outdoor art exhibit when you least expect it. Hongdae is knowing exactly where you want to go, then leaving and ending up somewhere you never knew existed. It is calling Moon at 3 am, crashing at Backpackers Space, and realizing in the morning you know every other person in the room.  Hongdae is the meeting of two worlds. It is everything strange and wonderful and frustrating about Korea, often experienced along side those with whom you find the most comfort (and the comforts of home).

Hongdae is the TigerRabbit. And the TigerRabbit is Hongdae. At least, it was.

TigerRabbit was the guardian of Hongdae. The first impression for many, the meeting place and landmark for more. TigerRabbit loomed over the entrance to the areas main drag, and a glance at its eyes and whiskers always brought a smile to my face.

When I think of my first weekend in Seoul, a short week and a half after touching down in this crazy, wonderful, confusing land, I think of TR. I assumed it had been there forever (or at least quite a while) and that there it would remain, long outlasting myself and my cohorts. I was wrong on both accounts.

TigerRabbit represented the collision of worlds in more, and more powerful, ways than my own Hongdae affinities. Installed in July of last year, it was and is a beautiful piece of public art, brought to us by the immensely talented Gaia Uroboros. In the artists own words TR is, 

"...the first of five pieces for each quadrant of the city. The hybrid of the Tiger and Rabbit signifies the annual transition in the Korean calendar. Furthermore, these archetypal symbols of aggression and submission address the hierarchy of Japanese colonization and contemporary Korean identity. Situated in Hongdae, the center of Seoul’s fashion and nightlife, the neighborhood is the confluence of traditional Korean culture and American influence." (source.)

TR was seen by many, and loved by all I know. Unfortuantly, reports have reached me (and by reports I mean my friends told me) that this week Hongdae lost its beloved icon. In its place, black painted brick and puma adds.

Public art is a wonderful, yet often impermanent entity. We must remember to appreciate it while we can, and celebrate its life when it's gone. While TR's presence will surely be missed, I am reminded that, just as swiftly as my furry friend, all those little things I take for granted in/about Korea will far to quickly be out of reach.

Appreciate. Appreciate. Appreciate. I wont always live in Korea. 

R.I.P TR

 

Now, enough with the melodrama.
Anyeong[hikheseyo].
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Dear Monday,

(source: http://thxthxthx.com/)

A wonderful reminder to be thankful for the little things (and the big ones).

Dear Life,

Thank you for  allowing me to move halfway around the world at 23. Thank you for  giving me amazing/ridiculous/weird adventures, and still letting me see my family multiple times a week. Gchat/Skype, you're pretty rad. 

Thank you for my amazing/wonderful/luckyducky school placement and equally amazing/wonderful/luckyducky co-teachers, Juha, Julie, and now Miss Kim. Bffs fo' life.

Thanks for the days when I have nothing to do but drink peppermint tea and read. 

And thank you for Wisco in Korea, my little bit of home, right here in the ROK. 

Thank you for the students that still feel the need to say, "Hello, Teacher!" to me ten plus times a day. They still make me smile every time. 

Anyeong[hikheseyo].

Gamsahamnida.
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Observations.

"To observe is not to have. To observe is to watch is to remark is to perceive is to notice is to remember and to keep, but you will never have any of this ever again" - Caitlin Stewart Truman (Thought Catalog)

 

 

Sketches have been moving at a snails pace for a while now. As my UW professors predicted, first year teaching seems to suck a lot of the creative energy out me, especially as it's geared towards English lessons rather than Art.

I'm still having weird sketchbook feelings; but, I've been trying to shove myself back onto the creative wagon and organize my artistic thoughts here. We'll see how it goes. For now, hope you enjoyed a few nuggets from the other half of my brain.

Anyeong[hikheseyo].
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Riddle me this, Batman.

It's almost 10:15 pm on a Monday night. I am not in my cozy apt in Pyeongtaek, where you may expect to find me at such a time. Instead, I am in Seoul; just outside Sports Complex Station to be exact, right next to the Olympic Stadium. It's taken me almost three hours to get here, one of which was spent wandering around Jamsil, two stops away. I have wandered down the side of the street and down the stairs leading under a busy highway. Here I find myself utterly perplexed. A few short, or very long (its hard to say), awkward moments later I am sitting on a pleather couch in an office fashioned out of half a trailer. I am sandwiched in between two middle aged, Korean, bus drivers, with the eyes of a half dozen others blinking in my direction. I have 2 dixie cups in one hand. One overflowing with teok (Korean rice cakes) the other with steaming Korean kopi.  At present, I am using the other hand to eat mouthfuls of teok with a toothpick (not fast enough for my hosts liking) and making repeated attempts to ward off offers of soju and pigs feet. The sole woman amongst the party is scolding the men, telling them that I don't have to drink soju with them. They are very excited when I understand the Korean jabber enough to realize they are wondering where I am from, and later whether I am a teacher or a soldier. I am apparently the surprise life of this party.

If anyone (whom has not yet been told) can tell me how exactly I ended up in the above described scenario...

a.) you are a wizard 

and  b.) I will find you some fabulous way to show how truly impressed I am. 

In other news, I am having vague thoughts of reopening my etsy and putting a few of my travel photos up for sale, as part of my save money to fund my September dream plan plans. I don't know if I will actually do it. Thoughts? 

Anyeong[hikheseyo].
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The day Korean's forgave Japan.

That may be a bit (or a lot) of an exaggeration; but, in lieu of recent events, it seems many of my students are putting aside their long engrained prejudices against the Japanese. (see 1910-1945) One of my students even responded to my questioning why he was "bad," (the typical response is, "Iamfinethankyouandyou.") with "Teacher. Tsunami kill Japan. Very sad." And it is not without reason that Korea should be thankful for Japan at the present. While those as far away as California and and Chlie, were scrambling to deal with aftermath of the Pacific Tsunami, Japan essentially acted as a seawall, shielding the entire peninsula from harm.

(source.)

For the present, my thoughts are with those in Japan, killed, injured or lost in the wreckage, and even more so with those who remain to rebuild, re-patch and resume their lives. I am happy to say that, at least for the time being, those thoughts are aligned with those of my neighbors. I guess that's more than I can say for some people. 

(source.)

At the end of the day I am also, most selfishly, thankful that I chose to teach with GEPIK and not JET (Japan English Teachers) this year.  To all my family and friends back home (and over here, and around the world) I hope you all know how important you are to me, and how much I care for you, your happiness, and your safety.

Love from ROK

Anyeong[hikheseyo].
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Not Quite a Monk.

The chants of the mid-morning service and and beating gourds are pulsing through my ears, seeming to simultaneously awaken my senses and lull me back to sleep. Unfortunately, the chanting monks are blaring over the crackly loudspeaker of an intercity bus.

Moments earlier I was hurried onto said bus, even though I was pretty sure it wasn't scheduled to depart for another fifteen minutes. While I sit listening to the tail end of the service, and daydreaming of a cup of ko-pi, the driver has plopped himself down on the curb and taken out a Mallboro, which he will to puff away at for the next ten minutes, before boarding the bus and commencing our trip to Daegu. The beating gourds are still ringing in the air as I fade into bus-coma, knees tucked against a stiff chair back, my face pressed against the polyester curtains.

As it turns out, this isn't quite the same as the real thing.

My time a Haeinsa Temple began, as always, with a bus ride form Daegu, where I had spent the previous, rather uneventful, day checking out an oriental medicine warehouse and drawing in the park. We wove through Korean towns of various sizes, and lumbered up into the mountains eventually reaching a national park (the name of which is escaping me.) From the bus stop, I followed the signs pointing to Haeinsa, trekking about 2km alongside a halfway frozen stream. Throughout these fifteen minutes, it seemed to be the delight of each and every late teen to middle aged Korean man, to stop and say, "Hello!" after which my reciprocal, "Hi," or "Hello" was sure to set of a fit of giggles among the teenage friends and earn a glowing smile from the older crowds. I guess English Ed is providing something positive in this country (amongst other things, I swear!) Upon reaching the temple, it took quite a while to figure out what to do, where to go, or how to find the temple stay coordinator; who, once located, seemed utterly surprised to see me, even though she herself had called me the previous afternoon. She was equally surprised to hear that I did, in fact, have a temple stay reservation, but sat me down and had me filled out the required paperwork, regardless. While I filled out a form identical the one I had completed online two days prior, my middle aged host peppered me with questions as to where I was from, why and how long I was in Korea, where I lived in Korea, and why (as I should have seen coming a mile away) I had come alone and not as a couple? Oh, Korea. She explained a bit about the history of the temple and its famed Triptika Koreana, a collection of 80,000 relief woodcut blocks, containing the most complete collection Buddhist texts without error.

I also learned that as the temple doesn't get frequent weekday, overnight visitors, many of the organized temple stay programs do not run during the week.  As it turns out, I had inadvertently signed up for a "freestyle" temple stay. Meaning, in short, that I would witness the daily goings on of the temple, including the various daily ceremonies, and eat meals in silence with the monks and temple visitors, and would otherwise be left to my own meditation and personal practices for the remainder of my stay. While my knowledge (or lack there of) of the practices of Korea Buddhist Monks was not revolutionized during this freestyle/parkour stay, I had plenty of time to write, draw, think, and relax. I hadn't realized how much I had been running on fumes, until I took a moment to calm down for a bit.



Haeinsa was undoubtably one of the coolest places I have ever spent the night. Sheltered in the hills of Gyeongsammnam-do, it is a beautiful example of traditional [Korean] temple architecture and home to hundreds of dedicated monks. Both the Triptika, and their innovative sheltering buildings, have been listed as World Heritage Treasures by UNESCP , and Haeinsa itself is considered a World Heritage Temple. After the crowded Wats (some, not all) of Thailand, it was wonderful to wander the near deserted grounds as the sun set on the mountains, perfectly at peace.



Upon arrival, I had been given a schedule of sorts, including meal times, services, and ceremonies, as well as a map, on which my guide (for lack of a better word) had circled the locations where each event would occur. After a simple, vegetarian dinner of rice, tofu, and potatoes (and kimchi, obviously) I was pretty sure I was supposed to go to the main worship hall for some sort of evening ceremony/service. As I walked up the stone steps, I heard the beats of a large drum begin to reverberate off every wall in the temple complex, and a monk threw open the large front doors of the building I was headed towards. After placing my shoes along side three or four pairs lined up against the outer wall, I walked in through the side doors, picked up a square cushion and found a place on the floor, out of the way of the few worshipers present. I looked around and attempted to take in the three large Buddha's and the beautifully painted backdrop before me. The monk began to chant; his voice amplified and filled the chamber, and was quickly joined by those others on the room. All the while, the drum continued to sound.

All signs pointed to this being the place where I was supposed to be. That is, or course, until my guide walked in and asked why I was non at the drum ceremony/performance and gave me a very tut-tut, scolding look when I explained that I thought this is where she had said to go. She said that this would be the only time to see the drum, bell, and (for lack of a better title) fish chime performance, and quickly hurried me down to the correct "building." I guess it wouldn't really be Korea, if there was not a little confusion along the way. And, of course, she was right about not missing the performance.



It was truly surreal to stand in the courtyard of the temple, surrounded by beautiful buildings and mountains, listening to a drumbeat so powerful, you can feel it in your heart and lungs.  A single monk stood before the drum, waving and beating the sticks in alternating periods of speed and intensity. For a full 15 minutes, I stood with a few fellow onlookers (all Korean) and let the beat of the drum fill my ears, while the picturesque scene before me filled my mind. A slightly shorter series of beats on what I can only describe as a gigantic hollowed fish cowbell of sorts followed, and the performance closed with deep, reverberating, chimes, from an enormous central bell.

Once I was quite sure the ceremony was over, though the sounds of the bell still hung in the air, I ventured back up to the building from which I came, retrieved my cushion, and tried my best to remember the brief instructions I had be given on a previous temple visit. What followed was on of my more interesting, culturally enriching experiences in Korea. I sat listening to the monks chants swell and combine with those few other voices, simultaneously filling the room with an amazing calm and an incredible energy, the voices keeping time with the beating of a wooden gourd. After ten minutes or so, the monk began a low monotonous chant, and was joined a half beat later by my neighbors on the floor. Everyone began a series of full bows, called postrations. One full bow (one can also do half bows, for different occasions or levels of respect) consists  of the worshiper standing, palms together, facing the Buddha's. The person then raises his or her hands slightly above his head, then lowers them down the chest height and kneels on the cushion. S/He then bends at the waist, arms stretched forward, until his forhead touches the ground, at which point s/he raises her/his hands slightly, palms facing the ceiling. Once the person returns to standing position, s/he or she has completed one bow, or postration.

Postrations, bows, and chanting  are key daily practices in Korean Buddhist worship and are essential on the path to enlightenment. Having done a bit of reading, I had learned that the number of bows is significant, depending on the circumstance. The devout are instructed to do 108 bows each morning or evening, along with regular chanting; however, for various reasons, one may wish to do 1,080, 3,000 or even 10,000 bows, during which each bow is counted on a string of 108 wooden beads. Knowing this may go on for a while (I assumed until the last worshiper had completed his/her bows) I waited until the first person, a middle aged man to my left, finished his bows and left, before collecting my bag, replacing my cushions, and retiring to my ondol heated room. I spent a little while reading through a book on Korean Buddhist practices and then inadvertently broke the "lights out at 9 p.m. rule," buy passing out on my floor mat, lights blazing, at 8:40.

I awoke around 11:30 in what felt like an inferno (a common occurrence with the ondol system) and quickly turned off the lights, before dragging my sleeping pad into an adjacent, significantly cooler, room. I had planned to wake up at 3:30am for the morning ceremony, which I was pretty sure was the same as the drum-fish chime-bell performance, and early morning service, followed by a form of prebreakfast meditation for the monks; but, due to either some shoddy alarm setting by yours truly, my hand-uh-pone's unwillingness to work so far out of range, or the deep and complete coma-REM cycle I find myself in at 3am, I did not (as you may have guessed) manage to rouse myself for the morning ceremony. For now, I will chalk that one up to personal fault, and imagine that my deepest most zen like state takes place behind my eyelids.

I somehow managed to jolt myself awake at 6am, just in time for a last, silent, vegetarian meal with the monks. I spent the next few hours drawing, taking photos, and wandering the temple grounds as the sun rose over the mountains.

As I sped down the winding roads, back to Daegu, I reminded myself that this was an experience I should not forget. While I one day hope to participate in a full program temple stay, I am immensely happy and satisfied with my stay at Haeinsa. Even if there was nothing else to say for it (which obviously is not the case) tucked away in the lush green mountains of South Korea, Haeinsa was a lovely place for a [solo]slumby.

 

Anyeong[hikheseyo].
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