In the spirit

Merry Christmas everyone!

I am just full of Christmas cheer right now. In about 5 hours I'll be on a plane to Warsaw, all my awesomely Korean family-presents tightly bundled up in my carry-on, my single suitcase light and baggy (did you know that KLM now only allows 20kg of luggage? Not 2 pieces, 20kg each - 20kg altogether. AND - here's the best part - every additional 5kg you choose to bring will cost you a mere 105 euro. I had a little fury fit over that last night).

How do you say Merry Christmas in Korean? Merry Christmas. Trill the r's a bit. Korean Christmas carols are merely American classics sung by Korean pop stars (in both English and Korean). And Christmas day here seems to be all about the cake. Everyone buys cake. Everywhere sells cake. Children only get one present from their parents and that seems to stop around middle school. Lights and decorations are somewhat half-assed.

With any luck I'll arrive in Poland as scheduled (come on Amsterdam, you can pull me through without delays, right?) for a proper Christmas, complete with Polish Nutcracker. I'll take obnoxious mouse dancers over anorexic 5-year-olds anyday.

Dziadek do Orzechow po Koreansku

Too many days have passed since my Korean Nutcracker Experience, so the sting of my critique has cooled substantially. But wow. The party scene had men chugging beer in a sad attempt at humor, while their wives (with the biggest, most butt-like bustles I've EVER seen on ballerinas) twittered around them, taking teensy little steps and worrying like hens. They used children liberally. I got the feeling this ballet was a showcase for the unfortunate little dance students being groomed to be the next ballet super stars (that's a whole nother rant about my Swan Lake experience, where the male and female leads got cheers and catcalls EVERY time they came onstage, a la rock concert). Anyway, because they were kids (and no older than 13), there was wobbling and tripping galore. Then they brought out the nutcracker, pre-transformation into dashing fantasy prince. He was this tiny, tiny, tiny little thing all in red velour. Can 6 year old kids be anorexic? I swear this kid was. And oh, the audience found him so charming. He couldn't hold his own. Drosselmeyer literally carried him everywhere and moved his limbs for him.

And don't get me started about the second act. The national dancers - you know, Russia, Arabia, Spain, etc. appeared at the end of the first scene, and they were styled to be static, mechanical dolls. So they proceed to wobble and fling their unpointed in all directions throughout the entire second act. Including the pas de deux, and the sugarplums.

There was more. Much more I could nitpick. All in all it was a highly enjoyable excursion. No, really, it was great. This rant was more involved than I thought.

The Christmas Spirit is upon us, while I prance around in my Fall jacket and stress over finding the perfect Korean presents for my family.

I should go help Beka was the cookies....

Late Night Musings

I am mesmerized by Korean commercials. They are a blur of white, grey, beige and watery, pasteled-out greens and blues. The edgy ones add a little chrome. And they all have beautiful women. Beautiful Korean women sell everything from powdered sauce mix to widescreen TVs. And the cameras, lets not forget the cameras. Camera and cell phone commercials are to Korea what car commercials are to the States. Lavish and ubiquitous. And they all have extremely annoying jingles, often ripped from well-known English songs. One commercial that I swear plays every half hour if not more blurts out a version os the YMCA that is positively mangled by Korean-commercial-cuteness.

Cute. That's the word of the the nation right there. A national obsession with cuteness. I printed out a Hello Kitty coloring sheet one week, because Kitty was skiing and sledding with her friends and it fit our theme of Winter. My kindergarten girls practically fell over each other trying to get their hands on it. Then all of my afternoon girls saw it on my desk and begged and begged - and even swore they would do their homework - if I gave it to them. When I wear my Tinkerbell necklace I have girls climbing into my lap all day to ooh and ah over it.

The Christmas party went well enough. Heather, a rather masterful baker, created two tarts that tasted incredible. The two of us also threw together a layered chip dip that was a smashing success. And I wore one of my new sweater dresses, this shockingly skintight number - the kind of which I've been picking off the racks in increasing amount. I'm convinced that once I leave this country I'll leave the skinnyness behind too. And all the clothes I've bought here will pile up, musty and unloved because I either can't fit into them anymore or I'd feel too conspicuous in the foreign styles.

Things I'll miss about Korea part 1:

- The rubber-paved, exercise-machine-lined running path by the river.

- School lunches, in all their subtle, super-healthy deliciousness

- The seamless subway system

- The whole "no-tipping" culture. It's so easy!

More to come later! In the meantime....Too much to do. Going to see the Nutcracker with Marina and Beather tomorrow, which will be awesome. And Christmas shopping!

Decembering

Today I finally bought Christmas lights for my room. They're up now, duct-taped haphazardly between walls and ceiling...only spanning about 3 quarters of the space. I now have one dark corner and 3 sparkly, festive ones.

Spent the evening at E-mart with my favorite roommates, whom I will be affectionately calling Beather from now on. That's Beka and Heather for all of you out there who haven't been keeping up. I decided they needed a Hollywood-couple-nickname, since they are attached at the hip and act like an old married couple. This was also their least favorite of the melt-together names I offered them. So Beather it is. I'm hoping it'll spread like wildfire. My diabolical plan will come into fruition at the Christmas party we're throwing this Saturday. After the success of the Thanksgiving party, another one was inevitable (and in high demand, if I do say so myself). Though it was not without its fair share of roommate-related drama.

The clouds have parted and the sky is ice-blue over here in Korea. I feel miles better than I did two weeks ago, nevermind that the wind has been trying to bite off my ears and cut through my Michigan-winter puff of a coat. Korean weather is as bipolar as my moods over the past 5 months, only a touch more predictable. One week dips just below freezing, the next hovers inches above it, like clockwork. The winter puff and the Fall trench are both within arm's reach, ready to be switched out at the first sign of a quiver in the atmosphere.

I've been spending my time becoming slowly addicted to the Dongdaemun shopping district, specifically the Migliore mall. Ah, Korean shopping, Takes a lot of getting used to, but once it gets its claws in you - and you realize that you don't really need to try things on because you're new wardrobe will be made up exclusively of baggy sweaters, short skirts and leggings - it's hard to stay away. Yes, I'll take that one and...oh, 40,000 won is a bit steep, watch the saleslady demolish it by 15,000 won and suddenly I've got another sweater.

Ah Korea. The love and hate continue to wrestle. Lucky for you I happen to be in a loving mood on this cold winter night.

Rabbit, Rabbit

Today I loved my kids. Today I look forward to seeing them tomorrow morning.

Now, whenever I write something like this I look back on it during those long periods of blog-update silence (now you will all be able to tell when I'm too depressed to write :) and hate myself for being anything close to happy. But right now it's the damn truth. Leo had this loud, excited "MISS ADRIANA!" for me as I was walking into the building and he was jumping out of the school bus that had arrived on my tail. He bounded up the stairs and held out his hand, demanding a high five. I've always been the one asking for those in this place. Then he did it three more times during the course of the day. THEN he earned himself 3 black marks (I give them out when any of the kids annoy me) and lost a sticker for the day. The poor kid only needed two more stickers to fill out his Chance Tree (they get a prize every time they do), so he ate all of his lunch for the first time so he could still get his present.

Freaking adorable.

Dammit, children. Stop making everything so difficult.

Korea remains Korea, even in the aftermath of a November unlike any other I had ever had the misfortune of crawling through. Highlights include the epic stroll I took with my friend Marina when we tried to go to a bikram yoga class and ended getting lost in Apgujeong, otherwise known as the Manhattan of Seoul. We took pictures of mammoth (I'm not kidding, words will never be able to describe how insanely big they were) King crabs in a tank outside a restaurant there, and admired the lovely flower arrangements outside the string of posh car dealerships that lined the road. Wait - those aren't flowers, they're cabbage. Yes, purple and white cabbage blossoms added splashes of color to the well-groomed bushes. We ended up at Praha Castle - a Czech themed bar that had us both sighing for home.

I also went to an open mic for poets and comedians at a delightful Itaewon hole-in-the-wall, sipped red wine and ate a real Greek salad with real feta cheese, and listened to a round of spoken word entertainment that left me feeling confident enough to go back there tomorrow and read something of my own.

Now I sit writing law school essays I think I may be a little too loopy to be writing right now. Just how serious are these supposed to be tone-wise?

Haha. Loopy Adri.

Thank GOD November is over.

When In Seoul...

Yesterday I was complimented on my "Pre-Raphaelite" hair. I just found a mousse that doesn't leave me feeling like a wilted houseplant, so I guess that's a good thing.

I did a big scary thing last night, and went to this open mic/art event at an expatty cafe a good hour and a half away from my area by subway, And I went all by myself. I will never know if the experience would have been intolerable if I had had to walk in on my own, because right as I entered I was adopted by a group who were also trying to find the place. We got our own table and chattered over coffee. The one girl my age and I absorbed words of wisdom and jadedness from the poet/drama teacher/textbook writer and her charmingly-accented French partner (who bought me un chocolat!). Afterward I trekked to Itaewon where the girls were beering and watching the Liverpool game. It was a good night.

Today I bit the bullet and donned heels, even though I knew I'd be walking all day with my 5 pound laptop on my back. Korea is turning me into a classy dresser. Well, it's already provided me with the figure to be able to dress that way, I might as well enjoy it while it's here. A white turtleneck dress, black leggings, glitzy earring, high heeled boots...what have I become? And the makeup! At first it was just for nights out, then it expanded into low-key bar night, now I've caught myself smudging eyeliner and brushing mascara for shopping and coffee-shopping on at least 3 different occasions.

In other news, book buying has once again joined the ranks of life's great pleasures. Since devouring the last three books I bought at Itaewon's fabulous What the Book? I've been itching to go back for more. This new batch consists of The Historian (it got a Hopwood - I feel as though we're family), The Witch of Portobello, and - a last minute grab I'm really excited about - Breakfast At Tiffany's. I am a book dork, what can I say? I lost it somewhere in the mire of undergraduate procrastination. I'm glad it's back.

And I found feta cheese today! Real, cardboard-box blocks of feta! And pita bread! Nutella! Maple syrup! God bless Itaewon and its sleazy foreign food markets.

A Food Entry

The new Vietnamese place that opened up right across the street from the ritzy cafe that has become my nightly haunt (if only because they have internet access) has just confirmed itself as a "place people may eat alone at." Those kind of restaurants are something of a rarity in this city.

Eating seems to be a big thing. Most restaurants seat on on cushions on the floor at a long table. Your food is brought out raw and cooked right in front of you. Each table has a crater of sorts cut out of the middle. A guy in an apron and heavy duty gloves brings a bucket full of red-hot coal and lays them carefully inside. They slide a grate over it and (since you're a foreigner who obviously has no idea what to do next) they lay everything out on the grate for you. While it cooks you pick at the side dishes. And there are hundreds of them. Well, maybe not hundreds. There's usually a plate of lettuces and leaves (especially if you're grilling meat, you can make lettuce wraps), some kind of pickled radish, and at LEAST 3 kinds of kimchi. They also like raw garlic and hot sauce. Mostly want I'm recounting is our last Korean meal of galbi - marinated pork. But my chicken soup meal with Tack Youn was presented in much the same way (except for the fact that we sat on chairs), and so was my distant-memory bi bim bap lunch with Nam Hee.

Going to Korean restaurants is slightly terrifying. Nothing is in English, we never know what we're ordering. I tend to only return to places I've been to with a Korean. Besides, these restaurants are all group-oriented. There is SO much food. I find I lose my appetite rather quickly when I eat Korean. This is necessarily because I eat my fill; there's something about the consistency of taste present in the main dish and the side dishes. My mouth tires of eating the same thing for so long. I'm not yet used to the taste of this country.

The good thing is that I still adore school lunches. There I am in control of the portions and there is a wide variety of food: always rice and soup (veggie broth, kimchi broth, or pungent miso - my favorite is the seaweed soup), some kind of mild kiddie-kimchi, and then 3 or 4 wildcards. I don't know the proper names for any of this stuff, but I'm a huge fan of something I believe to be strips of dried fish-something. It's really, really chewy and has a nice sweetness to it. I also love the tiny little boiled eggs soaked in soy sauce.

Anyway, back to the Vietnamese place. It's one more restaurant I now feel comfortable going to alone. And, of course, it's a noodle place. Like the Korean noodle place a few blocks away from it where I've been a few times, and the dearly-beloved but positively mediocre Japanese place right around the corner from our apartment where I get noodle soup dirt cheap.

When you come visit I promise I'll try to stick to the authentic Korean places. One of these days I might even manage to get to one of those restaurants with the live fish tanks outside. Won't that be fun?

Culture Burnout

My last visit to the Newey house was pretty subdued. I remember sitting on the couch, staring blankly. By then everything was numb. I couldn't comprehend the vastness of what was about to happen. I may never see some of these people again. And there was a plane leaving to Korea in a matter of hours (24? 36? 12? I can't remember anymore).

Andrew disappeared upstairs and brought down a book on teaching English in foreign countries. He said there was a good section on dealing with culture burnout. Of course, I had to ask him what that was, as so often happens with Andrew and I. And he described this. This ditch I've slid down into over the past week and a half.

It sucks, plain and simple. It confuses me. I don't know what it is, but I've been miserable. It's my windowless room eating away at my soul, it's my smoldering fury at my boss and the immature little reactions I shoot at him when he addresses me that I regret instantly but can't control because I so blindly hate him. It's the relentless, unforgiving conveyor belt of thoughts about Evan that simply will not let my mind relax. The emotionally draining arguments. We have never fought like that before. I can't bring myself to turn on Skype's video to see him, so I type. Let me tell you, typed screaming profanities are just as exhausting as real screams.

It was the first time I screamed at him and he couldn't even hear me.

I am tired. Tired of the shiny black heads in my classroom. Tired of the apartment that I've focused so much of my angst on. Tired of seeing people having fun with their friends. Tired of all the PDA everywhere I look how am I always finding myself next to an even more adorable couple on the subway?

If I can't have it no one should.

I'm tired of people walking on the left when they're supposed to be walking o the right, tired of cars making illegal maneuvers on tiny streets that stop me as I'm walking because they don't use turn indicators to indicate which was they are turning. I'm tired of seeing that damn squid humping the corner of the glass tank on the corner. I'm tired of waking up and feeling the world crash down on me just because I can't see the sky. I'm tired of holding back because I don't feel close enough to anyone here to unleash the full extent of Adri-caught-up-in-her-own-head.

I am tired of wanting to go home. And I'm tired of that leading to a flowchart of chaotically categorized, well-worn thoughts about the how and the why and the what ifs. Do I really want to leave what would I do where would I go who would I resent what would I regret what's the point of being here what am I learning am I really unhappy or is this just a phase?

Someone make this decision for me, please.

My Brat

4 years ago I was given an assignment to write about a family member in my Freshman seminar on the personal essay. I wrote about my little brother, structuring the piece around the middle school play I had helped manage that starred him as the courageous owner of a diner leading the battle against Mongo the space alien. I titled it "My Brat" (brat being the Polish word for brother), and to this day it's one of my favorite pieces.

2 months ago I implemented my first personal touch to my class curriculum. We have these Challenge sentences the kids have to memorize every night, just some 10-word blah I make up off the top of my head every morning. It's a silly thing but its the backbone of our curriculum and also takes up an entire class period every morning, so I don't complain. But it did seem like a pretty useless endeavor to have these kids commit a sentence to memory and forget it as soon as they've written in down during the morning test. So I started making up short stories - 8 sentences, 10 words per sentence give or take - that I could feed the kids one sentence at a time, that they could write down, illustrate, craft a cover for and presto! every month each kid gets to author their very own book.

And the first story I wrote? A little ditty about the "Running Boy." A boy likes to run, but he gets sad when he has to stop running due to the obstacles appear in his path (you know, trees, walls and the like). So one day he decides to jump over a wall and once he realizes obstacles can be used in his running, he can be happy ever after. Sound familiar? I just introduced my 6-year olds to the watered-down, ESL version of parkour.

I don't talk to Tristan very often, and I don't really know very much about what's going on in his life. But he pops up in my life in unexpected ways even all the way over in Michigan, or Korea. He's pretty awesome, my brother. I think that has a lot to do with it. He's a role model, and I'm not just using that in the general sense. It might seem a little silly that I, the eldest and 5 years his senior, aspire to be like him. But I must say that whatever meager little footpath I shuffled out for my siblings he blazed right over, expanding, paving, developing, and just to top it all off, polishing until it shone. Oh the Rewalds, each one better than the last.

Happy birthday, Tristan. I am so crazy proud of you. Ja cie kocham!

Gratuitous Poem #6

Because I found another one in my notebook:

Lost in my foreign veins microbeasts

attack the unknown walls and capsules

confused in the dark between sleep and wake

when the dark won't fade

the room will never brighten there's

not even a window

the sun I knew so well kept from me

til I scratch my eyes out looking

for the cup I left on the table

I wouldn't go back to those first days if you paid

me a cupful of sunshine

Gratuitous Poem #5

I have no idea where this came from. I am coffee-shop-stoned and this is what happens when my abhorrent room chases me into cafes all over the city looking for some measure of comfort.

afloat on a makeshift

lifeboat in a sea of beer and various coffees

sweet and fattened or bone-dry black

in the belly of the third month

I still can't hear the rain when it falls

whispering about the world

outside my slowly caving skull

the basin to dip into

when I'm too light to remember

that this is not my home

Slavism

I love hanging out with Marina because inevitably, at some point, we will fall into discussions on the essence of Slavism. She is Croatian and I am Polish. She brings the Yugoslavian piece of the puzzle and I chime in with my Soviet-laced early Warsaw memories, and the bits and pieces I can scratch out of the crevices of my mind reserved for "things I learned in a U of M classroom."

It refreshing to be able to talk freely about Poland. To be honest about how much it is a part of me, and also to be honest about how little I feel I know about it. I am not a Poland expert. I don't speak the language like I should. Very few people understand how that is even possible, much less acceptable, given how long I lived there. I have forgotten what it was like to not have to explain myself every time I want to make a reference to my childhood.

I told my father I wanted to come back and live in Poland again. I think he thought I was joking. And my brother's only reaction was "really? why?" Because, Tristan, you haven't had the experience of leaving Poland yet. That isolating, unexpected Slavic withdrawal that generates such powerful patriotism for a country you didn't even know you cared about. It happened to me. God knows I hated everything about Poland when I was there. And what do I do once I leave? Decide to devote half my undergraduate career to studying the damn place. It happened to Sabrina, too. It will happen to you.

It's not a bad thing. Just one more notch in the wood block that will eventually, one day far from here, be a recognizable carving of our identity. Korea makes me miss Poland, to the extent that I came home from Itaewon tonight with a half pitcher of beer burbling in my stomach and I flipped open my computer and pulled up old Dobranocki on Youtube. Koziolek Matolek, Smok Wawelski, Pszczolka Maja. All those terrifying, dearly beloved old cartoons that so defined my perceptions of post-Communist Poland. I never thought I would meet someone who could understand all of that.

A burden has unfurled, and unsurprisingly, it has released more questions into the air like pollen dust. But it's a nice feeling, especially here in this alien land.

Raid

So there I was, doing my teaching thing with an unusual lightness. I had done more prep than usual, had found cute Halloween themed Math worksheets for my kids. I even kind of liked them at that moment. When my boss barrels into my room and announces that he wanted to take all the kids to the library because a crew was here to disinfect the school (because those little swine flu bits like to hide with the spiders and the dust mites and they MUST ALL BE INCINERATED).

Ok, I thought, figuring he meant a couple guys with a heavy duty mop or whatever. Nope. They shut us up in the tiny library - the entire school - and proceeded to hose down our school with disinfectant chemical spray. The kids were coughing, our eyes were watering, my head starting pounding, and no windows were opened. The girls and I could not believe what had just happened. We finally convinced him to take the kids to the park only after he was informed by the crew that they would be taking far longer than he expected. Any time any of us English teachers tried to voice our horror over the fact that he had just sprayed down a schoolful of kids all he would say was "They say it's perfectly safe."

So we went to the park, and lost most of the day in the process. Not that I was complaining. It was a beautiful day, and the kids are at their best when they can run around (which they have tragically few opportunities to do in this uptight, claustrophobic, cutthroat-competitive academic culture). Meanwhile our cramped, windowless school steeped in chemicals. We went back at the end of lunch, and proceeded to be fed food that had been in that building the whole time. Yum, cancer.

The Swine Flu Strikes Again!

The unthinkable has happened. Another child has been claimed by the SWINE FLU. Cue the ominous music, the screaming, praying, explosions etc. It's the end of the world as we know it, armageddon, apocalypse now and so on and so forth.

This kid is fine, by the way, just like the last kid was fine and back in school within a few days. But school will probably be closed for the next few days. Luckily, this time our boss decided to tell us before he told the parents so we were not thrown headfirst into another three weeks of stolen Saturdays. He actually called a meeting with us, took into account our opinions, though I do believe that this is only because he was painfully aware that we were extremely unhappy with the Saturday situation. Even though no one had ever said it explicitly until this morning, he knew we would refuse to work any more Saturdays.

We compromised. It was all very professional and I am proud of us; our little union made up of three fresh-out-of-college idiots and one seasoned teacher in way over her head. We managed to change something around here. Well, before I get ahead of myself I need to wait and see what the verdict is. For the gods that we are not fit to lick the shoes of (aka the parents of our students) will decide how to properly proceed with making up the missed days.

Oh Korea, just when I start liking you you remind me painfully of your flaws. The entire country just needs a big tranquilizer dart in the butt. Let them sleep it off.

Crane Wish

Imagine the darkened interior of a bar. A table littered with beer mugs at varying stages of emptiness, little snack dishes and cell phones. And strewn across this table scores of origami cranes of every size, color and shape. Yes, shape.

Beka, as our school's "art" teacher (she's an art history major...) was assigned an origami class. She spent her break at work today being taught how to make cranes by a student, and spent the evening teaching the rest of us. Our first attempts are clumsy, deformed creatures, but together we generated enough to give out to the "art" classes after the try (and fail) to make their own. These are 4 year-olds we're talking about here. 4 year olds who don't understand a lick of English.

Apparently if you make 100 cranes you get a wish. I only made 4. Well on my way, huh? I named them too. There was Ruby, my poor, flattened first attempt; then Jude, Cornucopia and Bebe. We were the coolest table in there. We added to that coolness by watching Final Fantasy cut scenes on Hyo Jin's DS, and arguing about what the FF7 theme actually is (Heather found the 'theme' on her ipod and had me listen to it. It was the Requiem for a Dream piece - that really recognizable one they use in movie previews all the time. She refused to accept this fact).

Today at random points throughout the day fractions os a familiar tune popped into my head. Finally I started humming it out loud to see if I could carry it through until I recognized it. Turned out, it was that Youtube Nom Nom song that Evan and I used to dance to. And by dance I mean jumping up and down while spinning through the room.

The way this information cleared in my brain was slow and bizarre. First I recognized the full tune, and recognized that I recognized it, but before I could put a name on it I remembered the jumping dance that went with it. I remembered jumping, and I had the vague, nudging notion that when I jumped to it, I didn't jump alone. But I couldn't remember who was jumping with me. The fact that it was Evan trickled down to me from far, far away. In my mind's eye I could see him jumping too, but through a fog. It was like I was trying to remember a dream that had never been all there to begin with. The memory was sharp; I could see the 1st floor of the condo around me, see my computer playing that stupid little video. I could feel the floor, linoleum and carpet. I could even hear the hollow sound that floor made that had me constantly afraid I would jump a hole right through it. But Evan was blurry, and never came into focus.

If I could have my crane wish...I don't know what it would be. The days have started to blend, like the first pastels of a much larger picture. The weeks are picking up speed just a little, but in return they're starting to pile on top of each other as I begin to count months instead. I'm getting used to the schedule, the diet, the area. The day I arrived here I stepped from bright sun into a dark room (or vice versa, if you prefer to see it that way) and it's taken 2 months for my eyes to start adjusting.

If I could have my crane wish it might be to be able to skip to the third or fourth month for every one of my future lives. Wouldn't everything go just swimmingly then.

Metaphorical Squid

Every day as my feet thread the same invisible line in the pavement - back and forth, work and home, home and work, wax on wax off - I try to think my life straight. In the mornings I'm too mind-blocked by the thought of the hours of teaching (or whatever it is) ahead of me. And in the evenings I don't get very far because I get distracted by the squid.

In a two block radius of our apartment there are probably about 10-12 seafood restaurants, identifiable by the massive glass tanks of live seafood prominently on display outside their walls. Big, dirty glass boxes of hose-propelled water roiling on the surface full of fish, eels, crabs, and squid in their final hours. One place on the corner always catches my eye. Whether it's the same squid that has somehow managed to survive a whole week, or it's just a common captive-squid practice, I don't know. But one squid is always, without fail, mercilessly attacked the upper-left corner of it's tank. Thump, thump, thump. A little, tentacled torpedo surging forward and being knocked back by the unrelenting solidness of the tank. It disturbs me every time, but I can't tear my eyes away.

Having never been a squid myself I can do nothing but project myself onto its stupid, small existence. A flurry of intent, purpose. Penetration, liberation, never ending desperation. That's a lot of ations for something I enjoy cut into little rings and deep fat fried. An unfamiliar place, the instinct to flee. If it just accepted its new, tanked life, then at least temporarily the pain would subside. Of course, eventually it will be scooped up in a net, suffocated, cut up, cooked and eaten. But that's beside the point.

Yes, I am using a squid as a metaphor for my Korean life. As you may be able to tell, I am having difficulty defining a lot of things in said life. And, as some of you may know, I am a person who likes to have definitions. The squid will do for now.

Heather, in a fit of drunken wisdom, helped me match a definition to a rather large problem last night. I had fallen into a bar-induced melancholy and in her supportive, girltalk rambles she uttered a phrase that I clamped onto like a life-preserver after a shipwreck. And I realized that I've been sitting here these 2 1/2 months just waiting to be rescued.

Recused literally, metaphorically, metaphysically...whatever. This whole time I've been honestly believing Evan would come and save me from the unknown. That's why it's remained unknown. I won't settle in because I believe it's all temporary. Evan will come here, or he'll ask me to come home (which I would do in a heartbeat), and everything will be better.

I don't know what to do with this now, this label that I pressed against my eyes like a compress, relieving all the tension, cooling the aches. I feel stronger for having it, just one more piece of information in a place where I so often feel clueless. But I'm still not sure what it means, or how to get beyond it. Maybe just knowing will make the difference.

Barring

I think I'm starting to like my children.

I know, I know...it's a shocking turn of events. Take a deep breath, go over the freezer and pull out a box of ice cream. It's ok.

They're starting to make me happy, and they are starting to trump all of the other crap that goes down in that molehill of a school. Yesterday a kid peed his pants while he was giving his show and tell presentation. I had no idea it had even happened until I called the next kid up and she pointed out a strange puddle on the floor. No wonder the poor boy's big smile suddenly faded halfway through talking about the Lion King book he had almost completely memorized. I swooped into the best damage control I have ever put forth on my own and none of the other kids had any idea anything had happened. I spent break time with him in my lap outside the classroom and I think it was a turning point for me. Not that the kid peed on himself...but that I finally felt needed.

There's nothing much like being needed by a child. I can punish my kids all I have and at the end of the day they'll still smile, and wave if they see me outside the classroom, and fall over each other to tell me things. "Teacher, teacher! My tooth moves! Look! Look!"

In other news, the very fact that I've brought my laptop to Woodstock puts into question the level of alcoholism this country/job is pushing me too. Having said that, Woodstock is almost next door to us, while the coffee shop is a good five blocks away. If we want to get out of the house but don't have the energy this is pretty much it.

As I sit here typing Heather and Beka are doodling on the slips of paper they provide for song requests. We're the only ones in the bar, and we got a free coke with our beers because we're the most regular of regulars. We're trying to design a callsign for Beka's new alter ego, Lightning Tealeaf, and rating people (read: making shameless snap judgments about poeple's physical appearances) as they walk by. We haven't found anyone over a 4. Oh, Janghan-pyeong...

3,000

Being the only one in a long distance relationship within a group of friends is, as it turns out, a fine art to be mastered.

Last night Heather and Rebekah and I invited our motley crew of friends over to Woodstock in an attempt to recreate Thursday night without the police, the hospital, the exhaustion and the tears. It worked out surprisingly well. We gathered a great group and the night was a giggly, messy pile of drained beer mugs and pitchers that seemed constantly (and irritatingly) empty. We've become friends with the owner and his buddies, and they joined us once we were all good and drunk and could be managed a little better. And I learned it wasn't just a symptom of my school. A lot of Koreans that I have met seem to love drama. They love to stir it up, ignite it. The night became a game of who likes who, a mix-and-match between my American girlfriends and the Korean guys. One which I sat out, it being common knowledge that I have a boyfriend back home. And my one attached girlfriend? She has the inconceivably good fortune of having found herself a boy who travelled with her to Korea. They live and work together here in Seoul. I'm only a little bit bitter about that...

I love this city. I love it for its parks and its foodstands, it's cafes and it chattery, smiley people. I love it for it's amazing subway system and how safe I feel walking through it no matter how late at night the hour. I love duk bok ki and rice cake and seaweed soup, and the endless cascades of noodles. I love that in my 2 months here I have only laid eyes on two ugly babies. I pretty much want to pack up the rest of them in suitcases and take them home with me.

But (and be warned, here begins the embarrassing babbling of a hopeless romantic) is it worth it if Evan is still in Kalamazoo? I know the arguments. They run on a looping tape in my mind all day every day. They've been doing that for the past year. I'm being adventurous, I'm being mature, I'll become a stronger person and I'll learn too many life lessons to count. If I had decided to just stay in Michigan I would have been miserable. But I'm a hell of a lot more depressed than my roommates. This would be 3,000 times easier if only...

That's right, 3,000. It's a good, random number.

There are no young people in our area. I have discovered that all the young people have been sucked away by college campuses. I had dinner with Tack Youn, a very old friend, near his campus. What a great area! It was bright and exciting, jammed with bars and cafes and people my age who didn't stare. We had a delicious chicken soup-type-thing and he laughed at my inability to navigate Korean food. One of the side dishes they always serve (along with the kimchi) is a plate of lettuce and a couple bright green, raw, hot peppers. Which are actually meant to be eaten raw. Like carrot sticks. Tack Youn laughed when I told him I had thought they were just there to look pretty - garnish the edge of the table - and took a bite of one to prove it.

And now, because I'm distracted by Peter and the Wolf shuffling through my itunes, I'm going to put an end to this long and disjointed entry. That's all, folks!

Shopping Saves

In my self-imposed exile from everyone and everything that I love I have found myself trying to identify, define, and refocus every little thing that comes along that makes me happy. I've been referring to them as my "salvations." These may or may not be similar to the "presidents" my little brother had when he was a kid. They both pop up at night, and they both left an air of mystery in their wake. In the case of my salvations, this mystery is "why didn't I think of this before?" and "what are the chances this should pop up right now?"

An example would be one of the countless times the shuffle on my ipod has read my mind and played a song that, had I been producing the movie of my life, I would have picked to soundtrack that moment.

Or the fact that the Wangsimni mall plays classical Western music on their loudspeakers, and on the last two occasions I've come out of the E-Mart (think Meijer) at that mall - desperately homesick after wading through aisles of shopping that is nothing like Warsaw or Ann Arbor - I've heard that and remembered that people are people and I'm ok.

Or the day that I discovered the itty bitty rice cake bakery right next door to my school, where a square of cake is only 800 won and the lady who owns the plays always has a huge smile for me when I escape from my kids for the 20 odd minutes of breaktime every morning.

Or the first time I lugged my computer over to the dazzlingly comfortable Cafe Bene and realized they have wifi as smoothly accessible as my apartment, where I can watch Battlestar Galactica on Megavideo and not worry about using up the 72 minutes granted my IP address that would mean heather and Rebekah wouldn't be able to watch their TV shows. And the caramel macchiatos are amazing.

My salvations come to me in bits and pieces, like debris from the wreck that is just now making its way over the Pacific toward me. And when I see one I grab it and I hold onto it. They are my cottage evening fireflies and I am the greedy child with the jar full of grass (because all insects eat grass, right?)

Spending my fresh and steaming paycheck on deliciously Western styled shopping in Myeong Dong today was just another salvation. I don't care that it seems ludicrous to move across the world and then spend several hours in Zara and Forever 21, ignoring the awesomeness of the edgy Korean boutiques. I tried the Korean boutiques - well, the lingerie ones anyway. I am just about officially a C-cup now. And those of you who don't get the gravity of the statement should know that 2 months ago I was a DD. Trying to find a bra that was even a decent C almost reduced me to tears. I'd rather stick to my Mangos and my Gaps than try to take on the ludicrously petite world of Korean fashion any day.

Funny thing is, most Korean women aren't anywhere near petite anymore.

Short and Shocking

Evan this is all your fault. As I sit here to write all I can think about is the damn Slender Man. And now that I've let the cat out of the bag everyone who reads this post is going to go google him.

So apparently this Slender Man is a fabricated urban legend with a series of extremely creepy youtube videos attached. It catches you in a Blair Witch-esque horrific fascination. I stopped myself from watching beyond video 5. See if you all can do the same. I really don't need to be freaked out thinking there's a skinny guy in a suit watching me as I sleep in my dark little box of a bedroom.

I could write about my Chusok weekend. There was a big, open, sun-filled museum; a family dinner with an amazing group of people; a day where I couldn't get off the couch until 6pm because I was crying so hard; and, of course, the night I returned home, shaking and hyperventilating at 8am after a police investigation and a hospital visit. This is chronologically backwards, mind you. And in the past. And everyone is fine.

Well, I should go. A day of shopping has been planned, but a morning of talking to my boy has pushed that way, way back. And I have to go back to work tomorrow. And and and and...

My Adult Life

Ok all you seasoned adults out there go ahead and have your laugh at my youthful naivete but I'm gonna come out and say it:

I have never appreciated my free time as much in my life. This full time job thing really helps to focus the mind. Prioritize. What do I want to do with my precious 25 minutes? 40 minutes? The measly 6 hours between getting out of work and going to bed? There isn't enough time in the day. I have to eat, I have to run, I have to watch my TV (don't you tell me otherwise - I'll bite you). And on top of this all I'm supposed to write myself some fiction that will get me into grad school? You've got to be kidding me.

Grad school. Haha. I'm opening a poll. Law school? Or a Creative Writing MFA?...Michigan? Or somewhere more interesting? To be or not to be? Man I miss being a student....

For my "P.E." period I let the kids loose with two big boxes of Lego. Then I discovered that the school has a tiny little collection of Goosebumps that includes my old favorite. It's something about "Horrorland." It's the only Goosebumps book that ever actually scared me because as I recall it has a hopeless, unresolved ending that just sent chills down my little spine. So I skimmed the first few pages until my boss decided to pass by and glance disapprovingly at me. I spent the rest of the period with the book in my hands, feeling too guilty to open it up. Instead I supervised. God only knows what could happen to those children with all those Legos if I took my eyes off of them. Meanwhile my kids zoned out, completely unaware of me. I was so jealous.

In other news, I spent a delightful evening with Min Jung at the Maggiest coffee shop I have ever been in in my life (well, maybe not THE Maggiest but Maggie would certainly enjoy it). It's completely homemade, right down to the menus hand-written in colored pens in little, doodle-out notebooks. And tiny. And delightful. Did I mention that already? I scrambled to finish my mind-numbing evaluations for the afternoon classes. 50+ evals for 18 kids because each kids takes 3 different classes and you know if those parents don't get a nice comment for each class they'll come storming through and set fire to the school because that's apparently what Korean parents do. They're Hulks, all of them. You wouldn't like me when I'm angry...and so on.

She invited me (or extended an invitation from her mother) over to her place on one of these upcoming weekend nights to eat homemade Korean food and learn some Korean card game that foreigners apparently go gaga over. I am SO excited. I got all kinds of warm fuzzies afterward. Yay for friends. They make life sweeter.

I have Friday off. It's like the final stretch of a marathon. Scratch that. This is no time for similes. It IS the last stretch of a marathon. An insane, turn-your-teachers-into-angry-worker-drones marathon of stolen Saturdays. The finish line is in sight but I'm afraid I'll never get there. And even if I do...there's a whole nother race to run just a few paces down.

This is what I want. A luxury hotel that won't break my bank. Tickets to the symphony on Thursday. A massage. And moments - a long and sticky-sweet string of them - to forget about everything.

People

Here's the thing about TV. It shows the interesting parts of life. And what are the interesting parts of life? Not the daily routine, the walk to and from work, the time I spend refilling my water cup, the yell-at-the-class-to-be-quiet count, what I eat for lunch...

TV shows the outskirts of real life. The hours at the bar bitching about the routine, the hours at coffee shops giggling over shared pasts, the late night talks that spontaneously eat away the hours you should be sleeping. I haven't had too much of that yet. I'm still too new to this whole full-time job thing that people do. Tonight, though, I got a taste of it, and it's the perfect seasoning to life. Cliched, I know. But it's true. The things that depressed me a few hours ago seem more manageable now.

All it took was a 20 minute subway ride, a walk through the sketchiest part of Seoul I have seen to date (red-lit "tea rooms" that reek of pot??) and the unwanted attention of some business suit from Samsung whose opening line was "Ban Ki Moon went to my high school."

It's really all about the people. And my day is full of them. Little ones. Thus the introductions begin. It's late and I'm tired, so I'm gonna try to get through some of my favorites.

Here's a run-down of my classes. Every day from 9:10 until 1:40 I teach my main class of kindergartners - the Cherry Class. This is the class that requires all the work, the lesson plans, the parental placation etc. After 1:40 I teach 3 more classes:

M, W, F: "Yellow Class" grammar/"White Class" grammar/awkward preteen boy "drama class"

T, Th: one-on-one tutoring with one of the Cherries/Yellow writing/White writing

My top favorite kids (I know, I'm a bad teacher...I swear I don't let on to them)

Kimmy

In the Yellow class (which is by far my favorite class). Nobody else at C&C has heard her speak. But she speaks to me. She has tiny little voice and adorable dimples, and she does this weird thing with her eyes where she looks everywhere except where she's supposed to focus, but in a "I don't feel like looking at you" way. She's still the best in the class academically, and she's got a deeply hidden but awesome silly streak. For instance, in our writing class, she keeps addressing her letters to "pig." Is this your pet, Kimmy? No. Is pig a friend of yours? No. Does it have a name? No? It's just, pig? Yep, pretty much.

Brian

My absolute favorite Cherry. He is soooooo cute. He's the most mellow of the boys, and while he's a good student, he's not irritatingly fast at completing all his work. He's extremely helpful and never, ever fails to answer a question I throw out to the whole class. I can look out at that class when they're all being complete demons and I can know that Brian will smile back at me.

Leo

Ok, sometimes he drives me crazy. But you can't not love a kid with hair like Leo's. Its this weird, super-full-bodied, pseudo-mullet his mother gets re-permed every few months. He's tiny and really into the physical comedy. He's also scarily flexible and will just sit on the ground with his legs splayed open at odd angles. He's just a really happy kid, definitely the Cherry class clown. By a long shot the first kid I learned the name of. He kind of stands out from the crowd.

Katie

Also a Cherry. She's quiet, gets every answer right, and basically just sits there being angelic all day. She has bucketfuls of hugs that she brings to school every day and unloads them onto me whenever she's out of her seat. She's also just one of the cuter-looking kids in the class. My predecessor Maria said it best: the word to describe Katie is "love." She loves to love people.

Ok, that's my top four. More will follow, hopefully tomorrow, but in this life everything is mood-permitting. Good night, people!

Seoul Fall

Koreans take good care of their apartment complexes. We're talking redwood forests of 20-30 storey apartment buildings with tiny streets snaking around them. And, as I've discovered, that's where all the trees in Seoul are hiding. The apartment people steal them!

I took my break with me on a walk today because I couldn't handle being in that stuffy little school anymore and I set off to find some nature. I found it three blocks away, crammed in between luxury housing towers. It's like they took all the green in the area and hid it away. I stepped out of the mess of run down stores and fish-smell, cars running over you and bikes smashing into you, I walked through a wonderland of real sidewalks, playgrounds and shrubbery. I settled on a circular, roofed bench just beyond a miniscule put-put course almost hidden from sight by the grass and bushes. It was astounding how much it smelled like the suburbs.

Today marked the first day of non-rainy cold. And by cold I mean pretty much what Ann Arbor's summer was like this year. It was glorious. The sun changes everything and I felt the traces of a stunning Autumn-to-come everywhere. I can smell it now through the living room window. Like my chest just opens up to let it in. If anything can cure me of my rapidly-shrinking-boobs depression it just might be a Seoul Fall.

Well, we'll see about that one.

Sweetened with an Anecdote

Word of the day: Bitter

The bitter taste left in my mouth by the college campus coffee I travelled 45 minutes for that was almost worth it, and the cough drops I've been popping to avoid coughing around the natives who would inevitably brand me a flu-carrier.

The bitterness seeping through the very walls of our apartment as we all stew over the fact that it is now the end of our only day off this week, and we face another 6 days of Korean children in windowless rooms.

The bitter blow that came with the memory that five years ago I had guidance counselors holding my hand as I applied for college. Grad school applications will not be a forgiving experience.

The bitter texture of sheets of angst piling up in my susceptible mind as I try to figure whether these constant thoughts of going home makes me a quitter or whether I'm just figuring out what's really important.

Anyway, to lighten the mood, let me tell you what happened Saturday night. What started as a plan to have a good American burger dinner in Itaewon and go home early turned into quite an adventure. Somehow we ended up following strangers to the most American house party I have been to since sophomore year. There were two beer pong tables, a keg and - I swear I'm not making this up - red plastic cups. And I got to speak Polish all night because one of the guys we met was a Polish-American medic based in Okinawa. The Polish was the best part. Unfortunately the guy isn't sticking around beyond this week. Would have been nice to have a fellow Polak in this city. Having a secret language is empowering.

Things like this don't normally happen to me! I don't meet people that easily, I don't ever just "end up" somewhere.

Korea must be good for me.

Certain things that come with Korea - not so much...

Gratuitous Poem #4

Meant to lose myself among the giants

concrete castles full of homes

full of families making dinner

and peaceful evening television

My empty ribs led me there so I could

wrap myself in the excess

of so many people knowing they're home

like stepping off the edge of the pool

feeling the water rush through every opening

filling every space your skin doesn't keep

A plaza placed with three stone cats

curled and content in the dark

I thought they might wake, attack me

lone white girl with earphones in

vulnerable

A Letter for You

Dear Evan,

You are the most amazing boyfriend this planet has ever seen. Who else would take the time to send their girlfriend and obscenely expensive care package full of the candy she loves, the baking goods she hasn't been able to find, and the smells she misses most. Smells! A ziploc bag full of the spices you use when you're cooking for me. I can open that up and be home for a moment.

I had a dream that you introduced me to your birth mother. She was a young blonde who lived in the sea and had no idea you were her son. You told me never to tell her, but only after I had sent a text message to a mermaid I went to high school with asking about her. We walked through the Arb to get to my parents' Warsaw house where they were throwing a party for all the teachers who had ever taught me, and you sang songs you had written for me with the Hootie voice that had made you famous.

Today I broke down and finally told my boss I was sick. And I do mean "broke down." I started crying, confessing everything about how scared I was that they were going to make me take the swine flu test and put me into quarantine and cost me hundreds of dollars. He took me to his private physician two doors down who spent five seconds looking down my throat and up my nose, declared a cold and blamed the Seoul air and my foreign lungs. Prescribed me a bucket full of pills and that was that. Total cost: 7 dollars.

I wanted you to know that today was a good Korea day. And that was mostly your doing. And I love you.

Adri

P.S. I got two new cousins today! Congratulations to Robert and Christie, and big siblings Olivia, Clara and Stefan - and welcome to this big, bright, messy world David and Maria!!!

Gratuitous Poem #3

Pastel plastics that feed me on brighter days

when their voices don't pierce

an already sour knotted mood

and the pitterpatter doesn't pit itself

against my skull in all out war

When I can see rainbows in my hutch

life is swell and not

swelling

memories stay in the past

and don't flow forward

when you switch on my smile

and not my precarious mess of tears

That's when I believe

I can hold this world on my shoulders

better than Atlas ever could

Bullet Points Are a Good Way To Communicate

I learned something today, and that is to go running while the sun is out. Don't take a nap instead, assuming the sun will still be out when you wake up. Because by then it will be thunderstorming and you will have lost your chance.

Some interesting tidbits from my week:

• Korean children think its funny to insist you have a baby in your belly when you're having a fat day. Cindy thinks its funny to do this on non-fat days. She also likes to pick up glue sticks and push them into my hand proclaiming "here, it's your baby."

• A woman on the subway today had such awful eye-makeup I was surprised she wasn't being shunned by people. She looked like she had the freaking swine flu. There was all this iridescent white powder up to her brow line and her eyes were ringed with Pepto-Bismol pink. Good to know even in Korea women suck at making themselves presentable.

• A kid finally peed their pants in my class. I knew it was only a matter of time. A couple of them keep interrupting class to go to the bathroom and I had to draw some lines. I told her there were only 5 minutes left until break time and she could go then...turns out the girl doesn't understand half of what I say (I was informed of this later). My room smelled like pee for the rest of the day.

• Korean Outback Steakhouse? Really? In between the babyback ribs and the fettucine alfredo was the bulgogi and the galbi all decked out American style with steamed broccoli and steak sauce. Because a Korean meal is incomplete without bizarre sidedishes in little bowls scattered all over the table but an American meal turns up its nose at such clutter, OS compromised and served a single little bowl full of sweet and zesty, not-quite-kimchi, pickles.

• Koreans love to clap along to songs they know. They also love to clap along to strong beats and fun, fast paced music. They also love to clap along with a traditional Korean drumming ensemble performing a complicated piece of intertwined rhythm. Watching all those little old Korean ladies try to pick out one beat to clap along with was hilarious. But I'll give them credit, some of them refused to stop, determined to show exactly how much they enjoyed the performance.

Wow, most of those points started with "Korean." Where am I again?

Anything But Boring

Well, this weekend has certainly had its share of adventures, that's for sure. And its not over yet - but I'll get to that later.

Friday: I slipped out of school almost as fast as my awkward preteen "drama" class (four of them, bespectacled and oblivious, staring at me for 40 minutes) and into the light of weekend bliss. Heather, Rebekah and I headed to Itaewon after a delightful dinner of pizza (curry chicken pizza with a cheese and sweet-potato filled crust and spicy mayo dipping sauce - yum!). We had margaritas at the bar with the sand floors and gossiped and marveled at the lack of Koreans in the vicinity. Once Anne and Danny arrived we headed to another place to meet up with Samantha's hoard of English-teaching friends. This was possibly the sketchiest bar I have ever been to, but the music was great and drinks were free for ladies until 2am. Free and unlimited! You can imagine how that went. But don't imagine too wildly.

Saturday: Quiet and slow with a gloriously late start. Indian food and room work covered in the previous post.

Sunday: Exploration of the fabulous Deoksugung Palace and the heart of metropolitan Seoul. We were treated to the second performance of a free Autumn concert series at the palace. It was a neo-traditional Korean music festival, and it was amazing. The extent to which music can connect people is staggering to me. I am a foreigner, a tourist. I don't understand when you speak Korean to me. But I understood this music.

Saturday is also the day everything began. A call from Hyo Jin informed us that a boy in Heather class (who had not been in school for a week already) had been confirmed to have...THE SWINE FLU. Is that the sound of the world as we know it ending? I think so!

We were told we had Monday and Tuesday off. And - what else would you expect? - we rejoiced! I mean to say - poor kid. But a four day weekend awaited us and we were giddy with the thought.

Monday: The day it all fell through. At 7am I got a text message from Anne from the hospital where she lay with 2nd degree burns from an accident with a large quantity of boiling water. At 10am I got a call from our supervisor (but not the boss) informing me that because the school was closed for these two days we were required BY LAW to offer make up days on two upcoming September Saturdays.

The resulting day? Heather, Rebekah and I braved an unknown corner of Seoul to find the burn hospital Anne was at. We brought her a motley assortment of books because she had nothing with her and ended up staying for 3 hours just chatting and giggling. She was in a room with four older Korean ladies and no one spoke English. It's an experience I wouldn't wish on anyone. On the way there, the way back, and deep into the night we analyzed, schemed and brought into being a mini union. With the four of us roommates (the only English teaching staff at our school) unified in discontent over the sudden disappearance of two of our precious Saturdays I think things might happen around here.

With any luck, tomorrow morning we will meet with our boss and get some direct and reliable information about the situation. Tonight all I can do is wait and see.

Big week ahead.

Spaces

Today was the day. I put my mark on the room and now I know I'm staying here for the year. In one fell swoop I bought bedding, moved the furniture, and swept and scrubbed my predecessor's filth right out the door. And it was hard to do. Not just the scrubbing and the moving - the mindset was extremely elusive at first.

For four weeks I've been living temporarily. I still don't have much food, I haven't yet done any household chores and until today I had only done that one load of laundry. And the room was a yellow box where I slept on borrowed sheets and kept my cup and alarm clock on the floor because the set up made sure there was no where else to put them.

After lunch with Heather and Rebekah at Everest (the Indian restaurant that at once makes me happy and homesick) we all trekked over to E-mart and I faced the music in the bedding section. Choices are limited here, to say the least. What I ended up with was blue sheets and pillow case, but a white duvet cover. It looks good. A shot of ice to the otherwise warm and sandy space.

I feel better now, sitting on my little iceberg bed looking out at this room that feels mine now that my hands have changed so much. My hands have created this space. Now it's mine. Or will be soon. Now it will be harder to leave it. So I guess this means I'm actually doing this Korea-for-a-year thing. Wow.

Mood Swings (and a poem just for kicks)

If I walk under the sun

my breath can lift me away

from the cardboard box bedroom

breaking the ice from my eyes onto the floor every morning

waking into darkness

I find my windows in other places:

laughter on the wall,

the first child I see,

a glance from someone who knows

And I am talking to you

across a universe

wiping my own tears

because you can't reach far enough

This is by no means a complete poem. What it is is an illustration of the crappiness that was the first half of my day. It got so crappy that I sat down and wrote a poem, for god's sake. While my kids colored I sat at my desk and stared off into space and scribbled in the notebook I decided would be the Poetry One.

By second period I could feel my vocal chords giving up. My energy had evaporated. Then I don't know what happened, but something switched on. My afternoon classes floated by and before I knew it I was getting everything ready to go. The boss came in to talk about a boy who had recently been moved up a level, and after I spent a good 7 minutes spouting my opinion at him (which I was very proud of, by the way - who knew I had an opinion about the language level of 8 year olds) he got up and told me "Miss Adriana, I really like your teaching style. It makes me feel comfortable. Thank you for working so hard."

!!!!

Could it be I'm actually good at something? Is it possible the compliments I've been getting really aren't just a reaction to the novelty of me? Nah.

My new roommates are a breath of fresh air. We actually chat when we're at work, and the beerings we've gone out on so far have been talkative, uplifting, and just plain fun. I'm actually in an amazing mood right now after getting back from the place that will for sure become our favorite haunt - Woodstock. Big mugs of Cass (the Korean beer they have on tap) are quickly becoming my new favorite thing in the world.

Forging and Foraging

Friends pop out of the ground like daisies when you're an English teacher in Seoul. When you meet someone you cling to them. Case in point: I was exploring Itaewon with a girl I'd previously spent about 2 minutes with and we were trying to find the English language bookstore. So we asked another girl on the street. Not only did she know where the bookstore was, she took us there, and proceeded to stay with us all day. And I have a new friend.

Just like that.

We all link up to each other, like a human chain. I meet person A - we exchange phone numbers practically in the same breath as the introductions - we arrange to meet again, and each bring friends - the chain goes on. Frantic and breathless because no one can stand the loneliness for much longer.

I have recently been wishing I could stir up the guts to go out to eat alone. There are no less than 15 restaurants within a minute walk of my apartment. None of these have anything English about them. I'm starting to have Korean food cravings. Luckily today my roommates were up for an excursion, and Hyo Jin is just about the best translator/guide I could ever hope for. I had some spicy beef soup with rice and it was delicious.

The weekend is over. A new dawn begins. I meet the two new girls tomorrow - my coworkers and roommates for the next year and I'm all knotted up over it. With any luck, together we new teachers will be able to help last year's drama dissipate.

The Things I Could Do

My mind is buzzing with ideas after talking to my mom. All the things I could do with these kids, all the different ways I can incorporate writing. If I could just phase out the cooking class (which I thankfully haven't done yet because of the string of birthday parties we've been having instead) and replace it with a poetry class I'd be happy as a clam.

But then I'd have to have a clue as to how to try to teach poetry to roomful of Korean kindergartners.

Mom is a neverending well of ideas about how to deal with kids. Daily journals, a reading corner...I could transform this class into something completely new. But would I be allowed to? I have an inkling that Korean and American teaching styles are vastly different. When my boss takes a class he does not tolerate fidgeting, talking, anything. he's not mean but he is very, very firm. Children sit straight in their chairs and are quiet as church mice in his classrooms. Would he be open to loosening the structure a little?

In other news, we had duk bok ki at lunch today. It's this delicious dish of rice dumplings in a spicy orange-colored sauce. I took a big portion and mixed it up with my rice because that's what I've always done with rice and sauce. But when Brian came into the room with his little tray and saw what I was doing he started shrieking with laughter. "Teacher! Why are you doing? Look what she's doing!" He ran off to tell his friend that Miss Adriana was mixing her rice with the duk bok ki. It was almost as if I had just been seen wearing my underwear on my head. I guess these kids eat their rice plain or else mix it into the soup. But sauce? Never.

Ten minutes later I had polished off my meal and started wandering about the classroom, chatting with the students, and Brian called me over to his desk.

"Look, teacher," he said. "I did it too." Sure enough, Brian - and half the class - had attempted to mix their rice into the sauce. He was beaming at me as if we shared some sort of hilarious secret.

I love these kids.

P.S. I went grocery shopping today! I bought yogurt and plums and cereal, and something I hope turns out to be milk...

P.P.S. I also did laundry!!! Clean underwear officially become available tomorrow morning. I can't wait.

The Mysterious Disappearing Headaches

I have not had a headache since I left Ann Arbor. Not one of the usual ones, anyway. One or two little pain pulses over the past two weeks but those were child's play compared to the daily brain searings I've always lived with. I didn't realize until I hit a rough patch this afternoon. Right after I ate my mild Korean lunch with the kids it was like I sprung a leak in the bottom of my feet and all of my energy poured right out onto the floor. I sat at my desk with a cup of tea (the only source of energy I could think of) with glazed eyes while the kids ambled about, and I think I churned enough back up to finish off the day without bursting into tears. And in all the crappiness I felt while I was down there, I did not develop a headache. It was amazing.

What is it about this place that keeps the headaches away? Is the environment? Is it the Korean food? The lifestyle change? The buckets of water I've started drinking everyday due to heat, AC dryness and yelling at kids?

My boss took us all out for dinner for Sam's last night. We had shabu shabu again. It's so much fun to eat out in the country. You get to cook your own food, and its all so delicious. We swept the awkwardness under the table

by trying to figure out an English name for the boss's son, who will be starting English preschool with the new class opening next week. It was a delightful cultural romp as he suggested names that we nixed for various reasons ("No, Grace is really a girl's name" "Monroe is more common as a last name") and we through names at him (Mason, Jake, Zachary and Tristan came up). I love this tradition of picking new names. Once my Cherry class graduates in February, I wonder if I'll get a whole new class to name as well.

Take my hand, we'll make it I swear...

My chest is buzzing and my ears tingling and the air in my room seems lighter somehow. That's what happens when you belt your heart out on an echoing microphone in a tiny room with friends. The thick karaoke songbook was only a fraction full of English titles but there was plenty to choose from nonetheless. It was awkward at first; this was a regular pastime of Hyo Jin's and Jen and I were both uneasy with any kind of karaoke. I broke the ice with "Ghostbusters" which I highly recommend as a warm-up song to any beginner. This was followed by My Sharona, Wonderwall, I Want it That Way, Hotel California and Don't Stop Believing, among others. By the end I was a regular diva, moving and dancing and shimmying up and down in my seat.

The best part was that while the letters scooted across the screen the backdrops weren't music videos, but what looked like cheap travel footage of Hawaii and Prague. That took some getting used to. Trying rocking out to Bon Jovi while a battalion of overweight men in grass skirts hula at you.

In other news I managed to make it two weeks without doing laundry. The washing machine scares me and I don't want to go near it. I even hand-washed some underwear yesterday. There are no dryers in Korea. I dread the starchy, wrinkled mess my clothes will dry in. Soon enough I'll have to grit my teeth and just do it.

Like a lot of things here.

The Cycle Bares its Teeth

Nobody likes watching Sunday mornings trickle by. I wasn't paying attention, too busy playing an online game of Settlers of Catan with Evan and two robots named Maui and Pele. Pele was a real jerk.

Let me take a minute to express to you the extent to which Skype has saved my life here in Seoul. Well - it's a large extent. Huge, you might say. Forgive the Mastercard reference, but being able to see my boy first thing in the morning?...priceless. We hang out over the internet, our Skype sessions lasting hours at a time. And all I can think about when I'm out and walking around is how much easier this would all be if he were here too.

Anne and Danny and I had what I like to think of as a "Christine Meeting." A chance exchange of phone numbers at some random jumping-off point. I met Christine at Freshman Orientation, and I met these two at the Chicago Consulate in line to get our visas. So we finally got together, along with their Korean friend Joe. We explored the clothing explosion that is Dongdaemun (5 super-malls clustered together for the ultimate shopping experience) and ate a seafood soup dish that had us Americans in tears. I think I stripped the outer layer off my mouth with that stuff. But it was delicious.

I'm constantly surprised by how life flows here, one day into the next. Just like at home. Somehow I thought it would be different. Backward, maybe, or riddled with pauses. Tomorrow is another work day. I survived my first week but the triumph I felt on Friday afternoon didn't keep Monday from coming around again, like I think I expected it would. I get a pat on the back, maybe a celebratory beer, and then everyone ducks their heads and moves along. Like anywhere else in the world.

Tequila

Not as bad as I remember it being.

That said, the last time I did tequila shots was probably 3 years ago. Ah, the early days of college...

My roommate Sam - in a very generous gesture - invited me out for her birthday celebration. I met her friends and saw Itaewon for the first time. That's the foreigner-infused patch of Seoul. We had burritos at a Mexican restaurant and danced at a tropical-themed club with rooms with beaches for floors. We had to take off our shoes so that we could feel the sand between our toes as we danced to Michael Jackson and top 40 hits. I smiled and I danced and I took chances; said things I might not have ever said had I been in Ann Arbor.

I had lunch with Nam Hee in Insadong. We watched honey be spun into threads like spider's silk, wrapped around crushed nuts and sold in boxes like butterfly cocoons. We ate bibimbap out of hot stone bowls and remembered the old days at ASW, and gossiped about the new days we both felt mired in. I tried Five Taste Tea at a swanky Insadong teahouse that she paid for, ensuring that we would be meeting again soon so that I could repay the favor.

On my way there I was chatted up by a 20 year old Korean boy with shiny gold stars studding his ears who, upon determining my nationality and my age (but not my name) announced that we were now friends and that I should give him my phone number. On the way back I walked from the subway instead of taking a bus and soaked up the tiny thrills that would run through my skin each time a fat, cold raindrop burst on my skin. It rained sparsely the whole time. I thought about how much had changed in the past few weeks - how I could open my e-mail and right there on the first page were remainders of notes that I had sent from the condo couch in Ann Arbor.

But how can that be? That was over a lifetime ago.

Gratuitous Poem # 2

The sound of miniature Korean families

clicking silverware cooking noodles

salty like the sweat

I ran off when I needed to stop

thinking about you

for once

Who knew acorns

could be jelly or how chewy

fishskin gets

That streets are for pedestrians

and I should cover my shoulders now

cut my arm you'll smell the green

because I am

the new things like dew on my face

still refreshing

and sweet

dewdrops to raindrops

from a grayer sky rain

to teardrops soon I will hate this place

The trick will be waiting for love again

1001 Ways to Eat Rice

Last night Hyo Jin cooked us dinner. It was a marvelous production; she spent about an hour and a half cooking it in the 90-degree heat wafting through our windows. Some sort of chicken-curry-stew-noodle dish, it had a thick brown sauce and was surprisingly spicy. So spicy, in fact, that I began to sweat. It wasn't so bad at first, but then suddenly I realized that while my shirt sticking to my back and nobody else even had a sheen on their face. My nose was runny, my hair frazzled by the humidity - I must have looked like a fool.

Tonight she cooked dinner again. Hyo Jin has become my new Evan. When she moves out I'm probably going to revert to relying on my One-A-Days and the few "healthy" things I pick up. Food shopping in Korea scares me. I've been so spoiled by suburban American Wonder-marts...but the grocery stores here are even smaller than what I'd been used to in Poland. Of course the fact that all the names, brands, cooking instructions and nutritional information are nonsense to my eyes doesn't help make it any less intimidating. But beyond that, this country is brimming with foods, flavors and ways of preparing things that I had never even heard of. Dried fish is everywhere - dried anchovies are especially popular at bars (instead of peanuts). Of course there is the kimchi. Cucumber kimchi, lettuce kimchi, beansprout kimchi, kimchi kimchi. And I never knew how many things you can do with rice! It's incredible! And I don't even know the half of it because most of the things that have been identified to me as rice I wouldn't have ever guessed to be...rice. The standard birthday cake at C&C is rice cake - this delicious concoction of rice pounded into a fluffy, bready consistency with a tiny bit of sugar and some food coloring. The versatility blows my mind.

The kids delight in teaching me about the Korean food we are served at lunch everyday. They crowd around me and point at things, blurting their Korean names at me and waiting, puppy-eyed, for me to recite them back. Then they announce which things are yummy and which things are "don't like!" Lunchtime is my favorite part of the day.

Today I walked into the classroom with my full tray and there was instant silence. Uh-oh....what did they do now? Then they tried to tell me what was up - but I still can't understand most of the things they try to tell me. All I could hear was Ella's name being said over and over. Then another kid walked in and everybody laughed. They were betting on who would come in next! And it looked like Ella was the crowd favorite. Gradually the seats filled up and still no Ella. The class never gave up hope that maybe - just maybe - Ella would be the next one in. A couple chants started up and dissolved into piles of giggles upon disappointment. Then finally, when there were only two empty seats left, Ella came. She appeared in the doorway with a smile and a big "hello!" and the class erupted into cheers. The poor girl had no idea what was going on but as soon as the shock dissipated she grinned even harder. It was ADORABLE.

Almost as adorable - but not quite - was the scene I walked in on about 5 minutes after the morning classes left on their bus. The halls were relatively empty. The afternoon kids hadn't arrived yet so only the smattering of morning kids who stick around for further classes. The piano (or one of the keyboards) is always being played during breaks so I've gotten used to that but I was surprised that "Heart and Soul" was being played since the kids are either way better than that or practicing scales. So I went down the hall to take a look and was treated to quite a sight: My boss (whom you just have to think of a a giant teddy bear) was playing on the keyboard surrounded by little kids. And he was laughing and they were laughing and then he crossed his hands to play the fancy way and it just warmed my heart. Like a scene from a movie.

And I'm still smiling.

Second Day Blues

These kids love to draw.

The number 1 stress that I carry with me as a green teacher (or, greacher) is the "what if we run out of things to do?" Cold, midnight sweats burst out of this question. As in, a 3am bathroom runs becomes a 3 hour toss-and-turn marathon. Maybe that's just the jetlag. I hope so.

But today the first secret of Cherry Class uncoiled its petals and smiled at me. Someone finishes their test too early? Hand them a sheet of paper and let their imaginations go wild. The result: clam-happy kiddies.

I knew their names on the first day. Particularly proud of that one. I think I've identified the two poles in the class as well: The impossibly adorable little girl who's just a walking ball of love and shyness, and the loud and distractable boy who seems unable to ever sit straight in his chair and who likes to scream answers to all of my questions. Who knows how the others will turn out? It's far too early to tell.

Today I learned that I had been unintentionally snubbing people by handing them money (at stores and such) with only one hand. I'm supposed to clutch the offered hand around the wrist with the other hand. Just one more thing to try and not forget. Like recycling everything. Or turning the hot water on and off before and after each shower. Or constantly looking both ways when walking anywhere because there are no sidewalks and the cars pretty much do anything they want on those streets.

It's only the second day. It's only the second day. It's only the second day.

Cherries!

Something I've been itching to be able to announce for months now: I've survived my first day of teaching.

The place: homey and sweet

The people: friendly and practically falling over each other to make sure I'm ok

The job: draining and detailed but not difficult

The kids: so freaking adorable I want to eat them all up with a spoon.

Today was mostly observation. The real work starts tomorrow. Lesson plans and simple games, repetition and endless patience. All with a little help from my friends.

It's a very small, brand new private school, so a lot of surface things are very important to my boss. One thing I kept hearing over and over again was "Miss Adriana is so pretty!" It's something that would never, ever be openly mentioned at an American workplace, but everyone here is very openly delighted that I'm so "pretty" because it means the parents will be more forgiving. Twisted, I know, but I've been enjoying it so far. I met one mother today and she, using some quite universal sign language, approved of my figure. In front of my boss. It was amazing.

When the day was done I felt so full and empty at the same time all I wanted to do was find a corner to cry in. Empty of the anxieties of not knowing, full of fresh anxieties and budding excitement.

There are several different classes I teach. The main class - Cherry class - is made up of 11 5 year olds and runs from 9am until 2. Then I teach 3 different 40 minute afternoon classes that are much more straightforward and textbook based. That morning class, though - it's completely mine. Mine to mold and create for. That's the best part.

Today and the Dog Cafe

This morning I ran. And it was good.

As I wove in and out of elderly Korean men and women I reveled in my freedom. They stared at me - in my shorts and old t-shirt I was all but indecent to them in their long sleevs, long pants, hats and (in a couple cases) gloves. It was 75 degrees and rising when I went out at 6:30am.

Maybe this is how I will preserve my sanity. Winter might suck a little.

I came back home and fell asleep for a few more solid hours and never fully woke up. Jen and I went to meet Hyojin for lunch at Everest - a delightful Nepalese restaurant nestled in the armpit of Dongdaemun. The food was delicious (the nan is to die for) and the atmosphere made me think of home. Funny, because South Asian food never used to be my first choice.

Then we took the subway to Hongdae - a university area. This is what I was waiting for. It was vibrant and alive and full of people my age. I spotted more foreigners than I've seen all week. There were coffee shops, restaurants, clothing stores, street vendors packed on every floor or every building, like a big, bustling game of urban tetris.

We went to Bau House - a pun that made me giggle for several whole minutes. Bow wow, Bauhaus (the department store bu the apartment), Dog house - Bau House. It's a cafe with dogs. About 15 dogs, impeccably groomed, sweet and mild mannered, of all shapes, sizes and breeds, wandered this cafe with free reign over the tables, couches and windowsills. As we sipped our coffee we watched dogs playing, dogs sleeping, dogs climbing onto our shoulders and knocking things off our tables, dogs cuddling up to us and running away from us. They would pee on the floor wherever they wanted and a contingent of employees with squeegees and spray and paper towels cleaned up after them. I completely feel in love with the place.

It was therapy. What better way to make yourself happy than to surround yourself with the happiest creatures on earth? I forgot I was in a strange place where I didn't know the language. We spent hours there playing, petting, calling, watching, smiling like idiots the whole time. Too bad an idea like this would never fly in the States. Everyone could use dog-cafe therapy. I'll definitely be back for more!

Zoom

Should have written this entry 4 hours ago when I was over the moon after a wonderful dinner with the woman who hired me and my roommate Jen that relieved so many petty worries I had had. Over delicious shabu shabu (veggies and thinly shaved beef, noodles and rice all boiled in a big bowl in front of us) a lot of the anxieties that I hadn't even realized I'd been harboring puffed up and away and I can't wait to meet my kids.

A spontaneous mini shopping spree led to the revelation that although Korea's tragic flaw seems to be the inability to manufacture shirts and dresses that actually flatter the female form, I may actually be able to buy clothes here. Shoes are another story. Feet here are so small. A lot of things are small. The dogs in the pet store were all about the size of Barbie horses. The vans are like pillbugs hurtling down the streets. My room is a matchbox. I've got a camera zooming out on me in slow motion.

Foreign Pigeon

It's unnerving how often mothers are right about these kinds of things. I'll admit, I stalled for a couple hours before leaving, including a turn around after I became convinced that something had fallen in my eye a block away from the apartment. But I did it. I took a taxi to the nearest subway and back. I took two subway lines to the palace and back. No hiccups.

Tourism-therapy. I'm a believer. I spent four hours walking through the massive Gyeongbokgung palace complex. It was a refreshingly no-frills kind of cultural treasure; big blobs of buildings here and there among the lupine and long grass, plenty of shady trees, even the occasional dragonfly to complete the idyll. There were no winding rooms full of Baroque artifacts, no commitments to be made to one exhibit or another - just the offering of open spaces, courtyards, and open doors everywhere to allow for a delicious meandering of mind and body.

I was making a video in front of the Heumgyeonggak Pavilion to try the capture the remarkable racket a batch of insects was making in one particular clump of trees. A pair of pigeons wandered over and as the got closer and closer I had the odd sensation that they, like the throngs of dark-haired people around me, were foreigners to me. The belonged and I didn't. I had an overwhelming urge to get out of their way because this was their land. The fact that they did not seem afraid of me at all only reinforced this unease. I finally moved away, and the closest pigeon, right by my foot, didn't bat an eyelash. Pigeons could have eyelashes.

I saw perhaps 6 or 7 other people who were obviously expats today. I think I threw more than one of them a good dose of puppy-dog eyes. Four days in a strange country and I'm already desperate for connections with other outsiders. But we have this problem of First Contact. Yes we see each other and instantly recognize each other for that which we have in common...but how to bridge the gap between recognition and actual conversation? Somehow I don't think running up to them, tugging on the end of their shirts and babbling "Hi I'm American. You look American. Are you American? Let's be American together" would work too well.

Gratuitous Poem #1

Spat in my hand slapped
the ground proclaimed
this is my land now
it will hold me close

I will not be chased by fire
or water or earth or wind
Talismaned against the wild things
that come for me in the night
with headaches and heartaches
I cling to time
with a black leather cord
Guardians pulsing through metal wire
twisted and tied by someone
who loves me

This is my land now,
neon night lights and lilied pavilions
Come, let me show you

Day of the Alarm

I hate them. Mornings that is. A pattern is emerging. I go to sleep around midnight, and wake up at 2am. Then I generally manage to fall asleep within an hour or two and wake up again at 4am and again at 6am. I eventually start falling back asleep around 8 but by then I feel like I should be getting up. It sucks.

Yesterday I spent the day hiding from the rain but instead of being relaxed like the day before I just sank into a lonely place, despite my best efforts to ward it off with endless episodes of House. So I finally got up and prepared my bag to go out into the neighborhood and brave the grocery stores. I needed food. So I put on my shoes and pressed down on the door handle, only to discover it wouldn't open.

Now, it's a fancy door handle, keyless and coded and full of fancy sounding beeps and whirls when it opens. No one had told me there was a trick to getting out. So I peered at it and found a little dial that you could turn to point at "open" or "closed." So I turned it to "open" and opened the door.

ALARM! ALARM!

The noise was piercing. I had somehow set off the security alarm. After a second's panicked hesitation I remembered the doorman and clattered down five flights of stairs to get him, only to discover that he spoke no English and had no idea what I was trying to say. I guess there the alarm is only an alarm. No police ever arrived, like they would have in the states. Eventually, the doorman took me upstairs, unscrewed the battery case on the door and pulled out a battery. He put it back in when the noise stopped and everything was fine. Some security system, huh?

So out I ventured with my umbrella and a tight, humble smile etched permanently across my lips. The grocery stores each have a man who's only job seems to be to yell things at people. I assume this is some sort of selling tactic. The "drug" store I stopped into had tiny, tiny aisles crammed full of everything you could ever imagine, from scissors to pots and pans to toilet seats to facewash and razors.

So I survived my first neighborhood adventure. I came back and due to circumstances beyond my control fell asleep for a couple hours. In the evening Jen and I stumbled our way to Costco, where I bought almost too much to carry out with me; Quaker oatmeal, Nutrigrain bars, Skippy peanut butter, spaghetti and tomato sauce, juice boxes...everything I could think of. Getting there was an ordeal. Our taxi driver was a sad sounding old man who was delighted with his opportunity to practice his shaky English. He told us how great and powerful America is and about his wife who died 3 years ago of pancreatic cancer. He obviously had no idea where he was going so when we we in the area his GPS insisted was the Costco area he flagged down a girl on the street and had her get in the car to direct us to our final destination.

Nighttime was an unsteady moment for me. Samantha went to dinner with her boyfriend, and Jen and Hyo Jin both went to sleep and I got really lonely really fast. Thank god for mothers. One Skype conversation with mine had convinced me that there was no reason I couldn't take this city head on. And just to prove it I'm off on my very first subway expedition to do some touristy things. I will certainly be back to let you know how that went. Til then!

The Living Room Windows

I spent yesterday unpacking to the sound of the rain. To accomplish this I had to sacrifice my air conditioning and open the door to the living room. My broom-closet bedroom is so cocooned within this space I have no access to the natural world otherwise.

The rain kept me indoors all day while my roommates went to work. It was a long day. I woke up with a start early, early in the morning and for a blinding moment could not remember where I was. Tossing and turning and uncontrollably clenching all the muscles in my face I spent the next few hours trying to convince my body that THIS was the time to sleep, but my mind churned up worry after worry, thought after thought, worst-case scenarios one right after the other. So I got up and padded into the kitchen to refill my water mug. The floor in my Korean apartment doesn't creak like the Ann Arbor house. I could walk around as much as I wanted without worrying anyone would be disturbed. It was an oddly satisfying feeling.

I walked over to the large living room windows and looked out, sipping my water. I watched a couple early birds - all men - walking, biking, smoking, carrying things. I peered into the apartment complex across the street from us and studied the massive apartment bloki just to the right. That's when I decided that Seoul is just a city, like any other. It has Polish looking apartment buildings and people who are just trying to make their way through life. This revelation cut through all that tossing and turning like a laser beam and I felt infinitely better.

*****

When Jen got home from work she took me over to the school. I was utterly delighted by the tiny space. It's cozy and friendly, covered in blue-sky wallpaper and the children's artwork. Hosung (my super-supportive boss who called me earlier in the day while I was unpacking just to make sure I was ok) gave me the grand tour and a quick rundown of how things work. My class is called Cherry Class, and was decorated with a large, glitter-glue-rific banner welcoming me (well, welcoming Adrina, at least =). I have a sense that I am going to have an immense amount of support from Hosung, who smoothed out all my worry-wrinkles by promising to let me observe him teach for a day or two.

Oh, and all that effort that went into finding me a pair of work appropriate flats was all for nought. All teachers and students leave their shoes by the door and wear slippers all day. I am strangely excited about this quirk of Korean culture. The klapki they gave me are really comfy!

Samantha showed me around the neighborhood after that. We went up to the food court and movie theater on the top floor of Bauhaus, the monster department store by which I will collect my bearings when I'm out and about. We stopped into a pet store full of the most adorable miniature dogs I have ever seen. Samantha fell in love with a baby chihuahua that was small enough to fit in my purse. She took us down to the river where there is a beautiful jogging/biking path paved with rubber and lined with free outdoor weight lifting equipment, all under a canopy of Japanese cherry blossoms that promise to be stunning come spring.

We ate samgyeopsal for dinner - thick pieces of fatty pork grilled right at our table with kimchi and dipping sauces. Samantha also ordered a cold noodle soup with a little kimchi in it that was extremely delicious. The restaurant is right around the corner from our apartment, and a friend of Samantha's came to meet us. Her name is Apple, also known as Blaire, and I can't remember what her Korean name is. I love this idea of choosing your own English name. You get some absolutely bizarre ones, like Saturn, a boy at the school. Maybe I should choose a Korean name for myself.

The jet lag is out of this world. I went to asleep around midnight and woke up for the first time at 2am. Again at 4am and could not get back to sleep. And here I am, blogging because it's too exhausting arguing with my body over sleep schedules. All I can say is thank god I don't have to teach until Monday. Hopefully by then I'll have figured this sleep thing out.