Disappearing Languages and Other Things

Interesting stats about the language imbalance in the world and current efforts to translate the Bible into indigenous languages, shared with me by a friend who did two years of missions in western Afria.

About four years ago, my dream was to become a linguist for Wycliffe who would go to remote areas of the world to translate the Bible into indigenous languages. That's changed, and a part of me regrets that my life has taken a different direction. Of course, I say that I will do whatever and go wherever God calls me, but I wonder if I backed down from the idea of working with Wycliffe because I was intimidated by the notion of actually being a missionary?

When people from my Christian community back home learn that I've been in Korea teaching English, their first assumption is that I went abroad to do missions work and taught on the side. Actually, I went abroad to teach English, and didn't do any missions work on the side. To reiterate: not a finger did I lift to contribute to this great cause for which I purport to live. And when I clarify this, well, it becomes a bit awkward. I wonder if I've let them down in some sense.

Now, my time in Korea is over. Memories are starting to be replaced by photos and blog entries, people are losing reasons to stay in touch. I've been home for one week, and in two more, classes will begin: my first steps toward obtaining a PhD in linguistics. Five years down the road, I'll be a "doctor"... and then what? What will I do after that? Where will I go? God only knows. (And does anything I'd ever had planned even matter to Him?)

A new chapter begins... But the book of life metaphor isn't perfect, I must admit. In a book, I can always turn back to an earlier page, read it again, maybe add an annotation. Seems more like I'm reading a message I'd scratched in wet sand at the beach, only to have the water wash it away.

It's hard to remember things.

- - -

P.S. Unrelated: I found out recently that a friend and fellow Fulbrighter in my year is the granddaughter of WC Townsend, the founder of Wycliffe Bible Translators and SIL International! Wow! Also, one of the Fulbright Korea grantees this year is the grandson of Noam Chomsky. It's like the heirs of linguistic royalty are partying up in Seoul right now. Haha.

작별 인사 스피치 - Farewell Speech

Today, I went to the community center Korean class for the last time, sat down to write a short essay for the last time, asked the Korean tutors to check my work for the last time... and gave a speech for the last time. I haven't been going to the class regularly this semester due to busyness, but it was an integral part of my life in Changwon for my first year and a half. I'm very thankful for the 창원한글학당 (Changwon Korean Class) because it helped keep me motivated to study Korean. Anyway, here's the speech I wrote, with the translations beneath.

시간이 너무 빨리 지나갔죠? 다음 주 월요일에 저는 창원을 떠날겁니다. 그 때 이 주일 반 후에 한국을 떠날겁니다. 저는 달력을 보다가 걱정하거나 멘붕 와야 한다고 생각하는데, 실제로는 아주 침착합니다. 대개 저는 감정적인 성격이 아니거든요. 제 친구들중에도 한국을 떠나는 선생님들이 많습니다. 그들은 마지막 수업 할 때 많이 웁니다. 그러나 저는 오늘 학교에서 작별 인사 스피치를 했을 때도 눈물 하나도 없었습니다.

Time's really flown, hasn't it? Next Monday, I'm going to leave Changwon. Two and a half weeks after that, I'm going to leave Korea. I ought to be looking at my calendar and worrying or freaking out, but actually, I'm calm. I'm usually not a very emotional person, you see. Many of my friends are also teachers who are about to leave Korea. They've been doing a lot of crying in their last classes lately. But as for me, even though I gave a farewell speech at school* today, I didn't shed a tear.

제가 안 울고 있는데, 그 이유가 떠나는게 안 섭섭해서가 아닙니다. 저는 진짜 아쉽습니다. 약간 가고 싶지 않습니다. 그렇지만, 이제 저는 앞으로 나가기 위해 준비되었습니다. 이년 동안 한국에서 굉장히 즐거웠습니다. 매우 축복받은 사람이라고 생각합니다.

So I'm not crying. But it's not because I'm not sad about leaving. In fact, I feel really sorry to go! I kind of don't want to leave. But I think I'm ready to move on now. I have really, really enjoyed my two years in Korea. I feel very blessed.

저는 미국에 돌아가서 캘리포니아 버클리 대학교에서 언어학 박사학위를 시작합니다. 저는 진짜 신나고 여기서 받은 경험이 저를 도와 줄 것 같습니다. 특히 여기 창원 한글학당의 선생님들에게 감사 드립니다. 선생님들은 저를 격려하셨고 한국어를 잘 가르쳐주셨고... 창원에서 살고 있는 외국인들에게 매우 귀중한 단체입니다. 써니 쌤 열심히 지도하셔서, 또 나미 쌤 참을성있게 가르쳐주셔거, 그리고 여러분 모두 사심없이 도와주셔서 감사 드립니다.

When I go back to the United States, I'm going to start working on a PhD in Linguistics at UC Berkeley. I'm really excited, and I think my experiences here will help me. I especially want to thank the teachers at the Changwon Korean Class. You teachers have encouraged me and taught me well. The foreigners who live in Changwon have such a valuable resource in you. Sunny, thanks for enthusiastically leading the class; Nami, thanks for patiently teaching me, and to everyone, thank you for all of your self-sacrificial help.

미래에 한국에 돌아오면 다시 뵐 수 있기를 바랍니다.

In the future, I hope that I can come back to Korea and that we can see each other again.

창원한글학당 - Changwon Korean Class. Nami is in yellow, and Sunny is in white on the far right.

- - -

There were not too many people at Korean class today, but the few that I really wanted to thank were there, so that was enough. Nami gave me a small farewell gift, a beautiful keychain. Man, I really am sorry to go!

*Yes, I also gave a goodbye speech at school today. It was before the end-of-the-year teachers' sports competition, which took the form of a ring-toss tournament this time. Anyway, the speech I wrote (and my co-teacher expertly translated) was a heck of a lot longer than this one. I awkwardly stumbled through it for like five minutes because the level of Korean that I was reading was way beyond me. But my principal really appreciated it, I guess. He kept saying, "아쉽다! 아쉽다!" That means, "It's too bad! It's too bad [that you're leaving]!" Perhaps I will post that speech in its entirety later.

Suwon's Hwaseong Fortress

When I hear the name of Korea's eighth largest city, Suwon, the first thing that comes to mind is the fact that a Korean-American friend of mine has family who lives there. An odd bit of trivia. Unlike me, the rest of the country thinks, "Oh, that big fortress wall." They are referring to an ancient fortress that is Suwon's most famous historical site and tourist attraction, and, yes, it has a wall. I visited about one week ago, on Children's Day. (It was one day before Buddha's Birthday, or, as I like to call it as of right now, Buddha's Eve.)

One of the gates to Hwaseong Fortress, seen from atop the wall itself.

The Hwaseong Fortress (華城/화성 -- I should point out that 성 itself means "castle" or "fotress", so this is really the Hwa Fortress) was built in the end of the 18th century, during the Joseon Dynasty, and it is a designated UNESCO World Heritage Site. The wall of the fortress is astoundingly long: 3.5 miles (5.7 kilometers) in length and running over two hills. It is also impressively well-maintained; you can walk or jog along the length of the entire wall and enjoy beautiful views of the surrounding city the entire time.

Paldalmun (팔달문), the southern gate of Hwaseong Fortress. It's quite beautiful to look at, but because it is detached from the rest of the wall and stuck in a giant rotary amidst traffic and ugly modern buildings, some of the charm is admittedly lost.

In my opinion, walled cities that have survived from antiquity to the present day have a very distinct charm. I'm thinking Avignon and Chiang Mai, both of which I really enjoyed visiting. But in those two cities, despite their historical flavor, the old walls not only preserve a bit of the culture but also give off a somewhat claustrophobic air. Avignon is, to put it bluntly, cramped. And Chiang Mai's old city is small enough that you can never walk too far before you hit the wall, quite literally.

Suwon's wall is different. It's as wide as a jogging path in a park, and as I said before, it's a very pretty and well-maintained space in such a big, busy city. Nothing about this wall actually seems belligerently imposing; it's grand, but it's peaceful. All the gates, turrets, and sentry points feel like they were constructed less for war than for sightseeing. Of course, Hwaseong Fortress has hundreds of years of history that I know nothing about, so this could be my ignorance talking.

Walking up the first hill of the fortress wall from the Paldalmun entrance; quite a steep climb, but worth it.

Anyway, I visited the wall with friends on a beautiful spring day. The entrance fee is usually 1,000KRW, but thanks to a certain golden holiday, we got in for free. All we did was walk around the wall, take photos, and watch tourists ring a giant bell to grant wishes as we munched on snacks. It was a nice way to spend an afternoon. Of course, there were tons of other things to do in the fortress complex itself: performances, culture centers, maybe a museum or two? I don't really know. But I was content to hang out with my friends with nothing planned and very little on my mind.

Hwahongmun (화홍문), the north water gate of the Hwaseong Fortress, through which the Suwon River flows. It's a beautiful spot that I would like to come back to one day. But there are so few days left...

In addition to hiking the fortress wall, my friends and I explored the enormous shopping complex that sprung out of the loins of Suwon's main train station. Tip for future reference: its food court is amazing. I also met up with Greg, whom I first met in Laos, for dinner (in said food court), and it was nice to catch up with him and get an update on his plans to move to Southeast Asia permanently.

So that was Suwon, in a nutshell. I was happy to strike another Korean city off my map (I've now been to nine of the ten largest cities), especially now that my days here are numbered and the opportunity to travel freely won't come again for a while. It's been strange, thinking about what I should do with the three months I have left. Even planning this trip to Suwon took that into consideration: I literally asked my friend, "So, where have you not been yet?"

And the question now is, "Where will I go, before I go?"

Many flags wave proudly along the top of the fotress wall. This one reads 巡視 (xúnshì/순시, which means to patrol or inspect). "Keep your eyes peeled," I think, "for the impending future."

What are you doing next year?

The Question.
I've been mulling this over for a few months now and still have trouble answering.

I haven't talked about my future plans on this blog very much. In the past, this was because I didn't have any future plans. But I decided last year that I wanted to obtain a PhD in Linguistics, so I applied to graduate school programs in the fall. At this point, I've heard back from the six schools I applied to, and now, well, the silence about my decision stems not from the absence of plans but from simple reluctance to think about it.

You see, I do a lot of my thinking by writing. Without this blog, a lot of the thoughts I have day to day would never be processed. I like to get these thoughts out somehow, and making them public on this platform encourages me to be honest and straightforward about them. Does that sound counterintuitive? Surely a private journal would allow for more truth and less self-censorship. But what I mean is, I like to imagine that I have an audience, reading what I type here as if I'm telling them in person, so for their sake I can't write anything that I wouldn't say in a casual conversation... and for their sake I can and do write everything that I usually want to say in those situations.

The point is, I am at a moment in my life where I need to make a very big decision, and I feel unprepared to do so because I haven't thought about it enough. (And I haven't thought about it enough because I haven't blogged about it yet, see?)

The last two weeks have been busy and exhausting for various reasons. Right before I left for conference, I was feeling considerably 답답해, a unique sentiment to Korean culture that refers to the inability to say what one wants to say, the mentally suffocating discomfort that stems from not expressing one's true thoughts satisfactorily, or even just the confusion of not knowing what to say or think in a difficult situation. Due to my stress and uncharacteristic lack of sleep -- topping off a week of 4-to-5-hour nights with an all-night baking party of one -- I resolved to spend my time at the Fulbright Spring Conference getting as much rest as possible. In between napping and enjoying the wind and sun of Jeju Island, I thought that I'd also have the opportunity to ponder and pray about my future.

Fortunately, I did have time to do this over the weekend. Actually, I did not end up getting much sleep. There was also very little time in the schedule for personal introspection; I guess it was assumed that we ETAs would use our odd free hours for that... but I spent my free day conducting fieldwork. That's another story for another post. The important thing is that during the conference, I finally got to talk about my future plans with my friends, and that was when I finally began to get a clearer picture of what they might look like. So, I'm very thankful that going to the conference allowed me to process the ideas bouncing around in my head in a different, albeit obvious way: seeking my friends' input. Rather than writing things down and clicking a button to send them into the void, I simply sat and talked. I don't often just sit and talk anymore; isn't that a bit sad?

Anyway, now that I have returned from the conference, I figure it couldn't hurt to, once again, write things down and send them into the void. If you're interested in where I may possibly end up going for graduate school, read on.

The Applications.
My dream is to be a linguist. I want to work with endangered language communities and teach them how to use the tools they need to preserve and revitalize their language and culture. I don't know exactly how feasible this dream is, but it's where I began when I applied to various top Linguistics programs around the country. I set my bar particularly high: Stanford, Yale, MIT, UC Berkeley, UCLA, and UC Santa Cruz. All six of these programs are very good and very difficult to get into, though not all necessarily focus on language documentation.

What I also found was important -- a bit to my own surprise -- was location. I felt like if I was going to spend another five to six years in school, I'd only be willing to do it in a city or region that I could thrive in. Hence the many schools in California. I'll admit it: as the winter chill set in and I wrote those neverending personal statements, I was pining for my home state and its perfect climate and food.

Almost absurdly soon, I heard back from Berkeley and SC! An offer of admission from the former in late January and an interview with the latter, which soon became a second offer of admission in early February. This was a fantastic way to begin my decision-making process, and I was optimistic. Alas, this y turned out to be a negative x, and in the week that followed, I bombed an interview with Yale and received two rather impersonal rejection letters from MIT and Stanford.

In mid-March, I learned that I'd been waitlisted at Yale (while a fellow Swarthmore linguist had been accepted, which likely slims my chances of getting in) and also received news of my funding packages for Berkeley and SC. Berkeley's is better, no question about it. Also, they somehow secured me an extra scholarship on top of the standard five years of full funding. UCLA remained oddly silent, and the suspense would have been unbearable had I not already learned from a friend there that my name was not to be found on the list of admited students. I found out just prior to leaving for the Fulbright Conference that I was waitlisted at UCLA.

The Dilemma.
So, that's where I was before my weekend retreat: 2 Yes, 2 No, 2 Maybe. Now, the question you'd think I'd be asking is, "Which will you choose, Berkeley or SC?" Actually, the question I began to ask myself -- weeks ago, even, after my late-February screwups and before I got any news on the funding front -- was, "Which will I choose, grad school or another year (1) in Korea?"

As soon as the semester began in early March and I resumed teaching, I realized that there are so many wonderful aspects of my life in Korea that I couldn't imagine giving up in a matter of months. I had just begun volunteering with North Korean defector students. I was beginning to get more involved in the expat community in Changwon, after a year and a half of being a quasi-hermit. I was really enjoying the work I was doing for the Fulbright Infusion, our literary magazine. All of these things I felt considerably more enthusiasm for than the distant prospect of furthering my own education. Also, I realized that my Castleberry research project on Jeju-eo was turning out to be a much bigger project than I'd imagined at first. Although I had to scale it down, I began to wonder why I couldn't just stay in Korea a bit longer -- maybe a year longer -- to continue my research uninterrupted. After all, the dictionary project is very much in the same line of work I dream of doing for a career.

Most importantly, when I went back to school and saw my students -- my old second- and third-years and a new crop of fresh-faced first-years -- I knew that leaving them in July would break my heart. When I mentioned to JH that I speak French and could teach her in her spare time, she excitedly said that it would have to wait until after she is finished with college applications in the fall. I didn't tell her that I might be gone by then.

And it's kind of a silly thing, but after my very first semester of teaching, back in 2012, one of my favorite students, truly a standout in her class, wrote me a note asking me to stay at their school until she graduated. This is an odd request, since normally, native English teachers at public schools don't stay longer than one year. Students get used to them cycling in and out in the middle of their school year. But I'm not quite normal; I've stayed for two years. And DH isn't quite normal, either, for a science high school student; while 90% of her classmates were awarded early admission to college last fall, she was not and is now completing the final months of her educational prison sentence. If I leave, I'll have to break the silent promise I made to her one year ago when I read her special note.

I'll admit it: I'm jealous for my students. I love them. I feel like I know them pretty well, and I like to think that I've had a positive impact on their lives, even if some of them still sleep in my class and write in their journals that they hate journaling. I couldn't bear leaving them, especially leaving them in the hands of another NET I don't know. But since I'll have to leave them eventually, what exactly is the difference between leaving this July and leaving next July?

Here's an analogous question: what exactly is the difference between entering graduate school this August and entering next August? As I considered my graduate school options and weighed them against renewing my Fulbright contract for the second and final time, I asked the graduate departments about my options for deferment. I am allowed to defer matriculation: that is, I can wait one year and enter without having to re-apply in 2015. However, I am not allowed to defer the funding I've been given, especially not the additional scholarship I received from Berkeley. Deferring for a year puts me back into limbo regarding money; I could get the same amount next year, or more, or less. It's a gamble.

Is it any surprise that in spite of all my feelings, my goals, and my desires -- or rather, in spite of all the careful consideration I'm putting into these abstractions -- it really is just going to boil down to the issue of money?

Who can walk away from such an amazing opportunity? I'm looking at you, Berkeley. The best public university in the country is willing to throw thousands of dollars at me so that I can become educated within its hallowed hipster halls. What fool chooses a low-paying, non-career-advancing, intellectually dissatisfying job any twenty-something with a bachelor's can do over that?

... But what fool willingly gives up living more freely and comfortably than he ever has before, yet growing, learning, and being stretched in many wonderful ways, developing precious and unforgettable relationships, and helping people's lives directly and tangibly every day... for an excuse to scurry back home and bury himself deep in books for five years?

The Discussion.
So here is where talking with my friends came in. I asked friends back home what they thought; I asked my old professors for advice; I talked to a lot of people here in Korea, too. More people than I expected to, since I was initially unwilling to divulge a lot of information to anyone who might inform my students that my time with them was now possibly limited.

It seemed that a lot of people from back home (2) were very supportive of my desire to stay in Korea, to continue doing what I love. After all, you're only young once. There's no hurry to move on to something different or more "adult" if where you are now is where you most strongly feel you should be. Even my Linguistics professor advised asking about deferment, along with the note that I'd spend my extra year continuing my self-directed research project.

On the other hand, most people I spoke to in Korea, including my fellow ETAs, other expat friends, and my Korean friends, took the opposite stance: why turn down all that money? An American education is expensive, and if you risk losing the scholarship, Korea might not be worth it. You may enjoy what you're doing now, but you shouldn't get too comfortable. (3) And at the very least, Korea isn't going anywhere: you can finish your studies and then come back.

"Why did you apply to graduate school in the first place," my Korean friend asked me, "if you didn't actually want to go?"

I do want to go, but the strength of that desire can wane, can't it? It's a little scary to consider how easy it is to make huge, life-changing decisions depending on an arbitrary lingering mood. If I had just had a string of crummy experiences in Korea, I'd probably be counting down the days until the end of my contract. But that mindset could just as easily be reversed by a classroom miracle, a completed bucket list item, or simply a day spent counting my blessings. Thus, it's all about the timing: when it comes time to make my decision by the deadline in mid-April next week, how much will I love Korea? How excited will I be about beginning graduate school? Which future will prevail in that moment?

The Decision.
I don't know. But I'm learning toward Berkeley.

Good night!

- - -
(1) Fulbright Korea uniquely allows its ETAs to renew their contracts two times. Most Fulbright commissions in other countries cap the grant duration at one year, maybe two. Three is the limit for us ETAs at Korean schools.

(2) The exception, of course, being that my family wants me home as soon as possible, especially my parents. They are extremely uncomfortable with how far away from them I've been for the past six years.

(3) Other factors that may take the luster out of a third year in Korea: our ETA contract is slated for some drastic and potentially unpleasant changes. Pretty much all of my Fulbright friends are leaving the country in July. Also, I miss going to a real church.

Blossoms & Stress Baking

Wen Ni and me at Yeojwacheon in Jinhae last week, just before the cherry blossom festival began.

The same stream about one week later, with the trees in full bloom.

The city I currently call home is gorgeous in the spring, as streets and hills turn pink with cherry blossoms (벚꽃) blooming all over. I'm very happy in Changwon now, and I'll be honest: I couldn't bear leaving my city and my school. But graduate school beckons... I have a tough choice to make by mid-April. Naturally, I'm worried out about it: add Decide Future Plans to my huge to-do list, right after Stress Bake All Night, which is what I'm doing now. It's 5:46am and my apartment smells like chocolate chip cookies, maple-walnut bread, and strawberry cupcakes. I'm headed to the Fulbright Spring Conference on Jeju Island in a few hours, and the treats I've made are for a bake sale there. Hopefully I can find some time this weekend to take a deep breath, relax, and ponder the future.

"Teacher, I was wondering..."

HG is one of my quietest second-year students, and it's not just because of the language barrier. My co-teachers have remarked that he rarely speaks up in any other classes, too. He has an unusually low and slow voice and mumbles, and it's clear he's not exactly a shining star in my class.

But it only took one conversation for my appraisal of him as a student to come crumbling down.

He stayed after class following what I remember was a fairly boring lesson. While I was gathering my stuff and preparing to leave, HG came up to me and asked, straight up, "Teacher, I was wondering... what is your dream? Why did you come to Korea?"

I just stared at him, speechless.

"Good question," I finally replied. "Um, well, I came to Korea in order to find out if I can be a teacher. I don't know if I am a good teacher, but I am getting experience now."

I continued to ramble on in this manner, talking about education, graduate school, and my enthusiasm for Korean culture. I didn't check myself to make sure I was speaking slowly and in short sentences. I didn't even check to make sure I was making any sense. You know why? Because as I talked, I was silently panicking: "Holy cow, I have no freaking clue how to answer your question, kid! Where did you even come from?"

No freaking clue. Mostly because I was caught by surprise by this student, who hadn't spoken to me all year beyond asking me to correct his rough drafts.

What is my dream? I teach my students every semester to follow their dreams, to make bucket lists, to have grand aspirations to work toward. I have not often stopped to think about these things for myself.

As my first grant year draws to a close, I now have to think about what is coming next. Yes, in the short-term, a second grant year in Korea will follow. But I mean after that. Am I ready to apply to graduate programs in linguistics, as I've planned? Should I just look for a job instead? Will I end up wanting to stay in Korea for another year? Will I go to a different country, or many different countries, to learn languages? Or teach them? Or document them? My dream seems to be just as vague as ever.

I also have to think about calling. Last night I received a phone call from a friend that caused me to take a closer look at what I know and believe about the religious notion that one can receive directives from God. To that end, I'm looking forward to going home so that I can have a few heart-to-hearts with my close friends about how my faith should shape my future.

So I've got to thank HG, not just for pleasantly surprising me with his moment of insightfulness, but also for helping nudge me toward these necessary mental and spiritual preparations. This past week has been surprisingly busy, and next week will be even more hectic, but when the dust finally settles, I'll have a nice summer vacation with plenty of time to think, talk, pray, and plan.

The Researchers (+ an announcement!)

The Spring Conference was not only a chance for Fulbright English Teaching Assistants (ETAs) to get together and share what new and exciting things they were doing, but it was also a major gathering for the Fulbright researchers, affectionately known by us ETAs as "our other half". These two dozen-or-so independent academics, some fresh out of college and others working on their Masters or Doctoral degrees, have been in the country since last fall. Their research spans a wide variety of topics all related to South Korean history, culture, economics, health, or politics, and it was all quite well done.

During the last day and a half of our weekend in Jeju, the Fulbright researchers presented their research -- mostly background and updates, since they have not been here for too long yet -- to the entire Fulbright community. I actually expected it to be tough to sit through tons of these presentations at a time, since I knew that I'd be tired from the island tour and also probably not very interested in their subject matter. Boy, was I wrong. I was completely engrossed by more than half of the presentations, and I didn't doze off once. I think the doodle-notes helped a bit; during the presentations that didn't engage me as much, I took to "enhancing" the notes I'd taken on other segments and ended up with a pretty page of tons of information about South Korea. Here are some notes! Browse at your leisure and leave a comment or question!

Suicide
Joanne Cho is researching suicide in the country whose suicide rate is the greatest among all OECD countries. Suicide (자살) is the leadingcause of death for Koreans aged 10-40 (age 10?!), although a higher proportion of older men and women commit suicide, which makes this a social issue on all fronts, for all people. The reason behind this is often cited as stress, social pressure, and inadequate mental health care, but Ms. Cho thinks it's not so simple. She is investigating not only the mental health care system and its purported deficiencies, but also the stigma and the paradoxical influence of high-profile suicides on public perceptions of how to deal with shame.

Obesity
Emerson Song is researching the effects of 한식 (hanshik, or Korean cuisine) on obesity. Koreans have a significantly lower average BMI than residents of all Western countries, but the number of overweight and obese adults is rising. Also, did you know that Asians and Caucasians gain weight in different ways/places in the body? Due to this, it might be necessary to reevaluate the way Western medicine defines "obese". The more you know!

Korean-American Return Migration
Stephen Suh has been interviewing Koreans who have lived abroad (read: in the US) for extended periods of time but have since returned to Korea and are living stably and comfortably here. Why would Korean-Americans want to come back to Korea? For one, the economics prospects in the US still suck, and native-like fluency in English can get you a long way in any job in Korea, not just as an English teacher. But the typical locations of Korean return migrants are indeed English education and international businesses, as well as in the US military, which might indicate a propensity toward vocations that accentuate a return migrant's American identity. Does the US exert a strong cultural influence on Korea without using military force? Yes. (Mr. Suh calls this neo-imperialism.) Do 재미교포 who come to Korea have a role to play in all of this? Perhaps.

Chaebol Urbanism
The 재벌 (chaebol) is a unique type of business conglomerate that has flourished in South Korea and, arguably, been at the root of its meteoric economic rise in the past fifty years. Justin Stern did a unique economic and architectural study of the effect of these conglomerates on the visual landscape of Seoul. There was a lot of fascinating history included in this presentation: did you know that in the 1960's, the South Korean government extended huge benefits to Lotte, then a small confectionery company, so that they could finance the building of a grand hotel, and then an amusement park, and then an apartment complex? These business depended on the government for their big breaks, but once the construction began, it took off and hasn't stopped since.

These days, the mark of the conglomerates is huge. Names like Samsung, Kia, Hyundai, GS, and LG are everywhere: on gas stations, cafes, department stores, office buildings, theaters, phones, and even life insurance. They have spread their influence so far that even the government now wouldn't dare funnel any money into any project without first getting the okay from a chaebol. Anyway, how has this affected the urbanization of Seoul? Well, aside from having everything that makes a city a city owned by one conglomerate or another, each chaebol's headquarters appears to have staked out a geographic portion of the city to call its own, which, when you consider how every chaebol wants its own skyscraper and beautiful, futuristic office complex in its own neighborhood, will give us a strange, scattered skyline in twenty years or so.

Cosmetic Surgery
Kayleigh Nauman is heading up an interesting project investigating attitudes of foreigners in Korea toward cosmetic (plastic) surgery (성형수술). This is informed by the fact that there are between 400-600 cosmetic surgery businesses in the Gangnam neighborhood of Seoul alone -- and yes, they are regulated as businesses, not as medical practice. Loads of foreigners travel to Korea for "medical tourism" (150,000 in 2012), but why do they choose Korea?

Ms. Nauman wanted to dispel the stereotypes that cosmetic surgery in Korea was the cheapest in this region of the world (because it isn't), or that Asians wanted to look like K-pop stars, or, heaven forbid, that Asians want to look more "Western". (I mean, I've realized by now that suggesting that the Korean or Asian beauty ideal is just Hollywood glamour transplanted onto the other side of the Pacific is, in fact, a misguided opinion at best and a white- or American-centric microagression at worst. And it still wouldn't really answer why Korea is such a hot spot for people who want to cut up and realign their legs and boobs and faces. (By the way, I acknowledge that I did write about this very idea a month or so ago. And +1 for embedded parenthetical statements.)) Anyway, this was interesting research that was definitely on my mind as I planned a lesson on beauty standards for my second-years for this week.

Doodle-notes! (Clicking on the photo will make it bigger, but it will not fix my handwriting.)

Miscellany
There was a quintet of Fulbright researchers whose topics involved North Korea and North Korean refugees. They were so informative and intriguing that I took copious notes, and I will write them all up as a separate post later.

Overall, I felt really fortunate to be able to hear the presentations given by the researchers. It was academically fulfilling to tackle these issues and get some dialogue going with my fellow Fulbrighters. It was also very refreshing to see Korea through the lenses of people who have not been dealing with students and principals and lesson plans and classroom management for six months. I'll say, teaching can really swallow you whole; after a while you begin to forget that anything else exists outside of your various classrooms.

In addition to the Fulbright researchers, some other parts of conference were given to Fulbright ETAs who were doing their own side projects, independent research or community events, things like that. As I heard from my colleagues who are compiling cookbooks, editing our annual literary magazine, or developing education-based NGOs, I obviously felt like I've been absolutely unproductive with my time here. I'm so lazy and not driven compared to everyone else! But hearing about everyone's projects was great nevertheless.

This is all such a far cry from Fall Conference in Gyeongju last October. Our last conference was themed around solving the myriad problems that had cropped up in the first-year ETAs' experiences thus far in the grant year. We're all a long way from that now: small group discussions were no longer "how to address school issue X and homestay issue Y" but more for living in Korea (dating advice, dealing with sexual harassment, exploiting every feature of your smartphone) or preparing for life after Fulbright (resume building, pursuing teacher certification). And, as I've noted, all of the large group talks were presentations on amazing projects we've accomplished since last August.

Most importantly, while I was anxious about my future around the time of Fall Conference, I can proudly and excitedly declare that during Spring Conference, I decided to renew my grant. This means that I will stay in Korea for one more year! I get a month-long break in July/August, and then it's straight back to teaching. I'll get to watch my second- and third-years graduate again, and I'll gain so much more experience in teaching and living in Korea.

Hooray!

번데기! Scrumptious Silkworms and Swatties

There isn't much to say here. 번데기 (beondegi) is a popular Korean street food that is quite literally boiled silkworm chrysalises. Not something an American is used to eating. I ate one.

I only did it on a dare, and it wouldn't have happened if I hadn't met some friendly and lively French people at the hostel where I was staying the night before. We and I mostly lazed around the hostel and chatted all day, and then we decided to maybe go out and sightsee something before the sun set, so we set off for Changdeokgung, an ancient Joseon Dynasty palace. I've been before, in the summer, but in January after a recent snowfall, the place seemed quite different. It was tranquil, with fewer people around, and snow crunching beneath our feet.

In front of Changdeokgung in the winter with friends from France and Korea.

The linguistic situation was quite interesting with our group. Julie, Aurelie, and another Julie were traveling together, and Ludovic was joining them from China, where he'd been studying Chinese. Ludovic also asked his Korean friend to join us; she had been in the same program as him in China. She then brought along her cousin. (They were both very generous and treated us a lot that afternoon.)

So, there were four French people, two Koreans, and myself wandering around the ancient palace, switching continually between French, Chinese, and Korean. We caved to English when the other three languages didn't work. As someone who enjoys studying languages, I felt like all those years spent in classrooms and cramming vocabulary and grammar actually paid off. For once, I got to communicate with other people in their own primary language rather than mine, and I really enjoyed it, even though it was hard work.

Beondegi in a cup. From the Korea Blog.

After wandering around the palace, Julie said that she wanted to try silkworms. It was part of her carpe diem attitude while in Korea. So, she got a cupful of them from a street vendor and spent a good five minutes psyching herself up to spear one on a toothpick and pop it in her mouth. As soon as she did, she spit it out! But since there was still a lot left, I told Ludovic, "J'en mangerai un si tu fais le même!" (I'll eat one if you do, too!) We got little beondegi on toothpicks and counted to three, and then ate them!

Well, to my surprise, the little brown thing was juicy. Warm silkworm juice squirted out as soon as I bit into it, and it was a supremely unpleasant feeling. It didn't actually taste bad at first, kind of like some sort of roasted meat. But after I swallowed it, a bitter and nasty aftertaste was left on my tongue. I washed it down with some candy that Aurelie had. Ludovic also spit his out. And... that was that! I ate bugs, you guys. In Korea. With French people. Who speak Chinese. The things you can do while you're abroad...

Julie with her cup of silkworms. Ludovic looks on in interest...

Cathy and me. She interpreted the entire evening's program!

Some last things of note: that evening (the 19th), I attended an event for Swarthmore alumni held at the Lotte Hotel. Our college president was touring Asia and stopped by to talk to alumni, some prospective students, and mostly parents of students about the college's vision and some plans for the future. The event was nice because I saw a few old faces and also because the food was excellent! There were about a hundred people present, and I think I might have been the only non-Korean under 30. Ha! But it really was nice to see a bunch of Swatties together again, especially Cathy, a current Senior from whom I hadn't heard for several months. It reminded me that yes, I do miss college. Quite a bit sometimes. But it's also time for me to move on, stop the pining, and get to work on making a future for myself.

J Kwon and me.

Speaking of seeing Swatties, I forgot to mention earlier that I saw another friend, J Kwon, whom I hadn't seen in two years because he had to do his mandatory military service. We watched Cloud Atlas together (which was mind-blowingly good) and caught up on old times.

Now that I'm back in Seoul after all of that traveling, I look forward to reconnecting with other people! There are lots of old friends and peers in the city, and actually, four weeks is starting to look like not enough time to see them all!

Andrew goes to Taiwan (and does Linguistic-y stuff!)

We interrupt the jealousy-inducing saga of Andrew's winter travels around Korea for a brief update on what he's actually doing in Taiwan right now...

Every so often I get upset at myself for having left academia. Now, of course I haven't really left; this year is only a temporary hiatus caused primarily by my having graduated. But in choosing to go abroad after college instead of going straight to graduate school, I also chose to leave my studies behind for a while, and I miss them.

It doesn't help, either, that while I know I will eventually go back to school, I'm not sure exactly when, or for what, and I always feel the pressure to figure these things out as soon as possible. This was all very quarter-life crisis-inducing for me toward the end of last semester.

Now, however, perhaps it's safe to say that I've almost decided on pursuing graduate studies in Linguistics. I don't mean to be too certain of anything. But today, I ventured out to see what this field could possibly lead me to in the far future by visiting a linguistics professor and endangered languages specialist at National Taiwan University (台大).

Professor Sung Li-may was recently featured in an Associated Press article that my dad sent to me. As well as being a great read, it made me realize that I had the opportunity to see what the world of endangered language preservation and activism was like in Taiwan. For those who don't know, I majored in Linguistics at Swarthmore and was very involved in Professor K. David Harrison's Endangered Languages Laboratory, where he contributed to the growing field of endangered languages research.

I was excited to hear that there were linguists in Taiwan doing the same kind of work, so I arranged a meeting with Professor Sung and visited her today. I learned some very useful things from the meeting and came away from it feeling pretty positive, although I wouldn't say all my future doubts have been assuaged.

For example, Professor Sung was very clear from the start that in order to do endangered language research in Taiwan, you need to speak Mandarin Chinese. I am considered an "ABC" in Taiwan: American-born Chinese. Increasingly, ABCs are known to speak broken to poor (or even no) Mandarin, due to having grown up in the US and given an English education. I admitted to her that I was not fluent in Mandarin (although my Taiwanese isn't half bad) and that I studied it in college but didn't have enough practice. I definitely wouldn't be able to conduct graduate-level research in Mandarin at my current level, at any rate.

Why is this a problem? While American linguists have a habit of traveling all over the world and using interpreters -- often several layers of them -- in order to do their field work (i.e. English --> Oriya --> Remo --> Oriya --> English), Taiwanese researchers don't allow anything to be lost in translation if they can help it (i.e. Mandarin --> Kanakanavu --> Mandarin). The time and resources are too limited to have someone come along and try to conduct all the fieldwork in English; instead, they'd rather everyone speak this country's lingua franca. I think that a lot of the people interested in Taiwanese aboriginal languages (also called Formosan languages) also have a more personal investment in the welfare of the languages and the tribes that speak them; after all, they are all cohabitants of the same small, tropical island.

In the same way, I'm drawn to studying the Formosan languages because I view it as a part of my own Taiwanese heritage. Professor Sung seemed genuinely pleased at my interest; in Taiwan just as in the rest of the world, there really aren't enough people interested in linguistics! She said that we should keep in touch, introduced me to some of her graduate students, and even invited me to join their group on a fieldwork expedition in April! The invitation came after we switched from English to Mandarin for a bit, and she apparently judged my 國語 as "還可以". That made me feel marginally better about myself. Of course, with the Fulbright, it's impossible for me to make the trip, but the gesture was amazing, and I was quite happy.

Tomorrow afternoon, at least, I'll return to 台大's campus to meet some of the other graduate students and take a quick look at the kind of work they're doing. Mostly, at the moment, it's data segmentation and analysis using Praat. Boy, am I familiar with that program... I hope it'll be interesting, though. I hope that graduate students in linguistics don't turn out to just be zombies hooked to computers listening to unintelligible recordings of human speech. Because that's what I fear I'll be doing for three years if I do go into this field... Ha! I kid.

Did I mention yet that I'd be applying to graduate programs in the fall? NTU's own GIL is out of the question, but I think I ought to start looking for other programs to apply to. I guess I can say that I've been inspired to get this grad school thing on the road. In the end, it only took one hour this morning for me to completely reinvigorate my search for a career. How about that?

Deepest Darkest Fears (Conference pt. 5)

Part 5 of 5 from last week's Fulbright Fall Conference.

The problem boarding wall. Write out your problems, write out advice for others.

A neat portion of Fall Conference that ran continuously throughout last weekend was the problem boarding wall. All of the ETAs were asked to respond to two questions on a folded sheet of paper. On the outside, "What do you wish you knew about teaching?" On the inside, "What is one unresolved fear or worry you have about being in Korea?" Our questions and problems were then posted on a literal wall, and during any free moment we could write an answer on a Post-It to help one another out. As you can tell from the photo, we had a lot of problems.

Anthony, our Program Coordinator and conference MC, tried to lighten the mood a bit by joking about how we should be writing our "deepest, darkest fears" on the insides of our problem boarding sheets. Regardless, I took it seriously. Some things have been weighing on my mind a bit more heavily than I'd like to admit. They're not really fears, to be fair, but simply vague clouds of dissatisfaction. And they don't actually have anything to do with my placement or how life has been for me these few months. It's hard to explain, but I'll try my best.

On my "I wish I knew..." section, I wrote that I wish I knew how to engage the students in my classes who are at a lower level of English than all the rest. I can tell they don't understand sometimes, but what student is willing to raise his hand and ask the teacher (read: announce to the entire class) that they're confused? As a result, they keep quiet and zone out. I wish I knew exactly what my students want or need out of my class, too. Most of them will need English to attend the top science universities, but if they're not aiming that high, or if they fall short of their goal, what then? What's the point of my class? Can I offer them a different motivation? And I wish I knew all of my students' names and their stories. As for this last one, I think I'm getting there. It just takes time and patience.

Those were my teaching questions. My fears, on the other hand, are much more broad and substantial. The first (of two) was a fear that I've already fallen too far behind in my goal to reach basic conversational fluency by the end of the year.

One optimistic stranger wrote to me on a Post-It: "It's really not too late!! Take advantage of winter break and take a class! Ask a co-teacher or faculty member to do a language exchange. Go to a university area -- or ask around -- and find a college student who wants a language exchange. NOT TOO LATE!"

The rational part of me already knows all of these things. It's not that I don't know what I should be doing -- in fact, I am taking a class, sort of. But the worry is an ambiguous projection into the future. The goal I set was not concrete enough, so I won't really know if I've reached it. That is to say, what is "basic conversational fluency", anyway? From one perspective, I've already reached basic conversational fluency, because I can hold a conversation with my host parents completely in Korean about my weekend plans or what I did today. I've also had lots of practice at the Korean class held at the community center. But because I still run into communication problems on occasion, I get frustrated about the simple things that I don't know, and that's why I am doubtful of my progress. In fact, it's pretty irrational, when you think about it.

The second fear I wrote is that I'm having trouble figuring out what to do after year one. Should I renew my grant and stay for one more year? Should I apply to graduate school? If so, in what field? If I don't apply now and I don't renew, should I just go home and become a sad sack?

The Post-It reply I got read, "Sounds cheesy, but where is your heart calling you? I'm going home at the end of the year."

It's not cheesy, Post-It peer. I understand exactly what you mean, and then some. It's the same irrationality that has brought about my lack of confidence in Korean. See, I know that I should be following my heart -- or to put it in spiritual terms, placing my trust in God and trying to discern His will -- but actually doing so is a different matter entirely.

And this is where things get depressing. I have no idea what God wants me to do after my grant year. I'm still trying to determine if coming to Korea in the first place was a part of His will, or if my coming here was really just me running away from something else, like Jonah trying to go to Joppa in order to avoid Nineveh. The analogy isn't perfect, of course. If Korea were truly my Joppa then God would never have actually let me come, and I'm sure Megashark would have leapt out of the Pacific to swallow my plane before I'd arrived.

Joking aside, I'm starting to feel the creeping pressure to get myself a concrete plan. For starters, although I'm fairly comfortable and happy in Korea, I don't want to give off the impression that I'm drifting. Deadlines for graduate school applications are coming up... and I don't even know what I want to study in graduate school. Linguistics? Religion? Education? Should I switch to law? Do a post-bac in medicine? I had so many ideas before graduation but never settled on any of them. I never sat down and considered any of them seriously; now I'm afraid that if I choose one, I'll second-guess the decision and spend the next five to seven years wondering if I should have done something else.

Thus, in the meantime, it's like I'm just stalling for time by teaching during the week and exploring Korea on weekends. Not that teaching is just a meaningless method of killing time -- far from it! I love teaching (see yesterday's post for proof); it's been nothing but a pleasure so far. And anyone would agree that traveling is a neat way to spend a year after college. But like my dad says, I can't do this forever.

And that's the next source of pressure: parents. My future is nowhere near the path that they envisioned for it. I was supposed to go to Berkeley, study medicine, and become a doctor like my two older brothers. Instead, I went to Swarthmore, studied Linguistics (what is Linguistics, anyway?), and didn't even take a single course in organic chemistry. But that was okay, they reasoned, because with my quarter-of-a-million-dollar education, I could do something else just as amazing, right? Right.

Then, I became an English teacher in Korea. Nope, that was definitely not on their radar.

These days, our Skype dates have become a weekly episode of Where in the World is Your Future Headed? and it's just as disappointing for myself to have to answer that I don't have a clue as I feel it must be for them. Dear Swatties, remember The Graduate?

Mr. Braddock: Ben, what are you doing?
Benjamin: Well, I would say that I'm just drifting. Here in the pool.
Mr. Braddock: Why?
Benjamin: Well, it's very comfortable just to drift here.
Mr. Braddock: Have you thought about graduate school?
Benjamin: No.
Mr. Braddock: Would you mind telling me then what those four years of college were for? What was the point of all that hard work?
Benjamin: You got me.

Sigh...

Its not all bad, though. I've registered for the GRE; I'll be taking it in late November. I'll study hard so that I only have to take it once, and then the scores will last for five years. That should be enough time to figure out what I want to do. One doesn't decide overnight that they want to commit to years in some graduate program or other. I can still patiently think and pray and discern.

I'm not drifting. It's not that I don't have any plans; I just have many options on the table, and I'm being non-committal. Oh, and you know what? One of my main goals for the Fulbright grant from the very beginning was to see if I had what it takes to be a good teacher. So this is a year of prospective job training, isn't it?

Well, there's a fine line between looking on the bright side of things and sugarcoating the truth.

"Don't settle. You can do better. You're smart, you have a good education. You should aim to be the best in your field. Don't you think your skills are being wasted if you spend more than one year in Korea? Hey Andrew, didn't you once say you wanted to be a doctor, a professor, a missionary? You need to wait for God to tell you what to do -- oh, and also, you need to decide now. Dear Andrew, I hope South Korea's treating you well. What are you planning to do afterward?"

Mr. Braddock: What is it, Ben?
Benjamin: I'm just...
Mr. Braddock: Worried?
Benjamin: Well...
Mr. Braddock: About what?
Benjamin: I guess about my future.

Meet-a-friend Monday

This evening I had the immense pleasure of seeing Erik-san, who is visiting Korea from our neighbor across the East Sea, Japan. Erik is an Assistant Language Teacher with the JET Program (very much like Fulbright, but based only in Japan), having fallen so much in love with his placement school and town that he has renewed twice. Now in his third year and completely conversant in Japanese (and dressed head-to-toe in Uniqlo), he is very much the model of how I'd like to see myself in, say, 2015.

Erik-san, looking confused at a Dunkin' Donuts... perhaps an awkward consequence of being in the same photo as a suggestive banana cream pastry and two radioactive-looking coffee cups. By the way, that green tea latte was good, but my current gassy state tells me I shouldn't have consumed it...

I haven't thought too much about what I will do when my grant year expires next July. I think renewing my contract for another year would be amazing, especially since I have been having a wonderful time so far and have some personal goals (i.e. learn Korean) that could require an extension of my stay in this country. However, I'm also thinking a bit further ahead at options back home (i.e. graduate school), and I believe a date with the GRE may be fast approaching.

Anyway, this was just one of the few things we caught up on... We also swung by Yongji Lake, one of the few interesting public sights in this city, experienced the terror of Changwon buses in the evening, had pizza and chatted about life in Japan, our shared Altaic languages, homestay life, and much more. When I think about it now, I think it's kind of unusual that we didn't really talk about Swarthmore at all. Usually, when Swatties meet up, all we want to do is talk about Swarthmore and other people in our rather insular community. But perhaps due to our having graduated and looking forward to what's next in life, our college connections simply never came up. Nevertheless, it was a pleasant evening. Thanks for visiting, Erik! 부산국제영화제 즐겁게 보내다!

Other highlights from a nice day: I got nine hours of sleep last night, and when I woke up I felt like I was on top of the world. If only that could happen every morning. Also, two students of mine are planning to take the AP Biology exam (like, whaaat?!). They've asked me to help them prepare for it! This strikes me as slightly insane; still, I agreed. Except it's been about five years since I took the exam. I don't know how much of a help I can be to them... ALSO! My cousin Irene got engaged today! When I found out -- via Facebook while at work, no surprise there -- my jaw literally dropped open, and I wanted to jump up and down. Congratulations to Irene and Dan! And lastly, I just had some great catch-up time on Skype with another friend from Swat. It was great. Great, as in, if you're a friend from home, this is my not-so-subtle way of telling you to set up a Skype date with yours truly!