Return to Changwon

Last weekend, I returned to the city that I called home for two years, Changwon. Because I only had a few days to visit, I wanted to meet with as many people as possible, including my host family, friends from church, friends from language class, former colleagues, and even a former student. These were all people who changed my life in some way or another during my time in Korea, so I was very happy to meet them again. Happy is actually an understatement: from the moment I stepped off the train and saw my city with my own eyes once more, I felt a deep contentment and familiarity that must have come from a different level than the one that produces such fleeting emotions as happiness.

The familiarity was a curious feeling, too. From things as simple as getting on one of the city's insane buses again and remembering my old route home, to moments of reconnection like catching up on my host brother's now-terrifyingly enormous insect collection, to joyous reunions with old friends that included meeting new ones, every moment was tied to something or someone I'd known well all of eleven months ago. As quite a few people remarked, it was as if I'd only left yesterday. I think one year is not really that long a period of time, and most people did not visibly change (with the exception of my taekgyeon master's son, who is now in his terrible twos!). So it was indeed easy to kind of fall back into the swing of things. Except that never in my two years in Changwon did I have such a whirlwind of a weekend, consisting of reunions with dozens of different people.

Selfies galore, with: Eunjin, the CSHS English department, a former student, my taekgyeon masters, and a Fulbright buddy!

So here's what happened in detail. I took the KTX high-speed rail down to Changwon on Friday after class, and arrived in the evening in time to get dinner with Victoria, a fellow volunteer for Changwonderful, at TGI Friday's (how appropriate). Later that evening, I reunited with my taekgyeon 관장님 (gwanjangnim) and 사범님 (sabeomnim), the director and master/trainer at my old martial arts gym, and did the whole Korean drink-and-eat-and-drink-some-more thing. I had a wonderful time with them, and also discovered the greatness of flavored soju! I really cherished the opportunity to catch up with 관장님 and 사범님, because aside from people at school and my host family, I spent more time with them than anyone else in Korea. (관장님 even let me crash at his house over the weekend, and I spent a lot of time playing with his young son. 관장님 is like a big brother to me; I love his family and owe them so much.)

But even better, through my broken Korean, I was able to relate to the both of them some of my concerns about graduate school or about life in general, and they gave me some much-needed advice. You see, I often have doubts about my decision to continue in academia, partly because it's so hard and partly because I wonder if I'm actually doing anything meaningful with my life. I'm quick to point out that even though I am grateful to be back in California, I was actually happier on a day-to-day basis when I lived and worked in Korea. But 관장님 said something that reminded me of what many of my friends advised back when I was initially deciding on grad school: that I had to leave Korea to move on with my life.

I guess I don't like to be so blunt about it, but either way, since I've turned the page on that chapter, it's no use trying to go back to it as if I haven't already started the next one. I was also touched when 사범님 told me, or perhaps admitted to me, that in his many years of training in taekgyeon, he never worked so hard or enjoyed it so much as when I attended the gym. Heh, that definitely could have been the 순하리 talking, but I appreciated it nonetheless.

On Saturday, I joined 관장님 for his Saturday youth sports classes, including soccer, jump rope, and dodgeball. I met up with my old language partner Eunjin for lunch in the Garosu-gil area, and we had a great time catching up and discussing everything from our past baking adventures to movies staring 빵형 (aka Brad Pitt... brownie points if you get the joke!). I am so grateful that even though Eunjin's English is better than my Korean, she is always patient with me and will let me struggle through an explanation of how the book and movie versions of World War Z are completely different but good in their own ways without embarrassing me at all. And in the evening, I had dinner with my host family (I lived with them for my first year of Fulbright) and caught up on old times. Their dogs are still super cute and super annoying.

On Sunday, I met up with one of my former students, JW, who is now in his second year of university! He contacted me on Facebook and said that he was going home to Changwon, so he wanted to meet up. I was thrilled, because I don't have many opportunities to meet former students, especially those who don't currently live in Seoul. JW really wanted to practice his English, and I felt just like I was back in school doing lunchtime conversation club again. Except this time JW was really eager to talk about university life, and he asked for American TV show recommendations.

I also got lunch with Courtney, who is the Fulbright teacher who has taught at CSHS for the past year, and we discussed life in Korea and the ways she's grown and learned this past year. We also talked about religion and sexuality. I am so impressed with the way Courtney's mind works. It's wide open and ready to listen to anything and everything, as if everyone she encounters is a vendor giving out samples of food she's never seen or tasted before, and it is all delicious. She has embraced the differences of others, as well as the discomfort and the weirdness of living in a foreign country, far from home for a year, with as much energy as a kid at an amusement park who might not be tall enough to get on all of the rides but doesn't care a bit.

In the afternoon, I went back to Redeemer Changwon, a small church that meets at a cafe in the downtown area. I began going to the church a year ago when it was just a handful of friends wanting a fresh, community-based church experience. I was happy and encouraged to see how it's grown since then. And my old friend Traylor gave the sermon, too! Good on him. He preached from 1 John, which, curiously, is a book that I've heard quite a few sermons on in the past few months. It can't be pure coincidence... It was great to catch up with the church folks again, and meet some new friends. We all went to dinner together afterward at El Loco, an excellent Mexican restaurant with prices much more reasonable compared to here in Seoul.

Monday was the long-awaited day in which I went to visit the school where I taught for two years. As soon as I walked on campus, I felt really... in place. As if it were just any other school day and that I should probably get to my classroom or office in a minute. It was exciting to bump into old teachers and students and see them do a double-take. Many of them stopped to greet me and chat in Korean, and they kept saying, "어떻게 왔어요?" Those two words literally mean how and came, so I interpreted it as, "How did you come here?" So I told them that I took a train. To my embarrassment, it's actually, "How come you came here?" So I modified my answers: "I'm here to visit." And to reconnect. And to relive some amazing memories.

Courtney was gracious enough to let me visit her classes that day, including her two classes with the third-year students, who were my second-years last year. I was excited to see them, and they were excited to see me, and they kept commenting about my hair, so I told them about topknots and 상투 and they vacillated between thinking it was cool and thinking it was horrible. Yet for all the thrill of the reunion, let's be honest: it was still English class, and they were still pretty loathe to speak English! Not that much has changed, I suppose! It was actually a bit sad to see how these third-years seemed so tired after so much time stuck in the grueling high school routine. I am looking forward on their behalf to four or five months from now, when they will have finally finished. I also got to meet and play a game with a class of first-years, i.e. students who had no idea who I was. That was a riot, too! They are just the same as my old classes of energetic, not-yet-jaded first-years. They associate California with beaches and CalTech, wail when I tell them that I don't have a girlfriend (and don't want one), and think that my being able to write a few words in hangul on the board is worthy of infinite admiration.

Besides visiting students, I also got lunch with Courtney and the other English teachers, Saerona, JJ, and a new teacher I hadn't met before. It was so sweet of them to be so welcoming and hospitable. Saerona also made me a small gift. (I'd brought some chocolate from the US, but I wish I'd brought the San Francisco coffee again, as I did once, because the teachers in the main office still remembered how good it was... haha.)

And then, too soon, the day was over, and I got on a bus to go back to Seoul. After seventy-two hours, my heart was full.

- - -

I really want to go back to Changwon again, but I don't really know how feasible that will be, as my schedule gets busier and busier, and the time I have left in Korea is already winding down. I wanted to write more about this fantastic, nostalgic, much-needed weekend. Every meal and every conversation deserves its own post, actually. But most of it wouldn't be of very much interest to anyone but myself. I've just spewed out a lot of words on the Internet about something that is very inconsequential to the world at large... what's the point. Well, if there's anything you take from the post, I hope it's this: there was nothing that I loved in Korea more than the people that I met here and formed positive relationships with, and they are the only thing that will keep me coming back.

Going, going...

A few letters from students, including a gorgeous poster from my third-years!

Should I have made a bigger deal out of my leaving? I've been downplaying my imminent departure so much that I wonder if my students have really digested the reality of it all. I know I haven't, not really. This has been the week of "last classes", and they have mostly looked like this: I pass out class awards, tell the students via riddle or just straight up that I'm going back to the States for grad school, and then show Video Game High School or play Mafia. Then the bell rings, the students leave, and I sit at my desk and wonder if I should be, like, emotional or anything. I think one thing I am going to regret is that I haven't set aside any time to take class photos with my students.

Tomorrow, the second-years are going on a field trip to Jirisan, and I will join them, so there's a good opportunity to "catch up," so to speak. All the photos I take will end up on Facebook, and now that my contract is officially over, I think I can start adding my students as friends. In this way, at least, goodbye isn't really goodbye, since we can easily keep in touch online. Still, what I'll miss the most is physically being with my students, and no social network can replace that.

I'm having my first-year students write letters to the new Fulbright teacher who will replace me this fall. The letters are very cute, and so far they give good insight into the students' personalities. Some students surprised me by writing very thoughtful letters or by writing more than I expected of them. Other students surprised me by writing me a letter instead of focusing on the assignment I gave them. Well, I'm not going to take issue with that. :) I've gotten a few other letters from students, which I will cherish. I'm really touched when students take the time to show me that I've made some sort of impact on their lives, as brief as my time here has been. So yes, even the sheet of paper that says nothing but, "I love you, Teacher! Forever," and a bunch of hearts is going in my keepsakes box.

All of my third-years wrote something in a large card they gave me today. Since it was our last class, and since I like them enough to hand them twenty bucks and permission to go to the corner convenience store, I treated them to ice cream! And we blogged, of course. Ah, these are the students I taught for four semesters. I'll miss them a lot.

Oh! Unrelated: our school cohir had a mini-concert today. One of the songs they performed was called "Flying Free"; it was very beautiful. The other was "Hava Nagila", and I thought it was strange to hear Hebrew being sung from my Korean students' mouths... but my Asian church choir has sung in plenty of different languages before, so I guess I shouldn't make a big deal out of it! I really enjoyed their performance! Check out the videos below.


So... really. I'm looking at nothing but a day trip with students tomorrow, and then Friday, which is just a half-day. The last day. But it still hasn't registered yet.

Schadenfreude (and the World Cup)

I haven't written much about the World Cup -- nothing since the time my entire school gathered in the auditorium to watch Korea vs. Russia -- and this is because I'm not really following the games. Facebook and a few blogs I follow have kept me in the loop enough to satisfy my curiosity. This morning, though, when my news feed exploded with status updates and funny pictures related to the Brazil vs. Germany game, I thought it would be worth checking out in more detail.

That's how I found out that the gods of international soccer, Brazil, sustained a record-breaking, mind-blowing 7-1 loss to Germany in the semi-final match. This game was on their home turf, and there were tens of thousands of fans present, hundreds of thousands more watching on television, as the team failed spectacularly again and again and again.

Photos of Brazil's soccer team looking agonized and desolate, as well as photos of angry, crying, screaming fans have gone viral. In a moment of inspiration, I made a last-minute addition to my afternoon lesson and taught my third years about schadenfreude.

"It's a German word," I said, "so it's appropriate that we are learning it today."

I looked up the Korean definition; there's no translation, just an explanation. "남의 불행에 대해 갖는 쾌감": "pleasure derived from other people's misfortune."

HS was very pleased to learn this. He said that he experiences schadenfreude quite often. We then took a break to watch some "epic fail" videos.

The actual point of bringing up the World Cup game was to remind the students how to correctly talk about winning and losing. It's kind of complex in English (why "A lost to B" but not "B won to A"?), and then there's all the slang we use to refer to victory and defeat. "What happened at the World Cup today?" I asked my students. Their using-what-they'd-just-learned-replies:

"Germany kicked Brazil's butt."

"Germany schooled Brazil."

"Brazil blew it."

"Germany steamrollered Brazil."

"Germany owned Brazil."

"Brazil was a hot mess."

"Brazil got creamed."

"Germany won."

And because we all had a good laugh at this, well... schadenfreude!

This is me capitalizing on a trending topic and in-group humor to gain approval on social media. Also, I wanted to show the link to the Avenue Q song without actually linking to it, because it is rather inappropriate! I did not play it for my students. But we did listen to Sam Smith, Pentatonix, The Piano Guys, and Sam Tsui as part of a lesson on music!

P.S. I also learned a bit of Korean from discussing the game with other teachers at my school. To lose is 지다 (jida), but to lose humiliatingly, as Brazil did, is 깨지다 (ggaejida), which can also mean to break or shatter. 실패하다 (silpaehada) means to fail, but it was explained that this is a failure of something you prepared for, such as an exam. The other two verbs are for failing in a competition. And the Korean equivalent of "Brazil was crushed by Germany"? 브라질이 독일한테 떡 됬다. Brazil became rice cake against Germany. Why rice cake? Beacuse this is how it's made:

Let the Countdown Begin

Actually, I meant to start my countdown a while ago, but I never got around to it. Today, however, is special. From today, I have only thirty days left in Korea! In just one month, on August 7th, I will board a plane at Incheon Airport and fly home to California.

Here's an even smaller and scarier number: I have eight days left with my students, and on two of those days, they will be taking exams! I was surprised by quirks in the schedule (although after two years of this nonsense, you'd think I'd stop getting blindsided) that left me with just one more meeting with some of my favorite classes.

So today, I had to rush my goodbyes. I passed back tests, gave out class awards, and then played one last game with the second-years. This game was an elaborate puzzle that I put together from bits and pieces of things they've learned (or should have learned) over the past year, like Greek and Latin roots, high school cliques, and US geography. There were eight parts to the puzzle, and each part, when unscrambled and put together, spelled out the answer to the Big Question: Where is Andrew going?

The answer: "University of California at Berkeley."

My nerdy students had a lot of fun with the riddles, but I underestimated the difficulty of some parts, unfortunately. The classes thus took so long to figure out the puzzle that by the time I actually gave my announcement, breaking the news -- just a week before the end of the semester -- that I would not be returning in the fall, the bell was already ringing. So there actually wasn't much time at all for goodbyes.

I think it would have been more difficult to prolong it, anyway.

Fortunately, I've already had some students promise to visit me!

- - -

Unrelated: tonight, I went to 한글학당 (hangeul hakdang), the weekly Korean tutoring sessions offered for free at a local community center, for the first time in months. I felt bad because I have only two more opportunities to go, and I made a promise to the Korean teachers there that I'd be more diligent about going this year. Well, I totally broke that promise (약속을 지키지 못했다). Actually, it turns out they'd all assumed that I'd gone home to the US already. Nope! I just went to chat with the teachers and learn a thing or two. A lot of my time was unexpectedly taken up by a local reporter who was doing a news story on the Korean class. So, instead of studying Korean, I got to practice Korean by being interviewed for a newspaper! That's pretty exciting. If I get ahold of the article (기사/kisa) when it comes out, I will certainly share it here.

Also unrelated: there was a crazy thunder-and-lightning storm (뇌우/nwe-u) today! A lot of people assumed that it was Typhoon Racoon*, which has sliced through Okinawa and is about to travel up Korea's east coast, but it was actually just a typical monsoon season (장마/jangma) storm. The typhoon is supposed to arrive tomorrow, which will mean high winds and heavy rain, but there's no real danger, at least where I'm living.

*Neoguri (pronounced nuh-goo-ree), means "racoon" in Korean. I don't know why they named a typhoon thus.

- - -
Lastly, watch this. It is, in fact, thematically appropriate.

You're welcome.

Forever

Me: Well, today is our last day of the English Conversation Club, and--

JY: Oh, nooo!!!

Me: What?

JY: That's not good.

Me: Why? I mean, you can still talk to me whenever you want.

JY: But I want to, uh... exist... with you.
Me: Oh?
JY: Forever.

Every day for the past two semesters, I have spent my lunch break running the English Conversation Club at my school. The brainchild of my co-teacher, the program is simply an opportunity for all the students to chat with a native English speaker (i.e., me) for half an hour once a month. They all attend the club in groups that rotate once a month. For the students, it's sometimes tough to remember when their day is coming up, and when it comes, they have to rush through their meal in the cafeteria, forego the day's soccer or basketball scrimmage, and meet me in the English-Only Zone to talk about the topic of the day.

Some students have dreaded this every month, but they do it partly out of peer pressure and partly because if they stick through with eight sessions (totaling four hours of English conversation!), they'll get a fancy certificate and something to put on their college applications. On the other hand, other students have really loved their monthly club time, and what has really thrilled me are the groups that have great chemistry. Somehow, they just click, and they laugh and joke with each other -- in English -- with almost no help from me. It's a joy to watch. I've gotten to know my students ten times better because of these daily conversations. I'm going to miss them so much.

The very last group will meet with me tomorrow, and then we're all done. Sixty-something hours of prodding questions and casual conversation starters, of laughs and really awkward silences. Done! I don't know what I'm going to do with my lunch breaks for the rest of the year. They'll be so strangely empty.

The most likely scenario is that I'll go back to doing what I did last year, before the program started: wander the halls, the library, and the gym to ninja-attack unsuspecting students with a loud and cheerful, "What's up?!"

"Teacher, you look tired."

Several students and my co-teacher have repeatedly told me this past week that I look tired. I don't take offense to this (1), but it's happened often enough that I'm really curious now if I actually appear physically worse than normal. I feel fine, to be honest. But it's true that I've had a lot of work to do.

Speaking tests for my students are just around the corner. Like a true 일벌레 (workaholic), I've committed to having my students write an outline and multiple drafts of their speeches before giving them in class so that they can present polished work. Yes, my students groaned when I told them how much I was going to require of them. Their second drafts are due on the same day as their big math exam. But I didn't suffer their complaints. A quick apology for the unfortunate timing and then I set them loose for an in-class work day. Like the little angels they are, they (mostly) all proved their diligence.

But my work begins once class is over. My inbox has been like a canyon prone to flash foods this past week. First, I got eighty outlines from the first-years, followed by eighty first drafts from the second-years. When I finished the first-years' outlines, there was a five-day reprieve before I received their first drafts. Eighty of them. And today, just before I left the office, I was inundated with my second years' second drafts. Hello, three-day Memorial Weekend, meet my blue pen of correction.

On Monday, when I return the second-years' second drafts, the first-years will turn in their second drafts. It never ends.

I've done this for my speaking tests for the past three semesters, but it's never felt so hard before. I think it has partly to do with wonky scheduling this semester that is forcing me to administer 160 speech tests in five days (2). But another part of it is that I'm just... tired!

And I can feel my teaching persona slowly going to seed. Since my latest classes have all been free working periods, I prepare next to nothing for them. It's just show up, tell the students to be quiet, show them all the major mistakes everyone made and how to fix them, pass back drafts, then put on some working music and meander the rows to monitor students for the last half hour. Yet this is still exhausting. I've found myself getting annoyed when students keep asking to use the computer to look up translations. I find them too loud when they are simply figuring out tricky syntax with their peers. And I've begun to lose my grip on both my slow teacher's speech rate and my penchant for sarcasm.

"English only in my classroom," I warned two chatterbox students today, before the starting bell had rung. They looked at me blankly. I fixed them with my teacher stare.

"Did you know," I shot at them, "that if you try to speak in English, then you will improve your English skill? It's true!" And without waiting for a reply, I turned my attention back to my classroom setup.

- - -

I've come to understand myself a bit better over the past few months, in that I can now tell what my general mood is by how I feel after taekgyeon practice. During the months of March and April, when I was very stressed out about graduate school decisions, I found myself acting very irritable after evening practice. Our weekly indoor soccer games were like torture. My mental disposition was clearly affecting my physical condition (3). In May, the malaise almost magically dissipated. Well, not magic: correlation. Once my graduate school decision was made and a few other issues were resolved, I had fewer mental burdens in my life. Nothing about the weekly routine at taekgyeon changed, but I found that I was cheerful, swimming in endorphins after each practice.

Having managed to notice with my own, usually blindered eyes how pronounced a change I had undergone, it makes me a bit embarrassed to realize that my students and colleagues have undoubtedly been observing me and can tell when I'm not my usual self.

Well, when my students finally work up the guts to actually tell me I look tired (and also proclaim their awe at how I can manage to correct eighty pages of shoddy English every few days), I'm torn between affection because they demonstrate their care, annoyance because I shouldn't be so noticeably tired, and self-consciousness because, well, to be noticed is to be seen.

Anyway, what I want to say is, I'm extremely busy, and the month of June is probably going to be a complete circus, but through it all, I've just got to stay focused and committed to my job. I have to serve my students and help them as much as I can. They care about me, after all, and I in return have so much affection for them. I don't know how to begin telling the students that I won't be here for much longer, but some have already found out. Sigh...

And the Sisyphean task of correcting drafts begins (once again) tomorrow!

- - -

(1) Should I though? Is the taboo against telling people they look tired a Western thing?)

(2) I am already calling June 16-20 the week from 헐.

(3) Can anyone explain how the Konglish word 컨디션 ("condition") gained its notorious present-day status as the umbrella for all ills and the go-to buzzword for hypochondriacs? If someone is feeling under the weather, dizzy, hungry, tired, achey, stuffy, bored, sad, or desperate for sympathy, they'll tell you, "Oh, my condition is not good today." I'm almost used to it by now. But not yet. I want to tell everyone to simply say, "I'm not well", or even "I'm not in good shape", but Konglish will do what Konglish will do.

Outdoor Class

This is educational, I promise.

Ah, after a rainy weekend, we've finally hit some legitimate summer weather. I can actually feel the humidity in the air, and at night, I can walk around in a t-shirt and shorts. It won't be long before we start turning on the fans at my taekgyeon dojang. The change is welcome, although spring didn't seem quite long enough.

A pity that I can't take advantage of these fine sunny days to hold classes outdoors again! I did it once this semester, back in April. I took my third years outside to play some fun games that required communciation skills (in English, of course), including the always-successful Human Knot (above) and group charades (below). They really enjoyed the class, but we're nearing the end of the semester, and it's time to prepare for speech tests, so I can't do it again anytime soon. I've got all 180 of my students writing drafts of their speeches this week and next. This means I won't be able to enjoy a spare minute outside, either, as I'll be inside at my desk correcting a thousand grammar and spelling mistakes from now until mid-June.

But I'll keep these hliarious snapshots in mind, because as soon as the tests are over, it'll be time to have fun -- as much of it as possible before I leave.

I think they were supposed to make a tree?

A Human Zoo - Animal Idioms in Korean and English

This week, I taught my students a few idioms that involve animals. Earlier this semester, a student had expressed the hope that we could do some drawing activities in class, so I gave each of them an animal and a marker, and we played pictionary. The results were hilarious, and the student who got her wish was literally bent over double in laughter as her friends drew what I suppose were meant to be cats... or were they tigers? Bears? Goats?

Unfortunately, I didn't take any photos. On the bright side, as I was checking their journals later, I found that some students had not only written down the English definitions of the idioms that I'd provided, they also jotted down rough translations in Korean. I went ahead and added all of them to my own vocabulary list:

big fish in a small pond - 우물 안 개구리
The Korean version of this idiom, which refers to someone important in a relatively small sphere of influence, is "우물 안 개구리는 바다를 모른다", which translates to: "The frog in the well knows nothing of the ocean." One of my students, HS, proudly asserted that he was a big fish, but his face fell when I told him that we were currently swimming in a very small pond.

black sheep - 이단아

이단 appears to mean a sort of rebel or maverick, and 아 means child, so although there is no Korean version of this idiom that means a person who is radically (and often problematically) different from their group, the image of a "maverick child" is just as memorable, I think.

bookworm - 책벌레
This one was extremely easy to guess. TG drew a box on the board and then a striped oval inside of it. Since 책 (book) 벌레 (bug) is a direct translation from English, it was also simple to understand. As it turns out, avid readers are not the only kind of people who can be described with a Korean idiom that references bugs. (Keep reading!)

copycat - 흉내쟁이
I got this translation from the dictionary; the students didn't write down any translations, either because it was easy enough to understand or because they were too busy laughing their heads off at the picture their classmate tried to draw. It appeared to be an anthropomorphized Doraemon: that is, the cartoon cat with hair and glasses, wearing human clothes. Anyway, 흉내 means "impersonation" and 쟁이 is a casual suffix that refers to a person who does a certain action.

dark horse - 다크호스
If you can't read Korean, the above phrase is a transliteration: da-kh ho-ss. The concept is evidently familiar in Korea. I wonder if they've seen Katy Perry's new music video?

eager beaver - 일벌레
I gave myself the responsibility of trying to draw this one, and it was difficult because few of my students knew what a beaver was (in Korean, it's 비버, another transliteration). Anyway, this idiom for an overly enthusiastic worker is called 일벌레 in Korean. You can see the word "bug" used again; a "work bug" is how they refer to workaholics, but I think it has a more negative connotation than eager beaver.

lone wolf - 외톨이 늑대
YH wrote in his notes that lone wolf was "외로운 늑대" -- a lonely wolf. The dictionary's translation is more accurate, I believe: 외톨이 means "lone" in the manner of choosing to be alone. There's a nuanced difference. But of course, in Korea, everyone assumes that if you are by yourself, then you are lonely. Single people and loners can never catch a break here!

scapegoat - 희생양
I had a lot of trouble explaining this one. Even a brief summary of the Bible story associated with this idiom didn't make much sense. I told him that a scapegoat is a person who takes the blame or punishment for someone else, sort of like if YH illicitly ordered fried chicken from his dorm room and got caught, but somehow NH was punished for it. Though I'm not sure if that's ever happened, NH is definitely the scapegoat of his class!

social butterfly - 외향적
First of all, JK's drawing for this was excellent: a simple butterfly outline plus the square Facebook icon. Too clever! 외향적 is actually the word for "extroverted" in Korean; I couldn't find the Korean version of the idiom that means a person who loves socializing and meeting new people. It surprised me which students considered themselves to be extroverted in my class. Rather than social butterflies, I might have thought of them as shrinking violets. But that just goes to show how much there is to my students that I have yet to discover!

tiger parent - 타이거맘

This idiom also resulted in a fun drawing: JM took his sweet time in creating a caricature of an anthropomorphized tiger, complete with khakis and briefcase. The idea of a "tiger mom" (which is what the Korean phrase says: ta-i-guh mam) is obviously very well known here. You could argue that Asian countries are where tiger parents originated, thanks to a certain Yale professor's infamous manifesto. I'm curious if there's an older, purely Korean idiom that refers to this kind of charater, though, because Koreans have been hell-bent on education for decades.

That's it for the ten animal idioms and their Korean versions! Can you suggest any other interesting idioms, in English or in Korean, that my students and I should know?

A Small Story That Illustrates Why I Love My Job

Flexibility is a must when you teach in South Korea. Schedules change as the wind blows, and random responsibilities are dropped into your lap as often as random snacks and gifts from the main gyomushil are. Today I was gifted a package of rice cakes in celebration of a co-worker's new baby boy (yay!) and an entire unexpected evening of English presentation coaching (boo!).

On the bright side, the nearly three hours I spent with just two students turned out to be some of my most productive hours so far this semester. In fact, I didn't regret a single minute.

Here's what happened. After my last class ended at 4:30 today, I was chilling at my desk, doing mindless computer things until 5pm rolled around so I could hit the gym. But at about a quarter 'til, my two co-workers stood up and said, "It's time to go." They told me that two students were going to participate in an international science competition and needed to practice the ten-minute presentation they were going to give in English. It was assumed that I would drop into rehearsal to give feedback. I nodded and joined them. See you later, treadmill; hello, science seminar room.

To make a long story short, my students' presentation was a mess. Poor YJ and DH had hardly caught up on work after last week's midterms; it was obvious that they hadn't prepared very well. Their script had quite a few grammatical errors -- for not having ever given it to me to proofread, it was passable, but still -- and DH hadn't memorized his part completely. Even worse, their presentation style had nothing going for it: butchered pronunciation, no eye contact, no gestures, no intonation whatsoever. It was like two robots reciting a Google translated research paper. And they droned like this for a minute over the time limit about a new kind of anode material for lithium ion batteries. Not the most scintillating subject, to boot.

I felt bad for my students because it was obvious even to their research adviser, who hardly understands English, that they had a lot of fixing to do. My co-teachers excoriated them as kindly as they could: you should have given us your script to proofread weeks ago, you should have practiced making eye contact, you should have added some sort of interesting introduction, but it's pretty late for that. Why? It was then that I learned that the competition is this weekend, and my students are leaving the day after tomorrow for Houston, Texas!

As excited as I was that they were going to visit the US, I realized to my sudden dismay that they had less than 48 hours to get their beached whale of a presentation back into the ocean. We all realized time was short, and my co-teachers turned to me to ask the inevitable: "Could you stay a bit later tonight?"

Now, I routinely stay at school for dinner and work late, sometimes until 8pm or later. This is for a variety of reasons: I don't like to take work home, so if I'm correcting a big batch of student journals, I don't mind staying at my desk to finish them even after everyone else has left the office. Also, during the winter, my office was much warmer than my apartment... But tonight, I was planning to get home early, maybe catch up on some TV, take care of miscellaneous chores... Nope. I calculated how much my students needed my help, weighed it against how much I needed to watch the next episode of Glee, and chose to stay.

I spent the first hour giving feedback on their first presentation and editing their script. After dinner, I met with YJ and DH in my classroom and coached them for another hour on pronunciation and intonation. It was especially funny trying to get YJ, who is naturally extremely quiet, to exaggerate the stress and enunciation in phrases like, "in other words" (in UHHH-ther worrRRDS!) or "as a result" (AS a reSUL-lll-LT!).

I also made them use their hands to indicate relevant charts and graphs on their poster, remembering how their adviser had berated them: "What's the point of having a poster if you never give your audience a reason to look at it?" They had to move their heads with their eyes while making eye contact, keep their bodies pointed toward the audience, and, most of all, smile! Smile at the audience! Smile at their partner! Smiling makes you calmer and more confident, but I don't think they realized how true that really is until I forced them to smile until they laughed.

After an hour and a half, my co-teacher came back to evaluate their progress. They were visibly nervous, and I was nervous for them. (And also for my own sake, I'll admit: what if my coaching hadn't been helpful?) But as my students presented for the third or fourth time that day, a wondrous change took place. YJ smiled. DH looked calm and composed. Both of them were miles more interesting this time around. And best of all, my co-teacher clapped enthusiastically for them as soon as they'd finished, exclaiming with genuine surprise that their presentation had improved dramatically. She praised YJ and DH; I think the solid ninety minutes they spent focused 100% on their goal paid off tremendously. I breathed a huge sigh of relief.

Now, YJ and DH still have quite a bit of work to do, particularly preparing for the Q&A and maybe tightening up the speech so that it falls under the allotted time frame, just to be safe. But I'm relieved. I'm happy that even though my evening was unexpectedly snatched away from me, I was productive and helped two students make visible progress in their language skills. I love coaching presentations; it's fun to work with small, focused groups and gratifying to be the cheerleader tossing confetti when all the other teachers hurl criticism.

I'm wishing YJ and DH the best of luck when they go to Houston. It'll be the first time in the States for both of them. During tonight's coaching session, I stopped for a bit to ask DH if he was excited about his trip. "Not really," he said, "because this -- because English is so difficult!" Sympathy for the kid whose nervousness about language is clouding the awesomeness that is international travel, please! I told him that no matter how well or how badly he does in the competition, he should relax and try his best to enjoy being in the US, since even just going there is an opportunity most people his age don't get.

Reflect, don't expect

Expectations are resentments waiting to happen.
- Macklemore, Vipassana

When it comes to completely new experiences, my general rule of thumb is to go in with no expectations. That way, I can never be disappointed or surprised. However, when something is expected of me, I can't assume the same for the opposite party, and I'm sure not going to allow myself to disappoint or surprise anyone.

In this case, the expectation was that I would begin a semester of volunteering with the Changwon Hana Center by teaching a weekly after-school English class to a small group of North Korean defector children. I was given very little additional information: there would be six students of low English ability, and I would be given a classroom of my own.

That's what I had to work with when coming up with a first-day lesson plan. I took a quick look at ways to teach phonics and basic reading. I assumed that the students would be some of the adorable children I'd met at the opening ceremony a few weeks ago, and to be honest, I was excited at the prospect of seeing them again.

Well, there you go: that was an expectation, and it was quickly shattered. First, the students' carpool was nearly forty-five minutes late in getting to the center. Even though I arrived just past five, I still had a long time to get my bearings in the classroom, obtain some supplies, and think things through, because of another twist: the students were to be mostly middle schoolers, the Hana Center employee told me, and they already knew their alphabet. I went through my brain, trying to remember the faces of the middle school-aged children I'd met, but none came up. And when the students finally arrived, I realized that none of them had been at the opening ceremony, so they were all new to me.

I wasn't expecting that.

As it turns out, I had five students come today, and they are in five different grade levels, from third-year in middle school to first grade in elementary school. The youngest two could not read, and the eldest was a model student. The middle two had rudimentary reading skills but definitely did not evince any enthusiasm for being there. It was nearly 6pm when we began, and for an hour they kept telling me in Korean that they were hungry. So, the Hana Center employee brought a tray of convenience store cookies and soda along with the pens and markers I requested.

I wasn't expecting that.

Obviously, I knew (or expected) that the class would be different from my usual high-achieving angels at CSHS, but the realization that I would have to deal with 1) tweens 2) on a sugar rush 3) taking photos of me with their smartphones 4) or staring blankly at the board because they couldn't read anything I'd written 5) and actually teach them all something useful was...

Well, I was determined not to disappoint.

We went over self-introductions and I did some flashcard activities to gauge their reading and speaking levels. Though there was mild chaos in the beginning, eventually my students realized that there was value in what they were doing and focused for a good ten minutes. We ended with a free-for-all game of Pictionary, during which they were clearly more engaged. (Note to self: gamification)

And when class was over, the students had gone home, and I did a teaching reflection, I realized that these North Korean teenagers seemed no different whatsoever from your typical South Korean teenagers. Phones, fried chicken, fighting, fretting about boyfriends (the older students were all girls). I was only reminded of the reality twice: the eldest girl would burst out in Mandarin from time to time, but then quickly correct herself and repeat what she had wanted to say in Korean. (Speaking of which, none of them had any difficulties with speaking Korean.)

The second was when a student asked me, "Teacher, how [long] you come here?" I quickly taught the class how to ask, "How long have you been in Korea?" and told them that I'd been here for two years. The students crowed and one-upped me: "I have been in Korea for four years!" said the seventeen-year old. "Two and a half years," said her friend. "Five," whispered the quiet fourteen-year old in the back.

I had been advised against asking too many personal questions to my North Korean defector students, which is why I had left out "Where are you from?" from my list of introductory questions. But the eldest student had no qualms about sharing where she had lived before coming to South Korea four years ago. "I'm from China!" she said proudly.

I wasn't expecting that.

In conclusion, it's a good thing I only planned one lesson (and ended up deviating far from it anyway), because it would have been a colossal waste of time to work out an entire curriculum that would be useless for half the class. I had one hour to familiarize myself with my students and now have one week to tailor lesson two to their varying levels. Although I was flying by the seat of my pants today, next week should be smoother and much more fun, and I'm looking forward to it.

(Or is that another expectation?)

My Korean Students Speak

Korean Students Speak is a neat photo project that a fellow Fulbrighter began two years ago. The premise is simple: English education in South Korea focuses on skills for standardized testing and rarely offers students the opportunity for self-expression, so we foreign English teachers give them just that. A blank sheet of paper and the freedom to write whatever they desire. Then, we share these writings with the world.

I'd been itching to do KSS with my students for a long time, and finally I incorporated it into a unit on "speaking up" last semester. The lessons were centered around the power of words to build people up, bring people down, and change the world. On the day I introduced the project, some students took this idea to heart and wrote inspiring, meaningful messages to share. Other students wrote, "I need more time to sleep!" But every student wrote something.

Now, a few months after I submitted my students' work, they've begun showing up on the website! I'm quite excited to see them, and I'm thrilled that a handful are getting large response from the tumblr community (over 1500 notes!). My favorite so far has really struck a chord with the blog's audience:

"You just haven't found what you're good at."

Visit Korean Students Speak to see thousands more funny, wise, moving, or random sayings!

The Surprise Party (깜짝 파티)

Nothing could cause me to love my students more than I do tonight. I really don't deserve to teach kids as thoughtful and caring as they are. This evening, my third-year students threw me a surprise party for no reason whatsoever! They made me a cute video and bought a cake with candles (it's not even my birthday), and then we took pictures together. Why? I have no idea! Well, actually, I do: it's because they're angels. No, but really.

The third-years will be done with school in about a month. They wanted to say goodbye -- a little early, I guess -- and show their appreciation for my having taught them for the past year and a half. I was so touched, and I kept saying, "Wow, guys, 감동해요!" and "사랑해요!" Look, I'm not an emotional person, and I rarely say "I love you" to anyone besides my parents. Yet as I looked around the classroom and saw my students' faces, I couldn't say anything else. It was a Tuesday evening and all thirty-three of them were skipping study hall just to say an elaborate thank you (and eat cake)!

Some of my students and me. YJ, in the brown jacket and holding up cuckold horns, planned the party.

Apparently, YJ, SH, and EJ planned the little party, and everyone worked very hard all day to keep it a secret from me. I suspect my co-teachers were aware of it, but they all left after dinner. By 8pm, it was just me and my stack of student journals to correct. SH and another student came into the office and pretended that my co-teacher had asked them to do some grading on his behalf, but while I thought that was strange, I didn't realize that they were just keeping an eye on me while everyone else blew up balloons and prepared the classroom just next door.

Even earlier that afternoon, I recall having seen YJ in the classroom alone, blowing up balloons. As soon as she saw me peek in the classroom, she hurried to cover something she had been writing, and I saw a video camera, so I assumed that she was working on her class' film project.

But when I went to the bathroom just prior to the "surprise", I started to piece things together. There was a quiet commotion coming from my classroom, which was pitch-dark, but I saw silhouettes inside. A bunch of students were also milling around the hallway and bathroom, when they were supposed to be in their study room. Lastly, I outright asked a student, "Hey, MC, what are you all planning?" And he said, "Oh, Teacher... surprise." Welp.

Then JM said, "Teacher, we finished what Teacher Lee wanted us to do. What should we do next?"

I said, "Um... I have no idea. What did he ask you to do when you were finished?"

That was evidently not he reply JM was expecting. "Oh, well... we're done now, and we will go. But first, you need to come."

Some of my students and me. JM, in the hat, pretended to work in the office. MC, on my left, "spoiled" the surprise.

And so I went, and there was the surprise, and it was amazing and touching and I really, really, really felt like the luckiest teacher ever. Again, I don't deserve in my life such wonderful people as my students. They have such big hearts. My co-teacher says that the third-years in particular have a much more positive and grateful attitude overall than the other class years, and I can definitely see where that comes from. But I love all of my students, and I think that after tonight, I've realized that I should let them know that more often.

Honestly, if I am rejected from every grad school I apply to, I will have no qualms about staying at my school for a third year. Already the prospect of going back to the US next July makes me anxious; I don't want to leave. With students like mine, how could I?

PSAs (Even More Drafts)

It's that time again! My students' only grade in my class is based on a speech they must prepare and give before their classmates. Just like last semester, I had them write a first draft to get started. And just like last semester's first drafts, these were wild and wonderful and highly amusing. The topic this time was a Public Service Announcement on behalf of any societal or global issue. Interestingly enough, at least a quarter of my students wrote about stopping suicide and/or school bullying. Either it was the easiest topic to research and write about, or it was the most important to them personally... maybe both. Anyway, here are some funny excerpts from the first drafts. I promise that all of these improved dramatically by the third or fourth draft!

On Korean students' gaming addiction:
I'm not saying that the game is bad so you shouldn't play games. Game can be good harby [hobby] to kick the stress.

On stopping the organ black market:

Before to speech, I'll tell you a horrible story in US. A man went to the bar, and he met a woman whom he haven't met ever. She said to him, "Do you wanna drink? Here." She gave a drink to him for free. He drank and felt asleep. When he was awake, his stomach is strange. His kidneys are gone. It's fairly frightful, isn't it?

On sending aid to Africa:
There are no development in Africa because of leadership in Africa. Africa's nations are earn money by farming. However leadership of Africa using tax on have their own profit. Therefore civil war breaks out.

(For the record, I made sure the student who wrote this realized that Africa is very diverse, and not every country is in the same politico-economic situation.)

On preventing suicide:

- Therefore, if Family and friends feel very tired, you must help them to provide suicide.

- Therefore, we should be interested in [people who show suicidal tendencies] and hear their stories. You can small effort of one human group as the word "Many a little makes a mickle", to create a society without suicide.

- If you suicide, your family will be very sad and society lose various life. An archaic world, the best dawn is to die before parent's die.

- So just get closer to other, and talk with laughter. Show your neighbors some good side of our world, and the infinite brightness to shine their lives. Show them their life is worthy to live, and our world is bright. Raise the fallen hope with bright smile.

On bees:
'If Bees disappear, Ever human gonna die.' - Albert Einstein - and, Bees are disappearing.

Musical Theater

So maybe it wasn't such a great idea to start watching all the performances from this year's Tony Awards at midnight yesterday.

The consequence of my late-night musical theater binge was that I found myself running on four hours of sleep and two cups of coffee (I never drink coffee) through the single busiest day of my semester. Today was a veritable 짬뽕 of six classes (twice my usual Tuesday load), three of which consisted of speech tests, interspersed with nearly fifty students dropping by my office all day to ask me to edit drafts three, four, or five of their speeches. Throwing those onto the "OUT" pile along with the 150 or so that I had just finished correcting this past weekend, I wondered how long it'd be before I either cracked and scribbled nonsensically all over a student's paper or just passed out right at my desk.

On the bright side, having loaded my subconscious with such wonderful Broadway gems, I found myself humming show tunes all day. Not only that, but I also snatched the opportunity to show my students Neil Patrick Harris' legendary opening number during the extra time at the end of each class. I don't know what they thought of it -- they were probably bewildered -- but at least everyone's eyes were glued to the screen. If nothing else, Broadway is a mesmerizing spectacle. Watch below: the 67th Tony Awards Ceremony opening number!

Similarly, during today's work periods for my third years, I treated them to a playlist of the songs from Hitlist, the musical-within-a-musical from Smash. I'm actually really pleased that I got to expose my students to a bit of American musical theater. I can't say much for the pop music that my students are invariably familiar with, but there's an entire microcosm of culture that I'm sure some of my students would fall in love with just as I have. I can't wait to show them more -- maybe come up with a lesson about it.

Watch below: "Broadway, Here I Come" from the season finale of Smash. The a cappella is fantastic!

Excellent music can only do so much for you, though. Because I've been so overworked lately, I haven't been able to go to the gym at all. Missing a day is no big deal, but two in a row has screwed with my routine, and I've been feeling restless. So, I definitely took it out at taekgyeon tonight. We were just playing indoor soccer, but I wanted to get some exercise in, dangit. I didn't play very nice, and even 관장님 was like, "Yo, take it down a notch."

Only two more days of speech tests left! (And then another week, but hey, I'll cross that bridge when I get to it.) 화이팅!

The Guest Teacher

Hae-in and me at Yongji Lake.

I had a special treat today, and I just had to share it with my students: my friend Hae-in came to visit! Hae-in and I met at Swarthmore our freshman year; we were in the same Chinese class. She and the other Korean international students were the first South Korean nationals that I'd ever met, and they also taught me how to read the Korean alphabet, hangul. I guess you could say Hae-in was one of the first people who helped spark my interest in Korea so many years ago, so I am here now partly thanks to her influence.

Hae-in is back in Busan for summer vacation after finishing her first year of law school in the U.S. When I heard that she'd be in my neck of the woods while the Korean school year was still in session, I asked if she'd like to come visit my school and chat with my students. Although my high schoolers apply exclusively to Korean schools and don't really have plans to study abroad -- unless it's for their Ph.D. many years down the road -- I was sure that they'd find Hae-in and her story really interesting.

She came to talk to two of my third-year classes. They were quite surprised and excited about having a guest, and they were impressed that a Korean national (who wasn't an English teacher) could speak English so well. This realization also seemed to make them very shy, even when giving basic self-introductions, but they all did well. A few students in each class were actually incredibly enthused and asked question after question during our informal Q&A: What kinds of culture shock did you experience when you went to the U.S.? What do Americans know about Korea besides PSY and "Gangnam Style"? How much do American university students study? Do they party a lot? Are American universities ranked in the same way Korean universities are ranked? What do you think of the different educational systems? Can you tell us about Andrew's past?

Although Hae-in's experience was in economics and law, and my students study nothing but math and science, they connected well over the fact that their high school education was similarly rigorous and competitive. But I'm glad that Hae-in also strove to give my students the message that rather than study all the time simply for the sake of getting into the best college, they should find what their passion is -- what makes them excited to get up in the morning? -- and focus on that. We've all been blessed with an excellent education; my students have such overwhelming privilege already and they're essentially guaranteed academic success. With this in mind, why worry so much about your next test? Take the time instead to build relationships that will last. Do some extracurricular activities that you enjoy; they'll give you the added benefit of a more well-rounded application. And relax.

These are all things that I want to tell my students, but since they heard it from the mouth of a fellow Korean, I'm hoping that it'll stick better, even though it was in English. After each class, I'm sure my students left feeling encouraged.

Also, they were so cute when they talked to her, calling her "Hae-in Teacher" and generally giving off airs of awe or confusion or both. My co-teachers were excited to have her around, as well.

After school, Hae-in and I hung out at Yongji Lake, where the roses are in full bloom and the ducks and fish are lazing around as if it's already summer. We caught up on old times and then had 닭갈비 for dinner. It was such a wonderful day. 고마워요, 해인 티처!

스승의날 - Teachers' Day

The bell rang; students were in their desks. Then, HJ called out, "1, 2, 3!"

Then, everyone started singing. In Korean.

I stood at the front of the room, kind of dumbfounded for a second. And then, I realized that it was Teachers' Day today, and this must be some sort of tradition. They kept singing.

I broke into a smile then, not quite sure what else to do. I chuckled a bit. They kept singing, everyone in my class except for DK, who was fast asleep at his desk. It was a nice-sounding song, but I didn't understand a word.

When they finished (probably after a minute, although it awkwardly felt like much longer), TS ran up, handed me a small cake in a paper cup, and said, "This is for you, for Teachers' Day!"

"Wow," I said. "Thank you so much, everyone! I was very surprised. Okay, class, what is today's date?"

- - -

So, today was Teachers' Day in Korea. The holiday has quite a few traditions here, including singing that song, buying gifts of flowers (carnations or whole baskets and bouquets) and rice cakes, calling and sending letters to teachers from your past, and otherwise showering all teachers with love and attention. It seems quite different from the Teacher Appreciation Day I know of in the US. Actually, I don't recall ever doing anything very special for any of my teachers in high school or college, and now I'm a bit ashamed.

But anyway, Teachers' Day is a big deal here. They say that the most important and respected people in olden times were kings, parents, and teachers. Evidently that sentiment has held up until today. Some of my colleagues, who have been teaching for years, received gifts from not only their current students (and their current students' parents), but also from some of their students from years and years ago. The entire school was overflowing with baskets of flowers, rice cakes, and even legit cakes from bakeries or Baskin-Robbins.

A cake given to one of my co-teachers by a student (or, rather, given by his parents). It's a gorgeous cake, pure white, with carnations on top. The text says "선생님! 감사합니다." (Teacher! Thank you.) and the student's name. It may or may not be a ploy to curry favor.

During lunch, all the students stood up in the cafeteria to sing that same Korean song to all of the teachers. Throughout the day, you could hear cheers and singing coming from different classrooms as the students tried to surprise their teachers. I certainly was surprised by today's serenade. In addition to this sweet gift, I also received a boutonniere -- there was one for every teacher -- and a NASA pen from a student, IS, who had just returned from a science competition in Houston, where he had won a bronze medal.

But the best gift by far was a small note from one of my quietest students, who happens to be in my lowest-level class. TH usually sits alone and doesn't seem to like to talk to anybody, let alone me. In fact, sometimes I get vibes from him that indicate he'd rather be anywhere else but in my classroom.

At the end of class today, when TH turned in his worksheet, he tried to slip it into the bottom of the pile, and I noticed that he'd written something in the margin.

It reads: <Thank You teacher.> I think it was hard decision to you to stay other country and teach other country student. However, you did greatly, and many students are happy in this class. I have met many foreign teacher, but you was the greatest teacher. thank you

Together, on three: 1, 2, 3! D'awwwww! 감동하네요!

Oh, and also, this student thinks one of the most important global issues (today's lesson topic) is language endangerment! I have no idea how he even knows what that is, but I am impressed. And I am touched by his note. It really is the best gift I could receive. The mini-tiramisu comes in a close second.

To all teachers, in Korea, the US, or anywhere in the world: Happy Teachers' Day! Keep on doing what you do so well, and never let discouragement overshadow the joy of making a positive impact in a student's life.

Sigh

In class, during a lesson on family.

Me: Okay, so what do you need for a family? Who is in a family?

Student 1: Mother.

Me: Great. Who else?

Student 2: Father.

Me: Okay, good. Who else?

Every single student in Korea: GENTLEMAN!!!

Me: I walked right into that, didn't I?

쌤

Want to know a secret?

I've always wanted to be called "쌤". Pronounced ssaem (like the first syllable of "semaphore"), it's an abbreviation of the word "선생님" (seonsaengnim), which means "teacher".

In Korea, teachers can be addressed by the simple title "Teacher", just like American college professors can be called "Professor" by their students. But if a student uses 쌤 instead of 선생님, it implies a closer relationship between the two. If a student is joking around with their teacher outside of class, or greets them excitedly upon seeing them, it's likely that they'll use the abbreviation as a term of endearment.

Now, my students have never called me 쌤. They call me "Teacher" or "Andrew Teacher", and some of my older students, who feel more comfortable with me, just call me "Andrew". That's what I told them all to call me, anyway, as I insist on their using only English. But I can't deny that I'd love for some of them to use 쌤 instead. It would mean a lot of different things, among them the affirmation that I am actually a legitimate teacher here, not just a visitor who's here to train them in practical usage of the English language. It would mean that they consider me if not a friend, then at least friendly and comfortable enough to be around to use a bit of Korean slang.

But today, it happened! Somewhat. Just like last week's basketball tournament that all my students were obsessing over, this week's lunchtime soccer tournament captures everyone's attention during that short thirty minutes before fifth period. EJ and CY, two likable students from one of my second-year classes, were watching their peers play from the window of our English classroom on the third floor. The game underway on the dirt field outside was very intense: two to one, and very little time left on the clock. As I entered the classroom to prepare for the next period, I heard a roar come from outside.

"Who scored?" I asked, although I already knew from the groans and frustrated yells from my second-years.

"Third grade!" said EJ, angrily. She was totally into the game, now tied and almost over. With the bell for fifth period about to ring, they had to go into a shootout tiebreaker. With every goal by the third-years, I gave a little cheer (full disclosure: I like my third-year students a lot). I told EJ and CY very plainly that I support all of my students, but I was secretly enjoying getting a rise out of EJ because she was going so crazy over the outcome of the game, literally pulling her hair and jumping up and down and all that.

So I kept cheering on the third-years and pleasantly clapping for the second-years, and finally, the third-years scored a goal, and I said, "Hooray!" and EJ turned to me and said "쌤!!!" with this hilarious how-could-you look on her face. As soon as that word left her mouth, she corrected herself and said, "Teacher!!!" still just as incredulously. But I was smiling inside, and not just because my third-years had won the game.

Kvetch First, Ask Questions Later (Then Answer Said Questions, Then Do Something)

As I work for the Korean-American Educational Commission and am about to... air some grievances, in a sense, I'd like to remind my dear readers that: "This blog reflects my own experiences and viewpoints and should not be mistaken for an official Fulbright blog."

Toward the end of last semester, I began to feel like I had become the sounding board for my English co-teachers to voice all their woes about the Korean educational system and this country in general. At our twice-weekly teatime, which was officially a teachers' conversation class, we might have started with an interesting article to discuss, but the conversation always inevitably derailed into a discussion of politics, education, and societal issues. Well, actually, there was usually less discussion and more... allow-us-to-explain-why-everything-is-All-Wrong.

Some of those sore areas included the extremely rigid gender roles in Korean society and how women were expected to take care of childcare and all household duties, as well as remain in the kitchen all day during traditional holidays like Chuseok; the drawbacks of high-stakes testing, which cause high amounts of stress for all students, especially those who don't do well in an academic setting but must suffer through it anyway; the obliviousness of the government as far as how to properly manage its schools, as they reward well-performing schools financially when the money should actually go toward aid for the failing ones; not to mention the corruption of the government, in that its associations with administrative offices and educational boards rests securely on a network of money. My co-teachers especially had a bone to pick with the hyper-conservative superintendent of our province's educational department, who was apparently a substandard English teacher himself but now gets to dictate what is "best" for hundreds of schools. Whew.

I should probably give a concrete example lest you think I'm just parroting complaints sans evidence. My co-teachers confided in me their suspicions that some kind of shady deals were going on at a Certain Secret High School (name withheld) when its principal asked its English department to purchase a specific publisher's textbooks for the English classes. Now, both the principal and the teachers knew that the English teachers create their own teaching material. They don't directly use any textbooks, so their purchase is literally a formality and a way to use the school's budget. Hence, it didn't matter what publisher was chosen; maybe the one that created the best quality book or one with a good reputation.

That's why it raised some red flags when this principal strongly suggested -- or basically commanded -- his choice of English textbook. Who exactly would benefit from their sale, we wondered as we sipped our tea.

Another bit of dirty laundry aired during teatime was the pitiable state of teachers' unions in the country. The teachers' union, such a strong and belligerent presence in the United States, was in fact not legal in Korea until no more than two decades ago. During the dictatorship-like presidency of Park Chung-hee, teachers were commonly fired for belonging to unions and had no public support. My co-teacher believes that the previous generation of teachers made great sacrifices in order for unions to exist today, yet bemoans how union chapter meetings these days don't do much more than get together once a month for a 회식 (hweshik) and a long, Misery Poker-esque kvetch sesh. It's easy to list the myriad of problems with their professional field, but the impetus to actually do something about it has shriveled up sometime in the past twenty years.

Anyway.

I'm writing all of this now mostly because I've been trying to clear out the cluttered mess of drafts on this blog (there are some snippets of posts I started months ago but have never finished...). But in addition to that, yesterday, during this semester's iteration of the English teachers' conversation class, we brought up the subject of education again. And this time, everything was surprisingly very pleasant and personally satisfying. I'd say that in the past few weeks, there has been considerably less lamentation over our tea. (That in itself is neutral to me; contrary to what you might think from what I've already written, I enjoyed being the confidant and continue to hold a great interest in what seem to be the inner workings of the system in which I'm just another cog.)

So yesterday, in lieu of discussing an article, the English teachers watched Sir Ken Robinson's lecture on changing educational paradigms, which was brilliantly animated by RSA and which I will now share with you all:

Now wasn't that enlightening and quite inspiring? (Ten million views in two-and-a-half years... while PSY can rack up twenty-five times that amount in two-and-a-half weeks with a video that highlights the hilariousness of male chauvinism. Ugh.)

After watching the video, my co-teachers and I had a lengthy and spirited discussion about education in both Korea and the United States. I think that the way we shared what we knew about our own systems instead of just focusing on All of the Problems in Korea was a nice change. I think Robinson's ideas apply to both countries, anyway. (Actually, they probably apply everywhere except in the utopian Scandinavian countries.) We had a nice, long think about what we thought contributed to the problem and, more importantly, what we could do as teachers with not much power (I don't even have TEFL certification or belong to a union or anything) to motivate and encourage our students within the confines of this brutal education factory.

I decided that I am going to hammer into my students the idea that a test score, good or bad, does not determine their value as a human, and that there are others ways to be smart and/or successful outside of the path they're currently stuck to. I will also continue to try to make my classroom a bit different from the norm: less emphasis on knowing answers, and more on how to knowing how to get answers, or correct wrong answers, or see multiple answers. Maybe I alone can't change the educational paradigms, but at least I know I'm going to do a lot more than just kvetch.

Thoughts?

Labor Day

It's hard to love my students sometimes. I came to this school with only a few goals: help my students with their English and help them learn to respect people -- themselves and others -- for who they are. I knew that in order to succeed, I'd need a lot of patience and a lot of love. But there are days when my patience wears thin, and there are days when I simply can't see what there could possibly be in these kids to love.

I almost never punish my students, because they're generally extremely well-behaved. Before I arrived at my advanced science high school, one of a few dozen in the country where students are renowned for their diligence and respectfulness, I was cheerily informed that the extent of my discipline problems would be students nodding off in my class due to fatigue from studying late into the night. This has proven to be singularly untrue. Rowdiness exists at CSHS just as it does at every other high school in the country -- or in the world -- and I have to confess that it's taking its toll on my psyche.

In fact, one of my second-year classes is well on its way to driving me nuts. I have them fifth period, right after lunch, and sometimes half the class walks in late from pick-up basketball games, prolonged bathroom breaks, or who knows what other reason. They then proceed to sleep through class (if they spent their lunch time running around outside) or act like a circus (if they consumed one too many sugary snacks), and nobody seems to remember or care that in my English class, you must speak English.

Today, after I finally shooed them out of the room (having held them back a few minutes as a punishment for tardiness), I slumped down in my chair and began to dream up wonderful new ways to punish the class for any possible future cases of bad behavior. I'm being completely honest here; it gave me a perverse sense of satisfaction, knowing that I had a "Plan B" ready to unleash. It's almost as if I actually want these students to make me snap, just so I can see the look on their faces when I stop the video or shut down the game and make them write sentences for an entire hour. Cue the evil laugh... have I lost it?

I don't know, really. I mean, I have to remember that compared to some of the other schools where my Fulbright colleagues teach, every single day at CSHS is still a walk in the park. I've got to count my blessings: at least my students understand the words that come out of my mouth. At least they don't beat each other up in class. At least they respect me enough to be quiet when I give them my teacher glare and know when enough is enough. But when I think about how other teachers have done the hard discipline thing time and again, to the point that it has become routine, I fancy that it wouldn't hurt for me to get a bit tougher on my students, too. I don't want them to think that my class is essentially a free period or an irrelevant elective -- even if it technically is -- because with that mindset, how will they ever be motivated to learn?

On the other hand, I'm fully aware that I am fallible and easily susceptible to being manipulated by my own emotions. For real, though: I actually felt myself getting angrier and angrier as I sat in my chair after class, not because I had just survived such a train wreck, but in truth because I was thinking purely negative thoughts, conjuring up hypotheticals, and it was like a maelstrom of discontent. Realizing this, I tried to shake it off by going to the weight room to work out. I also happened across a volleyball game under way in the gym, with some of my schools' teachers playing against teachers from another school in a union tournament. Rooting for my school alongside my fellow teachers -- 아자아자 화이팅! -- did a lot to cheer me up (although I wish I could have been playing in the game myself!).

Do you know what really helps, though? To counter an adverse incident with one student, the best remedy is a great conversation with another. Today, at lunch, I had the good fortune of sitting down with YJ to chat. He's a first-year student who often speaks up in class, but I'd never realized the depths to which his mind probes until he asked me, right off the bat, "Teacher, what do you do when you repeatedly fail something? When you're 'in a rut'? Do you have any advice?"

I was taken aback. Also, the two other first-years with whom we were sitting instantly tuned out. This was beyond their comprehension level. "Well," I told YJ, "If you are stuck in a rut, you can take a step back, re-evaluate the situation, and then change something." We continued to talk about overcoming obstacles, and the conversation moved to "life codes" -- his is taken from The Man of La Mancha (a musical based off of Don Quixote): "To dream the impossible dream, to fight the unbeatable foe, to reach the unreachable star." We also discussed university life in the US and whether it was actually true that Harvard students streak across campus once a year. I said, "Well, I don't know, because I didn't go to Harvard, but I would not be surprised if they did."

After lunch, YJ thanked me for the chat, and I thought, "Any time, buddy!" I left feeling impressed with him, as well as simply grateful that I had had such a pleasant lunch. I love to talk with my students outside of class, and I am always reminded when I do that my students really are incredibly smart. It's admittedly difficult for me to remember this, since in my class, even the brightest physics wizard might struggle to utter a single coherent sentence in English. I'm reminded of the words of a fellow Fulbrighter, Kelly, who warned me never to "assume that [my] students are not capable of critical thinking" simply on account of the language barrier. They possess so much genius, but a lack of confidence in English has hidden most of it from me. Sigh...

Anyway, I'm trying to stay cautious about my attitude toward the students who frustrate me. I want to remain positive and continue fulfilling my role as the super-encouraging foreign English teacher whose class is fun, engaging, and effective, but I want to make sure that my students don't take this for granted, either. If they do, and it gets on my nerves, then I have to remember to remain professional and light-hearted, too. None of this "화가난다!!!" business. But hey readers: if you have any advice, I'm all ears!

In closing, it's May 1st. Happy Korean Labor Day! I asked my co-teacher why we teachers didn't get the day off for the holiday, unlike the rest of the nation. She replied with a small laugh, "Because we're not laborers." Well, although my work definitely seems laborious sometimes, I guess I have to agree. My job is to nurture, equip, and support my students, no matter what. Teachers don't labor, they love.