Changwon Meets Berkeley

When I left the school where I taught in Korea back in June of 2014, I gave a small speech to my students that included what has become a life motto of sorts: "This isn't a 'goodbye', but a 'see you later'." I never promised that I'd return to Korea after one year to visit, but then I did. And none of my students promised that they'd come to California, but then one did!

My student JH, who wanted to be called by his English name in my class, is in the middle of his second year at a prestigious science and technology university in Korea, but he decided to spend a semester abroad as an exchange student at UC Berkeley, where I am now doing my graduate studies! This guy is going to become an electrical engineer or have some other kind of brainiac career, but for a few months he is going to study comparative literature, German, and art alongside some of California's brightest students at the world's best public university.

I'm so glad that I've kept in touch with many of my former students through Facebook, because I don't think I would have heard that JH was coming here if I hadn't. But when I did find out, I was ecstatic. I mean, I know it's not easy for Korean students to go abroad: they might have the ambition, but not the requisite English skills or the money to afford it. Most of Changwon Science High School's alumni believe that their earliest chances of coming to the States for their education will be for graduate school or even post-doctoral programs.

But one way or another, JH found himself in sunny California two weeks ago, rode the BART from SFO to Berkeley's campus, and has already had several orientations and three days of classes. I met up with him yesterday and we had a great conversation about all of the bits of culture shock he's experienced so far and what he plans to do during his short stay here.

We had lunch at Bleecker Street Bistro, where he had his first avocado ("It kind of tastes like potato; I like it.") and remarked that the way Americans say "please" and "thank you" all the time was really impressive (I told him we're nothing compared to Canada). In Berkeley, he is amazed by the weather ("I heard that it never rains.") and by the way cars come to full stops to allow pedestrians to cross the street, and he is unsure what to do about panhandlers, since they can be more aggressive here than they are in Korea.

I was excited to hear about his classes and told him I wanted to make sure he had the best semester possible. "I'm not your teacher, anymore," I said, "but I can still help you. Here's my phone number; call or text me if you ever have a problem." When I taught him, JH's English skills were at the top of his class -- discounting his peers who had actually lived abroad in English-speaking countries -- but he still admitted that he felt completely lost during his first comp lit lecture. Well... I'll be honest; I felt the same way in my freshman English seminar way back when. I hope that this is just the first of many ways JH and I can connect in the coming months.

Changwon Science High School meets UC Berkeley! What a fantastic reunion! :)

JH and me in front of Berkeley's famous Sather Gate

Profluentia et Imprudentia

I have to be more careful with my words. This was the realization that came hand-in-hand with a gentle reminder that I am currently living in a country where I am not fluent in the language. Wait, let me revise that: I am reminded daily that I cannot speak Korean well, and these reminders themselves are not always gentle. Like when I struggled for an hour to open up a checking account only to be told finally that without an ARC it just was not possible.

But this time, the reminder was gentle, and it came from a friend who has lived in Korea for longer than I have and knows a great deal more about it. We met up last weekend since he's currently doing his graduate studies at the same university where I'm taking language classes, and I have perhaps unceremoniously latched onto him as my go-to resource for cultural guidance and assistance with quotidian matters.

After I left Korea nine months ago, I forgot one of the basics of cultural communication, the one that is drilled into every language student's head from the very beginning: Korean culture is built on a hierarchy. In society, what this means is that the young and inexperienced always defer to their elders and superiors. Children obey their parents; younger students take orders from their seonbae (upperclassmen); the employer's word is law to their employees.

In language, this means that one's vocabulary and grammatical constructions change depending on whom you address. It's much more complex than a handful of polite terms. I would ask a favor of a friend using a wholly different grammatical form than that which I'd use to ask the same favor of my teacher or grandfather.

Of course, I didn't forget that this rule exists in Korean. What I have neglected to remain mindful of, then, is how strictly it actually applies to me.

You see, while I do I fairly a good job of blending in with the crowd here in Seoul (the expectation is that an East Asian face equals a Korean face, unless it's dressed in the outlandish garb of the Chinese tourist), as soon as I open my mouth, most people realize that I am very much American. My accent cues them off, and then my face and fashion sense fall into place with it. I guess this morning was an anomaly, when my new language instructor asked me if my parents were Korean, apparently surprised at my speaking fluency. Anyway, humblebrag aside, once I'm tagged as a foreigner, what has happened generally is that all linguistic rules are tossed and my stupid mistakes are forgiven. I can ask for a head of cabbage instead of a beer and nobody will fault me for it. I can stare dumbly at the real estate agent as he tries to explain the security deposit without him thinking that I am actually dumb. And, critically, I can use the wrong forms of address to everyone -- casual conjugations with a stranger, super-honorifics with my former student -- and I'll get a free pass because I'm still learning.

I am not saying here that I should make these kinds of mistakes. After all, as a perfectionist, I cringe when I catch myself saying something wrong or culturally inappropriate. But my point is that I do make these mistakes, yet I've been let off the hook so many times that I haven't really properly internalized the rules of what to say and when. Or at least, if I had had everything down after the first two years, I had promptly forgotten when I left.

And now I'm back and I'm making a fool of myself. Why? Because I'm here, newly determined to show that I have learned something after months upon months of intermittent language study, and along with this courage comes a fair bit of hubris, and from this hubris arises a situation in which my friend introduces me to his classmate, both of them my seonbae, and I immediately talk with him as if we've been buddies for years. So much for cultural competency.

Hence the gentle reminder: remember who you are and whom you're talking to. It may not be important to you, or any American for that matter, but it matters here.

My friend himself admitted that it took getting used to, being a graduate student in linguistics (a field generally as casual and laid-back as you can imagine; my professors at Berkeley eschew being addressed by anything other than their first names, for example), but in a country where hierarchy is deeply entrenched in the ivory bastion of cultural conservatism and academic tradition. The constant bowing, the formal pleasantries, the obligatory grad student drudgery for tenured professors: it's all here, and while my friend is just beginning to tire of it, I realize that I haven't even begun to process its reality.

If I really want to pursue Korean linguistics, then the hierarchy, ingrained as it is into both the language and the culture, is something I will have to acknowledge and accept. I don't like hierarchy; let me be clear about that if it isn't already obvious. But as an academic, I have to respect it, and step one is taking pains to use the proper honorifics in the right contexts.

Even with my Korean friends -- the ones with whom I converse freely in Korean, who only correct my many errors when I demand for them to -- I think it's time to be more disciplined about my language use. Who exactly is my nuna, my hyeong, my dongsaeng? It's admittedly a bit complex: is age the only factor? Should I ask my Korean friends for their opinion on how I should categorize them, or is that rude?

There's sure to be some discomfort as I recommence navigating this cultural landscape. I thought two years' worth of experience wasn't too bad, but it's nothing. And it's not just the hierarchy thing, either. I only have two months this time, and I wonder if tackling headfirst questions like my place in Korea as an American, the ups and downsides of rapid globalization, or the uncertain future of LGBTQ rights in this country are even worth my while. This summer, will I traipse through Seoul taking pretty pictures of food and blogging about the charmed expat life, or will I choose my words -- and thoughts and actions -- more carefully?

PSY, JLC, FOB, and the Transmission of Culture

"Oh. My. GOD!" complains the exchange student played by Kim Sungwon as the audience erupts in laughter. "I don't understand about Korean culture!"

Questionable English grammar aside, this Western student's frustration is very relatable. In the popular sketch "School of Mental Breakdown" (멘붕스쿨) on the Korean comedy show Gag Concert, a brief and hilarious few minutes are spent trying to look at Korea through the eyes of a foreigner. (Well, not in the episode shown above; that one's about American superhero movies, but it's the only one I could find on YouTube.) This school is obviously the parody of parodies, but we can laugh at some of the stereotyped portrayals of one slice of Korean culture, its education system.

This does raise some questions about perspective, however. "School of Mental Breakdown" aired last year, but the memory of Kim Sungwon's outbursts came to me as I chatted with my English co-teachers over cheese and crackers at our semiweekly book club. We're reading Amy Tan's seminal The Joy Luck Club, and the bulk of each period is spent discussing that amorphous thing known as "culture". As I am Taiwanese-American, they were interested in whether the issues of cultural assimilation, immigration, and language that are so central to the stories of the four Chinese families were the same as those that my family and I have faced.

Certainly, there are a few similarities. The language barrier that rises between generations after a geographical shift is one of the big ones. There are smaller tidbits that I cheerfully identified with, too, like the story of steaming live crabs or the childhood hours spent banging away fruitlessly at the piano.

But I had to admit the other day that a lot of the cultural symbols are just as mysterious to me as they would be to your average Western (and non-Chinese) reader of The Joy Luck Club. I am totally unfamiliar with the folklore and mythology so often referenced in the stories; I don't know which of the five elements I was born lacking, and I have never heard of Xi Wangmu. My comfortably middle-class family has never lived anywhere near a Chinatown. And perhaps the biggest difference is that my parents immigrated to the US in the 80s from Taiwan in order to seek higher education, not from China in the 40s in order to escape war.

But then I realized that The Joy Luck Club, which for decades has stayed on high school reading lists as one of a few representative books about Asian-American minority culture, has probably influenced hundreds of thousands of people toward a certain idea of what it means to be a Chinese-American or part of an East Asian immigrant family. And while that idea, within the pages of the book, is at least not contrived or too narrowly delineated, it is also -- dare I say it -- outdated.

I mean, Asian America looks much different now, in 2014, than it did when The Joy Luck Club was published in 1989, let alone in the 1950s when the memorable just-immigrated stories and childhood stories take place. But what does every high school sophomore who reads these stories today come away thinking? If they're not Asian, they now think they understand Asians. If they are Asian, they try to match up their own lives and experiences to the lives and experiences of the protagonists, to varying degrees of success. In neither case is the media self-contained; that is, it will always inevitably be extrapolated onto others (and onto the Other). Comparisons will be drawn. Judgments will be made. Conclusions will be jumped to across the wide chasm of sixty years of change.

Now how does this come back to Gag Concert and Korean culture? Well, before your average Westerner steps foot in Korea for the first time, they may not necessarily know anything about the country. Surely they've heard of kimchi and PSY, and maybe they're aware enough to know that Samsung, taekwondo, and Kim Yuna are Korean and not Japanese. But when we arrive, there's more than enough in this culture to shock us into thinking, "Oh my God, I just don't get it!"

Thus, Korea has made great efforts in recent years to export not just electronics and cars, but also its own culture. Hence the Hallyu Wave, which has globalized Korean music, TV, and celebrity culture, and the breakneck speed at which Seoul has been metamorphosing into an international metropolis. Korea is flinging its influence in every direction while also urging everyone to come in. But not everything sticks, and not everyone stays.

I want to look at the odd things that do stay in the minds of non-Koreans about Korea. Everyone is still kind of at a loss to explain why PSY's "Gangnam Style" was such a global hit -- it now has over two billion YouTube views -- but, well, here he is. Intentional or not, his cultural influence is powerful and not likely to go away soon. Korea wanted the world to love K-pop and gave them BoA, Rain, Big Bang, and Girls' Generation. The world chose PSY.

The American-educated, somewhat goofball rapper, whose past three music videos have poked fun at various aspects of his home country, certainly has something to say. His most recent video, "Hangover", which satirizes Korean drinking culture, has racked up nearly 70 million views in one week. It is impossible to ignore the fact that PSY's entertainment output is influencing the way the world views Korea. I watched and commented on "Hangover" when it was first released, noting at the end of my post that a viewer should certainly not assume that all Koreans drink from sunrise to sunset and get into street brawls. Yet they do drink a lot! There's enough truth in the parody that before you know it, tourists in Seoul are going to attempt to imitate the dozen different ways to down shots of soju as portrayed in the video and ask their Korean friends why they aren't doing the same.

What I am trying to get at here is that Korean culture can never be fully understood just by watching a few videos, listening to a few podcasts, or studying a few books, but the bits and pieces of it that go viral will become representative of it, for better or for worse. Some would argue that PSY's music is not bad inasmuch as it opens doors for people to get better acquainted with Korea, or at least K-pop, once they are first exposed to his earworms. Whatever it takes, right? On the other hand, it's equally likely that viewers will watch "Hangover" and content themselves with the assumption that Korea is a bizarre land of drunken wtf-ery. I mean, this is the country that produced PSY, after all.

To the confused exchange student at the School of Mental Breakdown: OMG! If you want to understand Korean culture... don't watch K-pop videos.

At least, don't just watch K-pop videos. Without a doubt, "Hangover" does provide the casual viewer with visuals and symbols of Korea, like karaoke rooms and cup noodles; it's not a completely vapid party anthem after all. But my point still stands: we cannot necessarily choose the things that represent our culture to outsiders, especially in this day and age when instant fame and influence on the Internet can fall into the lap of literally anyone. Pop culture entertainment may not be the ideal way to raise awareness about you and your community, but it tends to be the most successful or accessible conduit for those who aren't already commanding the stage on a global or national level.

Hm, where am I going with this now? Eh, here are some conclusions. The Joy Luck Club did a wonderful job of representing Chinese immigrants to the US. But it does not represent them all. PSY does a good job of bringing Korean culture to global consciousness. But he does not represent it all.

I hope that we can all be more aware of how media and entertainment (which includes books and novels) shapes our worldviews and influences our perception of anything unfamiliar, whether we like it or not.

Okay, now watch this:

This is a first look trailer for a new ABC series coming this fall called Fresh off the Boat. It's about a Taiwanese-American family trying to adjust to life in Orlando in the nineties. What do you think? From what I saw so far, it's funny, it has a talented cast, and it captures some great moments familiar to me as a Taiwanese-American kid who grew up in the nineties. Already, the very concept is causing a stir, because 1) Asians in media! and 2) that title...

Yes, there will be controversy. Like I've been saying, as scenes and storylines from this new show undoubtedly raise a lot of questions about issues of race, people will start to compare every Asian they know, including themselves, to the high-profile (fictional) Asian family they can now watch on TV every week.

I know that I'll be enthusiastically watching FOB, even if it turns out to be awful, because I'm really excited about having a sitcom family that is so representative of me and my culture. At the same time, I'm not going to stand for anyone who even thinks they can reduce me -- or my family -- to a set of stereotypes derived from a TV show. Remember: "...but not all."

Wednesday Night 회식

회식 with the 택견 gym folks

Oh, 회식 (an evening out for co-workers or members of a formal group, meant to foster relationships). Good for building 정, bad for everything else, it seems. As tomorrow is Teacher's Day (스승의날), the folks at my taekgyeon gym decided to go out for seafood and drinking instead of training tonight. It was ostensibly to thank 관장님 and 사범님 for being awesome teachers, but it was also because Koreans love seafood and drinking.

I tried half-heartedly to get out of it. I mean, it's Wednesday night. It's a school night -- I have class tomorrow! Also, I want to exercise, not eat shellfish! But although I dragged my feet and made excuses, eventually I made it to the restaurant; I felt badly for my reluctance, too, since 회식 is actually very culturally important, and I didn't want to seem like a flake.

Well, even though I'm smiling in the photo, it wasn't all sunshine and rainbows tonight.

Pro: admittedly amazing seafood / Con: my stomach hurts

Pro: got to hang out with fun people / Con: 10pm-12:30am on a school night

Pro: a chance to practice Korean / Con: a chance to suck at Korean

Pro: when they get tipsy they tend to compliment me a lot / Con: aggressive heteronormativity

And I mean aggressive. Like, "You're so handsome! Why don't you have a girlfriend? Why? WHY? WHY???" Later, "That girl in your profile photo is your girlfriend right? No? Liar!" Later, "So, why don't you have a girlfriend? What, do you like men? Do you? Do you?"

"부끄러워요," I said. I'm embarrassed. Please stop. And eventually they changed the subject.

Con: we went Dutch

Con: I didn't exercise tonight

Con: have a lot of work to catch up on

Pro: built 정

So where does that leave me? 회식 can be extremely uncomfortable sometimes. I enjoy it for what it is, but when I'm already not feeling up to extended, alcohol-fueld social interaction, it can veer perilously close to being a total trainwreck. I, just... on a school night! I should have been asleep by eleven. And here I am blogging about it past one. Yo, Andrew, get your priorities straight.

This, by the way, was what we ate. That is an entire octopus! Also scallops, severl kinds of clams, mussels, cuttlefish, shrimp, crab, and abalone that were still alive when this platter was brought to our table. Would've been great for dinner, but midnight snack?

Everyday Sexism

This. Emma Stone called out Andrew Garfield on an unintentionally sexist remark he made. I chuckled to myself and thought, "Good for her! Good for them!" Good for everyone who benefited from that teachable moment.

Then I went and proved that I'm just as capable of everyday sexism as the next guy.

Dialogue A

Me: [catching the song playing in the cafe] Oh, this is Taylor Swift's "22"!

Friend: Wow... Divergent, Hunger Games, and Taylor Swift. I'm totally judging you right now.

Me: Yeah, I know, right? What am I, a seventeen-year-old girl?

Friend: ... Oh, honey, that's not okay.

Me: ... I'm sorry.

It's so easy for me not just to toss out stereotypes but to toss them all the way under a passing bus in order to validate myself or crack a joke. Not cool. And while being called out for it was uncomfortable and embarrassing, I'm glad it happened. Privilege must be checked, and responsibile women out there are making sure the prejudice is identified and weeded out regularly.

Now if only the same could be true of heteronormativity, especially here in Korea.

Dialogue B

Me: [sitting down in a bar with some new Korean friends] Hello.

(new) Korean Friend (whom I barely know): So, do you have a girlfriend?

Me: What? No.

Friend: Oh, nooo! Why???

Me: ...

Friend: Why don't you have a girlfriend? How old are you?

Me: 25 in Korean age.

Friend: Oh, nooo! You're young and handsome. It's too bad.

[Later...]

Friend: So tell me again, why don't you have a girlfriend?

Me: *sigh* I... don't have time.

Friend: You don't have time? Oh, that's too bad.

Other friend: He's very busy.

Me: Also, I don't need one.

Friend: What, you broke up?

Me: No, I said I don't need one.

Friend: When did you break up? That's so sad!

Me: ... [thinking] I would like this conversation to end.

It never ceases to amaze me how zeroed in on relationships Koreans are in general. Even my friend Ashley's elementary school students (6th graders) were convinced as soon as they saw their teacher with a male that I was her boyfriend. "Do you have a girlfriend" is a question I am asked every single time I meet a new Korean, especially one who is older than me. Like a kind, concerned auntie asking after my health. Every self-introduction requires name, age, employment, and relationship status. People in the States tend to consider the relationship question to be something too personal to ask about right away. And it's not just the obsession with relationships, of course -- it's also the inability to conceive anyone as anything other than straight. Come on! I don't have a girlfriend because I don't want one. But I can't say that.

Chalk it up to cultural differences! I'm used to the personal questions now, but being able to expect them every day does not necessarily make them less comfortable to answer.

Nothing to Envy

I recently finished the book Nothing to Envy, by Barbara Demick. The book is a compilation of stories from North Korean defectors, taken from six years of interviews of a hundred defectors. I was completely engrossed by the narrative that followed six defectors' lives from the death of Kim Il Sung, through the catastrophic famine of the mid-90s and the rise of the "underground railroad", up until the currency reform of 2009.

I've come away from the book reeling slightly, because it's hard to process the naked truth -- to be presented with real human evidence -- of North Korea's misery. A woman who watched her husband and son die of starvation. Her rebellious daughter who became mired in the underground business of trafficking defectors out of the country. An orphaned boy who skipped school to forage for food and learned nothing but how to survive.

The North Korea that they described matched the North Korea that I saw when I visited uncannily well. Even though I was mostly shown the relatively glitzy capital city, there was no denying that the country is in shambles. In the five years since Nothing to Envy was published, the DPRK went ahead with its Kim Il Sung centennial celebrations, financed extravagant renovations in the capital, and saw a power change from the Kim Jong Il to Kim Jong Un. Yet the brutality of the isolated and self-serving regime and the consequent humanitarian crisis continue. I was saddened when I realized that I was reading recent history during the chapters about the Arduous March: When I was growing up healthy and happy, children in North Korea were dying by the thousands. And then I was horrified when the atrocities kept on being recounted all the way into the past decade: When I was in college enjoying my freedom, adults in North Korea were risking their lives to get out of the deadly prison their country had become.

Now that I'm living in South Korea, our neighbors from the north are both easier and more difficult to ignore. While the bizarre DPRK government is portrayed in popular media as the forsworn enemy and its antics are noted in newspapers daily (and with increasing indifference), the spotlight is rarely shown on its people, especially those who leave and wind up here.

There are North Korean defectors living in my city, quite unnoticed. Nobody expects them. Nobody expects people to be different as long as they appear to fit in on the surface. In order to find their place in a hyper-competitive, trend-following, 빨리빨리 culture, they must change their clothes, hair, and speech. In order to land a stable job or become upwardly mobile, they must learn English. In order to discover self-worth and heal from past trauma...

The current defector resettlement program is a huge social experiment to see if a stable, equitable society is possible in the case of reunification under Southern democracy. To that end, South Korea wants its defector citizens to assimilate, to shed their northern identities, to forget the land they've come from.

But knowing what I know now, I simply don't think that it's possible to forget.

To Remove a Fatal Complex

All I remember is that I had an unnaturally vivid dream whose contents now escape me and that I woke up from this dream thinking that, as my alarm hadn't yet sounded, I probably had a good ten more minutes to sleep. So I went back to sleep.

And then my phone rang. It was my co-teacher. It was 8:43. I had a first period class at 8:50. I swore.

Not really understanding how I had managed to sleep through both of my alarms, I jumped out of bed, threw on the first clothes I found in the closet, considered asking my co-teacher to cover for me, then just bit the bullet and ran out the door. Fortunately, I live about a five minutes' walk away from school. When I'm running, make that two minutes. I got to my office at 8:49am this morning and went straight to class, disheveled and slightly out of breath. My hope is that my students were too sleepy to notice...

That's the second time something like this has happened, and I really hope it's the last.

- - -

Anyway, I wanted to talk about how wonderful my students are. Chatting with them during mealtimes always makes my day. I make it a point to eat dinner with my students at least twice a week, and some of them have taken note of this apparently odd behavior. Typical foreign English teachers don't eat with the students, I've been told. But I believe that bonding over meals is one of the best way to build up a relationship, so I don't mind the stares or awkward silences.

I usually try to time it so that I arrive at the cafeteria at the same time as the third-year students, since I've known them the longest and enjoy talking with them. But sometimes I'll just pick a table at random and walk up with a cheerful, "Hi! May I sit with you?" I don't really wait for an answer, though. The poor students have no choice but to stop gossiping in Korean and start answering my questions in English. "How was your weekend?" "Can you explain what's happening on the cafeteria TV right now?" "What exactly are we eating, anyway?" Although I make it sound like they're the victims of my heinous schemes, actually, I believe it's a positive influence. First-year students in particular are always impressed, first with me for being so bold as to sit with them, and then with themselves when they realize that, yes, they are capable of holding a conversation with a native English speaker and it's not as painful as they'd imagined!

And I love it when students ask me questions, too: simple ones such as what my favorite Korean food is or if I enjoy K-pop, or more complex questions like why I have a Korean name on Facebook (which led to a great conversation about the meanings of names). Today, a student was eagerly telling me about a great movie he'd watched called Final Fantasy, about a group of teenagers on a plane who learn that they are going to crash... I finally realized that he was talking about Final Destination, and we had a good laugh.

I was taken aback and actually touched one evening, when two of my second-years actually left their table to join me and some shy underclassmen girls. They were simply eager to talk to me about my class: JH wanted to study more Greek and Latin roots, and WJ thanked me for giving them the opportunity to write in class journals, but wanted more time to do it. I was absolutely thrilled. The underclassmen were absolutely bewildered.

Later, the conversation turned to a favorite topic of high school girls: beauty. It started when WJ remarked that I looked better without glasses. (I was wearing contact lenses that day.) I told her I'd considered getting corrective eye surgery in Korea, and from there we began discussing cosmetic surgery. WJ said that she didn't want to get plastic surgery, but the societal pressure was really intense. Any girl who doesn't want double eyelids is mercilessly asked just why she doesn't want to undergo a harmless, painless, beautifying procedure. JH, on the other hand, was 100% sure that she wanted to get plastic surgery, perhaps as soon as she graduated from high school.

"I look in the mirror every day, and... I can't look at myself," she said jokingly, covering her face in her hands. JY, who had just joined us, jumped right in to what she perceived was a typical roundtable roasting session. "Yes, yes, you're ugly!" she said ro JH, completely deadpan.

I tried to tell JH that she looked just fine the way she was, that all of them were naturally beautiful and didn't need plastic surgery, but JH's mind wasn't going to be changed in an instant. So, I told them a story about how one of my favorite students from my first semester as a teacher (way back in the fall of 2012) wrote a stellar essay on beauty standards. WJ was bright and daring, and she had chosen the prompt: "Should movie stars and people who appear on TV have to get plastic surgery?"

In her essay, WJ wrote that when she was younger, she'd lamented her physical appearance. However, when she realized that her role models were people like Steve Jobs and Oprah Winfrey who became successful without any help from their looks, she changed her mind about the importance of beauty in her life. But here's the clincher: she also wrote, "If somebody does want plastic surgery, then they should get it in order to remove their fatal complex." BOOM. A young feminist Beyonce in the making, I swear.

Well, and then WJ went and got her eyelids doubled, just like most of the other girls in her year when they graduated and went off to college. I didn't leave out that part of the story, and JH and WJ had a laugh at the slight irony. Nevertheless, I don't want this to be the end of us discussing standards of beauty. I'm trying to find room in my curriculum this semester for a lesson on this topic for my second-years. I mean, my students have nicknames like Monkey, Egg, and Rice Grain, because these somehow capture the essence of their achievements and personalities in a friendly, pithy moniker. No, I'm totally kidding; they call her Egg because her face is shaped like one, and she doesn't even mind. I really want to get my students talking about this.

Beauty is not the easiest topic to bring up in a South Korean classroom, especially if you're a foreigner with a wildly different perspective. My friend Julia was interviewed in a piece by This American Life last year, where she shared a lesson she did with her high school girls and compared beauty standards in Korea and the US. For the sake of her students' understanding, she boiled it down to: physical appearance seems surprisingly important in Korea, but you know what? It's not like that everywhere. Also, you are all beautiful.

I enjoyed hearing about her experience and listening to the clips from her class. There was some criticism about her decision to present American beauty standards in similarly black-and-white terms, but I admire Julia's intent to approach the topic objectively and with enthusiasm. I'm going to take a look at the lesson I did last year and see what I should alter or update for this year.

Oh hey, looks like I drifted way out into tangential waters again, didn't I? The product of a wandering mind on a late night. Time for bed. And I'll have to make sure I don't sleep through my alarm again!

Twinsters, the reunion of Korean sisters separated at birth

Following up on yesterday's post about SNL Korea's offensive adoptee skit, I'd like to share this "Facebook story" that I really like: "Twinsters".

via facebookstories

About a year ago, I was linked by a friend to a Kickstarter page for a documentary that a Korean adoptee wanted to make... about her newly-discovered twin sister. Thanks to YouTube, Facebook, and the crazy power of social media, she found out that she was one of a pair of girls given up for adoption from Busan in 1987. Her sister was raised in France, while she became American. They reunited, visited each other's adoptive families, toured South Korea, and inspired thousands of people along the way as the story of their reunion unfolded together.

Again: they visited South Korea together (for a Korean adoptee conference). They returned to the land of their birth. As far as I'm aware, they did not reunite with their birth mother or family. Goodness knows if they had, it would not have happened remotely similarly to the crude parody that SNL Korea embarrassed itself with last week.

On that note, SNL Korea has apologized for their skit on Twitter, according to allkpop.com. "We bow our heads and sincerely apologize to the Korean adoptees overseas and their families who've been hurt by the skit... Due to the carelessness of the production team, which failed to handle a sensitive matter with the utmost care, we apologize and will get rid of the relevant corner (코너, Konglish for 'feature')." They admitted that they tried satire and failed miserably. Their sad attempt at in-group humor only alienated an already stigmatized and misunderstood section of Korean society. Hence, the apology. Fair enough. I just hope they don't do it again, but honestly, chances are they'll just make the same mistake with a different marginalized group...

Here is a link to the tweet and the full apology in Korean.

Adoption is no joke. I mean, I'm all for finding humor in various family situations, but we must realize that a line has to be drawn somewhere. And really, isn't it ultimately more rewarding to follow a 'feature' like "Twinsters" that explores adoption not through probing, farcical humor but through mystery, surprise, and genuine storytelling?

Anyway, Facebook did some great work with the infinitely more interesting story, and I encourage you to follow the visually-stunning timeline of their intertwined lives. I'm looking forward to watching the documentary when it is released next year.

SNL Korea fail in their attempt to satirize Korean adoptees

This news story has been making the rounds on Facebook, and I thought I'd share if you weren't aware.

Saturday Night Live Korea has a history of performing skits that poke fun at various members of Korean society in a way that outrages Western audiences. In the past, they (along with many other TV shows) have used blackface to satirize Africans and African-Americans, and this drew ire from the international community. Perhaps you could point to cultural ignorance in defense of their choice of comedy, but what they've done now is pretty much inexcusable.

A recent sketch parodies the reunion of a Korean adoptee arriving in Korea for the first time to meet his birth mother. What starts off as an emotional meeting quickly descends into idiocy as the adoptee butchers his Korean, uses improper honorifics, and asks his mother extremely rude questions. The humor is supposed to come from the adoptee's complete unfamiliarity with the Korean language and culture, but the international Korean adoptee community is not laughing at all.

One of my best friends in Korea is an adoptee, and she has never met her birth mother. I can't imagine what it must have felt like to watch this video and think about how this video reflects what Korean society thinks of her. Was the audience laughing because it's funny that a person separated from their family and raised on the other side of the world has difficulty communicating their thoughts and feelings? Do they find it funny that what could be the most emotional moment of their life is reduced to an overwrought demonstration of kicking and flailing that is meant to be taekwondo? Are they aware the adoption is in many ways an industry in South Korea that began with the orphans from the Korean War and continues today with babies of underage or unwed mothers being exported all around the world?

SNL Korea's skit is insensitive at best and utterly heartless at worst. In choosing to satirize this very painful reminder that the Korean diaspora is irreversably split and scattered, they show disrespect not just to adoptees, their birth families, and their adoptive families, but to all of Korea, all around the world.

Some links:

KoreAm Magazine coverage, a summary of the issue as well as a link to the original video.

Open letter from Jane Jeong Trenka, a very heartfelt and beautifully-written plea for #AdopteeDignity.

Reddit discussion of the skit.

But the most convicting thing I've read by far was the dozens of comments left by the international adoptee community on SNL Korea's Facebook page, blasting them for their poor taste and cruel sense of humor and relating some very personal stories about their experiences as adoptees. These comments are real. I hope the folks over at SNL Korea get them translated and actually read them. We'll see what happens...

Ready, Set, Spring!

Spring break at my alma mater begins today, but for me, this TGIF marked the end of my first week of the spring semester. True to form for a Korean school, the class schedules have not yet been finalized, and I've spent a good chunk of time attending opening ceremonies and sitting in on faculty meetings where I understand nothing. One thing that did surprise me, though, was that I ended up spending fewer hours this week actually teaching classes than I did proofreading posters and scripts for my second-years' upcoming presentations at various science competitions.

The semester has just begun, but already the second-years are in high gear as they prepare everything they can for their university applications this fall. A prize from a national or international science fair would be a huge boon. So, eight students are currently working on five different research projects in physics, chemistry, engineering, mathematics, and environmental science, and all of them approached me in the middle of the week with just one request: "Teacher, please check my draft?"

At times I'd simply get an email from a student with an enormous file attached, subject: "Here is our poster" and nothing in the email body. I've really got to teach them how to properly ask favors of people. This will not fly in college.

Smoothing out the grammar and adjusting the layouts of five scripts and five posters takes a heck of a long time, I soon found out, but on the other hand, I really enjoyed doing it. Like I always say, my students are geniuses, and the advanced work they produce never fails to impress me, even if at times I can't make sense of their English. (I always wonder if my failure to understand is a result of my poor grasp of science, their poor grasp of English, or actually an error in the data, or perhaps even all of the above. In fact, I caught a calculation error in a student's report today, and she was slightly embarrassed, as all of my students are aware that I suck at math.)

Today, the other English teachers, the students' advisers, and I attended their mock presentations and coached them on pronunciation and presentation technique. Some of them will go to Seoul this weekend to compete; I wish them the best of luck!

As for the new first-year students... Yay, freshmen! They are so adorable, there's no denying that. They still bow very low to all the teachers, they usually look lost and confused when they walk into my classroom, and they're also quite friendly so far.

My traditional first class always includes a short Q&A session with my new students, and when I tell them they can ask me any question they like, the first one is almost always, "Do you have a girlfriend?" Sigh... Having been in Korea for so long now, the question doesn't faze me anymore, but -- Americans! If you were asked that by your students, wouldn't you think it rather unexpected, or even rude? It's so hard for me to take that question as a natural part of the getting-to-know-you-process; to be honest, I tend to attribute it to an apparent Korean obsession with relationships that I'll never understand.

Here are some other gems from the grill sessions!

• A girl stood up and stuttered for a minute, embarrassed, before choking out, "Do you think that you are handsome?" I told her I thought I was maybe average.
• Her friend later asked, "Do you think that you look like 휘성?" (Google "Wheesung".) I looked him up in class and said, "Um... no. Next!"
• "Where did you get your hairstyle?" When I told him I went to Hongdae, the whole class went, "우~~~! (Oooh!)"
• One shy student asked, "When will you go back to your country?" The entire class shushed him, but I quickly said that it was fine! Any question is okay. I told him (honestly) that I'm not 100% sure yet. But I feel bad; I don't think he asked because he wants to know how soon I'll be gone, but rather because he knows that foreign English teachers rarely stay for long.
• On that note, one of my second-years, who knows that I plan to go to graduate school, asked me this evening when I was planning to return to the United States. I gave him a more complete answer: I've been accepted to a graduate school, but I have not committed yet. And to be frank, I don't want to leave Korea! I don't even want to be talking about it yet, least of all with my students...
• Another second-year student, whom I called MJ last year: "Teacher, can you call me (by my nickname,) YM? All of my friends call me that." I replied with a smile, "Ooh, does that mean I'm your friend?" Her response: "Um..."
• Lastly, I've discovered a teacher's pet! Ha. Or rather, he discovered me: on Wednesday, a first-year student I hadn't taught yet came by in the afternoon, as nervous and awkward as any new student has ever been. He greeted me in well-rehearsed English, informing me that his name was Dave and that he had come by just to introduce himself. I shook his hand; he bowed when he took it. As soon as he left the classroom, he turned to his friends and let out a loud sigh that clearly meant, "Ughhh I finally did it! That was nerve-wracking as hell." Made me smile. The next day, after class, he asked me if I liked Dr. Who and Supernatural, which are his two favorite TV shows. Unfortunately, I don't. But I invited him to tell me all about the shows so that I could find out!

America, the Superpower of the Present Age

I sound like a Tea Partier, don't I? Ha.

My co-teacher spent seven weeks in Austin, Texas this past winter break. She participated in a Fulbright-sponsored teacher training program that brought Korean English teachers -- most, but not all, associated with Fulbright schools -- to the US for cultural immersion and educational exchange. She stayed with a Texan homestay, visited cultural landmarks in Austin, and taught classes on Korean culture to students at a low-performing high school.

I've been very eager to talk to her about her experiences in the United States, as this was her first time there, and it was for such a long time, too! Seven weeks is longer than my orientation training for Fulbright.

So, I asked her over lunch what her most enduring impression of America was. Surprisingly, she said that although seven weeks was not enough time to draw any strong conclusions, she saw enough during her time there to understand why America is the strongest nation in the world. I raised an eyebrow. She explained, "the sheer number of garbage cans on the streets was so impressive. You know, having garbage cans everywhere means that the government can afford them. Even though it's a seemingly small thing, it kind of represents how much abundance there is in America."

I commented offhand about how I would have interpreted the profusion of garbage cans as a sign that Americans produce far too much garbage. "Well," she replied, "maybe it's both."

She also spoke in slight awe of the enormous bathrooms ("Necessary for all of those fat Americans?" I asked.), the impressive museums and art galleries ("Well, compared to D.C...."), and the fact that they would turn on the air conditioning when it was 75°F outside. The wastefulness of this behavior notwithstanding, all of it pointed to abundance, and my co-teacher went on and on. Austin is only the 11th-largest city in America, but it has airports, museums, and beautiful buildings to rival Seoul and Incheon. It's as if the United States has at least eleven Seouls -- the magnitude was overwhelming.

Obviously, Seoul is inimitable and there's no comparing it with Austin or any other American city for that matter, but the point is that she came away from her experience in the US thinking that Japan, France, and even England now seemed like superpowers of the past, while America is the superpower of today.

So that was interesting.

On a different note, my co-teacher also talked about the thing that surprised her most about American schools: she and all of the other Korean participants in the program agreed that the American students they encountered in every classroom situation were on the whole far better behaved than their own country's students. They were extremely polite and extremely PC: one class hushed an ESL student when he asked my co-teacher how long she'd been studying English, but she smiled and simply asked him to guess. The Korean teachers came away with glowing reviews of American high schoolers. I had a hard time believing this, but I guess there's something in the lunches in Texas...

Also, she was extremely shocked to find the extent to which America's "melting pot" was actually more like a 3.79 million square-mile pizza with 314 million toppings on it, all squished together but never mixing. Case in point: Spanish-speaking students who had been living in the States for two years who could still only manage, "Me no speak English." She described it as students learning EFL (English as a Foreign Language) instead of ESL (English as a Second Language), since they were living in a completely Hispanic community and weren't even encountering English in their daily lives, not even at school.

We chatted about immigration and how it forms a dynamic society, the deal with the over-achieving Asian immigrant stereotype, and some of her other experiences with places she visited and the Americans she met. I've been thoroughly enjoying all of these conversations, as my casual cynicism is being given a run for its money by my co-teacher's rave review. And the best part is that I find I'm learning a lot about my country.

My country? Every time my co-teacher shared her stories about the United States with me, she would call it "your country". To be honest, that sounded strange to my ears. It's because she went to Texas and experienced Southern/Southwestern culture. I'm from California, and I've never been to Texas. Although I introduce myself as American or Taiwanese-American, I consider myself culturally Californian, not simply American (Since "American culture" can mean so many things, it tends not to mean anything at all.), and I certainly can't identify with any part of Texan culture. All I know about it are stereotypes. So the foreign experiences my co-teacher had had sounded somewhat foreign to me, too. This has gotten me thinking about how the United States of America really are united states, discrete and different but all trying their darnedest to get along.

Ah, USA... you are a bottomless well of culture and cultural issues that make every conversation about you utterly fascinating. Keep it up, home country. Keep on being the beautiful mess that currently controls the rest of the planet. I'll be back soon.

Kumamoto (熊本)

Kumamoto Castle. The young lady in the kimono is dressed up for Coming-of-Age Day.

Kumamoto wasn't always called Kumamoto. Those of you who know your kanji/hanja/hanzi might wonder if this city really is the origin of Japan's bears. Actually, its ancient name was 隈本, also read as Kumamoto, but the first character means "corner" or "shadow/shade", not "bear". The origin of shadows? Nah, it's really just a place name, probably kind of a boring one, too, because in 1607 someone thought it would be clever to change the first character to its homophone (熊, which means "bear"), and the new moniker stuck.

That someone, I believe, was Katō Kiyomasa, a daimyo (feudal lord) who ruled in Kyushu in the late 16th and early 17th century. Kiyomasa is an important figure in Kumamoto history; he is also quite the antagonist in Korean history. As a senior commander of the army, Kiyomasa led invasions of Korea during the Joseon Dynasty and captured Seoul, Busan, and Ulsan, among other cities, though the conquest was unsuccessful in the end. He was also an enemy of the Japanese Christians in his domain and brutally persecuted them not long before Christianity was banned outright.

On the other hand, Kiyomasa is responsible for expanding and completing Kumamoto Castle (begun in 1467), which is the main landmark of the city and one of the most gorgeous buildings I've ever seen. The castle keep you see today is actually a reconstruction, since the fortress was besieged during a rebellion in 1877, and the castle was burned to the ground.

Erik and me at Kumamoto-jō.

Erik and Kiyomasa of the tall hat

Walking the grounds of Kumamoto Castle, I noticed several archetypically Japanese things: koi in the river, a woman dressed in a kimono for Coming of Age Day, men in costume as ninja and soldiers for tourists' photos, beautiful artwork on sliding wooden doors inside the museum, a traditional tea ceremony room... It got me thinking about Japanese culture and its portrayal as a monolithic entity to Western eyes.

Google "Japanese culture" and you get a pretty uniform set of images: geisha, sumo wrestlers, Buddha, Shinto shrines, sushi, cherry blossoms, and more geisha. Maybe throw a little Hello Kitty and martial arts in there. (Do the same for "American culture" and you'll see a lot of flags, fast food, and bland diversity-themed stock photos.)

I wondered aloud to Erik if the historical periods in which geisha, sumo wrestlers, ninja, and samurai all came into existence were chronologically close to each other at all. These human icons are, of course, all unique and representative of Japan, but I think we should find it strange to see them juxtaposed, as we would pause at the sight of ninja prowling around a castle in 2014 on the hunt for tourists with fancy digital cameras. Remember Katy Perry's infamous yellowface performance at the American Music Awards last year? "Look at how much she loves and appreciates Japanese culture," they said. "She's dressed as a geisha. There are cherry blossoms falling from the ceiling. Her backup is doing a Chinese fan dance. Ooh, taiko drums!" All of those elements of Japanese (and Chinese) culture appropriated and smashed together to appeal to a Western audience.

Let's turn the tables: I want to see G-Dragon perform his latest hip-hop number on a stage accompanied by Asian cowboys, breakdancers with uh... braided hair extensions, and women dressed like Lady Liberty. GD's a great dancer: he can show off the Charleston, the Dougie, the New York Hustle, and eight beats of perfectly-synchronized tutting with his crew, finishing it off with a square dance as maple leaves and Wal-Mart coupons rain down from the ceiling. "Look at how much he loves and appreciates American culture!"

Erik's apple pie a la mode!

Anyway, cultures collide in odd ways. Erik's favorite dessert in Japan is not mochi or roll cakes but a new McDonald's menu item called "A la mode". It's literally a McD apple pie in a cup, topped with McD soft serve and chocolate sauce. You can obviously make this yourself at any McDonald's, but in Japan it's actually on the menu.

Back to Kumamoto, then. On my second evening in the city, we met up with a friend of Erik's and ate dinner at a great all-you-can-eat shabu shabu place, vowing to consume more than our money's worth!

We followed it up with a night of arcade games. It's been years since I've set foot in an arcade, so I hardly recognized any of the games. A lot of them looked glitzy and super high-tech, including a newfangled rhythm game called "MaiMai" that resembles a giant washing machine. Timed to music, players must tap buttons around a circular screen as colored rings reach them. It looks and feels silly at first, but once you get warmed up and choose a harder skill level, suddenly it becomes really fun. And addicting. I was sad that Dance Dance Revolution was nowhere to be found, but MaiMai more than made up for it. There was also an amazing air hockey game called "Big Bang Smash!" that unloads dozens of tiny pucks onto the court for a minute of pucking madness. It was awesome.

Big Bang Smash! Air hockey on  a sugar high!

What else is there in Kumamoto? I can't forget Kumamon (not the Digimon), Kumamoto's friendly bear mascot! Thanks to Kiyomasa, this city is able to market its namesake with Kumamon toys, Kumamon t-shirts, and Kumamon's smiling visage on everything from cookies to face towels. I don't have any great photos of or with him, even though he is everywhere in Kumamoto, but I did get a face towel... Another mascot is the adorable puppy you see below. I can't remember its name, though, or what exactly he represents. Kawaii-dom, if nothing else.

강아지 (kangaji)! こいぬ (koinu)!

And... I'll sign off with some shots of our beautiful hostel, the "Dyeing and Hostel Nakashimaya". It's part traditional dye store and part traditional inn. Its cozy rooms have tatami mats for sleeping instead of beds and trunks with heavy locks instead of lockers. The lounge area has tons of manga, stunning decor, ancient maps, and modern computers. Every inch of the hostel is exquisite and charming, every figurine placed so that everywhere you look you're reminded that you're in Japan. Even the stairwells were decorated. Again, I wonder how well all the pieces fit together chronologically... is it classy or kitschy? Well, I trust the hostel owners' taste. It was too bad we only spent one night here, but it was enough to leave a solid impression. I highly recommend it.

That's a kid's samurai costume!

Gorgeous paper art.

Oh, and here's a video of some of the arcade games. We're a long way past the days of DDR...

Chalk It up to Cultural Differences

Once or twice a week, my school's small English department gets together for what I like to think of as teatime. We eat snacks, drink tea, and talk about an opinion or news article that we have all read. There are three Koreans and me in this group, and I've really enjoyed the discussions that we've had over the past year.

I've found that our views rarely align on most social issues, but on the bright side, this makes for lively debate and forces me to think very critically about my own opinions. Only if I'm feeling lazy do I simply ascribe the lack of unanimity to "cultural differences". It's true, there is a cultural difference, as well as an age difference and a disparity in life experience. However, I try my best to understand where they are coming from as people, not as representatives of any particular social category.

Recently, we've disagreed about the effect of media violence on a person's actions, the inclusive education of special-needs students, the welfare system for disadvantaged minorities (such as American Indians who live on reservations), approaches to immigration reform and cultural assimilation, and the benefits and drawbacks of stereotyping. Tough topics, all of them. I'm lucky to be surrounded by English teachers who think critically about issues like these.

Today, we didn't discuss an article, but rather, a student named JD. He had come into the office to ask a teacher, SK, about a very specific and convoluted grammar point. The question was one of those 따지는, nitpicky grammatical queries: if "almost" is an adverb, how come it can modify a noun, as in "almost everyone had arrived"?*

JD continued to ask a lot of difficult questions; I was glad he was directed them at SK, since I definitely wouldn't have been able to answer them. When he had finally left, SK remarked that the level of English grammar he was trying to learn was a bit high. This began a discussion on the merits of focusing on studying proper grammar versus maximizing exposure by listening and reading when trying to learn a second language. I sided with SH, who felt like our student was wasting his time on questions beyond his level that weren't really important for proper language use anyway. SK insisted that his curiosity and drive to understand difficult concepts was good, and that grammar was the better method for our students, since they aren't in a total-immersion environment, anyway.

I wasn't surprised at the difference in opinion, but I was surprised at what followed. The focus was retrained on the question of whether Korea values a clever, vocal, and highly inquisitive mind like JD's. It was a good thing he's at our school and not a normal high school, SH explained, because at a normal high school he wouldn't be accepted. SK sharply disagreed, saying that she saw a bit of herself in him, that his analytic personality was a trait that should be encouraged, since his creativity was bound to be met with success in the future. "Yes," SH replied, "but students and teachers are different now." Most teachers simply didn't like JD's outspokenness, she said, especially in math and science classes, because he's really just full of hot air. "He thinks too much. He has all of these ideas and he talks for a long time, but there's no point to what he says. He does not actually ask questions, only thinks of his own answers." SH reasoned that he was a bright student but lacked social intelligence; he needed to learn how to listen. I hesitantly agreed, offering that I really appreciated JD's presence in my class because he was refreshingly different and always spoke his mind, but that he did sometimes dominate discussions for his own gain. I was thinking all the while that we were talking a bit too much about one student, and wondered if I could change the subject.

But before I could, things started to become personal. SK argued that schools were losing respect for student self-expression. She said that outside of Seoul and Gyeonggi Province, education was too conservative and people weren't learning how to express themselves clearly. This was when JJ finally chimed in; he said apologetically that that was wrong. Schools in Seoul are just as bad at promoting self-expression, he said. But SK fired back that her own experience as a person from Seoul was really telling about the difference between the capital and Gyeongsang Province. She lived in Seoul for decades, but it was only after she left that she realized why Seoul people are called "서울 깍쟁이" (city slickers). In the same way, having come to Gyeongsang as an outsider, she had to live and observe from the sidelines for fifteen years before understanding why Gyeongsang people are called "진국" -- sincere and authentic, but only after you take the time to get to know them, because when you first meet them, boy, do they have trouble saying what they really mean. SH's voice stiffened. "Yes, but I don't think it's true about everyone." She has lived in this province her whole life. "At least we're more open than Chungcheong people."

I began to feel very uncomfortable about the conversation and turned to my computer to work. All four of us were at our desks, separated by cubicle walls, but SK had stood up. Right, she said to SH, you're actually one of the most blunt people I know. And, well, I don't know anything about Chungcheong people. (JJ, our resident Chungcheong person, mumbled something I didn't catch.) But still, even though it's a stereotype, SK continued, Gyeongsang Province really is conservative. There is some truth to what I say about the people.

"Yes, but..."

Our lively debate had descended into an argument, and I was embarrassed and extremely anxious. All of this, I remind you, was being played out in English, so I understood every word. But I couldn't think of what to say to contribute, or to dampen the sparks that were beginning to fly.

Fortunately, the comment about Chungcheong Province people seemed to diffuse the tension a bit, and SK remarked that it was dangerous for her to be talking about regional stereotypes in this manner. Edging away from the abyss, we went back to talking about JD and his educational prospects. He is definitely a bright student, and I agreed with SK that he would be very successful if he studied in a more open educational environment, such as an American or European university. I also thought he could be successful anywhere if he put his mind to it, but I didn't say anything more, because I was just about done with the discussion.

And with that, the bell rang and teatime was over. The 분위기 lightened considerably. A year ago, this was an hour when SK and SH would commiserate together about problems in Korean society, such as gender inequality, corruption in education, and school inefficiency, and I would politely listen. But today was a different beast altogether. We didn't have any tea, but things were still quite "heated".

The good thing is that I am learning a heck of a lot about Korea and Korean domestic issues by osmosis.

The Difference Between Migrants and Expats (MAMF 2013)

MAMF 2013 in Yongji Cultural Park, Changwon

After church today, some friends and I visited the Migrants' Arirang Multicultural Festival being held in Yongji Cultural Park, conveniently just across the street from Hanbit Presbyterian Church. I had heard of this unique cultural festival last year, but I didn't attend. This year, it appeared to be a much bigger event, and since it was so close and also because there was the promise of food, I went to check it out.

My first and most enduring impression was that there were a lot of people there, and the diversity was stunning. Now, I know that Changwon is home to thousands of non-Koreans. Ever since South Korea's rise to economic success, people from many other countries in Asia have arrived to seek their fortunes here. But I never realized just... how many there were. I have literally never seen more non-East Asians assembled in one place until today. And I emphasize non-East Asians because Western countries were hardly represented here. More on that later.

Mongolian representatives enter the wrestling ring.

The festival had been running all weekend, but the crowds were still bustling and events were going on all the time even on its final day. In one corner of the park, a large group of Vietnamese were holding a talent show. They were decked out in traditional clothes or t-shirts with their national flag on them. In another area, what looked like a beauty contest was taking place for the Cambodian community. Right next to them, a Nepalese man decked out in hip-hop attire was giving a rap performance to an attentive crowd. Pakistani university exchange students were blasting music and dancing together, too, to the amusement of the many Koreans wandering by the park. One of the most interesting events I witnessed was a demonstration of Mongolian wrestling, or Bökh (Бөх). The athletes braved the cold in their very bare uniforms (see photo above) and also did some interesting balletic salutes to their flag and to the crowd before commencing their bouts of grappling and throwing each other to the ground.

In addition to the events, there were numerous stalls promoting each country's unique culture and food, as well as stalls for kids to experience the "multi" aspect of the culture by creating buttons or decorating flags. My favorite part, of course, was browsing the food stalls for delicious things to eat. Vietnam had pho, Japan had takoyaki, Indonesia had sate ayam, and Russia had a barbecue grill that was billowing enormous clouds of smoke in every direction. For lunch, I got menudo, a kind of meat stew, and turon, which are like fried banana egg rolls, both from the Philippines. I also sneaked bites of my friends' pad thai (Thailand), tandoori chicken (India), and fried calamari (Indonesia). This lunch reminded me a lot of Multicultural Week at my high school, where student clubs would raise money by selling foods from all around the world, and because my high school was in Fremont, well, the diversity of authentic ethnic foods you could find at our little high school fair was superb.

Food stalls! So many good smells emanating from this area of the festival...

So here's the odd part. The first thing I looked for when I realized that it was a multicultural festival was the stall for Taiwan. I didn't find one. China had a food stall, where they were selling dumplings and milk tea (unfortunately, when I asked for one, they had temporarily run out of water... at least I got to practice my Mandarin!). But Taiwan was nowhere to be found. I also noticed that there were food stalls for over a dozen Asian countries, including countries that I must admit I never think about (like Sri Lanka, Uzbekistan, Nepal, and Bangladesh. I always forget about Bangladesh on Sporcle quizzes...), but the only European country represented was Germany, whose popular wurst stall was being run by a Korean.

It didn't take me long, however, to realize that it being the "Migrants' Arirang" festival, the only countries represented would be those of... migrant workers. I then looked around and realized that all these South Asians, Southeast Asians, and Central Asians that I had never noticed before were probably from communities of migrant workers or immigrants in Korea, and I had a really big "OH" moment.

I think that up until now, my astoundingly narrow-minded idea of the "foreigner" (외국인) in Korea was of the Western Anglophone: an independent twenty-something  from Canada, South Africa, the UK, Australia, New Zealand, or the US, most likely white, here in Korea for one to four years on a short teaching stint before moving home or on to the next Asian country. Of course, living in Changwon expanded that idea a bit to include young couples on a short teaching stint, old couples on a very long teaching stint, missionaries, foreign exchange students, and lots and lots of engineers from all over the world.

Most of these kinds of foreigners I can also categorize as "expats". The dictionary definition of "expatriate" is someone who is banished from or purposely withdraws from their native country to live somewhere else, but it has less of a negative or political connotation in expat circles today, especially when it comes to communities of expat English teachers. I've noticed that the word "expat" now refers primarily to Western foreigners, a more exclusive circle than 외국인.

And now I can see clearly how there is a huge group of people categorically left out of the discourse: immigrants (이민자). I never see them because they are mostly employed in industry, like in one of Changwon's hundreds of factories, in a completely different part of town. Migrant workers (이주 노동자) are supposed to be temporary, making enough money to move back home or onto something else in just a few years. However, I learned that in some immigrant communities in Changwon, families have lived here for ten or more years. Their children have grown up here. They are, in fact, exactly like the permanent immigrant communities in California that I'm so accustomed to (that I'm a part of, actually), only their adopted country is Korea, not the United States.

I find it somewhat awkward that this had never really occurred to me before -- it was a curious case of culture shock. That there are huge communities of minorities threaded into the seemingly solid-color fabric of Korean society shouldn't be a surprise to anyone. But it took my seeing all of them "out in the open" to realize how sizable the demographic really is.

Perhaps the other awkward part was realizing then why I couldn't find Taiwan today: there are relatively few migrant workers in Korea who are from my motherland, because Taiwan is developed enough economically for its people not to have to go abroad to find work. (Plus, Koreans don't crave stinky tofu the way they crave jajangmyeon.)

And that then made me think about how strange it would be if I did run into a poor Taiwanese enclave somewhere in the world and found myself staring straight into the face of my American privilege. Taiwanese-Americans and ABCs of my generation have generally done very well for themselves in the US. What if this wasn't the case somewhere else, and I met a community of Taiwanese emigrants who were living virtually unrecognized in a society that only acknowledged them once a year with a festival that celebrated but also completely Otherized them? I don't know what I would do. I would probably also have trouble communicating with them, beyond asking for a 布丁奶茶 and explaining that I'm actually from California.

Perhaps I'm over-thinking this now. Readers, what do you think about migrant workers and immigrant communities in the place where you live? Do you think about them at all?

In any case, I did enjoy spending time at the Migrants' Arirang Multicultural Festival today, and above all else I'm happy that Changwon hosts a festival like this, in the midst of Korea's festival-overload season. (Also happening this weekend were the Andong Maskdance Festival, the Busan International Film Festival, the Jinju Lantern Festival, and the Korea Drama Festival, and those are just the ones in the Gyeongsang provinces alone!)

P.S. Here are two articles about MAMF 2013 that I will get around to reading (and maybe translating -- they're in Korean) if I have the time: Nocut News and International News.

Meeting Teachers

During finals week, the teachers at my school proctor exams for up to three hours every morning. Proctoring is something I'm quite thankful I was never asked to do, because the job entails literally standing up at the front or back of a classroom for the entire test period to watch the students take the test, finish the test, and nap. The proctor is not allowed to sit, sleep, or even bring a book. There are two teachers in every classroom to make sure no one teacher does anything illicit (i.e. help a student).

Understandably, the teachers have been unwinding from these daily tests of tenacity by going out to lunch together almost every day. When I'm invited, I feel just the tiniest bit guilty for going out with them on the school's dime without having done the work. (Although I've had no classes to teach and no tests to proctor this week, I've been staying busy at school by creating class awards, like "Most Improved Student", and preparing teaching materials for Taiwan.) But I enjoy the time I get to spend with my fellow teachers. I've been feeling lately that I don't fit in very well, and this is even taking the language barrier and cultural differences into account.

I guess that's why I baked all those cookies for the Fourth of July. Sharing food is a great way to build a relationship, and perhaps I was trying to curry favor in some way after a semester of very little communication with the non-English teachers. I might chat with a few of them for a couple of minutes every week, but that's hardly a connection. And it's fun to play volleyball or badminton with them at the weekly Teacher Sports Day, but on the other hand, I think that the competitive aspect of the sports day is really important to them, and since I'm really bad at sports, I'm still not scoring any points with them in this field, so to speak.

Anyway, shared meals are a good thing, especially if they're at the neighborhood barbecue restaurant instead of our school's dining hall. I've gotten opportunities to chat with teachers that I don't normally see at lunch, and it's been great. Even better was the time the English department went out to lunch at a great shabu shabu chain called 꽃마름 (Flower Hill). It's Vietnamese-styled hot pot, where you boil your meat in a delicious broth and then wrap it in Vietnamese rice paper to make a little spring roll. We ate a lot and chatted for hours over coffee about sweatpants, monpe (몸뻬), Islam, hallal and kosher, being full (strangely, there are very few different ways to say that you're full in English...), and veiled threats (은근한 협박).

Aside from the teachers at my school, I've had several interesting experiences with teachers at other schools this past week. On Tuesday, a group of teachers from Turkey and Kazakhstan visited our school. They were teachers from specialized science high schools in those countries, and they wanted to learn a bit more about the Korean education system. Since my fellow English teachers had to proctor exams, the task of interpreting for their campus tour actually fell to me. I was really nervous, because 1) I have never had to do this kind of simultaneous interpretation from Korean to English before and 2) my principal was joining the tour and 3) I never understand a word my principal says (his provincial accent is really strong).

Thankfully, the tour was very simple. I just had to point out the main buildings: gymnasium, auditorium, dormitory, dining hall, classrooms. When it came to the details, like the energy-saving measures in our architecture or the students' lifestyle, I did less literal translation and more "listen for a phrase the guide says that you understand, and then explain using your own words and what you already know." But I did successfully translate all the questions and answers in both directions, and although it was mentally tiring, I'm pretty proud of what I did. A year ago, that would have been flat-out impossible for me.

After about half an hour, my co-teacher finished proctoring and saved me from having to explain the technology in our school's physics and chemistry labs and research rooms. All in all, I think the Turkish teachers had a pleasant visit, even though lunch at our dining hall was not exactly to their taste (and also nearly impossible to eat without a fork). It seems like there's some sort of exchange program in the works for our students in the near future...

The following interesting encounter with a teacher was over the phone with the native English teacher at Ulsan Science High School. He's Australian, which I didn't expect, but we had a great chat about our experiences at science high schools, and he gave me the lowdown on an English conversation certificate program his schools does that mine wants to emulate. Even though his accent was really strong -- and it's been years since I've talked to anyone from Australia -- I understood almost everything he said. I feel kind of bad for his students, though. That accent takes some getting used to!

And lastly, an American gym teacher from New York came to visit our school yesterday for reasons still unbeknownst to me. I gave her a tour, as well as some Fourth of July cookies. She seemed to be experiencing a bit of culture shock, guilelessly asking me, "Do you think they ever get tired of eating rice?" and "Why is there never any soap?" but nevertheless, she approached everything with a disarmingly straightforward enthusiasm that belied the driving rain. From the golf driving range to the belt massager in the gym to the fact that our students clean their own classrooms regularly, everything was amazing and worth photographing. It was amusing, but on a more serious note, it made me realize that I've grown so accustomed to the way things work here in Korea that I'm no longer surprised, either pleasantly or not, by things I would have found odd a year ago. But explaining them to someone less familiar than I actually helps us both understand a little bit more about the nature of cultural difference.

That's a lot of teacher-teacher interaction for one week! But the great thing is that I learn a little something from every moment, and that alone makes it worthwhile.

P.S. Because I don't know where else to write this: At taekgyeon class earlier this week, I accidentally kneed my teacher (관장님) in the nose. It was a little bit too vigorous of an attempt to intercept a pass during indoor soccer. He started bleeding. I was really embarrassed and even did the down-on-your-knees bow in apology, but he was all right in the end. Now that's a teacher-teacher interaction you don't want to have.