국제 시장 - "Ode to My Father"

In Korean class, we watched a film called "국제 시장". The Korean title translates to "International Market", a reference to the famous traditional marketplace in Busan, but its English title is "Ode to My Father".

"The greatest story of the most ordinary father"

I didn't know too much about the film beforehand, only that it is currently South Korea's second-highest grossing film ever (despite only being released last December). Also, people tend to describe it as South Korea's version of "Forrest Gump". I could certainly see many thematic parallels: both movies follow the life of one man across a backdrop of important national events and tell tales of loss and reconciliation, change versus tradition, and hope amidst terror.

The story is about a man named Deok-soo who, as a child, loses his father and a younger sister during the Hungnam Evacuation (during the Korean War). Along with his other younger siblings and his mother, the family relocates to Busan and struggles to get by even after the armistice, with Deok-soo begging for change and chocolate bars from American GIs after school. Always needing more money to support his family, Deok-soo spends his entire adolescence and early adulthood working odd jobs and even moves to Germany to work in dangerous coal mines. The dramatic and colorful stories from the past are interspersed with scenes in present-day Busan, when Deok-soo is an old man (who speaks with some excellent Busan satoori) reliving his memories one by one.

Everyone says that "Ode to My Father" is a sad movie. While that is certainly true -- I cried more than once -- I think it's more accurate to call it a movie that exemplifies the Korean sentiment known as 한 ("han"). Now, han is hard to explain. According to this article in the Korea Times, it is a "deep-seated sense of grief and grievance [against] very powerful agents of injustice." It is a mixture of sorrow and resentment in response to wrongdoing and manifests itself emotionally in a variety of ways, not just sadness. More peculiarly, however, han can accumulate, both within a person and among a community, or even, as it is most often cited, throughout a nation. Han can become the emotional vehicle for a national lament, and it is this kind of han that "Ode to My Father" so masterfully epitomizes.

Deok-soo as a young beggar boy in 1950's Busan

You see, South Korea possesses a history that bursts at the seams with woe. It may be a developed country today, but for the past seventy years, it has struggled with brutal colonization, abject poverty, a civil war that divided its people, utter dependence on Western nations, and throughout all of this, a sense of shame that it could not provide for its people until it finally pulled itself by its bootstraps into the twenty-first century. Thus, Korea as a nation feels han: because families like Deok-soo's were separated by a war they did not start, because it could not afford to educate all of its children, because young men had to labor and die in far-flung foreign countries in order to make enough money to send home. Every remarkable event in this one character's life was connected in some way to the constant struggle against an invisible -- or perhaps many-headed -- oppressor.

It's no wonder that this film's most ardent fans comprise the generation that lived through all of these atrocities. Korean 할머니 and 할아버지 (grandmothers and grandfathers) now in their seventies and eighties, as well people who grew up in the tumultuous decades following the Korean war, really drove the tickets sales that boosted its ranking. It's said that the older generations watched and rewatched the movie not just to experience the catharsis that came with two hours of nonstop han, but also because of 그리움 ("keulium"), or nostalgia. Despite the bleakness of the characters' lives in the movie, there are small moments of joy and a dogged determination to hold on to the past.

Deok-soo dancing with his first love in 1960s Germany

For example, although Deok-soo's life in Germany is almost literally a hellhole (for twelve hours a day, at least), he still gets to meet the love of his life, a Korean nursing student at the local hospital named Young-ja. There's a sense in their scenes together that the wonders of youth and infatuation can make months of eating stale bread while covered head to toe in coal dust worthwhile. And as the present-day Deok-soo continuously refuses to sell the humble imported goods shop he inherited from his aunt, we see a familiar narrative: the small business owner in conflict with with impertinent developers who only want high-rises and care nothing for tradition.

It is in this area, however, that one might be able to pick at a weakness in the film, namely the way it has whitewashed or wholly ignored certain parts of Korean history, under the guise of patriotism. This is a tricky issue to handle, because the director, Yoon Je-kyoon, has already stated that the film has no political aims or undertones. However, it isn't possible to create a movie meant to inspire a love of country without at least passively taking a stand on certain very unlovable things about Korea's recent past. Even I noticed the lack of any mention of the huge political unrest during the early 80s. And while Forrest Gump got to meet US Presidents Kennedy, Johnson, and Nixon, Deok-soo doesn't even brush the collar (옷깃만을 스쳐도 인연이다!) of any of his country's leaders, whose regimes were often dictatorial, and the absence is more than a bit conspicuous.

This excerpt from an LA Times review brings up another point I wanted to make: Lee Taek-kwang, a professor at Kyunghee University in Seoul, [says] that "Ode" reflects the conservative ideology that for many years exhorted South Koreans to forego individual rights in the name of national development. Referring to one scene in "Ode" where Duk-soo shuns a discussion with his wife to stand at attention for the national anthem, Lee told the Kyunghyang that "Ode" "effectively endorses the idea that the state can exploit its people."

At first I found the aforementioned scene to be funny, but after a moment's thought, I realized that it was actually convicting. The film's protagonist is endearing and the sacrifices he makes for his family are awfully inspiring, yet a close scrutiny of his life and ideology from another angle reveals that he is no more than the model citizen that an autocratic, brutally capitalist government wants. Although Deok-soo ostensibly joined the Korean forces in Vietnam because he needed money to help his family, the narrative is structured such that it is his patriotism that brings him back to the battlefield. He is not a powerless refugee, but a savior to the people fleeing war, as he did when he was a child; and there is a hefty message in that.

Yoon created "Ode to My Father" as a dedication to his actual father, who died when the director was in film school. He claims that he wanted to help Korea's younger generation understand the tribulations that their parents and grandparents had to endure to help bring the country to where it stands proudly today. In this sense, he has certainly created a masterpiece tear-jerker that drives the point home. A simple scene in which Deok-soo pens a letter from Vietnam to his wife really struck my heart: in it, he wrote, "It’s such a relief that it was us, and not our children, who were born during such a difficult time," and Young-ja sobbed on the floor of her home while I cried silently in my seat. The singular thought that filled my mind as I walked home that day was, "How little I know about what life was like for my father and grandfather and their generations! How scarcely I've asked them about their past sufferings!"

I wonder, often, how much today's young Koreans, including those in this country and in the global Korean diaspora, understand the concept of han. It's supposed to be a national sentiment, so can someone outside the country's borders carry it? Or is it solely the ethnic connection, which even a child adopted from Korean is meant to be able to feel because of the blood that runs through their veins? Or both? (I am certain the director intended both.) So then what about a random non-Korean American like me, who has learned about Korean history and spent a good chunk of his adult life living here? When my soul hurts with compassion and sorrow from watching a movie like "Ode to My Father", I don't know if I can call that emotion han. I have built jeong (정) with many Korean people, some of whom feel like family, but does that make me a part of the in-group? Can han be learned or appropriated? Tough, abstract questions, these...

But I can say at least that watching this film has not only given me a better perspective on the historical context that grounds both Korean ipseity and collective identity, but also enlightened for me parts of the unique debate over how this identity ought to be preserved and represented now and in the future. Besides all of this, "Ode to My Father" is a beautiful and satisfying film, so I highly recommend it.

- - -

P.S. There is a very cool story about the casting of one of the actors in the film. I vaguely recognized her when she first appeared on-screen, but I never would have guessed exactly where I'd first seen her. But after I read an article about how she was cast, I was extremely surprised! You can read the article here, but I warn you that there are major plot spoilers in it. So if you plan to watch "Ode to My Father" but haven't yet, save this article until afterward. Seriously.

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?

Glucose

As of last Wednesday, teacher sports day is back! After over a month of wondering if our principal had finally done away with the weekly volleyball, soccer, or badminton games for the teachers at my school, I was pleased to receive a message from the PE teacher announcing pick-up volleyball at 4:30 in the gym.

Although my volleyball skills are rusty (oh, who am I kidding, they were never even greased), I can hold my own on the court. I run fours for whatever team I'm on -- a position I was never permitted to play in high school -- and my mediocre attacks have earned me the admiration of some of my colleagues. Even better, my skills improved a lot last year when we played every week. Needless to say, I love playing volleyball with the other teachers at my school. I also love that we order pizza, fried chicken, and beer after the game, and that some female teachers come to watch and cheer us on, but mostly come for the food. Mr. Pizza is growing on me.

Anyway, yesterday I noticed that one of the chemistry teachers kept saying "Glucose!" over and over again throughout the game. I thought that he might be smack talking a player on the other team, since he always called it out every time the other team missed the ball or made an error. When a particularly good serve wasn't returned: "Glucose!" When I spiked and the ball went through someone's hands: "Glucose!"

I was really amused by the nickname, and I tried to figure out which teacher on the other team it was aimed at. It must have been someone else in the chemistry department -- why else would they be called Glucose? At least two of the teachers on the other team were definitely not very experienced on the court, but neither was responding directly to the name, so I was left uncertain.

Then, the teachers reset the court for a game of foot volleyball (족구), and after making a fool of myself for one match, I sat out the next one and munched on some pizza. The chemistry teacher took my place and resumed his name-calling: "Glucose!" right after a serve. "Glucose!" when we scored a point on an error.

I turned to a physics teacher who was there for the pizza. "Teacher, who is Glucose?"

"What?" he looked at me quizzically.

"Glucose... what that teacher said. Who is it?"

"I don't understand."

Embarrassed, I waited for a pause in the game, and then I called out to the chemistry teacher himself. "Teacher, what is Glucose?"

"Glucose?" he said. "포도당."

"Oh..." He had literally translated glucose into Korean for me. "That's not what I meant," I thought.

The physics teacher turned to me. "Why did you want to know that, anyway?"

"No," I tried to explain, "the teacher was saying 'glucose' to someone on the other team... Glucose! Glucose! Who is it?"

Suddenly, a light bulb lit up in his head. "Oh... 굿코스 (goot-kohss)! Good course! Good shot!"

"What? Good course?"

"It means 'good shot'," he explained. "Wow, then that must be Konglish, right?"

"Yeah, I guess!" I replied. It all made sense: Glucose wasn't a person, I had merely misheard a bit of garbled English. "Good course" was his version of "good shot", and it wasn't directed at the other team, but at our own. The physics teacher found this whole thing very funny and made a point to tell the chemistry teacher that what he had thought was English was actually Konglish.

It reminded me of how some of the teachers had picked up my habit of shouting "Nice serve!" after every serve (even if it wasn't remotely nice), but since I didn't really enunciate and they didn't really speak English, they eventually turned it into "나이서브 (nai-seo-bu)!"

They also laughed at me every time I called for the ball, saying "Got it!" quickly and repeatedly, like a machine gun: "Gotitgotitgotitgotit!" But I haven't yet been able to switch over to what they say: "마이 (mai)!", which I assume comes from the word "mine".

Every time I play sports in Korea, whether it's soccer with my students, padminton with my dojang, or anything with my teachers, I'm constantly amused and intrigued by how English has loaned so many words to Korean athletic vernacular but has also watched them become unflatteringly repurposed by the phenomenon of Konglish. Off the top of my head, there's 아웃(이다), 플레이, 블랙홀, and, of course, 화이팅.

My friends who champion the cause of sports diplomacy assert that sports can unite people from different cultures in a way that language cannot. While I agree, I believe it's also worth noting that sports can rarely be played successfully without verbal communication, and when it comes to the language of sports, English has lived up to its reputation as the language of conquest (or the international language, if you prefer). But this is precisely why it tickles me so much that English's ruthless incursion into Korean athletics has been tripped up by the fact that the Korean language will do whatever the heck it wants with whatever words come its way from outside the peninsula, proper syntax and pronunciation be damned.

Long live Konglish! And long live teacher sports day!

An Unexpected Homecoming

I'm home. I'm in California, and I'm sitting on my bed next to my stuffed animals and an emptied suitcase, and it feels very odd.

Only one month into my second year teaching, I couldn't have predicted this little break coming so soon. One sunny Sunday afternoon a few weeks ago, I was just beginning plans for winter holiday travel when my brother called and broke the news to me: A-kong, my grandfather, had passed away.

It was expected for me to attend the funeral. All nine of my grandfather's grandchildren had to come back from the far corners of the country (and the world, in my case). So, I asked for some time off from my school, booked the cheapest ticket I could find, and rearranged my plans to make room for an emergency trip home.

One thing I'm really thankful for and impressed by is the outpouring of sympathy from the Koreans in my circles. I wasn't planning on telling too many people what my plans were for the weekend, but obviously, I had to inform my co-teachers, since they have to cover seven classes for me. I also told my taekgyeon master and fellow trainees, and the night before I left, I paid a visit to my host parents from last year and broke the news to them, as well. The response was touching. My host parents asked me again and again if I was okay and if my family was holding together. My taekgyeon master gave me a gift of rice wine to take home to my parents. My co-teachers even collected some money for my family. It's a tradition to collect some funds for a 유족 (grieving family) to help cover funeral costs; there's even a special envelope you can buy for this very purpose. Although I don't think my family really needs the money they gave, it was such a strong manifestation of their kindness -- the same selflessness and helpfulness they have shown to me all year, which I have learned is called 정, that I was momentarily speechless when they gave it to me. I don't think I could bow low enough to show my gratitude!

Now that I'm actually home, though, everything feels kind of strange. I could attribute the feeling to 시차 (jetlag), but really, a part of me keeps telling me, "You're not supposed to be here right now. You should be teaching! You're supposed to be in Korea; why are you in California?" Obviously, this voice is delusional. What's most important right now is my family and the support I can give them for these five short days. I'm especially worried about my A-ma, whom I visited as soon as I got home. As far back as I can remember, I have never seen her cry, so I was shocked to see that she was sobbing when she opened the door to greet me this morning. It was partly joy to see me (despite having come from the farthest away, I was one of the first of the nine back for the weekend) and partly her utter sorrow that A-kong couldn't also be there to say hi to his youngest grandchild.

My last words to my grandfather, spoken before I left for Korea one month ago, were that I would see him again at Christmastime. I guess I got the timing wrong.

When most of the family gathered tonight for dinner and rehearsal for some of the songs we will sing at tomorrow's memorial service, I knew then that I was indeed in the right place. And at the right time. I will probably feel odd all weekend -- after all, death, though as common to the human experience as life, is never an easy thing to face for the first time -- but I know that everything will be okay. My family and I trust in God, who leads us into tough times and then back out of them, stronger or wiser or closer than ever before.

阿公, 我想你! 在主耶穌的懷裡安息.

택견회식

택견도장에는 회식이다.

Wow, it is 1:30am on Thursday morning, and I have just returned home from a 회식 with members of my 택견 gym. Yes, "company dinners" aren't restricted to companies or workplaces; I was invited to this outing along with the director, the trainer, and the director's old students. Actually, it wasn't really an outing, because we just ordered delivery chicken and liquor and had a mini-picnic on the floor of the 도장. I was about to be worried about spilling greasy meat onto the padded floors, but 관장님 laid out newspapers and otherwise didn't seem to mind. Then we all sat down and feasted!

The evening was all in all pretty fun, taking into account the fact that I only understood about 50% of what anyone was saying and often tuned out. But we played some 족구, talked a lot, drank a lot, and devoured the 치킨 and 족발. I made a few new friends out of 관장님's former students, mostly on account of me being able to speak English. Their introductions went a little like this: "Hi, nice to meet you. How old are you? Oh! We're the same age -- let's be friends! What's the best way to learn English quickly?" Only slight exaggeration intended... But I also got to practice my Korean, talking about rock climbing (암벽등반을 캘리포니아에서 해본적이 있다!), quinoa (베지테리엔이면, 키놔가 완전 단백질이니까 건강에 좋다!), my hobbies, and more.

Around 12:30am, I started to get pretty tired, and I thought about school the following day. In addition, the conversation turned super-serious as some of the adults downed more and more drinks (we had been drinking for three hours by then, and there seemed to be an endless supply of 관장님's favorite 막걸리 brand, 국순당...). At one point two people were having a very heated discussion about taekgyeon, and everyone else became quiet and tense as they listened, but even though I could understand a lot of what they were saying, I still couldn't follow the gist of the issue. 괜찮아...

Anyway, I had a nice, 정-filled evening, and I also appreciated meeting Koreans who are about my age. I hope we can keep in touch! Even if they just want me to be their English tutor, well, at least they can be my Korean tutors in return. Win-win.

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.

July Fourth

Cookies and sparklers!

July 4th didn't happen last year, at least for the eighty of us Fulbrighters. Our plane left Los Angeles on the evening of the third and arrived in Seoul on the fifth. Crossing the International Date Line going west caused us to lose a day, and that day happened to be Independence Day.

My family's usual July 4th tradition is a backyard barbecue at my cousin's place, the one with the swimming pool. Even though I call it a tradition, I realized today from looking back through my Facebook timeline that I haven't celebrated the holiday with my family in many years. In fact, I have not even been in the United States for Independence Day since 2009. That was four years ago. I feel mighty unpatriotic. Ha!

Hanna and Traylor roll out dough with... jars of Skippy. Ha!

This year, I decided to use the holiday as an excuse to give back to my school community. Although I'm not very close with all the teachers, I wanted to show my appreciation for their having taken care of me, given me rides to school, and shown willingness to converse in English, even though it's difficult for most of them. So, yesterday evening, I invited myself over to my friends' place and we had a cookie-baking party! (My homestay does not have an oven.)

Three and a half hours of mixing, cookie-cutting, decorating, and sneaking dough (and spoonfuls of peanut butter and Nutella) later, we had over a hundred cookies. We then ate them. We also lit sparklers! Indoors. Smart, right? One wayward spark burned the new linoleum floor, but it wasn't such a disaster. The cookies were really delicious, and I had a great time with Hannah, Traylor, Tiana, Amy, and Saerom.

Choco-chip, choco-dipped, sprinkles, and 똥 cookies (the Hershey Kiss ones)!

Then, I went to school this morning armed with two giant tupperware containers of cookies and left them in the main 교무실 (teachers' office/lounge) along with a note: 맛있게 드세요! (Eat a lot!) Happy American Independence Day! I also personally left some cookies for the vice principal and two teachers who have been exceptionally kind to me.

I don't mean to brag, but they were a hit. The teachers who were in the office when I left the cookies came over and wondered where they had come from. When I told them that I'd made them myself, they looked shocked. And they all ate quite a few each. When my co-teacher sent out a message to the staff inviting them to the office for cookies, she had to mention "양이 많지는 않으니 선착순..." which means, "There aren't a whole lot, so first come, first served."

Actually, here is the rest of her message; I'm reproducing it because it amuses me: 앤드류샘이 맛있는 쿠키를 구워 오셨습니다. 오늘이 바로 그 유명한 July, the fourth!라고 미국독립기념일이라. 인디언들에게는 슬펐을지 모르나 암튼 좋은 날입니다.^^ 직접 만들었다는데 맛이 좋습니다. 허나...

Translation: "Teacher Andrew brought some tasty cookies he baked, as today is the famous "July, the fourth!", or American Independence Day. Perhaps the Indians were sad, but anyway, it's a great day. [happy emoticon] He made them himself, so they're delicious. (But... first come, first served)"

I got several messages from teachers later, kindly thanking me for the cookies. Later, I intimated to my co-teacher that if there's enough money in the budget next semester, I'd like a convection oven for my apartment so that I can bake tons more cookies for everyone. If I could, I would totally be that guy.

Happy Fourth of July! 미국 독립 기념일 축하합니다! (Mi-guk Tongnip Kinyeom-il chukha-hamnida)

On that note, it has now been one year since I left the States to begin my Fulbright adventure in South Korea. Look, two blog posts from one year ago: July 4th and July 5th, 2012. My, how time flows like running water. (시간이 유수와 같이 빠르다!)

Stray Observations from My First Korean Baseball Game

NC Dinos Stadium in Masan.

I went to my first baseball game in Korea yesterday: the NC Dinos (of Changwon) versus the Lotte Giants (of Busan). I went with teachers from my school in an organized outing that replaced our weekly soccer game. Here are some things I learned or noticed about Korean baseball:

1. The nine major league baseball teams in Korea are all owned and sponsored by big companies like Lotte, LG, Samsung, and Hanhwa. The Dinos are sponsored by NC, a video game company. So, my city's team is not the Changwon Dinos, but the NC Dinos. I find that odd but not surprising.

Everyone who sat in the section directly behind these girls (and the dino mascots!)... probably didn't see much of the game.

2. Korean baseball fans are very much into their sport, and their cheering is as important as the game itself. Often, the cheerleaders (yes, there are cheerleaders, both to dance and actually to lead cheers) get the crowd so pumped up that they ignore what's actually happening on the field.

All of the songs and cheers for the NC Dinos batters. The song for #09 김종호 was set to The Pussycat Dolls' "Don't Cha".

3. Lotte Giants fans are particularly known for their devotion to their team and the unique style of their cheers and songs. It was difficult to counter that with the cheers for the NC Dinos, since nobody was really familiar with them yet. NC Dinos are playing in the major league for the first time this year. In fact, the game I attended was their second game in the big leagues, period. (Yesterday they played their first game of three against the Giants and lost.) So, the fans were given free posters (that could be fashioned into bullhorns) and fliers that taught everyone the cheers and songs made up for the batters and the team, and the cheerleaders spent every spare minute teaching the crowd the chants and slogans and proper hand motions. It was all highly amusing.

Two of my fellow teachers with chicken and beer. No popcorn, cotton candy, garlic fries, or cracker jack here.

4. Lots of Koreans go to baseball games for the fried chicken and beer. My fellow teachers and I arrived at the game an hour before it started simply so that we could picnic on tons of junk food. I filled myself up with fried chicken, sausages, sushi, dried squid, and Pringles. It was pricey, but it was delicious. All of this instead of exercising with the other teachers? Sure, why not?

#39, Charlie Shirek. I did a double-take when I first saw him, before I knew that Korean baseball teams could have foreigners.

5. There are a handful of Americans on many Korean major league baseball teams. NC Dinos actually has three Americans, and their starting pitcher is one of them. His name is Charlie (찰리), and he is from North Dakota. I cheered for him as loud as I could, and got all of my fellow teachers to say, "Come on, Char-lay!" Hehe.

안타! 안타! 안타!

6. Some baseball-related vocabulary:
야구 (yagu): baseball. 야 actually means "field", not base.
쌔리다 (ssaelida): to hit (a ball). This is Gyeongsang dialect; in standard Korean it is 때리다.
외야, 내야 (weiya, naeya): outfield, infield.
안타치다 (antachida): to make a base hit. Fans chant "안타! 안타! 안타!" when they're at bat.
삼진 (samjin): strikeout. Also chanted over and over again, at a team's pitcher.
죽인다 (jukinda): Awesome! Literally, this means something along the lines of "It killed me!", but in slang, it has a positive connotation. I think this was part of a celebratory cheer for a run scored.

Lastly, this article from Changwonderful does a great job selling the NC Dinos and explaining the ins and outs of Korean baseball.

You know, I got more into the game than I expected to. The ninth inning was especially intense: 2-2, bottom of the inning and the Dinos are at bat with one out and a runner on third. The batter hits a pop fly into left field, it gets caught, no big deal if the runner on third makes it home... and he does! And the crowd goes nuts! And then... and then the umpire calls it out! What the heck? I didn't even see the ball get thrown back to home plate, but the call is clear. And wow... crushing disappointment. I felt it right alongside everyone else in the stadium. I left the game shortly thereafter, but I heard on the radio and from my fellow teachers later that the Dinos went on to lose their momentum and were defeated 3-2 in the tenth inning.

Haha, so I really enjoyed the game, even though I thought I was going more out of curiosity and a sense of duty and 정-building with my school. I've been to just a handful of baseball games in the US, and I don't think that Korean games are really much different! They might even be more fun, what with the crazy cheers and all. I just might go to another game this season and support my new team... NC Dinos!

P.S. I'll be out of town this weekend. Fulbright has a weekend conference on the Korean island of Jeju (제주도)! It's been favorably compared to Hawaii. Although the forecast calls for rain on Saturday, I'm going to make the most of it and am looking forward to a great time. Cheers!

What is taekgyeon, exactly?

Taekgyeon Day 1: Drills, drills, and more drills. I have no idea what I'm doing at all. I leave impressed.

Taekgyeon Day 2: Weight training and stretching. My muscles feel like they are going to fall off, and I regret being a twig with toothpicks for arms. On the plus side, when we do jumping drills, I manage to impress everyone else in the dojang. I tell them I used to play volleyball. I leave tired.

Taekgyeon Day 3: A crash course in traditional wrestling and more general confusion. This time, plus lots of sweat. I leave sore.

Taekgyeon Day 4: Indoor soccer with some of the thirteen-year-old boys who are in the class before mine but stayed behind just to chill. And play soccer. I leave a bit confused.

Taekgyeon Day 5: Kick practice, plus archery. I leave really confused.

So, uh... what is taekgyeon, exactly? By the end of my first week, I think I could've been forgiven for not having the slightest idea as to what kind of martial art I was learning. It seemed like a random amalgamation of sports, like I was starting a new class every day. Archery? Wrestling? Soccer? What next, gymnastics?

Well, as it turns out, taekgyeon is comprised of at least nine different disciplines, and I've been learning bits and pieces of each every day on a steady rotation. So on Day 6 (this past Monday), I went back to wrestling, and on Day 7 (yesterday) reviewed basic footwork and kicks.

Today would have been a weight training day, but two members of the dojang received their black belts today, and we went out to celebrate with drinks instead. I enjoy the company of the dojang director and master, since they're much more cheerful and amicable than they seemed at first. The humorless sixth-degree black belt is, as it turns out, a new dad who likes to show off photos of his son and is also really into Enneagrams. I'd never have guessed. Anyway, I enjoyed this evening of 정-building, even though I could understand less than 50% of what everyone was saying. I caught bits and pieces of conversation about Hangul, the history of taekgyeon, the dangers of traveling alone in rural India (?), and foreign languages.

Another surprise for this class came in the form of the teenagers who sometimes stick around after their class to drill with us adults. The first one I met calls himself Sam. He's short and round, on the chubby side. He doesn't speak much English, but what he knows he uses loudly and enthusiastically. I had to wrestle him on the first day I learned how to wrestle, and he was sweating profusely; it was difficult to get a hold on him, let alone trip him in any way. He seemed not to mind getting tossed into the ground again and again, as long as he could do the same to me. The dojang director told us both to take off our glasses to protect them. So Sam took his glasses off, then walked right up to my face, peered into it, and declared, "Handsome." Hee.

Two of the other two kids who sit in on the class sometimes, with whom I played soccer last week, turned out to be friends of my host brother. Apparently, they told him at school that a foreigner had begun attending their taekgyeon class, and when my host brother asked them for that foreigner's name... haha, well, he got a kick out of that.

Hwacheon Ice Fishing Festival Pt. 2: Sancheoneo

Sancheoneo (산천어/山川魚) is the Korean mountain trout. It's the fish for which we all fished at the Ice Fishing Festival. To make a long story short, I caught three! To make a short story long...

This is a Korean mountain trout, freshly caught!

When Adam, Katelyn, Ammy, and I arrived at the festival, we saw hundreds of people standing on a thickly frozen river, jerking small plastic fishing rods up and down over holes bored into the ice. It looked pretty funny, actually, but a lot of families had brought chairs and snacks and were making a picnic out of it.

We made our way up the river; nearly all of the festival activities were taking place on huge fields of ice. One section of the river was specially reserved for foreigners. We located an English-speaking festival guide to help get us oriented, and then got our gear and headed onto the ice.

As it turns out, ice fishing at this festival is quite simple. Pick a hole, drop your line into it, then wait patiently. If you want, you can jerk your line up and down with your rod to attract more fish, but, as we found out later, our frozen section of the river had already been pre-stocked with hundreds of fish, which made landing one almost a guarantee. It wasn't long before Katelyn made the first catch of the afternoon!

Katelyn caught the first fish!

The next catches came pretty soon after: I caught one, then Ammy caught one, then Adam caught one... it was thrilling in part because it was so easy. No real skill required! Just patience. In fact, after the initial harvest, the fish seemed to learn that there were four murderous foreigners on the ice above them, and nothing bit for the next half hour. I eventually caught two more, for a total of seven among the four of us.

Me, Adam, Ammy, and Katelyn with our bounty from the Ice Fishing Festival.

What did we then do with these fish? We ate them, of course! There were stations, or mini-restaurants, located all along the river where you could have your fish grilled in an oven or made into sashimi (eaten raw). My friends and I, hungry for a late lunch, did both. My lunch was literally trout and soju, nothing else. I will admit that I was very excited to be eating food that I had just caught. Yes, a part of me was squeamish or a bit sad that I had ended the short existence of a beautiful animal unceremoniously by eating it. But it was also a rare experience, I'd say, since I almost never go fishing. If you're going to eat meat, it's best to be as close to the source as possible, to handle killing and cooking it yourself if you can. (This way, you'll be convinced to go vegetarian. Haha, I kid.)

My sancheoneo, made into sashimi! It wasn't bad. Not terribly 맛있다, but it's not a typical sashimi fish, so I'm okay with it. The grilled version was better. (I even ate the eyeball...)

Me and the excitable Korean man. (Taken by Katelyn)

Some odd and inexplicable things happened during lunch. A table of loud, drunk Korean men not too far from us noticed this group of foreigners enjoying their fish, and decided to make our acquaintance. A man from their group came by to our table and motioned for me to go over to theirs. Then, he gave me a small paper cup and announced that we would do shots of soju together. What? I was so confused! And embarrassed. But there was no way for me to refuse, so I did a "love shot" (link arms before downing it) with this complete stranger, who seemed very pleased with himself and then said we'd do another. Soju's alcohol content is about four times greater than that of beer. He also fed me a piece of sashimi... By this time, other men in his group of friends had dragged Adam over to the table for shots, as well. All of us were so amused at this. Nothing like this has ever happened to me, not in Korea or anywhere else! Later, I went to get one of my grilled fish, and when I came back, the man had brought a bowl of live minnows over to our table, and he had just finished feeding them to my friends. Ick. But before I knew what was happening, he caught sight of me, grabbed a minnow, dipped it in red pepper sauce, and put it in my mouth, too. Yeah, so I ate a live minnow (and chased it down with more soju).

This man -- this complete stranger -- was a riot. He thought it was hilarious seeing our reactions to everything, and he must have been very excited to meet foreigners, after all, because he wanted to get a photo with Maggie and me before he left. He also gave us all his business card. And for all of us to just smile, laugh, and go along with everything? That's what it takes to build 정. When we are spontaneously thrust into weird cultural experiences, then, as long as there isn't really anything dangerous that could happen, why not, right? This is part of the job description: engage with Korea personally and build connections, even those fueled by soju. I'm sure the man came away with a more positive view of Americans (even though I didn't keep his card).

The poor things... But I did eat another one later.

Fishing! I can see now why my host brother likes it so much. As for myself, I enjoyed myself on the ice but had yet to steel myself for what was to come: bare hands fishing in freezing water... for next time!

Hey, I caught a fish!

Fall Conference 2012 (pt. 1)

Part 1 of 5 from the Fulbright Fall Conference.

Just an arbitrary Korea-themed photo I took in Gyeongju.

I'm back from Fulbright Fall Conference, or the "workshop" (워크샵) that I attended last weekend in Gyeongju (경주). It's hard to explain the nuances between workshops, conferences, conventions, and things of this nature in Korean, but the abovementioned Konglish loanword seems to suffice.

The weekend was definitely a throwback to Orientation, and this not simply on account of all one hundred-and-twenty-something Fulbright ETAs being together in one place for the first time in seven weeks. In true Fulbright fashion, the hours were packed with panels, discussions, small groups, large groups, and presentations that covered every issue under the sun. The main focus overall, though, was on improving our teaching skills, classroom management strategies, and getting along in the homestay (for the first-year ETAs). It was a day and a half full of talking, listening, talking, listening, reflecting, and listening some more.

Here are some stray notes I jotted down. (I wasn't as assiduous as I normally am, due in part to being slightly overwhelmed by all the information pouring in.) Yes, I guess this is the boring part of my updates on the conference, but I think they're necessary -- helpful for me, at least -- and maybe you'll find them interesting. Here goes:

3rd-Year ETA Panel:
- In the classroom, content is important, but Korean students get tons of content already from their other English classes. If you want to change things up and/or burden your students less, focus on caring for them. It's arguably more important to show them that you care than to perfect their English.
- A tip for reaching out to introverted students: don't rely on speed and volume (such as using games like Speed Quiz). Use critical thinking problems, which require time to think and to focus on accuracy, to let the quiet students shine.
- Think, Pair, Share is an excellent Independent Practice model that will have every student speaking at one point and reduces the embarrassment factor when it comes to speaking in front of the the whole class.

SG Discussion on Building 정 with the School Community (Sam & Dan):
- CoolMessenger is a good computer program that connects faculty and relays important information. Get connected with it to stay up-to-date and avoid pitfalls such as having a class canceled without your knowledge.
- Give food! Share generously. You can always connect over food.
- Offer to help with anything and everything -- especially if, like me, you have not been asked to do much at all in the past two months.
- On a free weekend, be so bold as to ask some co-teachers if they'd like to hang out -- go hiking, fishing, whatever. Folks at my school are insanely busy at this time of year, but it's worth trying!
- Find out the PE class schedule and make the gym your new haunt. Often, students are totally willing to chat with you while they're not testing or even include you on their dodgeball team.
- Memorizing names is like memorizing vocabulary; make your own mugshot flashcards (camera phone apps) and flip through them in between classes.
- Giving your students your KakaoTalk (Korea's ubiquitous instant messaging app) ID is an option. I think I may do this for my second-years after they graduate.

SG Discussion on Drama Activities (Vinnie):
- Keep your goals simple at each meeting/class. For example, in one day choose to focus on just the vocal projection, just tone or enunciation, just making good eye contact, just gesturing, etc. Don't overwhelm students with everything all at once. My first-years have a speech test coming up, and I have to train them on how to properly give a speech. I hope I have enough time to address all the important aspects individually.
- Some random fun ideas for class warmups, skits, etc.: acting like old people, Zip Zap Zop, 1- to 5-word sentences, "Sausage", Magic Doctor Chair... I should also browse Whose Line Is It, Anyway? for some more skit ideas.

Another photo that doesn't really have anything to do with the post. This was also taken in Gyeongju, which is home to a billion beautiful and interesting things to photograph.

SG Discussion on Teaching for Introverts (Anne):
- Yeah, I went to a small group for introverts. If you know me well, you'll know that I'm an introvert. I love hanging out with my friends, but being around large groups for too long is draining, and I cherish my alone time. So a group of Fulbrighters similar to myself gathered (ironically, there was a rather large group of us) to discuss how this affects our performances as second language teachers.
- One issue that introverts may face is the utter exhaustion that follows a day of "performing" in class and being around people -- strangers, really -- without a break for down-time. On one hand, you can remedy this by making your own down-time, finding the teachers' lounge and napping, or going to the gym. I go to the gym, and I also read in my office. I'm fortunate enough that my 교무실 (gyomushil) is tiny -- just my co-teacher and me -- that it's generally very quiet already. On the other hand, as you become accustomed to teaching, gradually the exhaustion will lesson, and your stamina will build, and soon you will become SuperTeacher and tackle all those classes like a boss.
- Stay natural in your teaching persona; whether or not you "perform", don't stray too far from who you are normally. Your students will soon stop comparing you to last year's teacher, Ms. Always-Played-Games-And-Sang, and learn to appreciate you for being you.
- Try to relate to your quieter students. If you're an introvert and they're an introvert, you have a connection there. Don't surprise them with anything that you yourself would be terrified of doing -- dancing in front of the class, for example. Exercise your compassion.
- Repetitive conversations with students ("Hi, how was your day? Oh, busy? Tired? Again?") are... repetitive. But they lay the groundwork for future gains in relationships with students. So don't write them off.

SG Discussion on Reward Systems (Bryce):
- To encourage individual participation in addition to classroom participation (I'm having my classes compete against other classes, but some students aren't buying into it and thus don't ever raise their hands), you could have a raffle system where individual participation is rewarded with a raffle ticket for an occasional drawing. It's cheaper than most prizes, more suspenseful than stickers, and healthier than candy.
- Also opt for verbal encouragement whenever possible. It is, after all, more English. I'm also entertaining the idea of teaching my entire classes stock phrases ("You rock!") that we can all use together to praise an individual who does well, although it smacks of an elementary school classroom...

Spare Ideas:
- Hangman tip: don't just have students guess letters, but challenge them a bit to say, "A, as in apple", for example.
- The Kid Should See This
- Incorporating the arts into education is important... not just mental education, but physical, emotional, civic, and artistic education are also important. This is actually a huge topic, and I'd like to write some more about it in a later post.
- Many of my second-years are graduating soon. It'd be nice to have them write advice letters to new students, who will arrive on campus next February.
- Including common classroom expressions ("Could you repeat that, please?" and "How do you spell..." are the ones I find myself constantly reminding my students) on name cards is a great idea.
- Seat students in a circle and have a discussion by throwing a ball to one another. I even got an awesome Switch Ball for this purpose! It's good at keeping students engaged, maybe even motivating them to speak up in class.

This is a Switch Ball. When you toss it, it flips itself inside out and changes colors. 헐! (Wow!)

Okay, that's it! I promise more beautiful things (photos, etc.) in the next post.

exempli gratia pretty leaves, as Korea slowly turns toward autumn.

회식

It's hard to translate the word 회식 (hweshik). Naver says it's "get-together" or "officers dining in", but the first is too broad and the second is too clumsy, in my opinion. The two words individually are Sino-Korean (會*, meaning a meeting, and 食, meaning food), but the phrase doesn't exist in Chinese as far as I'm aware.

So when I want to tell people in English that I went to a 회식, I literally say, "I went to a hweshik." And if they're native English teachers in Korea, it's likely that they'll know what that means.

A hweshik, then, is a dinner outing specifically for members of a school or company. It's like an institution-sponsored night of food, fun, and 정-building. They are very common, and commonly end in lots of very happy drunk Koreans singing at a 노래방. Or so I've been told.

I've been to two hweshiks with the faculty of Changwon Science High so far. The first was to toast a farewell (송별연회) to our outgoing principal, and the one I went to tonight was to welcome in the new one. At neither party did anyone surpass even mild tipsiness, and I, especially -- not wanting to embarrass myself with my lightning-quick Asian glow -- sipped that soju as slowly as possible.

But while the first hweshik was awkward, because I hardly knew anyone and just listened to one of my co-teachers translate everything everyone else was saying, tonight was more fun. By this time, all of the other teachers know who I am, and some of them have apparently latched onto me despite the fact that I can't even remember their names.

The two who wanted to sit next to me teach math and chemistry, and while they're both married with kids, they're still among the youngest of my co-workers. (Have I mentioned yet that I'm closer in age to my students than to any of the other teachers at my school?) Upon sitting down, they declared that they were the "Andrew Fan Club". I had trouble understanding this at first, because transliterated into Korean, this becomes en-de-lyu pen ke-lub (앤드류 팬 클럽). I also have no idea why they want to be my fan club; nevertheless, they have designated themselves to be chief and manager. I should learn their names.

Again, conversation started off in stilted English ("What are you doing for Chuseok?" "Do you like math?"), moved to broken Korean ("I'm going to Daegu with my homestay family, and I was terrible at math in high school"), and then lapsed into their fluent Korean with me zoning out or texting. Math Teacher (MT) was humorously trying to keep me in the loop by staying glued to his dictionary and trying to translate as fast as he could. Here's how that went:

Me: *thinking about blogging*
MT: Investment techniques.
Me: What?
MT: Investment techniques. *shows me the dictionary on his smartphone*
Me: Oh, okay, Investment techniques. Why?
MT: They are talking about investment techniques.
Me: Oh, okay! Um... which bank do you use?
Everyone: *starts arguing about the best banks in Korea, in Korean*
Me: *zones out again*

And then there was Chemistry Teacher (CT), who trying so hard to increase his vocabulary.

Me: *points to what looks like oil* What is this?
CT: *unintelligible Korean*
Me: Okay, I'll just look that up in the dictionary. Ah, sesame oil!
CT: Sesame oil! Yes. With... *points to the grains of rock salt mixed in* ... Sodium chloride.
Me: Ah, yes, we call that salt.

Every time Chemistry Teacher or Math Teacher would successfully translate something difficult into English, they'd give each other high-fives across the table. Computer Science Teacher was just amused. She doesn't speak much English, is what I gathered.

Anyway, that was my second hweshik. The food was great, and the company was nice. It was really quite tame, even tamer than the first. From what I've heard of my Fulbright colleagues' experiences, these dinner parties can get wild. It's a well-known fact that Korean educators are some of the most hardworking -- and most stressed-out -- employees of the state. Thus, it follows that when they have an opportunity to completely unwind, they will, and the spirits flow in proportion. But my high school is actually in the middle of administering midterm exams. Half of the teachers actually returned to campus after dinner to continue working (grading exams or whatever), ostensibly until nine or ten at night, as usual. At Changwon Science High School, I guess that's how we roll.

위하여! Cheers!**

- - -
*LOL. As soon as I typed that Chinese character, my host mother came home, and I almost greeted her with a cheery "你好!" What is wrong with me?

**More correctly, that means "To...!", as in "To us! To health! To Changwon Science High School!", etc.

초코파이 - Choco Pie (and 정)

Choco Pie is a Korean chocolate and marshmallow snack cake that is now as ubiquitous as kimchi, since arriving in convenience stories in the mid-1970's. Koreans seem to love it. Almost every Korean-American I know has grown up in love with it (while I don't recall even hearing about it before college...), and to be sure every Korean person in this country knows all about it. Every foreign ESL teacher knows about it, too, because they are cheap ($0.80 for a pack of 6) and we are always tempted to use them as prizes in class, trans fats and high sugar content notwithstanding.

I read briefly that while the original Korean company that made them, Orion, tried to sue another company, Lotte, for using a trademarked name, Lotte argued that by now, Choco Pie has become a common noun. This apparently happened a decade ago, and I guess now I don't need to capitalize the name and can just say that the choco pie craze is still going strong.

At the end of week's Tuesday morning teaching meeting, I brought out boxes of choco pie that I had bought over the weekend and shared them with all of my co-workers, with a smile and a "많이 드세요!". They were pretty stoked, not gonna lie. At first, they wanted to know what the special occasion was. But when it turned out that there was none, all of them had the same reaction: they laughed and cried out, "정!" Aha.

Jeong (情) is a Korean word that loosely translates to "relationship" or "affection". It is a collective emotion felt in a group, and as such has many layers and nuances of meaning that apply to different situations and different people. The Naver Korean dictionary defines it as "느끼어 일어나는 마음" (a feeling arising in the mind?) or "사랑이나 친근감을 느끼는 마음" (a feeling of love or intimacy), which are frankly just as cryptic as the translation attempt.

But as far as we've been educated at Fulbright (during all of those long cultural workshops), jeong is like the combination of a genuine personal and a crucial professional relationship. The emphasis time and again has been on being good cultural ambassadors, proper representatives of the United States. This means: build good relationships with Koreans (all of them). Build good jeong. Be as like-minded as you can. Give small, thoughtful gifts regularly. (In America, we perform random acts of kindness. In Korea, perform random acts of jeong.) Be helpful and enthusiastic and try new things, like karaoke or live octopus with sesame oil. Smile! Make an effort to connect socially, linguistically, and emotionally.

And buy choco pie for all of your co-workers. They'll get it.

P.S. Here is an interesting article on jeong and its relationships to psychotherapy that was one of the first Google hits. It was informative, but I think that for myself, simply being in Korea is a better way to learn. Living, learning, and teaching while immersed in Korean culture and society will teach me more fully what jeong really means.