I need a vacation

America is a very dangerous country.

How could he buy many guns?

How did he buy bombs?

Everyone has guns in America.

I heard on news, 30 people die a day in America from guns.

That was my Monday morning class. My response was to snap at my loveliest of students and say that I don't know, people are crazy, no I don't own a gun, dear God let's just talk about something else like prepositions of time.

Then my air con stopped working in the classroom and the eight men in the class are all trying to figure out what's wrong, pressing buttons, standing in front of the thing waving their arms (because that helps), and when I finally asked, after being ignored for ten minutes, "Is it out of coolant?" Ahhhh, yes. You are genius Jennifer.

My air con in my apartment isn't working so I'm surviving the 98-100 degree weather with two fans. Now, my internet in the apartment doesn't work either. 

I need a vacation. And I'm going on one. In two days. So bring it on Korea. Bring on your heat, your faulty electronics, and your men who can't fix nothing (I just need air con!) because in two days, I'll be on a beach in Malaysia. I'll be swinging in a hammock strung up between two palm trees, drinking from a coconut, phone turned off, with no sounds but the waves and tropical birds. I'll have good friends beside, and we'll be lazy from the heat, and drunk off the jungle breeze. My biggest worry will be if I should go snorkeling or kayaking in the afternoon. 

Reality, thou art an evil shrew, and I bid you adieu. 

Cruel, Cruel Summer

I fumble for my keys, sweat rolls into my eyes, coating my contacts and blinding me with a burning, flashing pain. I stumble into the apartment, drop every bag and kick off every shoe, run to the bathroom in a clumsy race against the sweat that is most likely destroying my retinas, and dip my head under a rush of blissfully glacial water. Then I drip to the bed where I collapse and pray that the two fans posted at my bed will lower my body temperature.

It's summer. It's hot, and I'm from the south. I'm used to hot and humidity. A humidity so disgustingly thick you can see the haze of the sauna like moisture hanging in the air. A humidity you know will curl your always straight hair and fill your lungs like a dehumidifier. I played volleyball in an un-airconditioned gym in high school, and grew up mowing a two acre yard in the middle of July, where I dodged bugs the size of my head and air so thick I didn't want to breathe. So, needless to say I fare better than some here. Those poor poor souls who wail and beat their chests crying to the sky, complaining to the heavens and asking why hell has come to earth.

I can take the heat, but my body shows that I'm disgusted with the heat. My hair poofs up into a wee little fro, curls that didn't exist in winter, spring up like unsightly weeds around my head. I sweat and try to wear clothes that can camouflage the appearance of such an offensive bodily function (i.e. dark clothes). It seems to be a waste though. I'm nothing compared to the natives. They are an unmovable force, a rock that the sun beats against and cannot wear down. Women wear their thick, long hair down, and there is no frizz or unwanted curl. They simply glow, not even glisten as us southern women supposedly do in our southern summers that come from Satan himself. Men wear jeans and there are no pit stains or sweat dripping around their brow or down their faces to betray how hot it really is. They buy cheap plastic hand held fans and stir the thick air around them, faining to be disturbed by the heat, while the poor foreigner on the bus collapses into a seat and hurriedly adjust the air con vents above them, swearing that they're not going to make it. They will, perhaps, die on the bus, and people will believe them to be asleep, but all the while their corpse just rots in the heat. We stare at these Korean beauties and wonder how they can maintain such looks, such un-waverable control of themselves.

It's a cruel summer, but what is crueler are the Koreans that seem to make a mockery of our misery, what with their cool looks of a dry forehead and silky maintained hair. They wave their little fans, while the rest of us flock to Baskin Robbins for that ice cream that promises to cool us off, a coffee shop for something, anything, iced. We shuffle around town zombie like, seeking some sweet oasis from the anguish of the stifling atmosphere that promises to suffocate us all. So cruel this summer land that offers a slow death. So cruel, this land of sweat.

Look Momma, I'm a rockstar

It's no joke Momma, I'm a rockstar. I told you when I was four that I wanted to be famous. I packed my Raggedy Ann bag with my belongings, grasped the front door knob with my tiny toddler fist, and told you and Dad that I was running away. I was going to be famous and since my parents obviously didn't recognize my talent, I was taking off. You and Dad looked up from your books, asked if I had clean underwear, and wished me luck.

23 years later and I'm a rockstar...in Korea. Being a foreigner has it's perks (sometimes not). I've talked about staring before, and it still annoys me. Some days I'll opt not go to the grocery store or run an errand because I don't want to be gawked at. But I'm not just talking about the staring; this is more about the interactions I have had in this country that make me feel super rockstarish. I'm a celeb. I'm famous. I'm a hot mess really. Everything from the crazy fanatic fans to the Koreans who are disturbed by my presence, we all know it's going to cause a disturbance. 

The Crazy Fanatic: akin to the paparazzi 

Those teenagers who are superexcitedtospeakenglish. They shout, no wait, they scream "HELLO NICE TO MEET YOU!" when you're two feet in front of them. Jesus. The first few times this happened I smiled politely and said hello back. Now I just scream back "HELLO NICE TO MEET YOU TOO!" Now, I don't know if the teenagers are just being jerks or if they believe that if they scream then I'll understand, but you gotta go with it. It's a part of the life of a superstar. 

The Shy Ones: 

These are mostly little kids, but can include Korean guys who are famous for being "shy guys". The wee ones will see me, do a double take, break into a huge smile, or look at us as if they can't quite figure out what is so different. Moms usually prod their little angels into saying hello, waving, or bowing. The Korean shy guy does a double take and isn't shy about taking in a good look before moving on. He would probably be completely embarrassed if he knew we see how much he stares, but it's also a big reason I love Korea, so you keep on looking K-boy. My poor guy friends who happen to be with me when I get said attention from kboys. I go all girly and giggly. They slap their hands to their foreheads and shove me down the sidewalk. Poor foreign boys don't get the same attention that the girls do. 

So Sweet:

This group is my favorite. They're the sweet little kids who come up to you on their own and ask you questions, "Where are you from? Do you speak Korean? What's your name?", the guys who say "wow" when you walk by, but then clamp their hands over their mouths when they realize they've spoken out loud, or the sweet ahjummas telling you how beautiful you are and making room for you on the subway. When they speak to you, whether they are four or a college student telling you they like your shirt, it takes a lot of guts. I have the most patience and appreciation for this wee little group. 

You So Nasty: (WARNING: This one is for girls. Sorry boys.) 

Oh the nasties. I have no use for you. Much like the stalkers for the real celebs, this group just creeps you out. I get this group the most here in my little town. You So Nasty is made up of the old men and the horny guys. The old men who stop talking, grunt, and start adjusting their pants when we walk by. It gives me the heebie jeebies just describing it. This group doesn't really care if they're with their girlfriends. While sitting with friends one night at a bar, I had a guy grab my arm and tell me I was beautiful all while his girlfriend held his hand. I appreciate the sentiment, but man have some respect for the girl you're with. This group is most likely to ask to join your group at the bar so they can "practice my English?". I applaud your effort to learn another language and your boldness to approach a group of English speaking strangers, but a restaurant, a small group of friends obviously celebrating something, or a date, is not appropriate place to butt in. 

Something that's really important for me to remember is that, for the most part, if I'm approached then the other person is most likely really nervous and has worked up the courage to talk to me. Learning another language is scary and practicing it with a stranger is even worse. I love having random conversations with strangers. I adore little kids waving at me and smiling at me just because my eyes are blue and I'm two feet taller than their moms. It's not conceited or lack of humbleness. It's me accepting the way a society looks at me (both good and bad) and handling it. Talking slowly with the high schooler who stops me at the MiniStop, bowing my head with respect at the old men and women, and not knocking some guy on his ass because he made some inappropriate gesture or comment. 

'Cause I'm a rockstar Momma. 

Side Effects of Living in a Foreign Land

Just last week I wrote about how people change especially in the context of expat-living. I've had a few people inquire (or meekly ask) as to what kind of changes I see the most. Thus, another list. You guys know I love lists. I mean, come-on, who the hell doesn't? This list is catered to Korea, but you could have the same side effects in other countries. Just ignore number 2 then. 

Top Ten Side Effects of Living in a Foreign Land:

1. You lose the ability to speak in your native tongue. I used to have an extensive vocabulary. I fooled many a people into thinking I was smarter than I really was (muahaha) by using my vast lyrical knowledge. It's all gone. Gone. Vanished. I stand in front of my friends, or stare at my relatives on the computer screen with their little faces in the Skype window, open my mouth, and mush falls out. I've turned into some blubbering, blundering fool. I search and search for the word, "Yeah, she was...um...um. God, what is it? What am I trying to say? It's right on the tip of my tongue. SAD! That's it! Sad. She was sad." Sad indeed.

2. You can identify nearly every kpop song/ kdrama actor on the radio/television. 

3. According to Korean drivers' law, nobody is cutting people off while driving in America. You might also cheer your taxi driver through yellow lights.

4. You tend to complain less. Yes, sweat might be seeping out of every pore because "we have to save energy" and the air-con can't be turned on, but whatever you say isn't nearly as bad as what you probably said back home or as frequent. Things are different here. Come in with that mindset or go home.

5. You call air conditioning air-con.

6. You start to see the value in owning a kindle (the horror!), renting movies from iTunes, and finding a book in English sets your heart to racing.

7. Your iPod becomes your baby. You know exactly where it is all times, if it needs to be fed, and it goes everywhere with you. EVERYWHERE.

8. Your taste in guys/gals change and evolve. I never looked at Korean men before (due to a lack of them in NC), but I'll be damned if these Korean men don't turn my head now. Wowzah. 

9. You start substituting everyday language with the new language you're immersed in. It happens all the time, especially when I talk with people back home. I go into automatic mode and respond in Korean only to be met with looks of distress and confusion. 미안해 

10. That "I'm a planner, and things need to be worked out before I travel" side of you is chucked out the window. Gone. Good-bye. Things go wrong and you roll with it. If you're not easy going, you won't last long. My friends back home know this to be big for me. Everything. Must. Be. Planned. Yeah...about that, not anymore.