What the Wednesday: Mid-Terms, The Other Side is Greener

Mid-terms. Fear driven by panic. Students run by clutching coffee and books with papers sticking out haphazardly. Pens stuck behind ears, hair that's clearly unwashed and in terrible disarray. Some hole themselves in their rooms with study guides, books spread out, empty bottles of energy drinks tossed about. Some board themselves up in the libraries with the same scene, but joining other desperate souls in neighboring cubicles. Some scream and cry, tear at their hair, and sob uncontrollably at the fate that awaits them. While others roam the campus with blank, wide-eyed stares, muttering to themselves in an incomprehensible language. Side by side, shoulder to shoulder, the students wade through the pit of despair that accompanies exam week. If one falls behind, no one will stop to help. Every student for himself. It's not pretty.

That's how I remember mid-term week. That's what my students look like now. I watch their faces crumble and grow pale(er) as I hand them the six page, 75 multiple choice, fill in the blank, short answer, and essay question mid-term. My ears perk at the cries, gasps, and swear words (today it was shit. The kids can't say "strange" correctly, but the swear words they've got down to an art.). A slow grin spreads across my face as they file out after they've finished, faces aghast at the horror of my mid-term. They go to join the others, muttering, wailing, and gnashing of teeth.

I prop my feet on my desk, and with a latte in one hand and a red pen in the other, I start to decide their fate...I mean grade their tests. The grass really is greener on the other side.

Dit's nie altyd maklik nie.

Yesterday, an Afrikaner asked me how my Afrikaans study was going. My reply was, "Dit's nie alkyd maklik nie." It's not always easy. She loved it. Was pure putty in my hands. I adored her praise. She had expected only a simple answer in English. I gave her a full sentence. But the more I thought about that statement, "it's not always easy" the more it rang true to a few things here.

I didn't feel like I was gone for that long when I left Korea a while back. Four months, just four measly months. But everything is different, and folks, it's not easy. I figured that I had done well last year. Not just survived, but thrived. I left Korea on my little kimchi cloud, and flew back on my confident, "can-do", sassy American flag, proudly waving from sea to nuclear threatened sea. I landed softly enough. Was greeted at the airport by two dear friends instead of a stranger. Stayed with a friend instead of a barren room with no sheets. This year would be it. I would be a wise sage to all the expats; show them the makgolli flavored ropes. Ahh, maar, dit's nie maklik nie. Sug. Dat was dom. Humility check. Got it.

My best friend left two weeks into my second year here. The girl who'd been with me since the beginning and done almost everything with, was gone, and I was left to recreate that part of my identity. Then my other friend moved to a different city, then another, then another, until I found myself surrounded by new people. Starting over. Again. Then we play this game of asking the introduction questions, "Where are you from? Where do you live here? What did you do back home? Where did you go to school? What was your major? It becomes mundane and tripe. And that's unfair thinking because you really are...I mean they really are interesting people, and here more so than many places, we have to fight for good community. No compromising when choosing your friends because choices are limited. But then when you do find those solid people you continue the game of figuring each other out. Was that sarcasm? Is she a whiner? Was he being funny or serious? They don't like Lord of the Rings?! That's a deal breaker. For the love of all that's good and holy, was that sarcasm?! It takes a while. It's a process. It's risky and hurtful, putting yourself out there, letting people in over and over again.

Then just when you think the game is making you a little weary, a little glum, you win. You get back into the motions of the game. The game hasn't changed. I have. No new rules. But it is definitely time to change them up. Ask different questions. Yes, it was sarcasm. It's always sarcasm. No, she doesn't like LOTR. Hope they figure you out quickly because you're not slowing down. It's not easy, but you play anyway, because it gets easier. Also, if you don't start to meet knew people, then man, is your life going to suck. Be brave you pansy!


But you know what will be easier this year? Understanding what's being said around me at this year's Hunter's Braai Camp. Ek verstaan jou. Nie meer skinner.


*Note- I just had a wonderful and encouraging friend correct my Afrikaans. Dit is instead of dit's. But I'm leaving my mistake. Humility. Perseverance. Further up and further in, vriende.

Nuwe 언어. New Languages.

It's no lie. I hated Spanish in high school and even more so in university. I was an English major. Why in the name of all that's good and holy did I need to be proficient and take up to 204 in a foreign language when I knew I would have no use for the damn thing? Sigh. ¿Cómo se dice ridiculous?

Turns out I was right about the Spanish. It hasn't helped at all here in Korea. I'll use my kitchen Spanish to understand my Latino friends here. It's also handy when we get into a taxi and the driver understands enough English that I have to say, "vamos a morir" (we're going to die) because I fear for my life. But still, Spanish and I just never...clicked. Lo siento Senora Wise. I'm sure I'll be fine with my primary language. Surely it's all I'll ever need. The whole world speaks English.

Ha. Haha. Hahahahahahahahahaha

So I started learning Korean. Then it was hard and I stopped. 하지마(don't do it) It didn't help that Koreans weren't exactly supportive in my language discovery. I am corrected all the time and if I mispronounced even a teeny tiny bit then they had no idea what I said. Also, I have a foreigner face. They look at me and inwardly start to panic when they realize they'll have to speak to me. They panic so much they miss the first few words I say to them. In their own language. Enter extreme confusion. Point is, I was a coward. Or lazy. Fine, I was both. Anyway, I stopped. I quit. I learned enough to get around. I could read and write and tell a taxi driver to 가자 (let's go!) and ask where the 화장실 (bathroom) is. But I've been convicted recently by the professor that I tutor. Sorry let me specify: the Chinese Language professor who's learning English as a third language. Convicted. Shame. Whatever.

So I started up again. Happy?

But I started learning another language in earnest last year. Afrikaans has got to be one of the easiest languages I've attempted to learn. *Side note, I've also attempted Cherokee and Irish Gaelic.* However, the uitspraak (pronunciation) is a bitch. There's no nice way to say it. 

Most people's reaction when they find out I'm learning Afrikaans is a one big "what the...?" moment followed by even more confusion. How in the name of Edward Cullen is that going to help you in Korea? African? Is that the one with clicks? 

Sigh. 

The quick answer is that I have a few Afrikaans friends and I wanted to understand what they were saying, I was looking at a South African uni for grad school, and my friends spoke this language. It was their heart. It is the language they dream in and talk to God with. I'm a firm believer in being a good friend and while that doesn't mean I need to learn every language my friends speak, I wanted to be close to my friends and show interest in their culture, respect their backgrounds and differences. Now, they get good laughs from me ALL the time, and are bombarded with questions at all hours of the day which I'm sure makes them roll their eyes, but bless them, they are patient. Dankie.

At least those were the reasons the language learning started. Now, I see it as this personal journey. One of determination and perseverance. Can I stick it out this time? Will I quit? It's hard being laughed at when you're making such an effort. I want to punch the Korean barista in the face when they giggle at my piss poor attempt to ask for low fat milk. I never ever of evers laugh at my students attempts with my language. They would all walk out of class, and be terrified of English forever. Language learning is hard. I cannot identify with Korean or Afrikaans. It isn't my culture. It makes no sense to me. But I feel good when I sit down to study. I feel excited knowing I'm closing the cultural gap. Afrikaans is 'n mooi taal, maar it's still difficult.  When I study and master a sentence or a grammar rule I feel the world become more accessible to me, a little easier to navigate. So I persevere and verstaan a little bit more each day. I open myself up to change each time I learn a new 표현, and the world becomes less scary with fewer boundaries. 

This guy is my inspiration. A white guy who's learning Xhosa (one with some clicks) and he's pretty good. Like it says at the end of the video, "Speak to a man in his own language, and you speak to his heart." Nelson Mandela

Good one Madiba. 

What the Wednesday: Kids Say the Darndest Things

What the Wednesday is back. Finally. That time honored tradition where I give you a glimpse of Korea and it's quirks...er cultural differences that make you go, "what the...?"


Students. I missed them. I actually did. My freshmen uni students and the high schoolers I taught really aren't that different. There are some that I want to just put in my pocket and carry with me they are so wonderful. Then there are some that I want to put in my pocket, sew it shut, and throw into a lake. Today's story involves those students.

Koreans freely express what they think of your appearance and body. Your hair. Your eyes. Hands. Ears. Shape, size, color. Everything. On several occasions I've had older Korean men say something about my height or "big-size". When my friends and I are shopping, the shop staff might comment about how handsome or beautiful we are. It doesn't sound complimentary though. It sounds kinda creepy. We show up. They act surprised. Then with wide eyes and two thumbs up they proclaim that he is "handsome guy" or she is "oh so beautiful".

 I just walked into your store. You're freaking me out.

And then there was today. Today was the real WTW moment. I was teaching my class the phrases, "I must, I have to, I must not", and with that they had to write rules for me. I had given them rules in the beginning of the semester, "you must not sleep in class. you have to buy the book." Now they had to write rules for me. Previous classes had written the predictable rules of, "Jennifer must bring me food. Jennifer must not give homework. Jennifer must give A."
The first student today said, "Jennifer must diet."
You little jerk. I threw my pen at him.
I have a good rapport with this class. We have a great time and they're dedicated to learning. A dream. And then that.
After I threw my pen the class laughed. I laughed. All good fun. But then a few kids later said, "Jennifer must exercise."
I picked up my water bottle and chucked that, and told them they were getting F's. The other kids clapped and cheered.
One more kid said I must not have body piercings. Apparently they don't like my nose ring. And then yet another said something about my hair.

All little bastards.

The next to last student said, "Jennifer must put down the bottle."
I was still carrying around the water bottle ready to launch as a torpedo.

I'm trying to imagine what would have happened if I had told a professor that they needed to diet. Now the kids weren't trying to be mean. That's just the culture.

But I can give them a lesson in culture. Next week: Foreigners never want to hear anything about our physical appearance. Keep it to yourself. Even if it's good. Don't be a creeper or a rude POS and keep everything inside. You weirdo who wears frames with no lenses and high water checked pants because that's in style. Keep it to yourself or I'm coming for you.


Weirdo.

A Girl and Her Bucket

We've heard the phrases, watched the movies, and read the books. We've made our own, torn it up, revamped it, tossed it to the side, thrown away in the frustration of the likelihood that we'll never accomplish the whole damn thing. Yes, the list that makes us feel adventurous when we aren't, poor, and young and old at the same time: The Bucket List.

This was the hype a few years back: make a list of 30 things to do before you turn 30 list. 30 before 30.  That name always bothered me. Actually, it infuriates me. Why would my list of adventurous undertakings end when I turn 30? Why the ridiculously early expiration date? Does this mean I'll have to store my backpack in the attic, where, years later, it will be discovered by my children. An antique covered in dust. They'll wonder to each other, "was their mother really a...hippie of some sorts? Did she go places? Do fun stuff? Surely not. Not this old decrepit woman who makes me eat vegetables." Does it mean that when I'm thirty my age will sentence me to a life of normalcy. Will my husband steer me towards the kitchen and say, "Hon, I'm hungry. I sure could use a sandwich." (Oh sweetheart, wherever and whoever you are, we both know this is a comical situation, and very unlikely to go down in our household, as you well know.)

So with my list I've put no age limit. Nor will I think that marriage or family means the end of my conquering of the list. (Neither should you!) My list changes. Frequently. But that is the beauty of it. It's not supposed to make me feel like a failure when I become overwhelmed at trying to accomplish everything, or too old, or too poor. I hope that instead it will spur me on towards continually discovering the wonderment the world and all her cultures hold. A challenge of sorts. Not one to wave in front of friends like showing off a passport that has been tattooed with stamps. A challenge to myself.  To dream aloud, to create art, and be surrounded by beauty.

 So no, my list isn't supposed to make me look fantastically creative. It was created with the notion that life begins in the unknown, outside of comfort. I can challenge my preexisting thoughts, expectations, and ideas about people, cultures, food, bathrooms, and what have you.

If you don't have a list, make a list. Let it encourage you to live life boldly and with a childlike curiosity.

Gotta Go. Gotta Do.

Read an original poem at an open mic night.

Scotland

Paris, France

Lake Como, Italy

Cambridge, Oxford, London, Bath, Cliffs of Dover, England

Neuschwanstein Castle, Germany

Complete my masters.

Figure out what I want my masters in.

Buy something for myself at Tiffany’s

Arnensee Lake, Switzerland

Learn how to jar pickles.

Take a ballet class.

Rock of Cashel, Ireland

Perform in a play.

Go surfing.

Learn to make Granny’s Red Velvet Cake

Sweden

Prague, Czech Republic

Krabi, Thailand

India

New Zealand

Master another language.

Cape Town, South Africa

Hug a redwood.

Norway

Cambodia

Maui, Hawaii

Dresden, Germany

Write for a travel magazine.

 And if that doesn't inspire you, then perhaps this?

"You call him, Dr. Jones!"

I had a TA in my university that I became good friends with, and when she earned her doctorate we littered her office door with that quote from Indiana Jones. It just so happens that her last name was, in fact, Jones. It fit. We congratulated ourselves on being cinematically witty.
Now that I teach at a place of higher education I want nothing more than for my last name to be Jones, so that it could apply to me. That, and I had my doctorate.

The first two weeks of uni teaching are under the belt, so I can confidently describe what this new world looks like. I teach English Conversation 1. Classes are broken into majors. Unlike, American universities where you sign up for whatever classes you need regardless what the rest of your classmates are doing (hello minor in Environmental Politics), in Korean universities you sign up for classes alongside what your incoming class and major are taking. Declare your major in your freshmen year and it's all decided on what you made on your Entrance exam (our SAT). So I have classes full of baby Engineers, Computer Communications, Sports Training, Psychology, Chinese Language majors, and then a couple of classes made up of a hodge podge of students with varying years and majors. Every student at my uni is required to take one year of English. Enter job security. This also means that we don't get the brightest crayons in the box. Let me assure you all now; just because they are uni students does not mean their English abilities are better. Oh. Oh no. Oh good Lord no.  I had a girl yesterday who couldn't count to ten. Remember, these kids have had English since kindergarten. Either all the English teachers were god-awful, or they retained little to nothing. I'm going with a little of both. That and majority of their English education was done in Korean. Because that is helpful.

For the most part, my students are baby freshmen who are pretty scared. They bow to me in the hallway and around campus, say "hello teacher" when they see me. I. Love. It. I've got a few cheeky ones. But their attempts to be "hardcore" are so pathetic. They wouldn't last long in an American high school. And I did. Bring it.

Classes are two hours long. I give the kids a small break half-way through, which awarded me applause this past week. The material isn't too difficult. Unit 1 was introductions. My name is, where are you from, I like, etc.

My schedule is a dream. Nineteen hours a week including the university's Language Education Center  (LEC) for the community. I teach three adults for three hours a week. And I get paid overtime for that. I'm done most days by 1pm. I have my LEC classes at 7pm, but I really enjoy those and that late hour doesn't bother me.

I have a department full of sarcastic people. I'm in heaven. We pretty much all get along, have a similar sense of humor and general enjoy going to lunch together. You might not see us inviting each other to be a part of the other's wedding party, but we enjoy our department. Which makes our jobs, and thus our lives, much easier. The people you work with make a big difference in your attitude towards your job.

The biggest difference I've noticed about this job, is how I feel as a teacher. When I taught high school, there was an infinite amount of pressure placed upon me and I don't just mean because of testing or the government, but about the students themselves. Were they eating? Did their parents hit them? Why is this kid screaming at me? Will this kid explode today?  Nope. None of that. This responsibility to be teacher, nurse, social worker, mother-ish, is reduced to just teacher. These are uni students. The responsibility to learn is purely theirs. I have my responsibility to be an engaging and informative teacher. I love teaching. It's what I do. It's what I'm called to do. And finally, I can just teach. Interact with my students and ENJOY teaching. Now, to get that doctorate so I can do this for a long long long time...

Some photos of campus and a hike I took this week on the mountain behind campus. More to come when spring is here, when Korea comes to life.

My main building, with my office.

The library. The place where you are least likely to find my students studying English.

School's motto. At the end of a hard day, just remember to dream and smile. Dream and Smile.

My wee little cubicle.

A courtyard in my building, with a coffee shop. Oh how I've missed you, university campuses.

It's official. I'm an Assistant Professor.

There and Back Again

I love Thomas Wolfe. I mean he's a fellow North Carolinian, his last name is Wolfe, and he's a pretty decent writer. However, that whole "you can never go home again" line really messes with your head. Can I? Why not? What secret knowledge do you know Wolfe?!
Well, I went home. I held new wee babies whose heads threatened to pop off if I didn't "support it". (I'm scared of babies, ok? Don't judge me.) I got amazing coffee from my old uni haunts and walked around campus with friends. Ate. Everything. Realized old crushes can be renewed. I sat around fire pits, drank beer, and picked up with friends as if I'd never left. Korea had been a dream. The taste of kimchi was forgotten. The road to my favorite park was remembered, even the pothole I knew to swerve around. (Come on Greensboro, it's been 10 years. Fix that thing.) Thanksgiving and Christmas food was made and devoured, and I drove a car. Everywhere. Oh that bliss.


Then I went to the Philippines with a couple of my Korea-made friends and was drawn back into what my life was like, what it was going to be in a couple of months. I was ready to return. I hadn't forgotten my love of Korea or my love of travel, the absolute need to pack a backpack and start trekking. No, I had just taken a break. I needed to hug babies and taste my mom's food.
There's this line in the song "Cups" that says it perfectly, "These feet weren't built to stay too long". And they weren't.

So I went home. And then I came back again. Take that Wolfe and Tolkien.

Some pictures of the travels.

Maine

My Mainer sister.

The Philippines

Nephew!

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