Spitting and Culture

Koreans spit...a lot. Everywhere. In Public. When I first moved here I thought it was an old country man thing. A custom that used to be ok because he had grown up tending the back forty and his crude manners were accepted because of his crude lifestyle (let's face it, Korea 50 years ago was a country trying to rebuild from a war. It won't pretty.). But, no, it wasn't just these old timers or the country folk; it was everyone. Including, but not limited to, beautiful women dressed for corporate meetings, kpop look a-likes with chiseled jaws, mothers holding babies. They live in the city, in the burbs, on the farm. It's impossible to walk two feet and not see a nicotine phlegm littered sidewalk. It drives me INSANE.

Ok, ok. So I've hit that six month mark which means the shine is gone; worn away by time and frustration. Most people ask if I'm homesick and I can't say that I am. I absolutely miss my family and time with my friends, but my bags aren't packed and waiting at the door. I'm experiencing culture rejection/whatthehellkindofplaceisthis/shock.

I'm tired. I'm tired of being stared at. Not glanced at. Stared at. It's not ok for your kids to yell out "waygookin" every time they see one of us. Can you imagine if I went around America pointing at everyone that didn't look like me and saying, "foreigner"? I'm tired of crunchy clothes because there is no dryer. I'm tired of Korean mothers thinking they know how to teach better than I do. I'm tired of the lack of smiles and manners. How hard is it for you to cover your mouth when you cough I ask!? I'm tired of almost getting run over every time I cross the street or walk on the sidewalk. I'm tired of the cleaning ladies talking about me and pointing at my shoes/clothes/hair and laughing. I can't speak your language. That doesn't mean I'm stupid. I'm tired of the spitting. I'm tired of winter. I'm tired of nobody informing me of the upcoming holiday that isn't on calendars, or new kids in the classroom, or when a class is cancelled. I'm just tired.

I took a friend to the hospital yesterday who was so incredibly weak that she could hardly breathe. She hadn't eaten or slept in two days. We took a taxi to the hospital and after our friend arrived to help translate, the doctor said, "common cold". Common cold my ass I told him. I protested and was on the verge of throwing a small fit and becoming extremely Southern, when he decided "maybe he should run some more tests". Yeah, yeah I think you better buddy. She was diagnosed and then ordered to stay in the hospital for 3-5 days. She had laryngitis and something else that didn't translate, but she was dehydrated and exhausted. After the doctor was finished pulling out the microscopic camera from her throat, my friend looked at me, started to cry, and said  , "I just want my mum." I held her and she cried for a bit more while I thought about how sometimes, the differences are too much. We chose this life, to live here, but it's too much. We can't handle a language barrier and a culture so starkly different from our own.

I'm glad that I get to experience this. Of course I don't have that thought as a taxi zooms past me almost taking me out, but each time something like this happens it teaches me a lesson. I am humbled by my lack of knowledge. I cannot be prideful living abroad. To say, "That's not how you do it" or "In America this would never happen" doesn't work. I'm not in America. I'm in Korea. Everyday. I'm in Korea. People spit on the streets here. They aren't always patient when dealing with outsiders. Sometimes that "waygookin shine" doesn't impress others and they treat us wrongfully. I have learned patience and compassion here, unlike any other place. Whenever I return to my home, I'll be more patient with rude drivers (sorry hoss, you ain't nothing like these guys). I'll be more accepting of those who do things differently, speak a different language, are foreign and new to my home. After all, I know what it's like. I'm the immigrant here.

So while Korea let me down these past few weeks, and I'm sure we'll be on better terms later, we're just going to have to learn to overlook our differences for now. She is molding me into a stronger, better person, albeit painfully. Some days I'll keep my shoes on when I walk in my house and stomp around; my own subtle way of showing Korea how pissed I am at her. I'll glare back at the man blatantly staring at me, I'll wave to the hordes of high school boys who yell, "Hello! Nice to meet you!", and I'll turn my iPod up louder as the woman next to me on the bus yells into her phone. We can get through this Korea. It's all about accepting and adjusting. Give and take. To spit or not spit.

And while I will never join in on the whole spitting thing, I'll learn to step over it and accept that this too is a part of Korea, a place I love.