If I am wearing all black my students ask me, "Teacher do you have black passion?" 

My answer an emphatic "Yes."

Ohh . . . Konglish.

Photo by Carlye Vroom: mmm campfire.

Amy's first camping trip to Jeri-san (Big Korea Mountain)

    It was my first camping trip in Korea. I was curious to how this experience was going to pan out. It took us 2 taxis, one train and a very precarious bus ride up a mountain to get there. We were dropped off on the side of the road in a virtually abandoned village. It was Chusok weekend which means the Thanksgiving of Korean holidays. It was great for an empty campsite but not so much for camping provisions, and as the bus sped away I wondered if we had not just made a very bad decision. But, thankfully and almost immediately, we were picked up by some of the other foreigners who had the resources to rent a car for the weekend. The campsite was basic in a small valley surrounded by dark green lush mountains and only a minute walk to arguably the most perfect river I have ever frolicked in. We BBQ'ed over Korean grills, ate Ramen for breakfast and spent most of the day between a dead man's float and amazing rock formation discovery. The campsite was neightbor to the largest honey farm I had ever seen, yet extrordinarily, the bees left us quite alone. I met a wonderful group of Native teachers. At the campfire that night, I looked around: the New Zealander was playing guitar, the Canadians were singing, the South African was tapping her toes, the Australian was drinking (well, we all were), the Englishman was smiling, and I was feeling right at home. 

It was a typical get to know you kind of conversation between student and native speaker . . .  "So what does your dad do for work?" I inquired quite normally. "I'm not sure . . . He builds bridges," the young second language speaker replied. "My mom says he's important because he changes maps."

It was a dark parking lot betwixt vertical apartment lines

    She called us all. As she should of: a normal evening for a young woman one on her normal routine gone horribly wrong with her much loved little dog. A little black hot dog, which revered by most Koreans for years before, had darted into the elevator too anxious for the usual walk seconds before the doors closed and then was separated from her guardian and mother never to be seen since. Even after an understated panicked effort on her part, the dog was gone. So in came the foreigners, all five of us, slowly combing the parking lot and surrounding areas around the elevator which Manya was seen last. We were all meandering slowly with flashlights and motorbikes calling out in the darkness "Manya?  . . . . Come here, Manya . . ." I had learned on this night that Manya translates into Korean as 'Witch' and it did not take too long before the inquisitive police arrived on the scene, "Uhh . . . were having some disturbance calls about  . . . a bunch of white people walking around the parking lot crying 'WITCH . . .WITCH!' " the Korean speaker translated for us. She said some words to them which I can only assume explained the situation and I then saw them frustratingly shake their heads and speed away. This is something that Koreans would just definitely not understand. 

September 11, 2008 South Korea: A conversation with an Iraqi.

It was an American conversation to one Iraqi: "Explain yourself for this!" the figs shouted. "How can you be so yellow, so round . .  . don't you know, if you are not figgish you are not good!" " I am who I am," the pear said with confidence. "You may be two but I am one of many pears and will always be." "But don' t you know you have always been wrong?" the figs inquired. "If you were more purple,  and had more seeds you would be better! Why do you not try to be more like the fig?" The pear thought for a couple of minutes, standing very still and said, "I am just waiting for the wind to shift, then we will fight to be more like pears and less like being figs." The figs stood silent in thought.

Contrary to popular belief, nipple tweaking is very zen.

Some places are perfection, just the way they are.

Seoul continued: photo by Carlye Vroom

After dinner, we walked sleepily. I felt peaceful. This is really real. That calm and easy feeling came to to an immediate an abrupt halt as we found ourselves walking, without warning,  into the middle of a candlelight vigil turned riot.          There were thousands, and I mean thousands, of soldiers marching around us in unison. It was a sea of synchronized authority; swarms of young Korean men in black uniforms armed with shields and batons (no guns). This is how Korea keeps the peace amongst millions: they send in many more soldiers. 

    It is hard for me to articulate the sensation one feels when you are participating in situation but yet have no real part in it. (The this was a protest of the import of American beef.) Well anyway, I was worried. For the first time in Korea, I was worried.  This could go horribly wrong even though I was only a spectator . . .  but I wasn't. It was my country's beef and I was there. Like it or not I was involved. 

   I'm sure I was standing on the corner with my hand over my mouth and furrowed brow as soldiers amassed all around me. It was then an older Korean man in the crowd reached out to me and emphatically said " Don't worry American, We are Korea. We are with you  and we love you." Amongst the endless procession of troops that kept passing, this seemed to give me little comfort, but the man continued: "Don't worry, we are all together and  we love you  . . . ."  I didn't know how to feel. I felt like a foreigner. . 

    Soon an enormous fire truck surged its way through the crowd. It began shooting enormous amounts of high pressure blue water into the riled crowd. This technique is used to break up unruly gatherings of people. The blue color is so that the police can mark who was involved in the trouble and confiscate them. This was a very intense situation. My Korean company assured me with smiling faces that I was safe, I just couldn't really believe them. They repetitiously reminded me not bother myself with thinking too much of the Korean problems and as quickly as we had stumbled in to the riot, we stumbled out. They shuffled me into a cab and soon we off like the whole thing never happened. We were going where everyone goes post-riot- shopping. 

An interlude . . .

   Before reading, I assign you a task of taking stock of what is in your fridge. I find the contents of one's fridge is always in direct relation to one is doing in her/his life. (please note this mostly applies to singletons) Mine contains: an old to-go container of honey mustard, corn tea I made and poured into an old Coke Zero 1 liter bottle (no Emily, I aint off the juice yet), and dreams- make your own assumptions.

     I have found my first restless sensations here in Korea. They told me it was coming  (they being the foreigners which have been here awhile). I just thought I was impervious to these demons. Not so much the case, but to that effect, I should note that they have been peripheral at best but for the first time today I thought: damn what would I do for deli? I mean 'where do I turn left and get outta Chinatown?' ( I say this in humor with the ignorance I might have thrown around not 5 months ago. ) And with the realization that there is no escape from my Asian-ness of being, I felt claustrophobic yet simultaneously felt alone- alone not like my dog  just died alone, but alone like a square peg amongst a bunch of round holes. It was like the sensation I had realizing that I am crowded amongst molecules but spacious amongst universes. (Yup, had to think a few times before composing that thought. )

  Perhaps, in a way, I have lived my life thus far according to everything I ever learned on 'Sesame Street'. Not a bad place to grow up- I might add. Those of us in this generation of television education are very familiar with the "One thing is not like the other" Well I can say, in all honesty and with out regard for consequence, is me. 

   That being said: I know that I am not anywhere with out someone wanting to be apart of my experience. Lending a helping hand for the brief moment of speaking English or I donno be closer to what- I just know that if I am standing in the rain umbrella-less at a stop light waiting to cross- I am always offered shelter from a nearby person even when everyone else is not- and in that way its not so bad . . . really.