Holidays
It was snowing; big, white, fluffy flakes falling like ash. By the restaurant with fish heads hanging in a bag from a tree branch, I passed an old woman. Hands clasped behind her back, white mask covering her mouth, and a Louis Vuitton bag balanced carefully on her head. Three worlds colliding in one old woman. Pollution, fashion, tradition. There are juxtapositions here that catch me off guard, flashes that make me smile.
Chris and I took the high speed train (traveling roughly 230 mph) to Pusan for the Christmas holiday. Pusan smells like sewage. It comes up through the vents in the streets in great whiffs of cold, putrid air. I breathed through my mouth, careful not to take any deep breaths when walking over a sewage grate.
When we arrived, it was 11 pm and we were both hungry. After checking in to a hotel just outside the doors of the train station (a hotel that put the Riveria in Las Vegas to shame, complete with a bed so slanted I kept sliding off in the middle of the night, and a shower where you had to continually push a button to get any water to come out), we went in search of food. Kimbop to be exact (we are both addicted).
We quickly found a restaurant stacked high with rolls of kimbap wrapped in aluminum foil. Leaving the restaurant, we spied what appeared to be a small side street, looking very picturesque and Korean. We began meandering down the street, bathed in red and yellow neon. I pulled my camera out of my purse, stopped mid-stride, took a few photos, put my camera bag in my bag and caught up with Chris. I glanced around, realizing we were getting eyed by almost everyone, noticed the blond haired women in short skirts and high boots, their lips painted crimson, cigarettes dangling loosely from their mouths.
I looked at Chris. "I think we might be in a shady area," I said. 'Think' because 'shady' in Korea is pretty relative, mild compared to 'shady' in the States. We looked at each other and started laughing. We'd stumbled upon the red light district of Pusan within minutes of arriving. I came to find out that Pusan 'imports' Russian women to be prostitutes (hence the blonde bombshell who stared me down). "Are you Russian?" is now code for, well...you get the picture. It's a pretty sad situation.
Chris and I spent the next two days wandering the city. Sewage smell aside, it's beautiful. We spent hours wandering through the Gukje market, a huge outdoor market selling everything from pig heads and live fish to backpacks and blankets. Chris and I are often quite the spectacle. People are in awe of Chris, being a handsome black man in a sea of Koreans he sticks out. Riding the escalator in a department store in Hyandae beach, a middle school boy stood inches away from him, stared, pointed and reached out as if he wanted to make sure he was real. Chris just smiled. I'm not sure I would be so polite.
I had 11 days off for the holiday break. When I returned to work, I was told I would be taking over another teacher's classes. When I arrived in November, Brian, a Canadian who has been with SLP for 7 years, was returning to Canada for a month for the holidays. I had taken his classes and was intended to have my own classes in January after he returned. With all of the changes regarding my teaching position, I was told I would be doing curriculum work for the month of January, but things change. Korea recently (recently meaning in the past month) implemented new laws for getting a teaching visa and when Brian returned to Korea after his journey in Canada, his visa was revoked and he was issued a tourist visa. Unfortunately, with the new regulations it will take him months to prepare all of the necessary documents and he has opted to not return to work at SLP.
Here's where I come in. I have taken over his courses (again), but was also volunteered to do an intensive winter course for January, working overtime everyday for the entire month. I asked about the possibility of staying and taking over Brian's position permanently and was told that unfortunately, because the director doesn't want to change his mind, that it would not be possible. I will still be moving in March, starting a new teaching position at a new school. Resettling. Again.
I'm both bitter and excited. I've realized in the silences that come only when I am in another culture, surrounded by languages and words I don't understand, that I am a thinker, a dreamer, a wisher of things that aren't. I've found myself scouring the internet, searching for clues to what I want to do when I'm done (in 13 months...it's a curse to always be thinking about the next thing). I've looked at freelance writing, teaching in other countries, returning to Portland and searching for a job that pays more than $24,000 a year (fat chance). There are endless possibilities. I've found myself in the interim, in the pause between worlds, trying not to settle, trying not to get attached. It's a strange feeling to move across the world and find yourself in foreign space, attempting to settle and find a niche, find a center, only to find out your center will shift in a few months. And you have to put it all on pause, hold the settling, stop in midair, before you can land. And I don't know what it will be like when I land next time. So instead, I think. I think about all of the possibilities, about all of the things that aren't, about all the things that might be.
Chris and I took the high speed train (traveling roughly 230 mph) to Pusan for the Christmas holiday. Pusan smells like sewage. It comes up through the vents in the streets in great whiffs of cold, putrid air. I breathed through my mouth, careful not to take any deep breaths when walking over a sewage grate.
When we arrived, it was 11 pm and we were both hungry. After checking in to a hotel just outside the doors of the train station (a hotel that put the Riveria in Las Vegas to shame, complete with a bed so slanted I kept sliding off in the middle of the night, and a shower where you had to continually push a button to get any water to come out), we went in search of food. Kimbop to be exact (we are both addicted).
We quickly found a restaurant stacked high with rolls of kimbap wrapped in aluminum foil. Leaving the restaurant, we spied what appeared to be a small side street, looking very picturesque and Korean. We began meandering down the street, bathed in red and yellow neon. I pulled my camera out of my purse, stopped mid-stride, took a few photos, put my camera bag in my bag and caught up with Chris. I glanced around, realizing we were getting eyed by almost everyone, noticed the blond haired women in short skirts and high boots, their lips painted crimson, cigarettes dangling loosely from their mouths.
I looked at Chris. "I think we might be in a shady area," I said. 'Think' because 'shady' in Korea is pretty relative, mild compared to 'shady' in the States. We looked at each other and started laughing. We'd stumbled upon the red light district of Pusan within minutes of arriving. I came to find out that Pusan 'imports' Russian women to be prostitutes (hence the blonde bombshell who stared me down). "Are you Russian?" is now code for, well...you get the picture. It's a pretty sad situation.
Chris and I spent the next two days wandering the city. Sewage smell aside, it's beautiful. We spent hours wandering through the Gukje market, a huge outdoor market selling everything from pig heads and live fish to backpacks and blankets. Chris and I are often quite the spectacle. People are in awe of Chris, being a handsome black man in a sea of Koreans he sticks out. Riding the escalator in a department store in Hyandae beach, a middle school boy stood inches away from him, stared, pointed and reached out as if he wanted to make sure he was real. Chris just smiled. I'm not sure I would be so polite.
I had 11 days off for the holiday break. When I returned to work, I was told I would be taking over another teacher's classes. When I arrived in November, Brian, a Canadian who has been with SLP for 7 years, was returning to Canada for a month for the holidays. I had taken his classes and was intended to have my own classes in January after he returned. With all of the changes regarding my teaching position, I was told I would be doing curriculum work for the month of January, but things change. Korea recently (recently meaning in the past month) implemented new laws for getting a teaching visa and when Brian returned to Korea after his journey in Canada, his visa was revoked and he was issued a tourist visa. Unfortunately, with the new regulations it will take him months to prepare all of the necessary documents and he has opted to not return to work at SLP.
Here's where I come in. I have taken over his courses (again), but was also volunteered to do an intensive winter course for January, working overtime everyday for the entire month. I asked about the possibility of staying and taking over Brian's position permanently and was told that unfortunately, because the director doesn't want to change his mind, that it would not be possible. I will still be moving in March, starting a new teaching position at a new school. Resettling. Again.
I'm both bitter and excited. I've realized in the silences that come only when I am in another culture, surrounded by languages and words I don't understand, that I am a thinker, a dreamer, a wisher of things that aren't. I've found myself scouring the internet, searching for clues to what I want to do when I'm done (in 13 months...it's a curse to always be thinking about the next thing). I've looked at freelance writing, teaching in other countries, returning to Portland and searching for a job that pays more than $24,000 a year (fat chance). There are endless possibilities. I've found myself in the interim, in the pause between worlds, trying not to settle, trying not to get attached. It's a strange feeling to move across the world and find yourself in foreign space, attempting to settle and find a niche, find a center, only to find out your center will shift in a few months. And you have to put it all on pause, hold the settling, stop in midair, before you can land. And I don't know what it will be like when I land next time. So instead, I think. I think about all of the possibilities, about all of the things that aren't, about all the things that might be.
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