Changes
Things have been changing. Maybe it's the seasons, fading from the hot, muggy days of summer to the cool crispness of fall. Maybe it's just me. The biggest change has been my separation with Chris, my partner of almost 3 years. Although I know in my heart it was the right decision, it doesn't make it any easier. He's my best friend and we traveled to this foreign space together and it feels strange without him. I'm not one to publicly share my personal relationship trials, especially when it involves the feelings of another person, so I'm going to leave it at that.
In the spirit of change, I've been giving Korea a chance to redeem itself. And I have to say, it has its moments. Several weeks ago was Chusok, the Korean Thanksgiving. The Friday before the holiday, the entire school, students and teachers, dressed in Hanbok, traditional Korean clothing. Hanbok is what couples wear when they are married or on holidays like Chusok. Hanbok for women is a long brightly colored dress with a small over coat. For men, it is pants that resemble the parachute pants we were all so fond of several decades ago (or for those of us raised in the '80s..."Hammer Pants" from MC Hammer's iconic style), a vest and jacket.
Although they are beautiful, the fabric is very itchy and leaves no room for air. Not the best combination when it's 85 degrees outside and your working with kids. We spent the day playing traditional games like Yut, making kites and traditional rice cakes, and trying to forget how sweaty we were. It was a wonderful glimpse into some Korean traditions.
For the holiday, we had a five day weekend. My friend Lauren, a stylish and obsessively organized Korean women who also happens to be my partner teacher (thankfully, as I tend to be a bit scattered), invited myself and two other women to join her at her parents' home several hours away and to spend one night at a pension on the beach.
So, on Saturday morning, Luna, a skinny Korean woman whose style I covet (mostly because it doesn't resemble the other high-heeled, short-skirted Korean women who surround me), drove up to the Good Morning Mart (pronounced Marta) and picked me up. Joining us was Danielle, a tall Canadian with a soft voice and curly, brown hair, who has volunteered to be my travel partner when our contracts are finished. At Luna's urging, Danielle and I piled into the back seat of her car, feeling a bit awkward that no one was sitting in the front with our driver. No matter how often I see this, it always looks a bit strange...as if Koreans are all just taxi drivers at heart.
Ten minutes later, we were stuck in traffic. For five and a half hours. This country is not built for 40 million people going on vacation. Once we arrived in Seosan, Lauren's mother welcomed us with a home cooked feast. After gorging ourselves, we drove to her parents' pension, on a tiny little beach called Daesan.
We spent the evening eating noodles, drinking Cass, playing Yut and chatting about the different roles tradition plays in the love lives of current Korean women. Both Lauren and Luna have drastically different views on love, marriage, children, and the roles women play in society. Luna seems to be among the minority in her views, as she is one of the few Korean women I've met who never wants to get married. Or if she does, she wants it to be out of love, not duty. Lauren, on the hand, is looking for a husband, a provider, a good father. Because, as she put it, pretty soon she'll be too old to be an eligible wife. At 25, she has some very clear cut ideas of how her life should be. The two of them politely battled about tradition as Danielle and I looked on, trying to understand both sides.
The following day, after Danielle and I swam in the West Sea while Luna and Lauren sat on the beach fully clothed, hiding below towels (very few Korean women own swimming suits), we drove back to Lauren's parents' house where her father barbecued an obscene amount of shrimp. Feeling exceptionally full, we piled back into the car and drove back to Uijeongbu.
At work a few days later, Danielle and I were urged to keep our little rendevous a secret, as the other Korean teachers frown upon Koreans and foreigners getting too close, or at least closer than Koreans with Koreans. It's a strange feeling to have to keep something like that a secret. In the past few weeks, I've been getting out more, spending more time with friends and meeting new people.
I have moments, full weeks even, where I really enjoy Korea and can't imagine leaving. Yesterday, I went hiking by myself up to the top of a ridge behind my apartment. I sat on a rock cropping overlooking the city, above the smog, and I took deep breaths of seemingly clean air and I thought about my life; where I've been, where I'm going, where I am. And I listened to the laughter of other hikers, watched an old man hold his wife's hand as they manuevered their way down a steep sheet of rock. And for a moment, I thought there was nowhere else I'd rather be.
But today, I woke after 2 1/2 weeks of having bronchitis, and I just wanted to go home. My chest aches. My stomach hurts from constant coughing. I'm spitting up enormous amounts of green phlegm and I'm just tired. But it comes in waves, this homesickness. Today the tide is high, but I know tomorrow is another day and the waves will subside. I know in 4 1/2 months when it's time to say goodbye, that I'll be wondering if I really want to leave. It's all part of this adventure, of trying to forge an impermanent home in a place that's not really my home, and when I finally feel like it's home, I'll say goodbye. It's a process I both love and hate. Every day is a new beginning.
In the spirit of change, I've been giving Korea a chance to redeem itself. And I have to say, it has its moments. Several weeks ago was Chusok, the Korean Thanksgiving. The Friday before the holiday, the entire school, students and teachers, dressed in Hanbok, traditional Korean clothing. Hanbok is what couples wear when they are married or on holidays like Chusok. Hanbok for women is a long brightly colored dress with a small over coat. For men, it is pants that resemble the parachute pants we were all so fond of several decades ago (or for those of us raised in the '80s..."Hammer Pants" from MC Hammer's iconic style), a vest and jacket.
Although they are beautiful, the fabric is very itchy and leaves no room for air. Not the best combination when it's 85 degrees outside and your working with kids. We spent the day playing traditional games like Yut, making kites and traditional rice cakes, and trying to forget how sweaty we were. It was a wonderful glimpse into some Korean traditions.
For the holiday, we had a five day weekend. My friend Lauren, a stylish and obsessively organized Korean women who also happens to be my partner teacher (thankfully, as I tend to be a bit scattered), invited myself and two other women to join her at her parents' home several hours away and to spend one night at a pension on the beach.
So, on Saturday morning, Luna, a skinny Korean woman whose style I covet (mostly because it doesn't resemble the other high-heeled, short-skirted Korean women who surround me), drove up to the Good Morning Mart (pronounced Marta) and picked me up. Joining us was Danielle, a tall Canadian with a soft voice and curly, brown hair, who has volunteered to be my travel partner when our contracts are finished. At Luna's urging, Danielle and I piled into the back seat of her car, feeling a bit awkward that no one was sitting in the front with our driver. No matter how often I see this, it always looks a bit strange...as if Koreans are all just taxi drivers at heart.
Ten minutes later, we were stuck in traffic. For five and a half hours. This country is not built for 40 million people going on vacation. Once we arrived in Seosan, Lauren's mother welcomed us with a home cooked feast. After gorging ourselves, we drove to her parents' pension, on a tiny little beach called Daesan.
We spent the evening eating noodles, drinking Cass, playing Yut and chatting about the different roles tradition plays in the love lives of current Korean women. Both Lauren and Luna have drastically different views on love, marriage, children, and the roles women play in society. Luna seems to be among the minority in her views, as she is one of the few Korean women I've met who never wants to get married. Or if she does, she wants it to be out of love, not duty. Lauren, on the hand, is looking for a husband, a provider, a good father. Because, as she put it, pretty soon she'll be too old to be an eligible wife. At 25, she has some very clear cut ideas of how her life should be. The two of them politely battled about tradition as Danielle and I looked on, trying to understand both sides.
The following day, after Danielle and I swam in the West Sea while Luna and Lauren sat on the beach fully clothed, hiding below towels (very few Korean women own swimming suits), we drove back to Lauren's parents' house where her father barbecued an obscene amount of shrimp. Feeling exceptionally full, we piled back into the car and drove back to Uijeongbu.
At work a few days later, Danielle and I were urged to keep our little rendevous a secret, as the other Korean teachers frown upon Koreans and foreigners getting too close, or at least closer than Koreans with Koreans. It's a strange feeling to have to keep something like that a secret. In the past few weeks, I've been getting out more, spending more time with friends and meeting new people.
I have moments, full weeks even, where I really enjoy Korea and can't imagine leaving. Yesterday, I went hiking by myself up to the top of a ridge behind my apartment. I sat on a rock cropping overlooking the city, above the smog, and I took deep breaths of seemingly clean air and I thought about my life; where I've been, where I'm going, where I am. And I listened to the laughter of other hikers, watched an old man hold his wife's hand as they manuevered their way down a steep sheet of rock. And for a moment, I thought there was nowhere else I'd rather be.
But today, I woke after 2 1/2 weeks of having bronchitis, and I just wanted to go home. My chest aches. My stomach hurts from constant coughing. I'm spitting up enormous amounts of green phlegm and I'm just tired. But it comes in waves, this homesickness. Today the tide is high, but I know tomorrow is another day and the waves will subside. I know in 4 1/2 months when it's time to say goodbye, that I'll be wondering if I really want to leave. It's all part of this adventure, of trying to forge an impermanent home in a place that's not really my home, and when I finally feel like it's home, I'll say goodbye. It's a process I both love and hate. Every day is a new beginning.
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