Month: June 2010

It was a very up-and-down day.  Or down-and-up day.  Or something like that.  Great mood!  Terrible mood.  Great mood!  Terrible mood!  Great mood.  Like that.

First, I was in a good mood.  I had really good classes with the preschoolers.  I could tell they liked me.  I could tell the Korean teachers over there like me.  I thought we had fun with the kids, too.  We did monkeys jumping on the bed.  We read a story about drawing rainbows, and then we drew rainbows.  We talked about colors.

Then I was in a bad mood.  We were testing the kids, today, for the 4th graders.  It was kind of a last-minute thing.  Maybe not for everyone, but for me, since I'd only heard about it yesterday.  Communication (and lack thereof) works that way, in Korean workplaces.  And my coteacher for the 4th graders changed how she wanted me to do the "speaking part" of the test at literally the very last minute.  So I felt like I was testing the kids without much of a footing.  But I tried my best.  I kind of know where these kids stand, ability-wise, at this point, anyway.  So, as usual, some of that subjectivity came into play.

Then I was in a good mood.  Lunch was tasty, and at least a dozen kids said, "teacher teacher!"  and I said, "what?" and they said, "hi!"  

And then I was in a terrible mood.  Haewon said that lesson plans for the month of July for the afterschool program were due today.  I doubted this (and, retrospectively, I was right – no one said a thing about lesson plans today – they WOULD normally have been due today, but today was staff volleyball day, and volleyball trumps minor administrative things like monthly lesson plans).  I had been planning to work on my lesson plans and finish them tomorrow, since I have an easy schedule on Thursdays.  But grumblingly, I set to work on my plans in my one free period of the day, after lunch.  And I finished them up, roughly.  And printed them out.

And then it was staff volleyball day, and Beopseongpo Elementary came to Hongnong for inter-school staff competition.

And I was in a good mood, because I saw my colleague Donna, who works there at Beopseongpo and who I had gotten to know during training back in April.  Donna's cool.  Very clear headed.  Kind.

And then Mr Kim (the PE teacher, and exactly like PE teachers anywhere, in any culture – he requires no further description) asked me to join the team, during game number three among the men staff.  I was thinking that because it was inter-school play, the game was too important for such a bad volleyball player as myself to be included.  But I took it as a friendly gesture that he was inviting me to join.  But too much was on the line:  it was one game to each school, and Hongnong was losing.  So after about a third of the game, he was making disgusted facial expressions and he switched me out.  I mean… I understand, from a "gotta win" perspective – I don't belong on the volleyball court.  I know this.  But it feels just as humiliating now as it did in highschool PE in 1981.  I'm better at "solitary" sports: running, hiking, etc.  I'm terribly uncoordinated.

And I was in a terrible mood.  I was walking to catch a bus home to Yeonggwang, feeling dejected and grumpy.

And then one of the preschool teachers, with three hyperactive preschoolers bouncing good-naturedly in the back of her car, pulls to a stop beside me on the streets of Hongnong and asks me where I'm going.  In Korean.  And I answer.  And she offers me a ride.  She's going that way – one of these kids isn't hers, and she's got to deliver him to his mom.  So I get in and  I ride with this frazzled mom/teacher and three very happy, excited (because the English foreigner teacher is riding in their car!), loud children down the expressway to Yeonggwang.  

I'm in a great mood.  The mom is talking to me in a sort of gentle Korean monologue of which I understand more than I expect but less than I need, punctuated with entirely comprehensible, repeated reminders to the kids to sit still, stop kicking the seat, don't throw things please, etc., etc.  The life of moms and preschool teachers, anywhere.

And she drops the kid with the kid's mom at the main intersection in Yeonggwang, where's she waiting with her car.  And she drops me off at the traffic circle, a block south closer to my apartment, and goes zooming off, reminding the kids to stop bouncing in the back, but smiling kindly.

And I realize I've left my cellphone on the seat of her car.  Which is bad enough.  But if it was just that, I'd have lived without a cellphone until I could chase her down tomorrow at work.  But my apartment key is dangling on a bauble attached to my cellphone.  I can't get into my apartment.  And I can't call anyone to say that I can't get into my apartment. 

So I'm in a terrible mood.  Trying to think of what I should do.  Stay in a motel for the night?  At least I have my wallet.  Find a pay phone… and call someone who can call someone else to find out this woman's number so I can call her and get my cellphone and apartment key?  What to do, what to do?

And then  I recognize the other mom, driving by.  The one we just left the little boy with, at the other intersection.  I flag her down.  And in my halting Korean, I explain I've left my phone in the other woman's car.  She grins, and scoops up her own cellphone and speed-dials her friend, the woman I'd just had a ride with.  Explains that I'd forgotten my cellphone, and tells me she'll zoom back to the traffic circle shortly.

Did I mention it was raining?

I wait in the rain for 4 minutes, and the white Hyundai zooms back up with the frazzled, friendly mom-slash-coworker, and she rolls down the window and the little boy in the back hands me my cell phone.  "아주 고마워요," I bow gratefully.

I'm in a great mood, as I walk back home to the distant rumbling of thunder.  

I was all achy and exhausted yesterday, after staff volleyball. At least, I availed myself somewhat decently, taking into account my non-athlete status and the fact that the last time I made an effort to play volleyball was probably in the 9th grade at Arcata High PE class. I was watching soccer, Chile vs Honduras. I suppose I've always associated Chile with being "into" soccer, because the time that I lived there, in 1994, was the only time in my life when I followed soccer in a dedicated manner – because I had friends who were into it and it gave us something to talk about, and because I actually had opportunities to attend games. I have a vivid memory of a Catolica vs U Chile match (they are the great #1 and #2 rivals in Chile pro soccer), eating hotdogs in the stands (with mayo and tomato and avocado, as a good Chilean). It was by far the most intense sporting event experience I've ever had.

So I was watching Chile play against Honduras, and fell asleep. I began dreaming of World Cup brackets (because, since having been remonstrated – justly – for not being a "real" soccer fan because I didn't understand the brackets, I had been studying them). And then at 11 pm, I woke up in a burning sweat. What's this, a fever? I turned off the TV. The night outside my window was loud and the air in the room felt sticky. I turned on the air conditioner – only the second time since moving into this micro apartment that happens to have air conditioning. I went back to sleep. Dreams!

There was some kind of tournament going on at Hongnong school, where I work. It was structured like the World Cup. That makes sense, but I never saw what sport it actually was. Anyway, some North Koreans showed up and were participating (or trying to participate), and the locals were resentful. They weren't bothered by the North Koreans' ability, but their behavior – they were being prideful and insensitive.

So the local kids started sabotaging the competitions. It became a big deal when the media became aware of it and began discussing it on Korean news television. But it's not that it was a scandal – more like it was being admired admired, as if it were a sort of kids' "green revolution protests" like had happened in Iran, or something.

Then the dream shifted, and I was living on the streets in some big city. It was definitely an American city, maybe Chicago or Los Angeles. I was looking for a bathroom (such is life on the streets in an American city – a Korean city wouldn't have that issue – Korea is the "land of the convenient public restroom"). I went through a police station, but chickened out about using the criminal-dominated public restroom there to clean up. Then this guy comes up to me on the street, randomly. He's a big guy – like 300 lbs. – but he's clearly well off. He asks me what I want, and he works out that I'm "homeless," although I manage to elide over this a bit in the conversation. Generously, he takes me to his apartment. For some reason, I trust him. He's extremely wealthy, with very eccentric apartment – inside, it looks like the set to Blade Runner or something. I finally go to use his bathroom, after he has told me some about himself, and then I see the bathroom has moldy walls and damp, dirty laundry on the floor. He comes in and says, "I thought maybe you could help me clean this up." There I am, dreaming about cleaning filthy bathrooms again – clearly I was traumatized by my first two apartments in Yeonggwang. Fortunately the dream doesn't go on. What's with my subconscious, anyway?

Then, the dream shifts again, and I'm teaching some kids – 3rd graders. I seem to have developed some fairly high level of rapport with them, in actuality, and I guess the dream reflects that. But… there is another foreign woman "observing" my class, along with me and Lee Ji-eun (which doesn't make sense since Ryu Ju-hui is my coteacher with the 3rd graders). This foreign woman is haughty and detached, but she keeps trying to change the lesson plan, as if she's dissatisfied. Finally she just says something to Lee Ji-eun, and I'm told to sit down, while this woman, apparently named "Pat," takes over our class. Weirdly, she has brought (in a bag!) several of these pre-schoolers – including some toddlers. She puts them out on the desk and begins her lesson. Very weird. Actually, she's doing some very interesting things with them, but I'm feeling grumpy about having my class pre-empted.

I'm not really paying attention… I'm contemplating World Cup brackets again. Then my student Sally comes back to where I'm sitting, and she's looking bored and deeply annoyed with the goings-on (which is generally how she always looks). She whispers, "Pat said you must leave now!" I'm pissed, and I think maybe that's not true – maybe Sally is just being manipulative or trying to trick me. It wouldn't be the first time, for that. So I say, "Fine, but you're coming with me." I pick Sally up and leave the room.

And then we're back on the street of the big city from before, and Sally, far from being angry at having been taken out of the class by me, seems oddly pleased that she's gotten both of us out of there. I realize that that was her plan – so it she had been lying, after all. Somehow, though, she knew how I'd react, and she'd played me to get out of the class herself. Instead of feeling upset, I reward this behavior: I decide it's time to go get some ice cream, in the store I'd noticed next to the police station earlier.

Yes, weird. And then I woke up. 5 AM. I turn off the air conditioner. I open my window – a thick fog has rolled in to Yeonggwang, which seems really common here – not sure if this normal early summer in this part of Korea, or something specific to the relatively dry weather (compared to what I think of as normal Korea summer), which renders things a bit California-y.