Last night we had one of those post-work dinner meetings as is the Korean custom, called 회식 (which is one of the few words where I find the "official" romanization highly dubious as far as implied pronunciation: officially, [hoesik], but what you hear might be better written in English as "hwehshik").
It was unlike most hwehshik of this sort, however, in that it was spontaneous - meaning there was no advance notice. Curt even admitted this, trying to teach me a Korean word which means "spontaneous" but which, as so often occurs, failed to stick in my calcified brain.
I don't really deal well with unexpected demands on my time. I think in general, I can cope with unexpected occurrences – meaning when students do unexpected things in class, or there is a sudden schedule change at work. Indeed, some of my colleagues comment on my seeming equanimity in the face of these kinds of things. But these types of unexpected things occur within the boundaries of my normal working hours. On the other hand, after-work activities infringe on time I perceive as my own. As long as I know they're coming, I don't really have a problem with them – like a pre-work meeting or a morning parent-centered event that we all know is coming, I work them into the calculus of my "work time." But unannounced, I don't deal with them well.
Anyway, this is all to say, I had an unpleasant time, and it was unpleasant from the moment I knew it was happening, 5 minutes after coming out of my last class at 10pm. The after-work dinner is stressful for other reasons, too.
It involves eating. I don't enjoy eating, and I feel self-conscious of this fact, because the people around me make eating and the enjoyment of food such a focus of social interaction. I'm sure I've written before that I don't see this as a specifically Korean trait – it's a universal human characteristic. With my post-surgical, handicapped mouth, with my lack of taste, with my constant struggle to swallow things correctly without devolving into a fit of gagging or choking, eating is task that exists in my mind at about the same level as cleaning my toilet: not at all enjoyable and only to be done because it must.
Furthermore, of course, during these times everyone is babbling on in rapid Korean, and so my sense of shame and failure around my lack of mastery of the language impinges. At work, by nature of the work, I intereact with my students in English. That's my job, and there is no guilt in it. But for socializing in a country where I have lived so long, I feel a moral obligation (not to mention the practical necessity) to do so in Korean – so the fact that it still doesn't come easily feels like a moral failing. I'm letting the people around me down, and my fundamental incompetence is on display.
This morning I feel gloomy and discouraged, because of these things. Perhaps I should do like Grace, and simply refuse to participate – although clearly her reasons for boycotting the hwehshik are different from what mine would be.
In fact, I have always rather liked the concept, abstractly. It seems a strong and useful and important social custom, as a way to build a cohesive social unit out of a group of people who work together. But the way that it challenges me personally, I really doubt if it's useful for my overall mental equilibrium.
[daily log: walking, 7km]
