I wish that I could have this moment for life

I came to a realization today: I'm no longer a child.  Although I am still young, my childhood is long gone. Seems obvious, doesn't it?

Why am I thinking about this? A good friend of mine who I've known since the beginning of high school is getting married this weekend back in Toronto. Another one of my long-time friends from elementary school got married earlier this year as well. EVERYONE'S getting married. EVERYONE'S having babies. Ok, maybe I'm exaggerating just a bit but you get the point right?As many of my friends experience the next milestones in their lives, I can't help feeling nostalgic about my childhood.

Gone are the summer bike rides that continued even after the sun disappeared.
...the intense soccer games that we looked forward to playing at recess.
...the games of cops and robbers that almost caused us to be eaten by King, the monstrous German Shepherd.
...the tamagotchies that took over my life at one point.
...the never ending movie nights with my brother.
...the times when my cousin and I would hide in her closet so I wouldn't have to go home.
...the insane sugar highs from eating a billion freezies in the span of 10 minutes.
...the feelings of satisfaction from cutting through people's fenced backyards to get home, instead of walking the long route.
...the refreshing runs through the sprinkler that I shared with my brothers under the blazing sun.
...the dedication to shooting those damn ducks on Nintendo.
...the unsuccessful lemonade and fruit punch stands.

Clearly, the nostalgia is getting a little out of hand here.

All of these memories stir up one feeling that I miss the most from my childhood. The feeling of being carefree. Not for just a moment. Not for just a day. Being continuously and utterly carefree all day, every day. As much as I insist that I'll be forever young, I can't deny that those carefree days have been left behind.

Although my life is no longer trouble-free as it was a long long loooooooooong time ago, I must admit that when I do have one of those moments where my worries seem to vanish for a split second, I appreciate them even more. I live for those moments; the ones that allow me to escape reality. Living on my own in Busan for almost a year now has reminded me even more that these moments continue to exist, well into adulthood. I guess being a grown up doesn't have to be all that bad.  

And He Strikes Again!

As I was eating lunch with the other teachers, Vice Principal knocked on the lunchroom door. He had a huge grin on his face when he entered the room. After saying a few words in Korean, I heard my name. The first thoughts that came to my mind were, "Oh man. Here it comes. I'm in trouble. Vice Principal saw me walking inside with my outdoor shoes this morning didn't he!"

I was so wrong.

VP moved out of the way and revealed a tiny little boy standing behind him. Baby Boy was scanning the lunchroom with wide eyes. His gaze landed on me and he looked at VP, who gave him a nod to say "go ahead." Baby Boy scurried over to where I was sitting. He handed me a tiny bottle of apple juice with both his hands and bowed. With a little grin, he turned around and ran out of the lunchroom.

Baby Boy strikes again!

Friday

Woke up to dark skies and rain today. 

Realized that my favourite oatmeal was finished. 

Stepped in a puddle on the way to school. My socks still haven't dried.

Lunch was the same as yesterday.

Forgot my mug at home. No afternoon tea.

-

Baby Boy (see previous blog, "Mr. Clean's Got a Secret And It Isn't Bleach!") was waiting in my classroom with his yogurt from lunch. He reached out to me with his yogurt in hand and triumphantly stated, "For you!" 

Things are looking up :)

Mr. Clean's Got a Secret and It Isn't Bleach!

I walk into my classroom first thing in the morning to find the usual group of grade 4 students cleaning. In Korean schools, children are assigned the responsibility of cleaning the classrooms which I don't think is that bad of an idea.

For a long time, the same three girls, who incidentally remind me of a younger version of the Golden Girls because of their constant drama, showed up everyday to fulfill their responsibilities. More recently, a little Cabbage Patch boy has been cleaning alongside the girls. His round and chubby face paired with his short plump body cause his peers to affectionately call him "Baby Boy," which he seems to have no problem with. When he started coming in for the daily cleaning sessions, I assumed he had nothing better to do before school and at lunch. Today, my coteacher reveals the real reason. 

As I walk into my classroom, Baby Boy runs to the door, waves and smiles and then runs back to the desk he was so determinedly scrubbing before I arrived. Soon after, my coteacher calls Baby Boy over and asks him something in Korean. Baby Boy protests what she says but eventually smiles and nods. Coteacher pats Baby Boy on the back and puts her finger to her lips to assure Baby Boy that his secret is safe with her. 

As soon as Baby Boy leaves the classroom, coteacher says, "Amarta. I know Baby Boy's secret..."

"Um. What is it?"

"A long time ago, I asked him why he came to clean everyday. He didn't answer. When I asked him if it was because he wanted to see you, he denied it. So, I asked him again today and I told him I wouldn't tell anyone. This time he confessed that he comes 'to see Amarta Sam' (Sam is a nickname that Korean students call their teachers)."

Yet another reason I sometimes feel like a celebrity in my school :D 

 

A is for ajjuma

One of the first Korean words I learned when I arrived here was "ajjuma," which is simply what you call an old Korean woman. Like myself, most foreigners that I know recognize a certain category of ajjumas. No matter where in Korea I am, I can always count on seeing street ajjumas, as I like to call them. I notice them sitting on the sidewalk and selling onions, garlic, and chili peppers; or slowly pushing carts full of flattened cardboard boxes and plastic bags filled with aluminum cans; or carefully bending down to collect trash from the street. Their uniforms consist of large visors, shirts with some sort of loud pattern, gloves, and of course, face masks. They all sport the same short and slightly wavy hairystyle. The thick rough skin that covers their hands seems to present clues about the hardships they've endured. The visible dirt under their fingernails separates them from the colourful and manicured fingers of the posh ajjumas I see in the expensive department stores and cafes that line Gwangalli Beach.

This is all I know about the street ajjumas. There's so much more that I wonder about though.

How old are they?
Where do they go at the end of the day?
How do they determine their territory/turf? What happens if an ajjuma crosses her territory's boundary? Do the Gwangan street ajjumas have bulgogi (aka beef) with the Suyeong street ajjumas?
Why don't they pick up their grandchildren from school like the other halmoni (grandma) ajjumas I see at work?
Why don't I ever see men doing the jobs that the street ajjumas do?
How did they end up selling vegetables or picking up other people's junk?
Do they have families? Do they have husbands? Did they ever have husbands?
Why don't their legs hurt from sitting in the same position on the ashphault all day?
What made their backs become so hunched over time?
What did they do before they became street ajjumas? 

But the question that most commonly comes to my mind when I see the street ajjumas is, how am I supposed to feel when I see these women? Proud because they seem to be independant women making "a living" for themselves? Or sympathetic because if I ever saw my grandma working on the street like them, my heart would break into a million pieces? Or worried when it looks like the rain is about to pour down on them?

I just don't know.

Powerful Words

News of the catastrophic events that unfolded and continue to unfold along the northeast coast of Korea's neighbour, Japan,  has reached all across the globe. There is no need for me to recap these events that has led to the suffering of countless people living in Japan. We've all seen the unbelievable photographs and the in-depth news articles depicting the heart-wrenching devastation.

From what I know, Korea and Japan share a history marked by war, tension, and bitterness so it is no wonder that I find myself curious about the Koreans' reactions to the disastrous situation that Japan is currently in. One of my co-teachers told me that she asked her students what they thought about the Japanese earthquake and tsunami. Many children expressed deep sympathies for the people of Japan. One student went as far to say "serves them right" in Korean. I am in no position to judge any of their responses, regardless of how extreme they sound, so I won't. 

When bad things happen I find that people, including myself, often try to express their sympathies and condolences in well thought out and eloquent sentences. For instance, "Words seem inadequate to express the sheer sadness I feel for you during these difficult times." Today, I was reminded of the intensity and power that can shine through just a few basic words that don't even make grammatical sense. One of my grade 4 students came to my classroom door after school. He just wanted to say "hi." I asked him the obligatory native English teacher question, "how are you?" His uncommon response surprised me. 

 "I...very sad..."

   "Why are you sad?"

I could tell he wanted to say so much by the determined look in his eyes and the constant gestures he made with his hands but all he could muster out was, "Japan. Tsunami...I very sad."

Then, he raised a finger, abruptly turned away from me and sprinted towards a nearby Korean teacher. He returned 30 seconds later with the English translation of his Korean thoughts. 

"Everyday I (he folded his hands together and gestured upwards to symbolize praying) Japan." 

I gently patted his head and smiled sorrowfully only because upon hearing the few innocent words he had to say, I was left speechless.  

Hello. My name is Slurper.

Remember back in high school when somebody would say "you suck," this would set into action a long battle of dirty verb bashing and each comeback would be more vulgar than the last?

A: You suck!
B: You slurp!
A: You swallow!
B: You regurgitate!
A: You suck, then slurp, then swallow, then regurgitate- You get the picture, right?

Everyone always wanted the last word in these battles. If you had no comebacks left, it was almost as if this confirmed the truth behind your opponent's insult.

As I ate lunch with my fellow teachers today,  I was reminded of the dirty verb bashing from my adolescent past. For the first few minutes, everyone was silent as they ate a few mouthfuls of kimchi. Then, the silence was broken. SLURP! SLURP! SLURP! It was a chain reaction after that initial slurp. I looked around me and every teacher was slurping up their noodles in broth. I was sitting amongst a group of human noodle vacuums. I remember shuddering. That wasn't the worst part though. It suddenly dawned on me that I was participating in the slurp-age!!!

I have never been a fan of eating sound effects. I fight back vomit when I watch those commercials that show a person biting into a crunchy chocolate bar or when I'm sitting in a restaurant and the person at the table next to me is chewing his food in a way that makes a loud slapping noise (I have a friend who named this noise, "jap jap"). However, being in Korea for 6 months has transformed me into a slurper! I'm not sure when or how this happened but the fact remains that I slurp now.

I suppose that any future dirty verb bashing that I engage in won't go very far.

Me: You suck!
Opponent: You slurp!
Me: I do...you win :(

Then, I will hang my head in shame.