The rest of my life so far...

How to recognize an "Uberslut"; or, The dating scene in Korea

2012-05-11T14:14:00.002+09:00

Diagram 1

There are two types of people who come to Korea. Adventure seekers, and those who felt so completely disconnected in their own society that they were driven to seek out its exact opposite. In other words, people who tickle my freak o'meter. In the picture below, the two circles represent the men of both categories.

Diagram 2

Discarding the red bubble, let's concentrate on the blue. Among foreign men who possess normal social capabilities, there are two smaller subcategories. The "wildly unattractive" bubble represents those who, for various reasons, just don't rev the engines. The yellow bubble represents the "CFK" group, or "Cute-For-Korea", whose appeal grows proportionally to the amount of time one spends in Korea. All men who fit into neither category - the interstitial space - usually go unnoticed, and aren't worth cataloging for the purposes of this argument.

Diagram 3

Now, let's examine the CFK bubble. Within it, further categorization is necessary. We have single men, married men, and that uncomfortable gray area know as MPAS - "married, passing as single". The MPAS breed is comprised mostly of foreign men who have married korean women. (Not trying to stereotype anyone, this is simply what experience has taught me). Like many men before them, they find themselves not quite happy with what they signed up for. So they go to the bar, remove their rings, buy drinks for the single ladies. If you happy to confront a MPAS about his marital status, he will typically feed you the line, "marriage is hard."

Diagram 4

With me so far? The diagram below represents men in Korea who are sociable, attractive, and single. However...

Diagram 5

We have to make allowances for orientation. The cute pink slice in the diagram below represents men who simply don't swing your way.

Diagram 6

Ok. So here we have the actual pool of men you want to meet when you come Korea. Now, let's put that back in perspective...

Diagram 7

'nuff said.

Conclusions

"The scene" for ex-pats here in Korea is definitely slanted in the favor of the males. This drastic imbalance of the male to female ratio makes Ex-pat nightlife a fertile breeding ground for a specimen I like to call "The Uberslut".

Definition of Uberslut:

A male expat between the ages of 19 and 35, in possession of functional social skills and CFK status. Overexposure to female adoration and alcohol, combined with a crippled sense of responsibility (caused by living abroad), turns these males into amoral pleasure seekers who cut swaths through the female expat community, and like to brag about it on facebook.

How to recognize an "Uberslut":

Even to the trained eye, an Uberslut is nearly impossible to detect. They seem, for all intents and purposes, to be a nice guys. They're witty and warm. They buy you a drink, but they're not too pushy. They seduce you with endearing self-abasement, and a nearly irresistible dose of affection. Unfortunately, the best way to recognize an Uberslut is the morning after, when you see him chatting up another girl on facebook, or see a lovely-dovey post by his girl friend (or in some cases, his fiance) on your newsfeed.

Advice for ladies headed to Korea?

Bring Condoms. Proceed with caution.

Episode 7: Everyday We're Shufflin'

2012-05-03T13:58:00.001+09:00

We had some free time in one of my 6th grade classes. I was going to just show a movie, but a fellow teacher gave me the most awesome idea EVER:

Teach the kids to dance!

Not just any dance...

The Cha Cha Slide!

So that's what this video is. Actually, it's two dances - the Cupid Shuffle comes first. Definitely one of my best moments with my 6th graders. Hope you enjoy it!

Sports Day

2012-05-02T12:47:00.003+09:00

In the beginning of May schools in Korea have a "Sports Day". They practice for weeks in advance, fine tuning their athletic skills: jumping rope, relay racing, and tug-o-war-ing. The school divides into two teams, red and white (apparently every school in Korea has a red team and white team), and they pit their efforts against each other in a 4-hour-plus fun fest.

It's pretty awesome.

The 5th graders, jiving

The parents come out to watch and play if they can get the day off, so the kids also put on performances - dances in traditional korean clothing (Hanbok) and in modern flare (this year was jiving...lol).

1st graders doing a traditional dance

It's pretty fun to watch. I never see my students when they are just happy and playing. It's a whole new side of them! I snapped some pictures and cheered for whoever I happened to be standing next to at the time.

The best part? No classes!

What an awesome day.

Parents Tug o'war (totally hilarious)

Episode 6: Kecak Dance

2012-05-01T08:16:00.001+09:00

Another traditional balinese dance is called Kecak (sounds like Ke-chak). It's named after the sound the men make during the dance.

Basically, the beat-box, balinese style. It's amazing.

Hope you enjoy!

Good-bye, Ubud

2012-04-30T11:56:00.000+09:00

Episode 5: Ubud, Traditional Dance

2012-04-26T14:32:00.001+09:00

I took a short video clip of the dancing, which I wanted to share with you. Check out the dancer's eyes! They move like they're inside a mask!

Ubud: Monkey Forest (Part 2)

2012-04-25T08:01:00.000+09:00

Ubud: Monkey Forest (Part 1)

2012-04-24T07:55:00.000+09:00

Ubud: Traditional Dance

2012-04-23T12:54:00.000+09:00

Ubud: The art, the life

2012-04-20T13:16:00.000+09:00

Ubud: Foodie's Delight

2012-04-19T08:43:00.000+09:00

Gili Trawangan

2012-04-17T15:08:00.000+09:00

Black sand beach of Lombok (on the way to Gili T)

My first fresh coconut!

Eat-yourself-silly-delicious lunch!

Jawa = Java. Ha!

Aah...bliss...

Farmer's Breakfast. Fan-flippin-tastic!

A "Jaffle" (a.k.a. a breakfast panini)

The Music Class

2012-04-12T20:48:00.000+09:00

Each morning before first period, there is an extracurricular music class. Of course, I am being incredibly generous by calling it "music". The abusive cacophony that scurries out of that room, tearing the ears of unwary hallway travelers, is the adopted stepchild of music.

It is led by the most piercing, spine crunching flute player: The teacher.

I have taken to listening to my iPod at full blast to avoid hearing him. I rush into the hallway to fill my water pitcher, during a quiet space. But always, just as I depress the fountain button, I hear "And a one, two, three!" through the open door, and he spits into that flute until it toots like a dying swan.

I am tempted, oh-so-tempted to sneak up and close the door.

I don't though, because I think the kids' feelings would be hurt, and I might crush someone's dream of being a nationally acclaimed concert violinist.

The diarrhea song

2012-04-11T20:38:00.000+09:00

When it comes to lesson planning, I am constantly re-evaluating my teaching choices. I want to keep my classes fresh, interesting. I want to make the class fun. I want the kids to walk away with at least one new phrase to add to their active vocabulary.

And to be perfectly honest, my hold on propriety is slipping now that am I less than 6 months away from the end of my contract.

I don't want to teach from the textbook all time. I want to teach them the good stuff. The "goods" being bits of culture from my own childhood. The big-mac-a-tia-tia, quarter-pounda-french-fries, icy-cola-milk-shake, Sunday-is-an-apple-pie. The stuff they can't get from Korea. The stuff that by all rights should NEVER EVER enter a classroom.

Like the diarrhea song.

The diarrhea song is disgusting. It's inappropriate. It's low humor, childish, and just plain un-schooly. But as I was going over today's lesson, I have a Toothache, and listing the various ailments of the body (headache, cold, fever, stomachache), I was blindsided by the idea of teaching it them. After all, it's funny.

It's funny, and it's gross. Kids are suckers for funny and gross.

By 3rd period, I had my kids chanting "Diarrhea, chh-chh-chh! Diarrhea, chh-chh-chh!" They were cracking up, repeating with enthusiasm. The phrase "I have a..." is burned into their brains. Success!

I can fully acknowledge that teaching them this was, no is a terrible idea. It's one of those songs that might take months and months to die.

Something to remember me by, Korea.

Election time

2012-04-10T20:29:00.001+09:00

On April 11, 2012, Korea will have a presidential election.

I think.

My knowledge of Korean politics extends just far enough to know what days I get to skip school because of them. Like Wednesday, Election day.

Despite my blatant apathy, I would know that Wednesday was Election Day even if I didn't have the day off. The election campaign is in my face, on my building (like in the photo), even in my apartment.

For reals, y'all.

Every morning, some well meaning campaigner stands on a platform on the street with a microphone and a boombox that blasts victory music from Rocky.

Ok, it's not actually the music from Rocky.

But at 8AM on Saturday when I am trying allow my neurons to re-stitch themselves into pathways of piece and harmony that are usually thoroughly trampled by Friday, I'm not questioning my subconscious label of the ear splitting noise so much as jumping out of bed, fist bumping the sky, and weeping internally that the Rocky theme song is not one I can actually sleep through.

The noise never stops.

Trucks roll down the streets, straddled by women in pink polyester who apparently don't have day-jobs, shouting, "HeLLOOO Sangdong! Come out and VOTE!"

On the street, crowds of people in spiffy suits with banners across their chests stand outside of shops chorusing, "Hello! Vote for us!" and pushing packets of wet naps into my hands.

Yes, wet naps. Don't ask me why, I haven't the foggiest.

The campaigners are startlingly aggressive, considering that the majority foreigners in Korea can't vote...

Beauty Juice

2012-04-09T17:41:00.000+09:00

The task of translation makes the jackanapes out of my co-workers on a fairly regular basis. Not because they struggle with turning Korean words into English ones. I am convinced that they translate accurately for me, from their thoughts to my ears:

"I heard this juice makes you beautiful."

Nope. The words are not the problem. It's the cultural translation that's lagging a few beats behind. This sentence (one of the many gems I've heard here in Korea) is a prime example. At my teacher's class, we were each given one of these small pink pouches full of pomegranate juice. After fiddling with my pens, I tore into mine. One teacher jumped up to find paper cups while the other teachers, as if on cue, tore into their packets as well.

We sipped and chatted about the usual, "Mmm" "I like this juice" "Is it delicious?" before the bomb was dropped about "beauty juice".

I felt my eyes slip halfway down into a cynical position, while my mouth twisted into a derisive smirk.

Just for a second.

I remolded my eyes into one of innocent questioning and said, "Oh really?"

This happens to me a lot. I hear something like "This juice makes you beautiful" and instantly dismiss it as bovine-fecal-material. Then I remember two things: 1) People are trying to be nice and 2) The information might seem credible to me if it were presented in a manner that soothed my american sensibilties.

For example.

The idea of "beauty juice" is rubbish.

The idea that pomegranate juice contains vitamens or enzymes that promote skin cell regeneration (or something similar) is quite believable.

So I have to pause.

I punish my cynical smirk by unbending the upturned corners of its disbelief and hammering it into a smile. Take a minute. Think about it.

I'm not always successful, but I'm working on it.

My students, on natural hair

2012-04-06T10:29:00.002+09:00

For many of my students, I am the first African American woman they have ever seen. So, despite the fact that they have known me for over a year and a half, there are things about me that always strike them as new, as interesting.

Like my hair.

Since coming to Korea, my hair has experienced a revolution. In short, I have turned my old notions of hair care, beauty, and propriety on their head and began experiment. And because I'm experimenting, I change my hair style. A lot.

The kids just can't get over the changes.

The fact that I can do my hair myself is shocking. The fact that my hair is curly is shocking. The fact that it looks new every other week is shocking.

Very little of what I teach them sticks, but I can say with confidence that they all know:

"Teacher! You're hair! Is change-y!"

Not exactly winning them prizes for good grammar, but the point gets across.

This week marked yet another first for me. I wore my hair un-manipulated by braids, twists or heat. In fact, I just threw some gel on it, and rocked it out. The result was a kinky crown with insanely curly ends.

It was pretty fantastic. And it nearly electrocuted my students with shock.

"TEA-cher!" They said to me, "You're hair..."

Mercifully, their vocabulary failed them. I'm pretty sure that 50% of them did not have compliments on the tips of their tongues.

Of course, most of the students are vicious tattle tellers, so they translate for me when they can.

"Teacher!" One boy said, "She say, your hair is terrible."

I smiled at her. "That's ok." I said, "No worries." Of course, you just made my S-List, little girl. Watch and see if I ever call on you again.

Other S-List candidates include a girl who walked up to me in the hallway, little posse of gigglers at her back and said,

"Teacher, are you a Ryan?"

"Ryan?" I was puzzled.

"Yes. Ryan." She gestured to my hair, and it clicked in. Lion. She meant, LION. I feigned ignorance.

"Who's Ryan?"

"Oh.." she began dancing foot-to-foot. "Your hair is fantastic!" Her sarcasm was punctuated by the elbow touching and giggling of her posse.

"Teacher" she continued, emboldened, "Are you electric?" The girls expired from laughter, falling all over each other.

I smiled and entered my classroom. Yuk it up, punks. You do you, and I'll do me. Because guess who gets to decide which 5th grade classes miss out on game days?

"HECKITY NAW" or; "No, I don't think so..."

2012-04-02T12:13:00.000+09:00

Since my last posting, I have been getting one question repeatedly: "Have you decided whether or not to renew your contract?"

Clearly, I have bungled my communications with you lovely folk. Let me be clear now. I was never, in any serious way, considering staying. I was grateful for the offer. Even a bit amused by it. Momentarily lured by the absolute ease of saying yes.

For approximately 15 seconds.

"Well, why?" you ask me.

Lemme roll up my sleeves and tell you why. Oh, I'll tell you why.

Consider my life.

Last Wednesday, I taught the 3rd grade. Until this semester, 3rd graders have been a treat. A joy. Starting this semester, I was slapped rudely awake by these monsters

They won't sit still.

They won't stop talking.

They won't follow directions. Or perhaps, can't.

It's utter anarchy. My co-teacher, the one who asked me to stay, is teaching them as well. It's up to her to teach them their classroom English, their call and responses, their English-time manners. But these little beasts are raw and wild. After a month of school, they still don't know the basics.

When I say, "everybody look at me!" they should say, "look at YOU", pointing at me, looking at me, being quiet.

When I say, "everybody look at me!" they chatter, they run around, the choke each other, the pound their tiny fists on each other's heads, they cry, they carry on, they leave me looking around like a jackanapes hoping to catch someone, anyone's eye. Just doesn't happen.

When we play the Quiz game (a personal favorite of mine, as it's usually popular with the kids and quite effective), it's another riot.

How the game should go? They line up in two lines, I ask the first two students in the line a question like "How are you?". The student who answers the fastest gets to sit down, the slowest gets back in line and tries again. The line (or team) that gets all its members sitting down first, is the winner.

How the game actually went? The kids shout answers at me without listening to the question. I say "How are you?" they say, "My name is Jenny!" I say "...Jenny...how are you?" "My name is Jenny!"

Next kid.

I say "What's your name?"

Team 1 kid says, "My name is John!" John sits down, proud and accomplished.

Jack, Team 2 kid, also sneaks back into his seat. Before I can call him on it, I see Little Big'un pounding a student in the back of line. I stop the game, separate the fighters, try to continue.

I say "how are you?"

Team 1 kid says, "I'm hungry!" smiling big.

Team 2 kid pauses, five kids scream "YAA!! How are you, you ginormous turd!" and he screams at his attackers, arms flailing, "YAA! Don't call me a turd you stupid stupids!"* and then he starts to cry, runs to his seat, puts his head down and keeps crying.

*I am interpreting for you here, as most of this exchange happens in Korean.

Everybody stares at him. Everybody stares at me.

Except, of course, for Little Big'un at the back of the classroom who isn't paying attention to any of this because he is the process of taking his best friend's arm (a boy literally half his weight) stretching it out taught, and karate chopping it in the middle.

Oh, excuse me. Tae-kwon-do chopping.

He's chopping, the cryer's caring on, I'm trying to force my face into some sort of adult expression mimicking sympathy and not show my true feelings - annoyance - while preventing an arm breakage, and not cringing at the kid in front row who is suffering from early onset deafness and autism, who keeps SHOUTING out answers at the top of his lungs, even though no one is talking to him.

And my co-teacher, the same woman who asked me to stay, is standing at the front of the class room, fiddling on her phone, taking notes on some unrelated subject, abandoning me to the caprice of these pint-sized piss-ants. And yes, that same woman looks beyond startled when I call her name and ask her to stop yet another student from sucker punching the little boy in the seat behind her, in the face.

And that was one period, out of four.

So there you have it. One day in the life. One colorful, archetypal example. No, no, and no I am not staying here.

It is time - most definitely time - for me to move on.

Not saying that all days are like this. Not saying that teaching is bad, that Korea is bad, or anything like that. Just saying...They are helping feel ready to try someplace new.

Psst...

2012-03-30T13:27:00.004+09:00

Just a quick update: "The rest of my life so far..." has been syndicated!

Should I stay or should I go?

2012-03-19T11:23:00.001+09:00

I said, "Mom, I finally told them that I'm not renewing my contract."

She said, "You know they're going to make you an offer."

I said, "Meh. I doubt it. Besides, there's nothing they can offer to make me stay. The public school contract guidelines are pretty strict."

She said, "We'll see."

This morning, my co-teacher said, "So...would you stay for 6 more months? It's not usual, but we can offer you that, because we have our own budget."

I hate it when my mom is right.

The Booger Squad

2012-03-12T17:12:00.000+09:00

This semester's schedule change means, for me, the rather terrifying addition of students who produce copious amounts of snot, spit, germs, and...fluids. Until now, I was fortunate enough to escape interacting with anyone who did not have firm training in sphincter control. The idea of small, soft fingers, covered in when-was-the-last-time-you-washed-your-hands was enough to make me want to slap my co-teacher, throw my papers out of the window, run home and start packing.

I mean, I didn't do that. Just fantasized about it.

What I did was begin frantically searching ESL teacher's websites that could help me plan activities for teaching the first grade.

Despite rigorous preparation, I kept picturing the worst. Blank-faced, snot-spewing, attention-seeking children who hurdle around the classroom, head first, at impossible speeds. And those heads are juust high enough that its easy to accidentally knee them in the face. Which would lead to me being put in the papers as a child-stomping-foreigner, then to general outrage and deportation.

Oh, yeah. And they CRY a lot.

Insult to injury.

Ready for the worst, I edged into the classroom sideways, trying to peak at the creatures before they spotted me.

And they were...

well, they were just...

cute.

Good gracious, they are so friggin' cute.

They were sitting at kid-sized tables, coloring. Do you remember when coloring books were the business? I'm having flash backs of crayola and aftercare, graham crackers and peanut butter. Paint-by-numbers, singing and nap time. In other words - a pretty happy time. And these kids looked like they were making the most of it.

We spent about 40 minutes trying to learn "what's your name". We sang songs. We wrote capital "A" and lower case "a". We put our hands on our bellies and blew through our teeth, "fff, fff, fff! fff, fff, fff!"

And it was fun.

Despite the extra work, I am actually looking forward to teaching my little boogies.

Boogies sounds better than Boogers. Which comes from Booger Squad. Which comes from the many times I've seen young children...

well, you get the picture.

The most difficult thing

2012-03-07T11:40:00.000+09:00

People often ask me, "What's the most difficult thing about living in Korea?". A smorgasbord of things to say pop to mind: food, language, transportation, "otherness". But really, I can't say these things are the most difficult. These are all things that you expect when you move halfway across the world.

If asked, I would have to say the most difficult in Korea, is time. Not having enough of it with people you meet and learn to care about. Having too much of it without them, once then go.

Say, for example, that you meet a boy in the summer. It's bound to happen eventually, right? And let's say that this boy lives far away from you. Not state-to-state far away, but country-to-country far, where people have incredible accents, drink Guinness and wear green. Let's say, for the sake of argument, that he's from that place.

Let's say that he's not just a boy, but a friend. A friend you spend time with, here in this place. Someone you feel close to, see often. Let's say that you think of him often. Let's let that be all we say about him.

And then, he leaves. March is the season of turnover in Korea. Friends leave, maybe to disappear from your life for a short time. Maybe forever. New friends come to replace them.

Let's say that goofy-stupid-happy feeling is snuffed out. Distance severs you bluntly, leaving you ragged and tender. Let's say that the lights look dim, and your smile takes work.

I would say, to answer your question, that time is definitely the most difficult thing.

First day of classes

2012-03-05T11:49:00.000+09:00

The students looked a little too big. Too tall, too round, too "we're over this before it's even started". Not exactly what I was expecting from my newly-minted 5th graders.

My throat felt dry, a little too sticky to comfortably smile, but I tried anyways.

"Good morning, class!" I said, voice amp-up with fake happiness. "How're you?"

They grumbled their good morning.

"Welcome to 5th grade English!"

They goggled. Gasped. And then laughed. In a mish-mash of Konglish, they told me they were the 6th grade.

I goggled right back. "What are you doing here?"

They got up, left, and scurried to the appropriate classroom.

HA! What a start to the year. After the 6th graders slumped out, still rippling with laughter, I felt a tingle of dread imagining what the 5th grade would be like.

The beginning of the year is rough on me. The kids go away for vacation and come back transformed into larger, rougher, ruder versions of the kids I used to know and love. And while I can intellectually accept the change, it kind of breaks my soul a little bit, knowing what's coming down the tubes. At least, that's how it is with the 6th grade. But before I could sigh myself into misery, the 5th grade arrived.

One look at their little faces was enough to light up my life.

I've had these kids since the 3rd grade. I've watched them grow. We've learned each other, and just love them to pieces. They are so happy to see me, and I am so, so very happy to see them.

There is no point to this story, really. Just wanted to say that there is something about being an elementary school English teacher, and watching kids grow. Getting to know them, watching them learn you. I feel responsible to do my best for them, best they always give me their best. They make the rest of the shenanigans of my job slip to the side, forgotten.

Graduation

2012-02-20T16:08:00.000+09:00

Back in Korea, time is marching on...for my students. On Valentine's Day, I said good bye to my monstrously misbehaved 6th graders at their graduation ceremony. Of course, I was invited (aka, my presence was demanded) by my co-teacher only the day before, when she said to me, lip quivering,

"I think you have to go..." and then looked non-plussed when I asked her what time to show up.

But my aggrevation over communication styles is not the point of this story.

The point is the ceremony itself. It contained performances by the students, an overly long speech by the principal which no one even pretended to listen to, a video montage, a photo montage, and awarding of prizes. It was, it general, a huge snoozer and I tried not to let my eyes glass over too obviously.

Except...

There was one performance that made me shudder. The fifth graders performed a popular K-pop song called "Roly Poly". Some students sang (loly poly was what they actually said, much to my amusement), some played instruments, and some danced.

It was horrifying.

First, the words. I never bothered to listen to them before. They just formed the background of K-pop over stimulation that pollutes the air from 8AM to 11PM. I was, therefore, in no way prepared to hear my students, my chubby faced, eager beaver babies sing out,

"I like it here, I like it there." with disturbingly cherubic enthusiasm.

My horror was compounded by the dancing on the right side of the stage, where students dressed in sparkly playboy bunny ears were riding the pony and smacking invisible fannies in front of them.

My eyes nearly popped out of my head!

I looked on, horrified, as my students sang and mimed for their peers, teachers, and parents, how they liked to get down sexy. Their eyes were completely empty of awareness - a perfect mirror for the audience, who smiled back at them without the slightest hint of awkwardness.

All except me, of course. I was looking around, face flushed and grimacing.

I have, unfortunately, seen these kind of shenanigans before. Each fall the students have a festival during which, for some god-awful reason, they are allowed to make up their own performances. I always see my pre-pubescent, hip-less students gyrating precociously in front of a clueless crowd.

But to see it at graduation added a fresh layer of horror on the situation.

I shuddered, squeezed my eyes and ears shut. I didn't say anything. I already know my imput would not be appreciated, having questioned the age-appropriateness of this ritual the first time I saw it.

"It's a little embarrassing to see" my co-teacher admitted, "but we don't say anything."

Most of the parents weren't even paying attention. I breathed a sigh of relief when the kids put down the microphone, and was slightly mollified by the content of the remaining performances:

aural torture by amateur flute, and fan dancing.

Bali: Passing through Padangbai

2012-02-20T12:00:00.000+09:00