Teach my heart to pulse with purpose
Shake off yesterday's dirt and rinse your eyes
Throw the curtains wide and glide through the hours
Teach my hands to work with thanksgiving
Breathe cold and fresh anticipating everything
Paint a smile to share with your brother
Teach my mind to race the track undaunted
Inundate my synapses with beauty rare
Tromp the halls of time as a boy in his dad's shoes
Teach my eyes to look up at promise
Strike me down if I raise in defiance
Throw me over your shoulder when I trip
Teach my mouth to sing and comfort
Sew a lining around my words in silk
Praise the One of all account and love
Teach my being to swell and run over
Find its form and push out of the edges
Grow its stature in a shape overwhelming
Monday, October 31, 2011
Sunday, August 7, 2011
Flight of Little Old Me
I held precious hands and watched her toes curl and bend
as she yawns with a trust and hope all in a swirl and trend
I have held his failing hand as he watched the ceiling fan
breathing shallow, whispering terminal words, a dying man.
I have whooped and cackled with recklessness in seizure fits
a buzzing current running down the spine zapping the wits
I have wept and joined the mournful fall of pattering rain
Felt the slip and tearing of grip on a thought once sane
Danced, ate ice cream, and swam mild waters blue
written, sang, dreamed, traveled, uttered false and true
I have paddled waters with azure ripples and bubbly froth
I have submerged in white cotton sheets of infantile sloth
I have tread stone paths with right angles and definite lines
I have loped along muddy paths askew yet true as God's signs.
I joined dressed guests at union ceremonies candles and lace
I have peered in wooden boxes holding the cold, pallid face
I have felt the tears spill as I the tune reach a height
I my smile reaches across the corners in an antrorse flight
as she yawns with a trust and hope all in a swirl and trend
I have held his failing hand as he watched the ceiling fan
breathing shallow, whispering terminal words, a dying man.
I have whooped and cackled with recklessness in seizure fits
a buzzing current running down the spine zapping the wits
I have wept and joined the mournful fall of pattering rain
Felt the slip and tearing of grip on a thought once sane
Danced, ate ice cream, and swam mild waters blue
written, sang, dreamed, traveled, uttered false and true
I have paddled waters with azure ripples and bubbly froth
I have submerged in white cotton sheets of infantile sloth
I have tread stone paths with right angles and definite lines
I have loped along muddy paths askew yet true as God's signs.
I joined dressed guests at union ceremonies candles and lace
I have peered in wooden boxes holding the cold, pallid face
I have felt the tears spill as I the tune reach a height
I my smile reaches across the corners in an antrorse flight
Monday, July 25, 2011
Awake My Soul
I never know when the flint will strike or if it will catch ablaze to any height above my own musing. But what of the flame? Is it not the heart crying for a bright glimpse in the unfolding of beauty? So many prayers poured out to see this tear in the drape of monotony and lukewarm affection for my existence and all that surrounds it. I find my hands often folded in a reverence for that which I cannot touch. I feel a lump directly under my throat which has no surgical repair. It only asks for my silence with eyes of light. I felt it, for the pronoun is my best , most staring in the deep of the ocean in the Orient. A man faced with the abyss of his deeds, a chasm of his weak constitution with no bearing, a canyon seemingly too far to be bridged with attenuated hope.
If this world screams of beauty and a life continued in a better allegiance to the cosmic constant, I have ran with my ears plugged by my own fingers retreating back to the slough. Awake man! Go and find the path he spoke of and place your print alongside his bold boot. Climb the mast, boy, and scream to the heavens you are clean. Tread the peaks and write a sonnet full of worship. Sleep in perse pastures of poesy and bathe in prime pools of promise. Hug closer, cry harder with disregard, and laugh until death seems a happy friend that will only pass in a short sigh. Show a stranger your bandaged heart in hopes that they might apply another adhesive to keep the overflowing of life intact. Kiss your mother as the daughter of Mother Mary and be willing to hold the staff of your father. Tell everyone you can barely breathe because it is so abundantly available in sweet doses.
So may I walk streets awake of You. May I find a shadow of your appearance in a child's innocence. Help me hear the cicada's song of adoration and feel the embrace of warm sun. Still my tongue and quicken the good work you have faithfully started.
If this world screams of beauty and a life continued in a better allegiance to the cosmic constant, I have ran with my ears plugged by my own fingers retreating back to the slough. Awake man! Go and find the path he spoke of and place your print alongside his bold boot. Climb the mast, boy, and scream to the heavens you are clean. Tread the peaks and write a sonnet full of worship. Sleep in perse pastures of poesy and bathe in prime pools of promise. Hug closer, cry harder with disregard, and laugh until death seems a happy friend that will only pass in a short sigh. Show a stranger your bandaged heart in hopes that they might apply another adhesive to keep the overflowing of life intact. Kiss your mother as the daughter of Mother Mary and be willing to hold the staff of your father. Tell everyone you can barely breathe because it is so abundantly available in sweet doses.
So may I walk streets awake of You. May I find a shadow of your appearance in a child's innocence. Help me hear the cicada's song of adoration and feel the embrace of warm sun. Still my tongue and quicken the good work you have faithfully started.
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
An Ex-pat's Memorial Musing
With the amount of thumbs up(s) on my Facebook post, I thought it might be time to re-emerge with some broken strains floating in my mind. Perhaps a weak writer is always looking for some support. But all self-deprecation placed aside, I felt lost wandering the streets of the Far East with all of the news back home. As I walked under blue skies, my thoughts were with a father picking up the rubble that once held doors he proudly locked to keep his family safe. I wanted to light the cigarette for the poor soul that pulled a limp child from the splintered boards and broken cinder blocks. I wanted to hold a stranger's hand as we prayed for healing or perhaps a sign much like the one shown to Noah. I wanted to cherish my President's words feeling a relief from the weariness of bi-partisanship and strife that fills our news.
But as faces passed me on the street that were oblivious to my home's pain, I began feeling a sharp pull back to the Ozarks. Rivers ran through my mind a little clearer, passing trees and neighbors' mailboxes from a car window promised a community better than I remembered, and my Emily's smile dripped sweeter. My childhood friend, living in Joplin as the winds came unbridled, haunted the next corner as if he might be waiting with a hand to pull me back with him so I could share the horror that he has come to know as the last week or so.
So as I celebrate the memorial of fallen soldiers in foreign battlefields, the silent tears of a mother thinking back on her daughter playing in the safest daycare in Oklahoma City, the workers still employed at Ground Zero, the homes lost in the Big Easy, the bowed head to a grave marker, I also remember you: Home.
But as faces passed me on the street that were oblivious to my home's pain, I began feeling a sharp pull back to the Ozarks. Rivers ran through my mind a little clearer, passing trees and neighbors' mailboxes from a car window promised a community better than I remembered, and my Emily's smile dripped sweeter. My childhood friend, living in Joplin as the winds came unbridled, haunted the next corner as if he might be waiting with a hand to pull me back with him so I could share the horror that he has come to know as the last week or so.
So as I celebrate the memorial of fallen soldiers in foreign battlefields, the silent tears of a mother thinking back on her daughter playing in the safest daycare in Oklahoma City, the workers still employed at Ground Zero, the homes lost in the Big Easy, the bowed head to a grave marker, I also remember you: Home.
Thursday, March 24, 2011
Olfaction of the Ozarks
As a teacher at a small school, I am expected to clean my room along with my teaching duties. I actually crave this time as I slide my headphones on and think thoughts interrupted. Today as I was using a dry-vac with a long extension, I smelled the motor running. The smell was that of the gym floor at the old high school in my hometown. My thoughts roamed the old halls with the trophy cases wrapped in dated hardwood and mopped floors. I fondly remembered dressing in the locker room for basketball practice with my knobby shoulders awkwardly jutting out from my practice tank. Old faces of friends and memories of laughter crowded around the idea that I truly missed the days of theater practice, lunches of a cheeseburger smothered in mayo and smashed cheetos inside the bun, and the overwhelming feeling that my youth would never forsake me. And above all, I remembered a corner of the street where I rode my bike in Autumn with the leaves dancing above my head and getting caught in the spokes of my tires.
As I still assimilate myself to the smells of rice, kimchi, and empty soju bottles, I'm content to let my mind wander the brilliant smell of freshly clipped grass. As I stand on the eighth floor of my building and look at the small mountains with Buddhist temples overlooking the hustle of my Korean city, I walk the paths of Garrison Spring and smell the smoke of cheap, blueberry cigars alongside the conversation of a dear friend. I feel the low water running around my ankles as I gingerly walk across the brook over to my niece dressed in her pink bathing suit and sunglasses the size for a doll to feed her another handful of dissolving Skittles while the color of red and yellow sugar runs down my arm and swirls down the stream. I smell the musk of my Grandfather Irving's plaid shirt tucked in his blue jeans and laundry out of the dryer with the sweetest blanket odor of fabric sheets that billowed out the back room attached to an old, white house in downtown Ozark.
Thanks for letting me share my nose with you. Cheers
As I still assimilate myself to the smells of rice, kimchi, and empty soju bottles, I'm content to let my mind wander the brilliant smell of freshly clipped grass. As I stand on the eighth floor of my building and look at the small mountains with Buddhist temples overlooking the hustle of my Korean city, I walk the paths of Garrison Spring and smell the smoke of cheap, blueberry cigars alongside the conversation of a dear friend. I feel the low water running around my ankles as I gingerly walk across the brook over to my niece dressed in her pink bathing suit and sunglasses the size for a doll to feed her another handful of dissolving Skittles while the color of red and yellow sugar runs down my arm and swirls down the stream. I smell the musk of my Grandfather Irving's plaid shirt tucked in his blue jeans and laundry out of the dryer with the sweetest blanket odor of fabric sheets that billowed out the back room attached to an old, white house in downtown Ozark.
Thanks for letting me share my nose with you. Cheers
Sunday, February 27, 2011
Classroom, Students, and Hangman
My day begins at 1 p.m. My first class is "Debate," a class for adults where we discuss various topics to practice English conversation. My primary role is to keep the discussion going. We usually have a handout with a topic and questions regarding the topic. We are currently discussing "Money" with questions about bank accounts, gambling, debt, etc. I have around four to six students. One of my students, Danny, is leaving the class to return to university in Seoul. He invited me to dinner with his family a couple of weeks ago, and we had a going away lunch yesterday at a fried chicken restaurant. We have become friends, and he invited me to stay with him at his dorm on a weekend. The remainder of my class are mothers who practice English for their own edification. It has been very humbling to me to witness the Korean thirst for practicing a second language. I have really been studying Korean a lot harder lately. I can count, say thank you, bye, hello, ask how much for an item or service, and a lexicon of about fifteen words that are relevant my interests or needed for simple conversation. I also am attending a Language Exchange program on Tuesday nights. I met a Korean-American, SP (his name), who hosts the event for language practice, cultural exchange, and social networking. His story is very interesting: he was adopted at the age of five by an American family in New Hampshire. He grew up there and moved back to Korea after college. He calls the Americans "mom and dad" and told me he has some contact with his biological parents. He's a real nice guy, and we share many interests.
The rest of my day varies from Monday to Friday with 45 minute blocks. I have a break between classes if there is no class scheduled. I use this time to prepare for upcoming classes, read "Paradise Lost" to the mountains I can see from my window, or joke around with the director or kids not in class at the time. They have learned to give me "high-fives" quite well with the boys trying to slap it as hard as possible and the girls giggling to their friends. There are two other Korean teachers as well that teach the same classes. They primarily focus on grammar while I work on comprehension, conversation, and vocabulary. Lucy and Rina are the teachers' names. They are both around my age but my conversation is limited with them because of the language gap and their shyness. They laugh at me though when I dance on Fridays and make the boys do push-ups for bad behavior.
My kids are all sweethearts. Talking to other foreign teachers (waegooks) has helped me realize how fortunate I am to have such great kiddos and a wonderful boss. There are some horror stories out there. I have one particular class of boys that I have a lot of fun with: Jin, Peter, Steven, and Frank (I call him Frankie baby with a mobster accent). If we finish our lesson early, we talk about sports or they teach me Korean. I have to be careful repeating what they say because they think it's hilarious to try to get me to say something bad or profane. But they can never hold their giggles, so I usually have fair warning. But they are just mischievous boys and give me fruit and candy weekly in an odd sort of penance. The younger girls like to touch the hair on my arms because they are so hairy compared to their fathers, I suppose. They love my green eyes and blondish hair too. I grade their diaries at the end of the night, and I learn about some of the girls' self-image problems and such. I try to always compliment them when appropriate. Koreans tend towards vanity to a point that even makes a Hollywood-inundated American blush at times. But as a teacher, I try to help the girls be confident by giving them little nick names and always being friendly. The shy ones are hard to joke around with, but they like it that I try as long as I don't embarrass them in front of their peers.
As aforementioned, at the end of the night I grade diaries and perform "phone teaching." The diaries are often hilarious stories about their mothers scolding them, some delicious meal they had, or random thoughts that are priceless jewels of innocence. I always leave a note about whatever they chose to write about and put a sticker in the box where I write. One girl came to MJ, my boss, crying because Eric teacher (that's my name at school) didn't like her journal and didn't give her a sticker. The truth was that I simply forgot. I felt so bad that I gave her an entire page of stickers. So now she gives me a sticker at the end of class on my lesson plans and tells me good job. I guess the page of stickers came with a supervisor status as well.
Phone teaching is another part of my day where I get paid to make prank calls for 20 minutes or so. I don't literally prank anyone, but the hilarity is always present. The kids think it is the coolest thing in the world that Eric teacher called them to chat about their favorite animal in the zoo or what they had for dinner. I always end the session with a huge grin on my face and a story for the other teachers about one of the kid's answers or a parent yelling in the background that they should study harder if they don't know the answer. The kids yell back in Korean what they wanted to say in English and a five minute argument ensues with me on the other line patiently waiting. It can be quite entertaining.
We play games if we finish our lesson. The games are always more practice but they absolutely adore them. Hangman is the favorite, but we also play trivia basketball (if they get the answer right, they shoot a ball in the wastebasket), bingo, Simon Says, telephone, and "Stop the Bus" (a game where they write as many words as possible that begin with a letter I choose at the start of the game. When I yell 'stop the bus' they all fall out of their chairs and giggle on the floor. I know one of these days a kid is going to bust his lip or bruise her head, but I fear a revolt if I removed this part of the game). I bought a bag of candy for the kids too. They think Laffy Taffy is the greatest candy in the world because it's American. My little niece taught me an important lesson in bribery with candy, so I use the motivation often while encouraging toothbrushes.
Cheers
The rest of my day varies from Monday to Friday with 45 minute blocks. I have a break between classes if there is no class scheduled. I use this time to prepare for upcoming classes, read "Paradise Lost" to the mountains I can see from my window, or joke around with the director or kids not in class at the time. They have learned to give me "high-fives" quite well with the boys trying to slap it as hard as possible and the girls giggling to their friends. There are two other Korean teachers as well that teach the same classes. They primarily focus on grammar while I work on comprehension, conversation, and vocabulary. Lucy and Rina are the teachers' names. They are both around my age but my conversation is limited with them because of the language gap and their shyness. They laugh at me though when I dance on Fridays and make the boys do push-ups for bad behavior.
My kids are all sweethearts. Talking to other foreign teachers (waegooks) has helped me realize how fortunate I am to have such great kiddos and a wonderful boss. There are some horror stories out there. I have one particular class of boys that I have a lot of fun with: Jin, Peter, Steven, and Frank (I call him Frankie baby with a mobster accent). If we finish our lesson early, we talk about sports or they teach me Korean. I have to be careful repeating what they say because they think it's hilarious to try to get me to say something bad or profane. But they can never hold their giggles, so I usually have fair warning. But they are just mischievous boys and give me fruit and candy weekly in an odd sort of penance. The younger girls like to touch the hair on my arms because they are so hairy compared to their fathers, I suppose. They love my green eyes and blondish hair too. I grade their diaries at the end of the night, and I learn about some of the girls' self-image problems and such. I try to always compliment them when appropriate. Koreans tend towards vanity to a point that even makes a Hollywood-inundated American blush at times. But as a teacher, I try to help the girls be confident by giving them little nick names and always being friendly. The shy ones are hard to joke around with, but they like it that I try as long as I don't embarrass them in front of their peers.
As aforementioned, at the end of the night I grade diaries and perform "phone teaching." The diaries are often hilarious stories about their mothers scolding them, some delicious meal they had, or random thoughts that are priceless jewels of innocence. I always leave a note about whatever they chose to write about and put a sticker in the box where I write. One girl came to MJ, my boss, crying because Eric teacher (that's my name at school) didn't like her journal and didn't give her a sticker. The truth was that I simply forgot. I felt so bad that I gave her an entire page of stickers. So now she gives me a sticker at the end of class on my lesson plans and tells me good job. I guess the page of stickers came with a supervisor status as well.
Phone teaching is another part of my day where I get paid to make prank calls for 20 minutes or so. I don't literally prank anyone, but the hilarity is always present. The kids think it is the coolest thing in the world that Eric teacher called them to chat about their favorite animal in the zoo or what they had for dinner. I always end the session with a huge grin on my face and a story for the other teachers about one of the kid's answers or a parent yelling in the background that they should study harder if they don't know the answer. The kids yell back in Korean what they wanted to say in English and a five minute argument ensues with me on the other line patiently waiting. It can be quite entertaining.
We play games if we finish our lesson. The games are always more practice but they absolutely adore them. Hangman is the favorite, but we also play trivia basketball (if they get the answer right, they shoot a ball in the wastebasket), bingo, Simon Says, telephone, and "Stop the Bus" (a game where they write as many words as possible that begin with a letter I choose at the start of the game. When I yell 'stop the bus' they all fall out of their chairs and giggle on the floor. I know one of these days a kid is going to bust his lip or bruise her head, but I fear a revolt if I removed this part of the game). I bought a bag of candy for the kids too. They think Laffy Taffy is the greatest candy in the world because it's American. My little niece taught me an important lesson in bribery with candy, so I use the motivation often while encouraging toothbrushes.
Cheers
Monday, February 14, 2011
"Praise the God of all, drink the wine, and let the world be the world" French Proverb
I want to apologize for my Facebook post this morning. I left an acerbic note about having to walk alone through the snow and cold on Valentine's Day. I will be the first to admit my loneliness in the mornings. But my God and Creator lovingly walked with me this morning. He showed me the beauty of His snow. He poignantly painted His picture for me of the goodwill of little children. I have never been so blessed on a walk:
"I met in the street a very poor young man who was in love. His hat was old, his coat worn, his cloak was out at the elbows, the water passed through his shoes -- and the stars through his soul." -Hugo
I was not worthy, strong, or powerful as Saint Valentine, but I believe the same Light that shown in his (or their) heart(s) came to be shown in mine as I left my warm bed for the cold street. I fear to write too much and steal from His grace that He so kindly bestowed upon His poor servant. But I must thank Him publicly, no matter the feebleness. I must try to love Him back, no matter the amount of failure. Thank You for snow and a childlike spirit that plays in it.
Cheers
"I met in the street a very poor young man who was in love. His hat was old, his coat worn, his cloak was out at the elbows, the water passed through his shoes -- and the stars through his soul." -Hugo
I was not worthy, strong, or powerful as Saint Valentine, but I believe the same Light that shown in his (or their) heart(s) came to be shown in mine as I left my warm bed for the cold street. I fear to write too much and steal from His grace that He so kindly bestowed upon His poor servant. But I must thank Him publicly, no matter the feebleness. I must try to love Him back, no matter the amount of failure. Thank You for snow and a childlike spirit that plays in it.
Cheers
Sunday, February 13, 2011
Some pics from my visit to Geoje Island
I went to Geoje island for the Lunar New Year and visited some friends from college. They had taught here and were able to show me around the island. I had a wonderful visit. Enjoy
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| The ship yards in Geoje are massive! |
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| A Buddhist Temple |
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| The Beach!!!!!!!!!!!! |
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| Jesse is an artist with his camera. |
Here were some Korean girls dressed up in traditional garb for the New Year. They're enjoying some food from a street vendor. Gorgeous little things
This a small example of our hike. At the top of the mountain, there are some pieces of exercise equipment. Korea is very "cardio-aware."
This was sad: Jesse said the field behind me, to the left, was covered in bamboo trees. They had just recently cut most of them down to build. I never like to see such a precious, renewable resource fall by the wayside. That said, Korea is very conscientious of resources for the most part.
This is Aaron, a friend of Jesse and Chelsie. He is presenting "shabu shabu," thinly sliced beef that you cook at your table in a pot of oil and veggies all wrapped in a rice paper. You dip the paper in water to make it pliable and wrap the ingredients inside. The other Korean girl you will see is Cammie. They took us out to dinner, a movie, and coffee (I had banana juice). They were such gracious hosts!
Haha, I have to tell you this: We asked a guy sitting behind us to take the picture. He agreed but looked a bit unsure of his photography skills. If you look closely, Jesse and I are craning our necks up because he held the camera too high (Jesse did some editing). We were still very thankful for his services.
Koreans loooooooooove their coffee.
The coffee house was on top of a mountain...gorgeous building as well.
These are burial sites on top of the mountain we hiked. They leave a "burn" in the ground to mark the site.
Well, there you have it. I want to warmly thank Jesse and Chelsie for their hospitality in Geoje, as well as Cammie and Aaron. Cheers
Thursday, February 10, 2011
Sorry it has been awhile
I want to apologize for not posting anything lately. It takes some effort on my part, and I have let the proverbial ball drop. I am doing well. I have stayed close to home and work but find myself venturing a little further each day. We recently had a big break for the Lunar New Year. I had a five day weekend and spent some time with Jesse and Chelsie, some friends from C of O. It was wonderful to see them both, and they were able to dispense some of their knowledge of Korea to me. I hope to have pictures posted soon from my visit. It was hard missing the Super Bowl, but I'm excited about becoming a fan of the Lotte Giants in Busan. They are a Korean professional baseball team. Their fans are notorious according to most Koreans. Well, I'll issue another apology for being short. It is difficult not to become introverted when you speak broken English all day and don't speak at all at night. I hope everyone is safe in the blizzard. I'll post some more when I can. Cheers
Monday, January 24, 2011
Alright sports fans, it's time for the loooooove motel (said in your best Barry White impersonation). So Sunday, before my first day as my new boss took me out for lunch and coffee, we also stopped in at a motel on the sixth floor of a building nearby. MJ, my female boss with her husband, informed me that Spencer, the former teacher, would be at the apartement for two more days and that I would need accomodations for the following nights. I didn't mind because the motel was much closer to the school and the idea of staying in a Korean motel was exciting to say the least. We went up the elevator together, and MJ paid the man behind a pane of glass with a 1' by 1' square which you could see through. I didn't know any different...maybe all motel concierges hide behind bulletproof glass with a prison style opening large enough for keys, water, and maybe the nozzle of a fire hose if you were misbehaving.
MJ smiled and said the man would have my key waiting for me the next night. I smiled (the universal language) and we went about the rest of our Sunday outing. The next day, I was introduced to Spencer, a 26 year old guy from Minneapolis, Minnesota. We instantly became best friends with a rapport because face it: he spoke English. But seriously, he was a great guy, and I immensely enjoyed getting to know him for the small amount of time afforded to do so. He happened to ask where I would be staying while he was still in the apartment. I proudly announced that MJ had rented me a room already and that he need not worry about my lodging.
It was the grin that set everything in motion. He then quietly laughed and allowed the awkwardnes of the moment to marinade in real nice. He looked at me and said, "Ah, the love motel." I would normally be relieved to hear that my fellow ex-pat was aware and even knowledgeable about my room for the next two nights. But that grin....I quickly asked if he knew the one around the corner by the Paris Bakery. Oh yes friends, the same Paris Bakery I will never enter again due to my grace and skill of kissing the door with an impact that would anger a playful rhino. He replied that yes he did and that he had stayed there prior to my arrival during a similiar transition.
"I thought it was very nice," I blurted out knowing that his reply would act as a counterweight to my optimism. "Korea is famous for these motels," he informed me. "They are quite the stay." "So what's the deal?" I asked, or more like begged because I knew he knew something good, something important, something worth knowing. "Let's just say they are available by hourly rates as well as nightly stays."
OK. No big deal. There are doors. Probably thick walls. The motel was not huge, and it's Monday night for crying out loud. Surely, there are slow seasons and times in all lines of work. I finished my day, and Spencer invited me out for Korean BBQ with a large group of foreigners from South Africa, England, and Australia doing the same thing I am doing here. He told me to meet him outside the building at a specified time so I could walk with him to the restaurant. I agreed and took the elevator up to my room. The thoughts that were running through my head as the elevator climbed to Gomorrah were random and unsettling. I was dressed in a business suit with the same water bottle shower I had sported all day. At first I thought this would be a plus (the suit and all) as I look professional and someone that simply needed a place to stay. Then my mind turned that flapjack over and I realized this looked worse. White. Business suit. 55 gallon hiking bag. Dirty hair. Oh man....
I poked my head in the mail slot at the front office, and of course, it wasn't the same guy. It was an elderly woman that lived during all four plagues (yeah, there were a bunch of them) and even saw Pangea separate. She came to the window and said "eh?" Hahahaha, now I'm doing sign language for "key" and trying to find the two inch receipt MJ gave me for proof. I presented the gum wrapper of a receipt and she cries, "Ohhh yeessssss." She grabbed a key and points to the stairs. As I walked away, she cried again "Wait uh" (every English word ends in uh) She handed me a "package." A prophylactic package to be exact. I climbed the stairs and opened the door to my room. The decor was quite funky and the bed was a perfectly round circle, nice for spooning I suppose but not six foot Americans. I instantly knew I would be lucky to have both my head and knees touching the mattress simultaneously. The bathroom was quite nice, and I left the "package" in the bathroom.
The evening was short with other patrons that all displayed "do not disturb" signs from the door handles. They were a vocal lot, and I felt immersed into another part of Korean culture albeit the underbelly of said culture. I really wanted to keep this PG, so I hope the innuendo will suffice and for those who don't know the word "innuendo," well now... that's the point. Cheers
MJ smiled and said the man would have my key waiting for me the next night. I smiled (the universal language) and we went about the rest of our Sunday outing. The next day, I was introduced to Spencer, a 26 year old guy from Minneapolis, Minnesota. We instantly became best friends with a rapport because face it: he spoke English. But seriously, he was a great guy, and I immensely enjoyed getting to know him for the small amount of time afforded to do so. He happened to ask where I would be staying while he was still in the apartment. I proudly announced that MJ had rented me a room already and that he need not worry about my lodging.
It was the grin that set everything in motion. He then quietly laughed and allowed the awkwardnes of the moment to marinade in real nice. He looked at me and said, "Ah, the love motel." I would normally be relieved to hear that my fellow ex-pat was aware and even knowledgeable about my room for the next two nights. But that grin....I quickly asked if he knew the one around the corner by the Paris Bakery. Oh yes friends, the same Paris Bakery I will never enter again due to my grace and skill of kissing the door with an impact that would anger a playful rhino. He replied that yes he did and that he had stayed there prior to my arrival during a similiar transition.
"I thought it was very nice," I blurted out knowing that his reply would act as a counterweight to my optimism. "Korea is famous for these motels," he informed me. "They are quite the stay." "So what's the deal?" I asked, or more like begged because I knew he knew something good, something important, something worth knowing. "Let's just say they are available by hourly rates as well as nightly stays."
OK. No big deal. There are doors. Probably thick walls. The motel was not huge, and it's Monday night for crying out loud. Surely, there are slow seasons and times in all lines of work. I finished my day, and Spencer invited me out for Korean BBQ with a large group of foreigners from South Africa, England, and Australia doing the same thing I am doing here. He told me to meet him outside the building at a specified time so I could walk with him to the restaurant. I agreed and took the elevator up to my room. The thoughts that were running through my head as the elevator climbed to Gomorrah were random and unsettling. I was dressed in a business suit with the same water bottle shower I had sported all day. At first I thought this would be a plus (the suit and all) as I look professional and someone that simply needed a place to stay. Then my mind turned that flapjack over and I realized this looked worse. White. Business suit. 55 gallon hiking bag. Dirty hair. Oh man....
I poked my head in the mail slot at the front office, and of course, it wasn't the same guy. It was an elderly woman that lived during all four plagues (yeah, there were a bunch of them) and even saw Pangea separate. She came to the window and said "eh?" Hahahaha, now I'm doing sign language for "key" and trying to find the two inch receipt MJ gave me for proof. I presented the gum wrapper of a receipt and she cries, "Ohhh yeessssss." She grabbed a key and points to the stairs. As I walked away, she cried again "Wait uh" (every English word ends in uh) She handed me a "package." A prophylactic package to be exact. I climbed the stairs and opened the door to my room. The decor was quite funky and the bed was a perfectly round circle, nice for spooning I suppose but not six foot Americans. I instantly knew I would be lucky to have both my head and knees touching the mattress simultaneously. The bathroom was quite nice, and I left the "package" in the bathroom.
The evening was short with other patrons that all displayed "do not disturb" signs from the door handles. They were a vocal lot, and I felt immersed into another part of Korean culture albeit the underbelly of said culture. I really wanted to keep this PG, so I hope the innuendo will suffice and for those who don't know the word "innuendo," well now... that's the point. Cheers
Thursday, January 20, 2011
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Long Story. Amazing Results.
I've been looking forward to writing this all week. Here it goes:
I woke up Monday morning at two thirty in the AM. I'm wide awake cursing the jet lag as I look around my foreign apartment. Nothing is unpacked because the former teacher is still in town. MJ, my Korean boss, told me I would be staying in a motel Monday and Tuesday night, but more on that later. It's freezing outside but my room has heated floors which is nice because the no shoes policy inside the home is pretty serious and when in Rome do as the non-shoe do...Anyways, I played on the computer for awhile and tried to watch the NFL playoffs, remember its Monday here/Sunday there, but the website was not working quite right. So I had to close the browser and open it again every time I thought the score might be different. A miserable way to watch a football game as I imagined my friends and family enjoying their television screens and English commentary.
When I decided to take a shower, I stepped foot in the coldest bathroom known to man. The bathroom and kitchen might as well be outside with a privacy fence and an awning to cover your head as they are separate from the bedroom with exterior walls that do not deserve the name "wall." You dread to even touch the toilet seat as you may be frozen to it for quite some time. As I attempted to turn on the shower that is in the middle of the bathroom and a drain on the floor, the dreaded thing happened: NOTHING. No water my friends. First day to make my impression at school and the crusties in my eyes were to stay. But no fear, I had a bottle of drinking water. So, aforementioned closet of ice and a bottle of water poured over my head BAM! crusties lose. A few choice words enters the mind but I laugh at myself trying to conserve a bottle of water in hopes of rinsing my shampooed head.
I got dressed and realized my hair was still a mess so I threw some hair product in my hands and styled my mop. But wait, the last of the water was still pooled on my bathroom floor and sink from the head rinse. A towel simply does not cut it with sticky paste. So I am now leaning over the drain trying not to ruin my dress pants in an attempt to wash my hands off. Quite the proud moment as I rinse with drops of already soapy water in a toxic drain that has never seen a scrub brush or any device remotely sanitary.
I knew I needed to leave early because getting lost on the way to school was inevitable. So I wandered around thinking I knew where I was for about three minutes. Then the sign I knew I would use as a marker kept showing up in different places. Again, I kept my cool and even my sense of humor as I passed the same man in the same window four times. He continued to smoke his cigarette and waved at me each time with a smile that understood my pain but was enjoying it entirely too much. Finally, after about thirty minutes of walking around Kimhae in 0 degree Celsius (that's the point of freezing for you non-Metric types and 273.15 kelvin for the rest of you), I spotted a Paris bakery that looked very familiar. I thought it would be a good time to celebrate and stopped in to grab something to eat. But wait, automatic doors are not entirely automatic so I planted my face in the glass to set the tone for my Korean friends. Abounding giggles and pointing at the tall white man that was probably red from the cold and a but disheveled from the bottled water shower was my greeting. I grabbed the first thing that looked close to bread and a bottle of juice and got the heck out of Dodge. I knew now where I was and I sauntered off to the building.
I stopped outside the classroom around 12:30 p.m. because no one was there yet. I dropped my bags, remember I'm staying at the motel so I looked like I was climbing Everest during this entire debacle, and reached for my juice. But wait, Eric......Why is the bottle glass? Why does your juice suddenly begin to look a little more like fermented juice? Did you buy wine Eric? Are you drinking wine in front of your new job which happens to be teaching elementary students? Folks, when presented with a moment of such gravity, I believe the only course of action is to unscrew the lid and pray that there must be some limit, some cap to the amount of suffering and pain one could feel in a matter of a morning. It was juice. Fizzy juice, but juice. I think...
Tomorrow's topic will be the definition and experience of a Korean Love Motel...
I woke up Monday morning at two thirty in the AM. I'm wide awake cursing the jet lag as I look around my foreign apartment. Nothing is unpacked because the former teacher is still in town. MJ, my Korean boss, told me I would be staying in a motel Monday and Tuesday night, but more on that later. It's freezing outside but my room has heated floors which is nice because the no shoes policy inside the home is pretty serious and when in Rome do as the non-shoe do...Anyways, I played on the computer for awhile and tried to watch the NFL playoffs, remember its Monday here/Sunday there, but the website was not working quite right. So I had to close the browser and open it again every time I thought the score might be different. A miserable way to watch a football game as I imagined my friends and family enjoying their television screens and English commentary.
When I decided to take a shower, I stepped foot in the coldest bathroom known to man. The bathroom and kitchen might as well be outside with a privacy fence and an awning to cover your head as they are separate from the bedroom with exterior walls that do not deserve the name "wall." You dread to even touch the toilet seat as you may be frozen to it for quite some time. As I attempted to turn on the shower that is in the middle of the bathroom and a drain on the floor, the dreaded thing happened: NOTHING. No water my friends. First day to make my impression at school and the crusties in my eyes were to stay. But no fear, I had a bottle of drinking water. So, aforementioned closet of ice and a bottle of water poured over my head BAM! crusties lose. A few choice words enters the mind but I laugh at myself trying to conserve a bottle of water in hopes of rinsing my shampooed head.
I got dressed and realized my hair was still a mess so I threw some hair product in my hands and styled my mop. But wait, the last of the water was still pooled on my bathroom floor and sink from the head rinse. A towel simply does not cut it with sticky paste. So I am now leaning over the drain trying not to ruin my dress pants in an attempt to wash my hands off. Quite the proud moment as I rinse with drops of already soapy water in a toxic drain that has never seen a scrub brush or any device remotely sanitary.
I knew I needed to leave early because getting lost on the way to school was inevitable. So I wandered around thinking I knew where I was for about three minutes. Then the sign I knew I would use as a marker kept showing up in different places. Again, I kept my cool and even my sense of humor as I passed the same man in the same window four times. He continued to smoke his cigarette and waved at me each time with a smile that understood my pain but was enjoying it entirely too much. Finally, after about thirty minutes of walking around Kimhae in 0 degree Celsius (that's the point of freezing for you non-Metric types and 273.15 kelvin for the rest of you), I spotted a Paris bakery that looked very familiar. I thought it would be a good time to celebrate and stopped in to grab something to eat. But wait, automatic doors are not entirely automatic so I planted my face in the glass to set the tone for my Korean friends. Abounding giggles and pointing at the tall white man that was probably red from the cold and a but disheveled from the bottled water shower was my greeting. I grabbed the first thing that looked close to bread and a bottle of juice and got the heck out of Dodge. I knew now where I was and I sauntered off to the building.
I stopped outside the classroom around 12:30 p.m. because no one was there yet. I dropped my bags, remember I'm staying at the motel so I looked like I was climbing Everest during this entire debacle, and reached for my juice. But wait, Eric......Why is the bottle glass? Why does your juice suddenly begin to look a little more like fermented juice? Did you buy wine Eric? Are you drinking wine in front of your new job which happens to be teaching elementary students? Folks, when presented with a moment of such gravity, I believe the only course of action is to unscrew the lid and pray that there must be some limit, some cap to the amount of suffering and pain one could feel in a matter of a morning. It was juice. Fizzy juice, but juice. I think...
Tomorrow's topic will be the definition and experience of a Korean Love Motel...
Monday, January 17, 2011
Adjustments
Well, it's four in the morning here but one p.m. Sunday back home. So, I'm wide awake. My first day of work is today and the first challenge will be finding the building. It's only a five minute walk but I'm downtown with buildings and signs everywhere. I try to find markers that I will remember but everything is unique!!
I had lunch yesterday with the school director and her husband. We had traditional kimchi, vegetables, and sliced pork while sitting on the floor. I loved the spicy food and fumbled with the chopsticks to my boss's amusement. We then had coffee in a very American type cafe. Starbucks, Dominos, and Outback steakhouse are all downtown. The shopping malls are too large to describe and the crowds are even bigger. They advised me to go during the week. I need to get groceries but am intimidated to say the least. Losing a little weight here should be quite attainable. I'll have more after my day of observing the classroom. Cheers
I had lunch yesterday with the school director and her husband. We had traditional kimchi, vegetables, and sliced pork while sitting on the floor. I loved the spicy food and fumbled with the chopsticks to my boss's amusement. We then had coffee in a very American type cafe. Starbucks, Dominos, and Outback steakhouse are all downtown. The shopping malls are too large to describe and the crowds are even bigger. They advised me to go during the week. I need to get groceries but am intimidated to say the least. Losing a little weight here should be quite attainable. I'll have more after my day of observing the classroom. Cheers
Sunday, January 16, 2011
West Kimhae
After exiting the roller coaster plane ride between Tokyo and Busan (very strong headwinds), I quickly made it through customs and found my luggage had also made the 6000 mile trip with me. I loaded my luggage and exited out the gate to find a very young Korean couple holding a sign with my name in all caps. Their large smiles and willingness to help with my luggage immediately eased some of the anxiety that came with the realization that this would be my home for the upcoming year. The woman will be my school director and I believe the man was her husband/mate. The car ride to West Kimhae from the airport was no more than about twenty minutes. The skyline in Pusan is astounding large buildings in small clumps scattered around with large lights that reflect off the ocean. Technology is everywhere with huge video boards, gps screens in most cars measuring 12-15", and tons of Hyundais. The small talk was pleasant and she bought me a large bottle of water and a sandwich at the end of the trip. My neighborhood has a large 24 hour convenience store, the elementary school that resembles an American school, and my apartment building which is a very narrow building in an alley.
I arrived to my new apartment last night around 2030. It is a small flat with a bathroom, a bedroom with bed, desk, and a wardrobe, and an outside covered porch with a large refrigerator, a washing machine, and sink. At first glance, I thought I had no shower. Then I realized that a shower head was placed above the sink. On the floor is a drain and poof!! you have a shower that is effectively our bathroom as well. I have noted the efficiency of the design and am very glad to have avoided the painful decision of picking out a shower curtain! Overall, the apartment is a perfect size with heated floors and a massage chair. Enough said!?
Saturday, January 15, 2011
Air Travel
I have recently arrived in Tokyo-Narita airport. It is dark and grey but relatively warm compared to the frigid temps we have had back in MO. The flight between Minneapolis and Tokyo was long but very comfortable as I had an entire row to myself. I watched a couple of movies and took a long nap...I think. I am very excited to arrive in Pusan and meet my boss for the next year. I will try to update my status asap. Cheers
Friday, January 14, 2011
My official last day in the states
Well the time is now and here! I am creating this blog to keep friends and family up to speed on my adventures in Asia. I am very excited to get started. I'm a little nervous about the long flight but am ready and willing to transform these anxieties to excitement. I hope to throw pictures and weekly snippets of my life in Korea on this blog and hope to hear plenty back from all of you. Cheers
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