Week 12: Silence

****NOTE****I have re-posted Week 10: Hospital blog. I got a lot of heat from the post so I chose to set it to private. Nevertheless, I “can’t stop, wont stop” from having my voice. If I have to lie low and refrain from speaking my mind in my current situation, I will at least keep it real on my blog. I refuse to sit back, being belittled or ostracized until my voice is but a whisper. As Nas says, “I. WILL. NOT. LOSE.”

My mom is a single mother of four. She successfully raised up three children into adults and is still continuing to raise Shani who just turned 12. She survived through the death of her husband at age 26, dealt with my father leaving her during her pregnancy, and lived through a draining divorce while my little sister was still in diapers. My mom is strong. As a result of my mom keeping on through the tough times and all times, we–her kids–all possess strong characters and are highly opinionated (stubborn).

Despite the problems America faces and my need to periodically flee my home country, I couldn’t be more thankful I was raised in America. Sometimes it takes being removed from an environment or situation before actually realizing how “good you have it.” This is said in catch 22 terms; all the “(gasps) how could you ever say…” remarks I get from the Korean head-foreign teacher have me exhausted. On the other hand, I realize everything is a learning experience and my character will grow if I persevere. If I were to give in to my frustrations and transitory negative emotions to terminate my contract, I would look back in hind sight probably realizing “how good I had it.” Perspective is needed at every turn.

Nevertheless, many foreigners feel the ‘system’ has many faults, a lack of voice being one of them. Raised in the ghetto, I had to fight negative criticism of my neighborhood and high school to rise to the top. Just as Nas says, “I know I can / Be what I want to be / If I work hard at it / I’ll be where I want to be” (I can). How did I get into Willamette University? Yes, my SAT scores were decent, my GPA was in the top 10%, my extracurriculars were outstanding, but we can’t forget that college essay. It was my voice that gave all those SAT and GPA numbers and lists of extracurriculars character.

Throughout college I was told I was a great creative writer (but always trying to comprehend that academia writing lolz). It was only through the pen that the Gilman scholars got to know me and, in turn, granted me a highly competitive national scholarship that enabled me to spend a year in South America. Once distance separated me from my loved ones back home, it was the many detailed writings on my perspectives on life in South Am that kept us connected and exchanging updates or stories of cultural misunderstandings.

Today, writing is an essential part of my life. Personal or autobiographical writing has become my therapy, as I attempt to communicate to you–my loved one–pieces of my life I deem important or of impact, even if the topic (like subway snapping) seems trivial. Writing is an escape into what may otherwise be, in large part, repressed memory. My voice has seemingly been strongest through the pen. Yet, I took for granted growing up in America where having a voice is stressed on a regular. For now, I must accept that writing is my communication and almost sole meaning of ‘voice.’

Yes, I am over here struggling. Yea, I’m really wishing I had a loved one around to give me a great big bear hug or a shoulder to cry on; yet I lie alone at home to simply relax, tear drops falling down my cheeks. Apparently, blocking out or trying to simply ignore the alienation I feel has proved unsuccessful. Finally, I follow my mom’s advice from my childhood, “just take a deep breath and relax.” Taking deep breaths I thought about one issue at a time of what I am currently dealing with; I held my breath. While holding my breath I let the issue penetrate my whole, roll around my thoughts until it came to a head. Then, I exhaled and blew it all away. Guess that’s what “blowing off steam” means. This process continued until I let it all out–including the tears. I know this is vague and I’m not going into details on the ‘issues,’ but at least wanted to update you. I miss and love you. Use that voice you have and drop me one. Much love, Phoebz*

Week 11: The most important thing in Korea…

…is not a ‘thing’ at all, but my students! They are my reason for smiling everyday, for staying young, goofy and silly. Maybe my students will just vaguely remember me as another foreign teacher that dropped in K-town for a while. However, my students are my kids. I have the privilege of being their mentor, impression of America, a resource. I’m their teacher. 🙂 To me, they will be remembered as my lil korean kids, my first students at a real FT job; they are the gems that inadvertently changed my mindset towards kids. Since Korea, I love those little rascals! =D

FYI: haven’t been able to upload flix onto my webshot account for a month–and those flix are from 3 different cameras so I don’t think it’s a problem w the camera but instead my computer. I’ll try to upload flix during my lunch break from the work computer. I really want to share them with you! My kids are beautiful, cute, and silly geese!

June theme class: In the Subway

My Newton students look up to me. I’m their role model!

Cooking with Cindy and her mom

June field trip to a memorial. These are all the Kindrgardeners at Kookje where I work.

Laughing with Alice, one of my students during the open-house cooking class. In the background are the mountains/apts that surround my neighborhood.

My student Joe and his mother, Me, and my boss, Christine. She’s 8 months pregnant and still working 10 hour days!

The typical look-over-the-shoulder teaching style/look of mine.

The finished product made my the Mothers with the stuent’s help.

Getting messy in cooking class with nobel (so my school loves to take flix of cooking classes. I actually only teach cooking class two classes out of my 50 (!!!!!) classes taught per week.

My student, Charlie, was the winner for the best journal written in June. I am the foreign teacher and Joseph (R) is the Korean teacher. So each level in Elementary School has two classes per day–one from me and one from the Korean teacher.

Amy recording her Speaking test. Yeah, that’s me with the blue nails administering! lolz

Cindy-the youngest student-from Nobel class and I getting down n dirty in the cooking class. Nope, that’s not play-dough, that’s her cookie she smashed down.

July. Newton class is very intrigued by the cooking measuring scale.

Bess is always super ready. It’s so cute b/c she almost always shoots up her hand and yells out the (correct) answer. She’s a doll! I just love my Newton class. They’re amazing!

This flix really is a winner because I love to see my students so happy to be in class with me and making learning FUN!

Teacher and Newton class. They are 6 years old.

Artistic shot taken while Kitty kindly volunteered to wipe off the white-board.

July Birthday girl: Kate (from Newton class) cuting her 7th bday cake.

July Bday grls: Kate (my newton class) 7th; Nicoles (I also teach one class per day in Nicole’s Nobel class) 5th.

Week 10: Mud Festival

***************Note*******************This journal was written for one of my higher level EFL classes (thus, I left out some great details). There was another entry written for week 10 but due to controversy I had to change it to a private post. If you would like to read the original posting, however, just let me know and I’ll email it to you.

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(Unfortunately there are no flix to prove my coolness lolz b/c my friend brought his phone camera into the ocean. Don’t ask me why…)

July 2008 Elite / Genius Journal

Teacher: Phoebe

Title: MUD FESTIVAL 2008!

Crazy bohemians? Aborigines? Jungle people? Cave men? All of these sound legitimate to describe the thousands of grey blobs walking around. Can you imagine walking to the beach ready for some sand and surf, only to discover the beach has been taken over by grey bandits? Perhaps you would think the grey-speckled beach to be U.F.O.’s landing on Korea ‘s Oceanside . However, thousands of Koreans and foreigners have came from all ends of Korea to celebrate the Mud Festival 2008!

Last weekend Joseph Teacher and I took the KTX round trip to enjoy a day of this wonderfully muddy event! We went from the quiet, comfortable KTX train to a loud, wild, crazy fun-filled muddy adventure in Boryeong , Korea !

As soon as we put our swimming suits on and backpacks into the locker we went to every single attraction. Imagine this: a mud slide, a mud skiing experience, a mud prison, a mud cleansing pool (yes, cleaning yourself off with muddy water!), a mud bath, mud body painting, and mud wrestling. Because there were thousands of muddy people everywhere craving more and more muddy attractions, we were forced to wait in line for each mud slide for an hour. Nevertheless, the shot of adrenaline from going down a steep, tall slide was worth the wait.

My favorite mud attraction was most definitely the mud wrestling, and I have scrapes and bruises all over my body to prove it! Most of the men mud wrestling were big, strong military men, so it was a challenge to wrestle them into the mud. Of course, your Phoebe teacher won most of the time, though! The greatest thing for you is the mud festival event is 9 days long and this weekend is the last weekend; you can still go! I guarantee it’ll be the muddiest, funniest time you’ll have.

Describe–in essay format–a Korean festival you have attended. If you have never been to a festival, write about a place you have been that was crowded with people (for example, Gupo market, Jagalchi market, Nampo-dong market, etc.).

Week 10: A week at the hospital :(

For days it was driving me crazy on which topic to update y’all on (because yes, I do want to keep you loved ones that much up to date. You’re a big deal to me!): the baseball game was madness; the Mud Festival was literally a fantasty fufilled! and complete insanity; the culutral differences are plentiful enough that they could easily take up a week’s worth of blogness. However, This past week has been spent at the hospital (and working). Hence my emotions and mind are pretty much jumbled up write now so let me explain why…

Two months after arriving in Korea, my ARC (Alien) Card was finally issued and my passport returned. From what I had been told, the number on my Alien Card also acts as my insurance number. As soon as that card was in my hand last Wednesday, I was able to set up a bank account Thur. and do research with my boss on Friday, finding the nearest hospital that specialized in what I need. (Also, last week my working hours were from 9AM-8:35PM and the hosptial was closed by the time I got off work)

Monday after work I went directly to the hospital. A 30 minute doctors visit took 2 hours due to being lost in translation. I know about 20 Korean words (in my defense my job is speaking English and I am always at work!) and every single one of those Korean words were put to use trying desperately to communicate my medical symptoms and insurance policy. At one point at the receptionist desk, a Korean-English bilingual doctor was on his way home but stopped to help. He was very friendly. That, and his voice carried throughout the whole lobby. It was quite embarrassing to hear my symptoms reverberating off the walls and echoing throughout the lobby. Everyone was very friendly and helpful. Although they meant no harm, I still wanted to roll off the seat or put my head down. Nevertheless, I stayed strong and kept upright.

The doctor gave me an exam, sent my samples to a lab, and diagnosed me. Hearing a diagnosis besides “Everything is OK. You’re fine,” is hard. Especially when my loved ones aren’t here to physically nurture me or console my woes.

After receiving bad news, another exhausting hour was spent making phone calls and trying to figure out the Korean spelling of my name. FEE-BEE HWA KEE-VER; FEE-BEE HO-A KEE-BER; PHO-BEE HWA KEE-VER…you get the point. An hour later my name–in Korean–was not in the system. Did it matter anyways? Insurance wasn’t covered for that particular doctor’s exam.

Tuesday was unfortunately no better. Even with a coworker calling just before I arrived for treatment and translating, I was still waiting for nearly an hour while people arrived after me, were seen before me, paid and left. Frustrated but maintaining my patience and remaining seated (I mean what else could I do? It’s not like we even spoke the same language!), I sat there until they called me up to make a payment.

“80,000,” said the receptionist. After using some body language, she handed me a pencil and note pad. “50,000 + 50,000…” it was no use. Too tired with the thought of spending another hour lost in translation, I shelled out the 80,000 won (equivalent to $80 USD). As the receptionist led me to the elevator, I slowwwwwwly explained the situation. “Doctor explained to you?” she understood! “OK, Sorry.” and she led me back to the receptionist saying, “discount” and handing me back 30,000Won.

After, again, waiting soooo long I fell into a sleepy-state. “Hwa Jung Shil?” the nurse asked. “Ne.” I replied. This hospital reminded me of a developed version of Peru’s third world facilities; medical staff coming in and out while I’m lying out on the exam table, talking and pointing in a foreign language, all the while leaving me to wonder what the heck is going on! I had never been so scared at a hospital. The doctor came in and then the nurse sprayed me some kind of numbing liquid. Then–get this–proceeded to hand the doctor the medical equipment with chop sticks! There’s no denying I’m in Asia! Once the doctor left the nurse pulled out a fatty needle and stuck me in the arm. “I.V.” she said. “Ibuprofen?!” I inquired. Having never had an I.V. line put in me, I was scared the I.V. was filled with Ibuprofen, which I’m allergic to. “Shut your eyes. Sleep.” was the answer I got. The first breath I took felt icy, as if I entered a freezer. Then I shut my eyes and after the second breath I past out.

It’s very scary not knowing or understanding what’s going on. Even more scary is when people are poking and prodding your body with all kinds of foreign equipment (chopsticks!??!!!!!??!!) and you have NO CLUE what’s going on. I don’t know how long I was past out from the IV line but I woke up with blood on myself and the bed, completely incoherent. Yet, I had to be strong and walk home (thankfully I was only 3 blocks away) alone. Weak, I took the elevator to my apt, took a Tylenol sleep aid, and past out a much needed and good 10 hours.

Week 9: Seoul, South Korea

A weekend whirlwind through Seoul, the capital and largest city in S. Korea.

Seoul Stats: -N.W. of S. Korea, near the DMZ between North and South Korea.

-Around 12 Million people live in Seoul. It’s a big city to say the least! There may even be more (or tied) number of subway lines as NYC.

-However, the water is na-as-ty! Didn’t drink it but rinsing was enough to make me thankful for living in Busan (and I don’t even drink the Busan water straight from the tap, either!)

-KOREA IS RIDICULOUSLY HUMID DURING JULY AND AUGUST–reaching 100% humidity! ! ! It was SO humid that, during the night as the cars were driving with their lights on, one could LITERALLY SEE THE mist!!! It’s like living in a sauna and steam room both! Makes me super thankful for the dry heat in which I was raised in good ‘ol P-town, Oregon.

-90% of the females in Seoul wear high heels–with shorts, jeans, even at the beach (in Busan)! It’s completely ludacris! Climbing stairs, running, taking strides, going to baseball games, hiking…most woman partake in any and every event wearing heels! I try but (i’m flatfooted) heels kill me! It’s crazy what women put themselves through here to look ‘beautiful’. But I’ll go into more detail on this topic in another blog another day.

Willamette Alumni Reunion: Dani S. ❤ Kyle E., c/o 2008

and me sandwiched between them. At the ICE BAR!!! Stoke!

The $15 was worth the cold, cold experience. Hey, they even treated us like royalty, dressing us in Parkas with fur hoods and ugg style boots. Plus the complimentary drink–it seriously was about 99% juice. lolz.

How Maia and I kept warm in the sub-zero ICEBAR!!! Brrrrr

Gemelas (Phoebe and Maia) posing outside a Temple adjacent to Seoul’s City Hall (HUGE MAD COW PROTEST took place…I knew the Koreans were staring at me because it was an anti-American protests–I just got this feeling I was in the WRONG place at the wrong time so we bounced.)

 

Our Mani’s. Mine’s the turquoise french tip hand. Yes, those are our real nails btw! ;p

Saturday night Maia and I went to a jimjil-bang (public bath house). It was by far the most ghetto jimgil bang; somuchso I refused to enter the spas–wasn’t trying to leave with some kind of fungus b/c that place smelled fu-un-ky! It was a great weekend, though. Although I only stayed in 4 neighborhoods or so (there are dozens of neighborhoods), my time in each was great and definitely eye opening (again, every time I see a female running in heels without a hint of pain I gawk in amazement. It’s truly a phenomenon!)

Week 8: A *Snap*shot in The Life of…

Everyone looked straight ahead and kept to themselves. When I broke away from the norm to look around, fellow subway goers were either playing on their cellphones or staring–if not straight ahead, then at the few foreigners. Many “waegukings” (foreigners) often feel scrutinized and under a microscope. I hadn’t looked around that long when a sound caught my attention…

SNAP-SNAP-SNAP! A distinct snapping sound came from the man to my right. Naturally, I looked. He was snapping alright. Nevertheless, this snap was no one-handed snap that every American is familiar with. SNAP-SNAP-SNAP! My eyes got wide and bright with excitement. He was using two hands to snap!

Scrutinizing, analyzing, and all the while very wide-eyed and intrigued, I leaned in to see how this snapping tactic was performed. He was humored by my apparent foreign reaction to his snap. Nodding to show recognition of my curiosity, he chuckled and showed me the layout of his hands. As my Korean language skills are very limited, we reverted to body language; I mimicked him.

One cannot snap repetitively on a quiet, hush-hush subway without turning heads. People caught on to this interchange of snapping information (I also showed him the one-handed snap, but he’s a snapping pro and already had it down pat). The best part was the reaction of these once quiet, keep-to-yourselves, subway goers. Everyone around us started snapping the two-handed Korean way while chuckling at my numerous failed snapping attempts.

Finally, with the help of my neighbor and the encouragement of my fellow subway riders, I succeeded in the two handed snap. I leaned back in my subway seat, not only satisfied with my new skill, but breaking through the cultural barriers, even for just those few minutes. After it was clear I mastered the snap, everyone leaned back in their seat, looked strait ahead staring off into oblivian, until the snap was no longer a sound but a snapshot in their memories.