to long (for) — it has been too long

The winter and spring of 2015 passed in a flurry of deadlines (grad school apps, magazine articles, Korean tests) and now the summer is dashing to a close as well. Here in Boston I miss the hot, hazy evenings of Daegu — the interminable summer. I completed my Fulbright grant on July 17th, 42 days ago. I left Korea on the 26th, but only in the last few days have I begun to feel an ache at the thought of a warm bowl of seolleung-tang, at photos of my students picking their noses on facebook, at the posts on this blog, recalling for me the very start of my journey.

On July 17, 2013 I wrote about listening to Big Bang for the first time. Almost two years later, in April of 2015 I saw Big Bang perform live at Seoul Olympic Stadium. So many memories — of meeting my host family for the first time, minor existential crises along the way and budding friendships that have since flowered. 

Looking back on my last blog post it has been almost a year since I went AWOL. So many significant moments have happened since then, moments that shaped my experience of Korea. Instead of moving on immediately to my new life in Boston, I hope to retrospectively bring this blog up to date, both as a way of recording and processing my memories. 

Even though I have left Korea now I continue, out of habit, to translate my thoughts into Korean. Reading through my old blog posts today the word that came to my mind was 그립다 (geuribda)— to miss, to long (for), to be homesick (for). Geuribda can apply to a place, to a person or even a time. 그레서 (geureseo, therefore). 학생들이 그리워요. 한국이 그리워요. 한국에 했던 시간이 그리워요. (I miss my students. I am homesick for Korea. I long for the time I had there.)

On libraries, new beginnings, and eating alone

I have been trying to write about February. I wanted to tell you about this month that loomed so monumental in my mind while being in all other respects so minimal. February is a short month, an odd month, forced to change every now and then from 28 days to 29. It is the most abysmal month of winter in many places (I include Korea in that list) and the most difficult month to spell. Yet it is also the month of the Sochi Olympics, the month of Valentines day. February was the month of my middle school's graduation ceremony and the last month of our ample winter vacation. For me, this month had another meaning; for me this was the month to make it or break it.

I had a choice between living in Gumi with my host family for the month of February or living in Seoul, as many of my friends were doing. I chose, for a variety of reasons, to stay in Gumi and spend my time studying for the GRE and building relationships in my placement city. It was a difficult decision, no less because staying in Gumi meant self-managing my time, whereas in Seoul I would most likely have taken language classes. By staying in Gumi I wanted to test myself, to see how well I could sustain an energetic and productive life entirely on my own schedule.

Now, in early March I can say I did enjoy that time. I loved it. I had the freedom to study hard and the freedom to sleep. I had the time to visit friends and the time to read. I had the time to make new friends, to make new habits. Of course, not everything happens simply because you have enough time. Coming back to Korea from my visit to the States and my vacation in Taipei and Hanoi left me in the right mind to make the most of my time.

However, this time was not always pleasant. In the midst of my school's graduation, as I watched a performance of Apink's "No No No" and waved balloons for my favorite 3rd graders, my co-teacher leaned over and told me that 25 of our students were not at graduation. They had been banned for participating in the beating of several 2nd grade students just two days earlier. The news was both sad and shocking. Our school has always been rough around the edges, but I never expected something so intentionally brutal. At the same time I know that school gangs are a nation-wide problem in Korea and that for many students the choice might be between participating and suffering from bullying themselves. Over the next few days I discovered that, of the 2nd grade students, one had broken his collar bone, one had a ruptured ear drum and another had to have all his teeth moved back into place. In many ways, I became more anxious to return to school.

Saying goodbye to my other 3rd graders was sad in a very different way. I have about 245 students in the 3rd grade alone, so it's difficult to get to know any of them very well. I know I taught them only one semester and that only about 16 lessons. Of the few students who really shone and made my lessons exciting to teach, I had little belief that they would wish me a tearful goodbye and ask to stay in touch forever. Yet many students came over for a quick hug or a handshake. I was so touched that they wanted to say goodbye, especially those who told me they missed my class in the last few months.

Shortly after graduation I travelled to Seoul to visit my friends. I went twice in February. Once when I couldn't bear to study any longer and again as soon as I finished the GRE. Having a place to stay in Seoul was wonderful (thank you friends!) and as my friends were all taking classes or doing internships during the day I had a lot of time to do the touristy things in Seoul that I hadn't had time for on other weekend trips. I went twice to the National Museum of Korea, whose smoky paintings captured a facet of Korean life new to me. The museum is truly spectacular with three stories of art and artifacts from prehistory to the modern era and entirely free. In my two visits I have only conquered two of the three floors, but I was able to see the evolution of Korean calligraphy, Korean paintings — from portraits, to landscapes, to insect studies —, a re-created 'sarangbang' or Korean scholar's study and artifacts from every kingdom of Korea up to the Japanese occupation. I highly recommend a visit to anyone who will be in Seoul.

Beyond museums I spent time in cafes from the college areas of Hongdae and Idae to the tourist-turned-artistic-area of Insadong. Around Insadong I also visited the Hanok village, an area of Seoul where traditional Korean houses (circa. the Joseon Era I believe) have been preserved and are still lived in. It happened to be warm and sunny on this day, and the streets — which ask tourists to be quiet in respect for the residents — were full of screaming school children. Later I met some old friends for dinner in Myeongdong, a popular shopping neighborhood, and visited the new Seoul Museum of Modern Art, which was having a free night. Although it's not the same as living in the city, I was able to do a lot on my visits, so I now feel very comfortable in Seoul and have crossed a lot of items off my bucket list.

In Gumi school has started again. Some things are new, some are not, but the greatest change is in my confidence as a teacher. It has only been a week, but I feel that I have stepped up my game on all levels of teaching, from lesson planning to execution to classroom management to connecting with students outside of class. It has only been a week, but I have really good feelings for this semester. I again have about 700 students — 7 classes of 3rd graders, 7 classes of 2nd graders and 6 classes of 1st graders. My returning students have been surprisingly polite in class. Not sure if this is due to our continued rapport, my new classroom management plan, or some strain of first week shyness. The new 1st graders are a joy to teach. They are so eager to participate and several of the classes I've seen so far seem to be quite high level. I also have a new co-teacher for my 1st grade students who I like very much. She is both kind and efficient. I'm excited about what we can do with our classes for the rest of the semester.

I've made a few lifestyle changes for the new semester as well. I joined a gym halfway through February and have been going everyday when I can. I'm really enjoying the classes there. After a yoga class I always find my mood and motivation lifted. I've also decided to stop volunteering at the Hana Center in Daegu. This was a difficult decision to make since I really enjoyed working with my mentee and the community feeling of the center. However, commuting to Daegu once a week while working a full teaching schedule was a strain on my time and my relationships with my host family. This semester I am adding a club class to my teaching schedule, bringing my teaching hours up to 22 a week. With the added prep time and knowing my difficulty in commuting last semester I just couldn't commit to doing the program again in the spring. It would be unfair on everyone else involved for me to commit when I was unsure I could fully participate. If I stay in Korea another year, without the obligations of a host family, it is something I hope I would be able to return to.

However, whether I will be in Korea past this July is still undecided and as such I am suddenly pressed upon by the many things I have yet to do here. It's for this reason that I want to keep my weekends this semester free. If last semester I was committed to getting my bearings in Gumi, this semester I hope to roam more. I had an epiphany of sorts this February while visiting Seoul. As I said, I had a lot of alone time there as well as a lot of time in the evenings talking to my friends. But it was while I was sitting, eating alone in the restaurant of the National Museum of Korea, looking forward to drinking wine with my friends later in the evening when we were all done with our work, that I realized this is what I want to do with the rest of my semester. If during the week I am 100% committed to my school, during the weekends I want to commit myself 100% to teaching myself. I had such a feeling of comfort in my solitariness then — full of the pleasure of intellectual pursuit and the sure knowledge of my kind friends waiting for me later. We're always a bit alone in Korea, even and despite the ever present circles of host family, school family and Fulbright family. Yet there are some moments of clarity when you can turn that aloneness into something new — freedom, comfort, a new discovery. Those are the moments I will cultivate this semester and those are the lessons I want to learn.

JOURNEY TO THE WEST

In two days I will be flying to Taipei. One day ago I booked the flight. Two days ago I thought all my travel plans might be cancelled. Why? Because three days ago my friend and I finally decided the situation in Bangkok right now is too unstable to warrant our traveling there. If you haven't been following the situation in Bangkok, which is not surprising as there hasn't been much media coverage, here's a brief layman's summary:

About a month ago the Thai government attempted to pass a bill that would give former Thai Prime Minister Thaksin Shinawatra amnesty from prosecution for any past crimes (Thaksin is currently in self-exile due to the corruption charges against him; the current Prime Minister Yingluck Shinawatra is his sister). This bill spurred a large protest movement centered in Bangkok that has been calling for the current Prime Minister to step down and for her replacement by an un-elected people's council. The situation has been exacerbated as the Prime Minister called for elections (which she would likely win due to a large rural support base) in February. Though violence hasn't officially broken out there have been shots fired, people injured around protests and police have used tear gas to disperse large groups. Protests are set to resume this Monday, January 13th, and this time protesters hope to shut down the entire city of Bangkok by occupying main intersections around the city center. Further complicating the situation is the Thai military which has a history of successful and unsuccessful political coups and will be entering the city in force January 18th for an Army Day Parade. [Note: this is my personal understanding, gleaned from various new sources, and is not meant to be taken as an official report of any kind.]

So, although the situation is not, and may not become, violent and although protesters are not targeting tourists or tourist attractions, the unpredictability of the situation and increased difficulty of transportation around the city seemed too large a risk for us at the moment. I know some of my friends are still traveling to Bangkok around this time and I hope everything goes smoothly for them.

Luckily, my friend and I were able to do a quick turnaround, cancel our flights and re-book a trip Seoul - Taipei - Hanoi - Seoul, allowing us to arrive in Hanoi the same day we had planned originally. Even more luckily the cost was only a little more than our original trip and the flight cancellation fees minimal compared to what they might have been for a flight in the U.S..

So now we're going to Taipei and Hanoi! We will be in Taipei the 15th to the 19th and Hanoi the 19th to the 25th. I'm beyond excited and so relieved that our plans were saved in such a way. And like my friend said 'Blessing in disguise?' I'm sure Bangkok would have been wonderful, but now we have the chance to explore Taiwan, a place I might never have visited otherwise (not from disinterest of course, but the usual lack of knowledge, time and money). Besides that I got a spark of spontaneity.

Now I'm ready to enjoy some 70 degree weather, to take pictures, to learn, explore and eat, and to report back to all of you when I return!

KOREAN WINTER: may you take many good things in the new year

I celebrated the start of my first Korean winter and the end of my first Korean semester by going home. As part of my contract I am only allowed to be in the U.S. for 14 days and I wondered whether the hours and money spent traveling would be worth it. However, I celebrated Christmas away from home once before, three years ago now, when I was studying abroad in the Netherlands. Three years ago when I met my dear friends from South Korea and three years ago when I said goodbye to all of them on New Years Day for what could have been the last time. It was a beautiful Christmas that year. I was staying with a friend in Vienna, had arrived with her in Vienna by night bus the morning of the 23rd. That day we went to every Christkindlmarkt in the city before traveling to her parent's house for Christmas Eve at their Catholic Church. Yet as lovely as it was I promised myself it would be the last Christmas I spent away from home.

That's why this year found me tucked away in St. Paul, sleeping, hanging ornaments, and helping my Dad prepare the Christmas pudding. My 14 days at home were entirely unexciting and in that way, quite perfect. I napped, drank tea, played cards and napped again. I was able to see some friends from high school and re-read The Golden Compass. It was all so peaceful I could hardly muster myself to leave. I had known that leaving again would be difficult. I was not prepared for the difficult happiness of returning, of hearing my host mother's voice on the phone in Incheon airport — "baliwa bogoshipo; hurry come, I miss you."

There are some moments, said Mrs. Dalloway, "exquisite moments...such as might stay a diver before plunging while the sea darkens and brightens beneath him." My brother has written a paper on Mrs. Dalloway, a book I have yet to read, but am starting now at his recommendation. I read his paper on the flight from Tokyo-Narita to Seoul-Incheon. It must have got me thinking because, sitting down on the provincial bus at 6:50 am, I felt such a moment as Mrs. Dalloway describes. Not as soon as I sat, but when, after beginning to move, the lights of the bus finally flickered off illuminating in the windows the dull-gray moving picture of the Korean countryside. I felt a sudden peace and excitement in the misty Han river, the blue glow of lights around the driver, the quiet breathing of passengers falling to sleep, and the warmth of the soles of my boots resting on the heater so that, though I have never understood people who prefer nighttime to the day, I hoped that the dawn might take its time.

The moment quoted from Mrs. Dalloway comes as said lady enters her house after buying flowers. For her also there is the sudden darkening of the world around her and below that the sense of the familiar. I had believed that my leaving Korea was a clear trade, that by seeing my family again I would make myself both happy and sad — happy at the time, but with a renewed sense of our distance on my return to Korea. I was unprepared to be accosted by a similar sense of joy in reuniting with the things that make up my Korea. Like Mrs. Dalloway entering her house, like someone in a suddenly darkened room I am discovering again what has become familiar, discovering the shape of my home in Korea. It is larger and more solid than I imagined — full of buses, phone calls, moments lost and moments gained.

OCTOBER, THE END

October has been a hectic month for me and I am not sorry to see it go. Beginning with the Jinju Lantern Festival I have traveled almost every week in October (if you count trips to Daegu, which I am starting to). I had my first and second NKD meetings, the Fulbright Fall Conference in Gyeongju and our school festival, which threw an entire week into uproar. I bicycled past traditional houses in Gyeongju and sang in Korean in front of over 700 middle school students. This month I have made some of the memories that I will cherish long after I have left Korea. But now I am tired.

Life moves at different paces and, personally, I enjoy a nice brisk trot. Lately though, life has been galloping and I need it to slow down. Early in September when I had just arrived in Gumi I had so much time on my hands that I piled my to-do list higher and higher. The result being a nice fat cold when alls said and done. I might sound sad — I am sad — but it is a sadness of letting go. The fact is I love everything I am doing here in Korea. I love teaching, traveling, studying Korean, blogging, volunteering and building friendships, new and old, but in doing everything I love I am losing me a little bit. Without time to reflect it's all action, action, action. My body is moving, but my self feels more and more lost. I need to cut back. I was so excited about this chance to grow, about all this opportunity, that my tree is now in dire need of pruning. And of all my pursuits the easiest to clip is traveling.

I didn't travel to Korea for excitement, for new sights and smells. I traveled to Korea for people and for kitchen tables — for the student yelling Beyonce lyrics in the hallway and the bus that is always late. I would rather miss a thousand glorious Buddhist temples, than miss the moment when my host cousin held my hand as we walked to the market. So many hours of perhaps 'unproductive' time led up to that moment, yet they made possible this unexpected treasure.

I could say, oh, there will be time later for everything. If I don't travel now, I will have time in the spring or next year. In some ways I really believe this is true. The time for travel will become possible. However, I also want to know that if there was never more time, if I left Korea today or tomorrow, I could say I spent my energy on the people I met, rather than the places I went.

All that being said, I still have some commitments to fulfill. This weekend I am traveling to Gwangju to teach a class for the Korean Bridge Initiative, a nonprofit providing English language classes to motivated students who can't afford hagwons. Although I somewhat dread traveling once more I am excited for the chance to teach such motivated high school students. Since they are higher level and more mature I can follow my passions and do a creative lesson on scanning poetry (something I could never do with my middle schoolers).

After Saturday I look forward to some quality time in Gumi for the rest of the semester. And, despite my moaning and groaning, look forward to uploading photos of Gyeongju and some adorable video of my school festival soon!

CHUSEOK (추석): A KOREAN THANKSGIVING

A lazy morning, frying meat in front of the tv.

This last week we had class for only two days because of the important Korean holiday Chuseok. Chuseok is often compared to American Thanksgiving since it involves getting together with family and eating a lot of food. However Chuseok is most traditionally about honoring one's ancestors so bowing and visiting graves is the basis of the holiday. My family is fairly traditional, though not especially religious so we had the ceremony at our house, offering food and bowing to Aboji's ancestors. Some families wear full hanbok for the occasion, but in our household only Aboji dressed up and the rest of us wore jeans. Traditionally everyone gathers at the parents house or, if parents are too far away, the first son's house for the holiday. The first son is in charge of the ceremony and the first son's wife is in charge of cooking for everyone. My co-teacher told me "Korean ladies do not prefer first sons." That's why, after sleeping in Wednesday, my host sisters and I spent the morning frying meat while watching comedy shows. The rest of Wednesday was pretty lazy as well, a relief not to think about lesson plans or travel plans for a few days. I've recently begun watching the drama "Secret Garden," by which I mean I started on Wednesday and I'm already on episode 7 (and these episodes are over an hour long). So I'm using my free time well?

Our Chuseok ceremony spread.

Thursday we woke up bright and early because relatives were arriving around 9:00. We set out all the food on special dishes before the screen and lit incense. When everyone had arrived the fathers and children stood in front of the food, took turns pouring or serving bits of food before the screen and did ceremonial bows. I took part in the bowing and even poured makgeoli (rice wine) for the ancestors. After we finished bowing the set-up was quickly dismantled and replaced with a brunch of bibimbap and all our ceremonial side dishes.

From left to right: host cousin, university host sister, Aboji, Oma's Mother, and Oma at our second lunch in Seonsan.

In the afternoon Aboji's family left and we went to Seonsan to see Oma's family. We stayed there for a long time enjoying more food and drinks. I spent a lot of my time playing with my little host cousins (ages unknown). They're adorable in a very loud sort of way and they don't mind my inability to communicate. We were still able to play badminton and hide and go seek.

Some intense badminton with the little host cousins. But actually the younger one is better than me.

Host cousin climbing the neighbors windows. He could get all the way to the top. Thankfully I do know how to say "Don't!" in Korean.

Late afternoon, pumping up the bike tires.

Today we woke up at 7am to have breakfast in Seonsan and visit Oma's family graves. After coffee and a lot of shuffling to get everyone together we drove to Seonsan and met Harmoeni at her house where we all ate cup ramen for breakfast. (Don't get me wrong, Harmoeni offered bibimbap, but someone mentioned cup ramen and then we all wanted it!)

Just outside Seonsan, walking to visit graves.

Afterwards we piled into the car again and drove to a farming area near Seonsan. There was some confusion with directions and when we walked into a courtyard with a dog growling at us I thought maybe we were asking for help. Instead it turned out we had arrived at Harmoeni's sister's house. From there we all walked up the mountainside to the family graves, Aboji carrying our mat and supply of soju. It was a gorgeous area full of rice paddies, peppers, sweet potatoes, persimmon trees, apple orchards and wild plums. I couldn't stop breathing in the clean, damp-earth smell. I also couldn't stop wondering if Korea has ticks or not.

My two host sisters and Oma.

Aboji escorting the grandmas.

On the way down we stopped to see Harmoeni's sister's cows. My middle school host sister handing out the hay.

Sun-soaked persimmons.

Bright orange fruits were smashed all along the road up and down the mountain. I love their color and the big drooping leaves of the trees, also starting to tinge orange. I've never seen persimmon trees before, but still it reminded me of time spent outdoors in Minnesota, or visiting the deep gorges of upstate New York.

Bowing to my host family's ancestors I had a sense of inclusion, that my Korean family is my family, their ancestors mine as well. Yet I also had a sense of displacement to be so far from my own ancestors. I wondered if, by bowing now in Korea, I could bow to my grandparents and my grandparent's grandparents. It's family lore that my great-great grandma Josephine, for whom I was named, saw Lincoln's funeral train while she was traveling to Minnesota in a covered wagon. Being here in Korea I can appreciate how much physical distance separates me from that history and how much, though I might take it for granted that history matters. In Korea family matters. It matters a lot, even in distance and even in death. It reminded me that going home isn't about homesickness, or about weakness. In America there's a certain stigma behind people 'living at home' past a certain age and few extended families live near each other anymore. Our work style requires us to be mobile, to leave family behind in preference to a job.

I have been lucky enough to do a fair amount of traveling myself, here in Korea and elsewhere. For me, traveling is about discovering who I am separated from familiarity and about who I can be when painted across a different landscape. To travel is both difficult and fascinating, but I would hate to forget, sometimes worry I might lose, the knowledge that there is a particular difficulty and fascination that belongs to the journey home as well. So thank you Chuseok, for reminding me.

WHAT I'VE BEEN GIVEN

Peeking out from behind the trees is my school, Shinpyeong Middle School. Both this woman with her fields, and my school are about a five minute walk from my host home.

Sunday I took a walk through the woods behind my middle school. The middle school sits at the top of a hill — the highest point in the neighborhood — and just above it sits the wood. A narrow dirt path and steep stairs made of logs and earth meander across the area, each curve harboring a small field or garden. I haven't been in Gumi long, but this is one of the things I know I love: that at any moment urban apartments may give way to farms and you can taste the difference in the air. Above my middle school a farmer is growing pumpkins, red peppers and morning glories, the fields themselves clinging dangerously to the hill.

I was walking here when I saw an insect — something long and scurrying — and I wondered what it was called, whether I could get a better look, maybe take a picture if it was interesting. And as I thought this my second thought was that I ought to thank my uncle, an entomologist, for giving me this interest.

My life so far has been rich with engaged and interested people who have given me so much to think about.

My grandparents on either side showed me that learning is not something stationary, but is happening to us at every moment if we only allow it. They taught me to learn from books and then that books come in many forms — sometimes they look like paper, other times they can be found in fossils or in a single word.

My parents showed me that nature is everywhere you look. They taught me to look at the tree and to ask its name, but also to look at the tree and see its shape and to know the name of the shape that belongs to just that tree.

I think how different my world would be if I were not looking at it, were not reading it through the eyes of my friends and family. Without them, these woods would be much emptier. I am so grateful.

These thoughts come as I am struggling with a difficult life decision. This last week I had several epiphanies. The first was when I realized late one evening that, while I would love to be a professor, there is so much more to consider before going to graduate school. The more I read about graduate school right now the riskier it appears, and while I value finding satisfaction in my work, there are other occupations where I could find that same satisfaction. The second occurred as I was leaving my school Friday afternoon and some students ran yelling past. I realized then that I love my students. I was afraid that I might never have that realization, but I did and I do.

Now, these two epiphanies aren’t necessarily related, but they could be. Both realizations are part of my learning process this year, the stress being on process — something that is intrinsically moving and changing.

the train plunges on through the pitch-black night I never knew I liked the night pitch-black sparks fly from the engine I didn't know I loved sparks I didn't know I loved so many things and I had to wait until sixty to find it out sitting by the window on the Prague-Berlin train watching the world disappear as if on a journey of no return - See more at: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/15930#sthash.f7xpWePR.dpuf

I used to wonder how teachers could find it in them to care about all their students, even — especially — the troublemakers. How could teachers persistently wish for each and every student to succeed? Yet in becoming a teacher I have learned that teachers are always watching. I see my students all the time in and out of class. They are so active, so loud, and yet so often lost in themselves. They're just kids. I want them all to succeed, even — and especially — the ones that cause trouble. I know their behavior isn't about me, but about something they're going through.

It's good to know — as I'm trying to sift through my values and find out where they will lead — that I can still discover things that I care about, things that maybe I didn't expect.

A NEW LIFE

Yesterday began at 6 a.m. in my dorm room at Jungwon University and ended 2 hours away in Gumi, Gyeongsangbuk-do, in the home of my host family. Days like this are not long or short, but seem to exist almost outside of time, because they are deprived of the familiar. Here at my homestay I am entirely beholden to the whims of the family. I do not know when we eat dinner, where we sit, why people come and go as they do, but it is all right. They are like the ocean. They know what they are doing and their movement is as natural and regular as the waves. I am the jellyfish floating on top. I am carried along, without understanding or direction. But at the same time I am fulfilling my own life, one that simply coincides with this rhythmic household. As the jellyfish eats and lives within the waves, so I am fitting my pursuits into the tug and pull of this home. Now, because I know so very little, I allow myself to be tugged about indifferently. When it is time to eat I eat. When it is time to sit I sit. When it is time to sleep I sleep. There is little to punctuate the day, but the comings and goings of different members. Now sister goes to Hagwon. Later she returns. When there is laughter I laugh, but usually I don't know what it means.

My homestay household is jolly and light. Often Oma and Harmoeni are laughing, chatting, their speech punctuated only by the electric fan and barks from the neighbor's dog. Upstairs another sister studies, as does her father. Now Harmoeni sleeps. Now I sleep. When I wake up it is lunchtime. We sit at a small table moved into the living room for this purpose. We sit on the floor and eat cold noodles. They are delicious. I make broken conversation in both English and Korean. For some reason I ask all my questions in the past tense.

My family is sweet. I won't pretend I can understand even half the things they are saying, but I know — when they laugh together, when Father watches a music video with the daughters, when Oma uses her teasing voice — that this is a family. This afternoon I showed them pictures of my own family. I told them ages and names. Harmoeni told me via Oma that I should tell my parents not to be sad because my family here is very good. So, Mom, Dad, don't worry, my family here is very good.

It's strange after weeks of study and pressure at Jungwon to be thrust back into summer, but that seems to be what has happened. Here vacation has not ended yet and it is too hot to move anyways. The tv is almost always on and we watch or nap on the floor. I'm afraid of getting too used to this feeling when in fact school is starting on Monday. To help me remember I updated my calendar with all my goals for this year — home, teaching, travel and grad school. I've outlined the next steps in the grad school process, found out which festivals happen when, and made plans to join a gym and volunteer at the orphanage. It's just a few words on the screen, but it makes me feel better, more grounded.

The first meeting with my co-teachers yesterday was euphoric and chaotic. Before leaving Jungwon we held a ceremony, much like the placement ceremony, in which our provinces and then the names and schools of the ETAs in that province were called. In the brief pause between our names being called and our formal bows we were supposed to search for our co-teachers in the crowd. Often co-teachers or principles would find us, running to the front of the room to offer flowers, baskets, even confetti. I was smiling the whole time, mostly with the enjoyable adrenaline of a performance, but I was still a little sad and nervous when my name produced no flowers or anxious administrators. When the ceremony ended I was supposed to escort my principle and co-teacher to lunch, but I had no idea who they were. However, I was quickly approached by two smiling co-teachers who told me they had missed their chance to run to the front. They offered flowers and took pictures, but mostly I was relieved to find them such friendly (and young) people. Apparently yesterday was the first day of school so my principle had not been able to come pick me up. Of my co-teachers, one was a young man who teaches 3rd graders and one was a young woman who teaches 1st grade. The latter is my Fulbright co-teacher which means she looks out for me and helps me feel settled throughout the year. She is very kind and told me "even if not all days are good, I will be there with you every day." Both co-teachers were kind and reassuring, but they were also something I hadn't expected — they were funny. I think somewhere in orientation I forgot that maybe some parts of teaching would be fun — actual fun, not just the rewards of hard work. Honestly, together my co-teachers reminded me of a Kpop duo, or drama stars. Perhaps I was just that bedazzled yesterday, but I liked them a lot.

Writing 'yesterday' is very odd, since I'm sure I've been here at least 3 days already. I'm sure I feel this way partially because my Oma discovered I have a cold and so has been giving me cold medicine which makes me sleepy. Oma and Harmoeni were very concerned so I have also had a ginseng drink and been told to eat lots since that will make me better as well. Right now I feel very childlike — unable to really leave the house without getting lost. Oma has been taking special care of me — cutting up my food in case I don't use chopsticks well. I don't mind the feeling so much now as I'm sure it will pass quickly. My role here is, I suppose, only half-childlike since my Oma explained I will also be responsible for my own laundry and bathroom care. Thus we drove to Lotte Mart for me to buy detergent, toilet paper (or tissue here), socks, and anything else I realized I didn't have. My room here is small, but has one of only two beds in the house. My host sisters sleep on futons in the bedroom downstairs. I have also been invited to use the upstairs study room which is air conditioned and therefore wonderful.

The house is maybe not what I expected. In fact I expected an apartment since I know that is the most common form of housing in Korea. Instead I am in a little neighborhood next to the school in a lovely little two-story. The inside is spotlessly clean and meticulously decorated. Anytime anyone comes in or out, or food is eaten, Oma is there to wipe the surface spotless again. The living room is done up with wood-style flooring, bronze floral wallpaper and vases of fake roses and sunflowers. The room is elegant, but made comfortable by the electric fan and constant invitation to sit on the floor. Usually the tv is playing one drama or another which we all half-watch. Just being around everyone makes me feel more like this is home. The fact that I'm going to be here for a whole year, well, I am letting that settle slowly into that deep place below the waves of daily life.

LIVING THE JUNGWON LIFE

And we made it to the weekend — amazing because this first week felt longer than a reality tv show. We arrived in a strange new country, were swept off to a largely empty mansion and had to complete a variety of tasks while constantly meeting new characters. But now I think we have left reality and moved on to life.

One of the most important ways that I recognize my life is rhythm — waking, sleeping, eating, the ways we parcel our time into bite size pieces. At Jungwon our rhythm is governed by one thing: classes. Each day breakfast is served from 8-9. Korean language classes run from 9-1 each day. Lunch is at 1, and then teaching workshops generally go from 2-4. Dinner is from 6-7 and the optional Korean Language Study Hall is from 7-9. We know where we're going almost every hour of the day and generally who we will see as we go. The parts of the day are long and but time is always short.

The weekend is different. There is time to sleep in, to write in our journals, to figure out how the laundry machines work. I think I spent 5000 won this morning just trying to get the right size change for laundry. We gather in the lounge and browse facebook. We skype and we catch up on our netflix intake. We reflect.

Korean classes are moving quickly. My class of beginners started the week with the alphabet and ended with basic commands and self-introductions. Theoretically, we can now say our names, our nationalities, our occupations and ask all the associated questions. The Korean teachers are marvelous. They come from Korea University and live in Jungwon just in order to teach us for four hours every day. Our first teacher is a fashionable Korean woman who seems to have a quiet sense of humor about our class. Our second teacher is also a woman, but where our first teacher is a bit reserved the second is extremely animated. Every time we learn a new vocabulary word she looks surprised, as when we learned the word for chalk board she seemed astounded to discover there was such a thing in the room. I feel as if in discovering the language we are sometimes discovering the world and the sorts of things it can contain all over again.

Teaching workshops are more varied and often quite fun. These afternoon courses are led by past and current ETAs covering topics from Textbooks to Classroom Games. Often the strategies we learn about in the afternoon can be seen in our Korean classrooms the next day, reinforcing everything we do here as a lesson. This immersive learning makes our breaks, our dance parties and excursions into Goesan all the more necessary and memorable.

EATING KIMCHI...

...is something I was looking forward to before coming to Korea. I was looking forward to mouthfuls of kimchi because of its name, kim-chi. The two rounded syllables make for one tasty word. However, now that I've arrived I've realized what I really want is to enjoy kimchi and that is going to take some work.

I think this might be like a lot of things during my year in South Korea. Everything from speaking to teaching to eating will take practice. Thankfully, that's something I can do. Of course, having just arrived in the country yesterday most of what I practice lately is staying awake and not getting lost in Jungwon University (our home for the next 6 weeks).

At least getting lost isn't so bad when the campus is gorgeous and, honestly, just plain huge. Usually I'm not impressed with simple size, but Jungwon feels legitimately monolithic.