For every hour you travel away from Seoul, you also travel back in time a decade.  There are less and less resources and it is more and more conservative.  At this moment, in Daegu, a young woman is searching desperately for a place for her and her baby to live.

The young woman told the unwed mother’s home at first admittance that she wanted to keep the child.  Five times the international adoption agency pressured her to give the child up while the child was still in utero.  Five times.  And this strong young woman still said no.  How many unwed moms are not this strong?  After the baby was born, she went to her pastor for help, and the pastor tried to convince her to give the child to him.  And so, with no family to help her, no social services to help her, the unwed mother’s home merely wanting to exploit her, and even her pastor wanting what comes out of her loins, she is couch-surfing and looking for any way she can to keep her baby.  As. I. write. this.

The Korean government has begun a new program to help Single Parents.  It looks to be a great program.  Unfortunately, it only helps Single Parents who were at one time legally married.

In a remote part of Jeju island, off the coast of S. Korea, is an unwed mother’s home.  There is no t.v. or internet there.  There is no job training.  There are no real services to help a young woman should she want to keep her baby.  But there IS adoption “counseling.”

An adoptee in her late 20’s tells how her reunion is the classic case of having to remain a secret.  Her mother did not relinquish her.  Her aunt took her and relinquished her.  And so her mother was forced to create a life in her daughter’s absence, as if she’d never been born.

An adoptee sits and rots in jail in the U.S.  Jane writes him regularly:  she’s a saint.  Odds are his mother did not relinquish him either.  The trail back through time leads to an escort who took him to an adoption agency.  These escorts were often paid by the agencies.  These escorts were often midwives.  These babies were often taken from their moms by the grandmothers or other family members.  The midwife escorts could make money on both ends.

Another adoptee writes me and tells me her adoptee friend has been reunited with her mother.  The mother said the adoption agency offered her money for the baby.  I think the mom should know, since she was there…There was a period when my favorite international adoption agency purportedly offered $90 U.S. a head.

Now, can anyone TELL ME the PRESENCE of international adoption agencies doesn’t exert negative pressure in this country of my birth ???  I mean, can they really believe that? Even adoptees who grew up pampered and smothered with love?

No.  I might have been convinced before, but not now.  The truth is just shoved in my face all the time here.

You know, Koreans are prejudiced about adoptees:  they assume we grew up pampered and are envious of us and our perfect English.  And then they meet us and are clearly disturbed we can’t speak Korean and know next to nothing about Korea.  They can’t fathom what an identity crisis really is, and it seems a small price to pay for luxury and perfect English (or French or…) and so the loss of identity can easily be dismissed.

But we didn’t “lose” our identity.  Whether we had it great in our adopted families or whether we were abused in our adopted families; whether our new countries gave us opportunities or ostracized us; whether we assimilated or never fit in:  we did not “lose” our identities.  Our identities were TAKEN from us, and we were RIPPED from our country and quite often RIPPED from our mother’s arms under duress.  Even me, a foundling:  do you really think my parents would have left me on the street, in the middle of winter, if they didn’t know Holt was around collecting kids?  No.  My family was most likely torn apart by economic disparity.  How much of the $500 my adoptive family paid for me could have gone towards preserving my original family in 1966 Korea?

This violence and assault to our person-hood (and our mothers) was done to us by our own country.  It appeared first in the guise of aid from outsiders, which was gladly accepted to clean up some social problems, and now it is systemic and structural violence that is institutionalized.

And this violence is STILL HAPPENING TODAY.  How many adopting parents even bother to come to Korea?  How many have even seen their babies before picking them up at the airport?  How many white people have those children ever seen in their lives?  How many Korean words does the adopting parent know when they receive their baby?  How many Asians will be in those children’s lives?  The list goes on and on, and it’s a thousand little violences on top of the main violence that never actually goes away and is evident there every time you pass a reflection of yourself…

Today I was in the bookstore, once again trying to find resources to help me learn my lost native tongue, and I came across a cartoon history of Korea for foreigners.  The history book ends with Harry Holt saving children after the war.  It mentions the Holt’s continuing work with the handicapped and how Holt promotes domestic adoption.   It fails to mention the staggering approximately 200,000 sent abroad for international adoption, the VAST MAJORITY not handicapped, and in the ABSENCE of war or famine or really any valid reason whatsoever.

You see, the real history of us 200,000 is always left out of history books.   Because it’s not becoming.  But it needs to be in there.  But if it were really in there, then international adoption would come to a screeching halt.  So there are forces preventing the real truth to be recorded.  But it needs to end.  Now.  Not 60 years and 100,000 more babies.  Because when Korean moms want to keep their babies, and when they turn for help, they shouldn’t be greeted by a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

Comment from my other blog:

Very interesting thoughts.  My wife and I (both Caucasian) just adopted our daughter from Ethiopia.  She has been home with us for about 4 months and is doing great.  I understand that since she is only 14 months old she hasn’t been able to understand any of the color differences between her and us.  But in my opinion, that’s they only difference, skin color.  I work and am friends with several other Ethiopian families and we meet monthly with other families who have adopted Ethiopian children.  So I guess I’m curious about your statement, “Yes it can be done. But it’s a messed up thing to do.”
What were we to do when we weren’t able to get pregnant?  Should we have insisted on only adopting a brown hair, brown eyed white baby because they looked like us?  That to me sounds racist in itself.  I’d have to say that in the 100’s of families we’ve seen adopt from Ethiopia only 2-3 of them have been black and they were originally from Ethiopia.  So what was to become of those children that were adopted?  Should they have to wait until a black person or better yet someone from Africa came and adopted them?  Because to be honest that might not have ever happened.

My wife and I totally understand the hardships and struggles that our daughter “MIGHT” go through.  We have prepared ourselves through reading, counseling and communication and even that might not be enough.  But we love our daughter and I couldn’t imagine my life without her.  Yes, she is a Utopian fantasy of ours because we’ve always wanted to be parents.  She has been such a blessing to us and has forever changed our lives.

What is this?  The hundredth such response I’ve gotten with the same exact sentiments?  Can’t these people read?  I have two entire websites devoted to answering these questions, and still they write me this self-validating self-centered rationalizing spew.

Frankly, I’m tired of being diplomatic, so I just won’t answer these anymore.

What I really want to say is in blue below:

Very interesting thoughts.  My wife and I (both Caucasian) just adopted our daughter from Ethiopia.  She has been home with us for about 4 months and is doing great.  I understand that since she is only 14 months old she hasn’t been able to understand any of the color differences between her and us.  But in my opinion, that’s they only difference, skin color.

Easy FOR YOU to be color blind.  EASY FOR YOU. Nice fantasy that you think the rest of the world is too.

Why Ethiopia?  Why not one of the kids in U.S. group homes and foster care?  They don’t need help, because they’re not babies???

I work and am friends with several other Ethiopian families and we meet monthly with other families who have adopted Ethiopian children.

THAT’S GREAT.  Just like Ethiopia.  (NOT)

So I guess I’m curious about your statement, “Yes it can be done. But it’s a messed up thing to do.”
What were we to do when we weren’t able to get pregnant?

NOT.  HAVE.   KIDS.  (gasp!)  DO WITHOUT. 

Have you ever done without anything you REALLY wanted in your life?  Ever?  Of course not.  That’s called ENTITLEMENT.

Should we have insisted on only adopting a brown hair, brown eyed white baby because they looked like us?  That to me sounds racist in itself.

I never suggested that.  Why do they always suggest  I’m being racist when I suggest racial matching would make life easier for the child? Is that even arguable? See why I get upset?

And what about those kids in America who need adoptive parents?  The ones who are racially matched to you don’t need help?  And if you absolutely must help a person of color (and tell me that’s free of racism…) then why do you have to go to another country to do it?

Answer:  Because you only want to help BABIES so YOU can get more out of it.

Answer:  Because international adoption reflects better on YOU.  Because it’s more exotic.

Answer:  Because then it’s easier for you to erase the pesky matter of the child’s history and the fact that it has a living, breathing mother experiencing pain and stress and hardship.  (Most “orphans” these days do not have dead parents, the stories of their relinquishment are often fabricated, and what is done to alleviate the need for the relinquishment?  Your gain is another person’s loss…)

Answer:  Because then you can romanticize the ugly truths of your child’s acquisition.

Answer:  Because it’s potentially less complicated for you.

Oh, and btw, I’ve known a lot of African Americans and they do a lot more unofficial adopting that Caucasian Americans.  It’s called extended family, it’s how children in unfortunate circumstances in most countries were taken care of before international adoption, and they keep that tradition alive.  In other cases, there’s still a color gap between those who can afford to adopt and those who can’t.  Maybe if America still didn’t have racially driven social problems, there’s be less children of color in foster care in the first place.

I’d have to say that in the 100’s of families we’ve seen adopt from Ethiopia only 2-3 of them have been black and they were originally from Ethiopia.  So what was to become of those children that were adopted?

Maybe they stay in an orphanage, or maybe their moms will find themselves in a better position and be able to retrieve them.  Or maybe they can go live with extended family.  In either case, they get to keep their language and their culture and not be totally severed from that and have to explain their existence their whole lives. And the sending countries have to learn to deal with taking care of their own people, instead of brushing the loss of citizens under the rug.

Should they have to wait until a black person or better yet someone from Africa came and adopted them?  Because to be honest that might not have ever happened.

OBVIOUSLY, you are saviors.  THANK GOD FOR YOU.

And of course, someone from their own country’s not going to adopt them.  Why should they, when their government can relax and let international adoption take care of their lack of social services?  Why should they, when rich people from other countries can promises things they mistakenly assume are “the good life?”

Your intervention helps retard social services and colonize the minds of the countries you take children from.

Have you ever thought about  SPONSORING THE CHILD’S MOM so your child’s family  CAN STAY TOGETHER?  OR SENDING MONEY to Ethiopian relief aid  SO FAMILIES CAN STAY TOGETHER?  Or that your child CAME FROM and OUT OF someone?  A REAL PERSON?  That probably needed help?  That might not have had to LOSE THEIR CHILD?

Can you not see this in a larger socio-political context?  Or can you only see this through the short range of your privileged lenses?

My wife and I totally understand the hardships and struggles that our daughter “MIGHT” go through.

WILL go through. MIGHT not share with you.  Probably WON’T share with you, no matter how close you imagine you are.

We have prepared ourselves through reading, counseling and communication and even that might not be enough.But we love our daughter and I couldn’t imagine my life without her.  Yes, she is a Utopian fantasy of ours because we’ve always wanted to be parents.  She has been such a blessing to us and has forever changed our lives.

Why is it the only way you recognize helping children is if they bless your lives?  IF THERE IS A BENEFIT IN IT FOR YOU? And you know who has to deal with the aftermath?  THE CHILD, that’s who…

So JUST STOP IT. The “benevolence” is short-sighted and self-serving and you can stop congratulating yourselves.  But especially, especially don’t come to me for validation.  I only blog about adoption to ease the children’s lives.  I DON’T CARE about the parents.  I only talk to them so their kids might have slightly less irritating monsters to deal with.

These things start to grate on a person after awhile.  Many of my fellow adoption reform adoptee friends are just out-right mean and nasty to these parents.  And I’m beginning to see why.  Because they’re clue-less and dumb and want to keep their heads  buried in the sand.  They absolutely refuse to see that anything they did ever could possibly have been wrong.  That adopting isn’t really the selfless wonderful act everyone wants to believe it is.  And that it isn’t even charitable.  It just helps perpetuate systems which exploit poor countries and perpetuates systems which disenfranchise women and perpetuates systems which make countries co-dependent and perpetuates systems which retard social services.

We’re still taking children sight unseen from other countries and ripping them from all they know and telling them it’s for their own good.  But really, it’s all about what the adopters want and need.

Why is it the whole world can not understand the concept that we should work on  eliminating the need for adoption, and that the pressure of the huge appetite of adopters the world over is making that job almost impossible?  EVERY SINGLE PERSON who says, yeah, I understand all that (and ignore it) but what about the kids in the meantime?  I’ll just help one of these kids…THAT is all the movement it takes to keep this sick machine in perpetual motion.

In other scream-into-a-bag news…

HOLT is looking for a director of services for Latin America and Haiti.  They need to be well poised for when the well-founded concerns about Haitian adoption cools down…where will they turn up next?  Hmm???  North Korea???  Vultures.

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Here’s our baby roo.  Needs some button eyes, but other than that, Joey’s ready to spend the day safe in his mommy’s pouch, telling Seoul citizens to support moms who want to keep their babies.

My kingdom for a sewing machine!

So after school I walk into the store across the street, and one kid jokes, “hey, this store is for students!”  I go in to buy a snack and pass a bunch of boys sitting at a table.  As I’m looking at the junk food, I hear one of them say, “The English teacher just came in.  Oh my God, she’s so beautiful.”  And others are agreeing.

This estimation of late (from many of the students, from the principal, from some male teachers, from females at the English Club people, etc.) has me both feeling perplexed and also really great.  Are they just being nice?  Is it just because their vocabulary doesn’t have in-between words?  Is it just code for ‘she’s so different?’??

As a teenager, I always said to myself, “I’m not ugly.  Why am I not more popular?”  It seemed pointless at the time to even try.   It’s not that I wanted to look white, either.  It’s just that I felt it was really UNFAIR that I couldn’t possibly make the grade because I was measured by a different yardstick, just like I thought it sucked that war vets always made a bee-line to talk to me, when they of course didn’t do that to my white girlfriends.  I always wondered how I would have been viewed if I grew up with other Asians.  I hated being the only Asian.  I hated my fat eyelids with no creases.  I hated how makeup had to be impossibly perfect due to this lack of complexity, and how I couldn’t wear it like everyone else, because my eyelids would give me linebacker smudges under my eyes.  I haven’t looked in a mirror much since.

So what is this – this sudden being superficially appreciated by Koreans?  (at the same time not being able to have conversations with any of them)  I look around, and I am NOT the standard of beauty here.  I am FAR from perfect.  I am short, (height is the holy grail here)  dark-skinned, (whiteness is high class) have freckles, (flawless skin is a must)  and DON’T wear make-up,  (occasionally eye liner or occasionally transparent lip color) and have a slightly crooked, down-ward turning mouth.

I STILL wonder what it would have been like growing up here.  When I was 17, freckle-less, and a size 0…

Lately, I’ve been looking in the mirror trying to figure this out, why suddenly overnight I am thought of as beautiful.   And all I see is this big huge spot.  The one that appeared after my trip to Jamaica.

If that wasn’t there, then maybe I could accept this.

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Back at Baekyoung…

“Gladiator” comes to school one day, his face covered in scabs.  Young-a teases him unmercifully, calling him Spot.  “Hey Spot!  Tell Leanne why you have spots today!  Tell her!  Tell her!!!”  I can see him starting to  boil.  (he’s called ‘gladiator’ because he never speaks, but has been known to fight like a gladiator when pushed)  She informs me he went to have his dark spots removed, and I remember that yes, indeed, his face had been a mine-field of scarring and dark spots prior to the procedure.  She teases him all through lunch, but has lost interest by the following day.

A few days later, his scabs gone, gladiator’s dark spots had almost all disappeared.  It really was quite amazing.  He looked wonderful, brighter, happier!

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My spot drives me INSANE.  Since coming to Korea, I’ve been on t.v. umpteen times, in print,and have had to have portraits  taken (which I always avoided successfully my whole life until coming here) and every time that damn spot just makes my whole face look strangely dirty.  Precisely because I DON’T wear makeup, it’s also not going to get covered up. I don’t mind my large forehead mole,  the freckles and age spots I’ve gotten over the years:  for the most part I like them, especially the freckles, which I think are cute.  (despite the many instances of men putting women down for their freckles I’ve seen in Korean movies)  But this sun spot thing the size of a dime occupies just too much real estate prominently on my face.  For three years, it’s been driving me crazy, this looking dirty all the time.

No, I didn’t photo myself, but here are some photos of others who had similar spots to mine:  (taken from http://www.ilovebeauty.asia/skin/eng/ilove/ilove_03_2.asp)

What are Black Spots?

Black Spots are the brown flat results of pigmentation that occur from too much exposure to the sun that leads to an increase in pigment cells. These spots can be easily mistaken for melasma.

I decided it had to go.  I did a little research, found a clinic that spoke English, and called for an appointment.  For three days I fretted about the sheer expense and vanity of going to a skin (pibo) doctor (kwa) for something totally unnecessary.  And I’ve never been to an aesthetician (wait.  I did go once:  I had one free facial when I was in hair school) or dermatologist in my life, and I don’t wear makeup and am not constantly mirror-checking, and I’m not vain.  I’m not vain.  I’m not vain…

****************

The dermatology clinic is in Apgujeong, which is the center of vanity in Seoul.

Apgujeong is an up-scale area catering to the well-heeled.  It’s famous for its expensive salons and boutiques, its plastic surgery, and the night clubs (booking clubs) with the most eligible (read:  wealthiest) clientele.   As such, I’d avoided it and never been there before.  And yet had a lovely time, because:  the scale of the buildings is accessible, the buildings are very tasteful, the streets are calm, the apartments feel like real residences and have character, and there are many sidewalk cafe tables out – even the 7-11 is more gracious here.  No wonder the rich live here…I suppose it’s like window shopping…too much can make you miserable…but it’s a nice breath of fresh air from the crush of metropolitan Seoul to go and visit.

As I walk towards the clinic, I see several women with those little tiny flesh-colored spot bandages coming out of the building.  They’re to dry up a blemish without leaving a scar, (when I first got to Korea I thought women were just covering up their pimples with bandages and I couldn’t figure out how having something as obvious as a bandage stuck on your face could possibly be more preferable than the pimple) and  Miwha told me those cost 10,000 won a piece.  So she and her two girls probably dropped at least 60,000 won just for their one trip to the dermatologist.

So I went to the clinic and stopped into their restroom first, at which point I almost turned around when I saw how lavish the bathroom was:  we got our own one-use real finger towels and washlet toilet seats.  Was this where my money was being spent?  But forward I walked, to hit a wall covered with famous celebrities and Korean personalities who’d been there.  Great.  I had to tell myself that up until treatment, I can always turn around and leave.  Instead, I check in and read their promotional literature and realize I am sitting in what is part of Korea’s burgeoning “medical tourism” industry.  I had previously convinced myself that seeing a dermatologist was somehow separate and above all of that cosmetic surgery stuff, but here I was – about to undergo a procedure based only upon vanity in the center of the vain world / a destination spot for tourists with big egos and too much money.

The consultation with the doctor was odd.  He seemed bored the entire time.  His speaking English was only medium level, though it was obvious his comprehension was stellar.  The technique I had read about, the Lumenis One IPL, (Intense Pulsed Light treatments) that showed no effects immediately after, also cost a fortune.  (well, to me.  It also takes 3 to 5 treatments, and it already costs a fortune.  Later I found a place in Daejon that will do this procedure for 1/4th the price)  Not only that but it was designed to take care of larger regions, and despite their suggestions to get rid of my freckles, my insistence to only take care of the one spot meant I would be using the previous technology which, like gladiator’s procedure, would leave a scab for several days.  But – it only cost $100 for this, so I figured that was totally worth it, compared to the daily irritation of living with the spot these past three years.  (and the huge expense of the other treatment)  But, I also elected to have many of my blackheads removed, so it ended up being pretty expensive after all.  The guy got a little more animated after I noticed a photo of Hundertwasser’s housing cooperative and started talking about his art.   I figure it’s always a good idea to have someone about to cut you with a laser to at least have some good feelings about you before hand…

After the consultation, I got escorted to an accountant’s office and they called an interpreter, to make sure I understood what the diagnosis, recommendations, expectations, and fees were.  I am told 70% of the dark spot will be gone, but I must come back for the rest another visit, and that it will be half the price. Then, they asked me when I’d washed my face last and I told them, “this morning.”  “What time? ”   “6 am”  At which they all gasped.  (???)  So they hustled me off to have my face cleaned by an aesthetician prior to having an antibiotic/anesthetic applied to the spot area for 20 minutes.

The blackhead removal procedure would be first, which was a combination vacuum/light machine called PPx.  First, a wand is pressed against your face, at which the doctor turns on the suction.  * Remove, reposition, turn on the suction, repeat from * across.  Then, about five minutes later, he has you close your eyes and then he repeats the same procedure, except instead of suction there is a blast of light…and a light smell of burning flesh…Afterward, they put a gauze soaked with (probably) witch hazel over the area and I napped a couple minutes.

I had to move to another room for the spot removal and as I was laying down on the bed, I was given eye protective cups like the kind used in a tanning booth.  “This will be very painful.” he said.  BUT it wasn’t at all.  It felt like he was drawing line after line with a knife, though the flashes of light reassured me that it wasn’t.  I imagine it’s much like what getting a tattoo filled or removed feels like.  But I’m a tough broad and it didn’t bother me at all.  The slight smell of burning flesh is a bit gross though.  Less than ten minutes later, the aesthetician covers the wound with a clear protective barrier and then starts putting on a lot of different creams.  I am told she has put on UV protection, BB cream (omg – skin whitening cream.  I suppose one application won’t turn me into a ghost) and spot cover-up.  She tries to give me (probably sell me) the cover-up for my freckles/age spots, and I tell her I don’t want it and she is totally surprised when I reject it.  They’re like hair-dressers.  You tell them you hate product, and then they slap as much as they can on you before they’ll let you out the door…

I stop and buy an ice-cream, sit at some cafe seating, and people watch.   A woman walks past with a half-face flesh-colored neoprene mask to cover her recent plastic surgery.  This must be a common sight here.

****************

As I write this, I am looking at all of the other female Korean teachers in the office, and 7 out of 9 of them wear make-up.  It’s hard to tell, because the use of eye shadow is minimized here or used only at night.  The number one thing used is foundation, foundation, and more foundation.  Then eye liner and eyebrow pencil.  It really does look nice from a distance.  But me, my skin crawls just THINKING about wearing that stuff, and it’s a good thing the job with the V.P. of the major corporation didn’t work out, because the three times I had to wear full makeup nearly drove me crazy.  And what a hassle every morning and evening.  And that’s why I chose to do this.  Because I want to be hassle free and I don’t want to have to put on makeup, and yet I still don’t want my face to perpetually have a shadow across it.

At school the next day, everyone wonders why I have the big spot (scab) on my face.  I don’t know if it’s because here in the country nobody would think of spend money on something like that, or because I should have bought a flesh-colored bandage to cover my clear bandage, or if they think I’m shameless for not hiding that I did something elective to myself, or what.  I get the feeling it’s not approved, even though we’re in Korea, the facial cosmetic surgery capital of the world, even though I didn’t get surgery (I don’t think…hmm…did I?)  One more day before I can remove the protective cover and a few more days before I can see how light the  spot area is.  Thank God Young-A is not here to tease me.

I hope it looks good enough to warrant all this self-questioning of my own values…and would I have ever even considered this if I wasn’t in Korea?

For years – YEARS – I never had t.v. in America.  So I had no desire to watch t.v. in Korea, either.  Unfortunately, it came free with the officetel, and of course I switched it on  occasionally to get a finger on the pulse of Korean pop psyche.  I tried to watch Korean shows to learn Korean, but found it overwhelming, and so I’d default to the English-speaking shows, of which there are many:  most of them incredibly bad, so I rarely turned on my t.v., except to catch some old Korean films to get a general sense of what has changed and what persists.

On Style channel, however, only failed me half the time.  The  highlight of my week would be when I accidentally hit Project Runway.

It’s next to impossible for English speakers to figure out programming here – unless you REALLY devote A LOT of energy to it, since there isn’t really anything covering such extensive and changing programming in English.  Hell, even trying to get accurate movie theatre (cine) information is hit-or-miss.

And then I was delighted to find out there was a Project Runway Korea.

After five months without t.v., I now have it again and am happily watching my favorite show.  The designs on Project Runway Korea put the, btw, put the  U.S. version to shame.  Two weeks ago I was really engaged by the design brief, which was taking photos of architecture as inspiration.  (and there are some really amazing modern buildings in Seoul)  And all the designers but one did an amazing job.  But, to be fair, the Korean show features young unknown design professionals, whereas the American show features design students.  This week, the final three put on an entire collection and each and every one of them was worthy of its own spread in W or Match.

Watching the contestants shop for fabrics in Dongdaemmon’s fabric market reminded me that I’d never truly checked it out.  Last weekend, however, I finally got my chance as I was shopping for fabric for TRACK’s baby kangaroo that I’m making. (I’ll post photos tonight)

Shopping for fabrics here is like a dream:  everything under the sun you could ever want is here.  It’s also like a massive heart attack.    The market is about three football fields wide and is seven floors. No exaggeration.  I might even be underestimating this.   How many 3 to 6  meter wide stalls can you fit in that???  The bottom floor is mostly home decorating fabrics, the second and third floors are clothes fabrics, and then there’s a couple floors of accessory fabrics and then heavy-duty upholstery and safety fabrics.   I missed the garment district and Soho when I was in Manhattan, but I imagine it’s similar – only here, it’s all in one building and goes on and on and on and on. I wonder if many of the fabrics in Manhattan actually are imported from here…and this place has everything:  every button, lace, fur, leather, spangle, ribbon, netting, etc.

Because it’s a market, the fabric shops are market stalls.  I learned the hard way that if you want to buy the fabric right then, you have to make sure you can SEE the roll of cloth you want and that there are scissors hanging near-by, which may be only 1/4th of the stalls.  Because space is so limited, most of the shop owners only have samples or tables of swatches, which (I learned the hard way)  takes about a week’s lead time to order from a fabric company or, a few days to have cut from some retailer’s warehouse.

Thank God for BBB interpretation services, which have gotten me out of a jam on numerous occassions.  BB stands for Beyond Babel (I don’t know what the other B stands for) and references a story in Biblical Babel, where people moved by the spirit spoke in tongues, communicating across different languages.  They have 3,000 volunteers that speak 16 languages.   You call their number 1588-5644 and are taken to a voice-mail message where you choose your language.  And then it’s a bit awkward, as they connect you to the volunteer’s personal cell phone — and the volunteer totally isn’t expecting to be translating, so they’re always surprised at first.

The volunteers are always awesome – having to deal with frustrated, scared, angry, desperate foreigners at their wit’s end.  (that would be me) But it always works out and afterward I am showering them thanks.

There’s also the Korean Traveller’s Phone service, whose number is 1330.  They’ll look up things on-line for you, give you directions, hours of operation, bus routes, tourist information, etc. in English.  They will also help you out with interpretation, but want to limit themselves to logistics for the most part.

It was like being a kid in a candy store…with no money…because I couldn’t speak Korean and didn’t know HOW to order anything.  So it took awhile, but I was finally able to find out through the BBB interpreter that fabric is sold by the ma. (I think he told me a ma is 313 mm. but that doesn’t seem right.  However, that width IS about the same size as the traditional hand-made raimie cloth, and that width is called pok, so maybe a ma is the length of a pok but  the width of the western rolls and bolts we are used to)  Later, I found out that many of the sellers understand what a yard is, so that was a relief.

The fabrics were absolutely stunning and inspiring.  Especially the ones being sold directly by the fabric houses.  If a person could spend a few weeks getting to know this place, whole collections would practically jump off the bolts waiting to be sewn.

But I’m in CheongPyeong: my dress form and sewing machine at home…

This is where living in a foreign country gets really hard:  how many personal items do I collect?  How entrenched do I allow myself to get?  If I get more stuff, will it keep me here forever?

At the English Club I went to last month, one woman took the opportunity to speak to an ethnic Korean (me)  who was  also a waegukin (westerner) for a little insight, with a pointed question:

Tell me something — why are foreigners so arrogant?

“How do you mean?” I asked her.

Well, they’re just so, um, moji (she searched for the right word) I mean, stuck-up.

Last week two foreign men were so rude to me…x and y here are the only nice foreigners I’ve met…

I explained how people often thought I was rude but how in my country I’m considered pretty thoughtful and polite, and how poor the cultural training was here upon arrival, and how often I just don’t know I’m being rude.

I also explained how we spend the majority of our days with nobody really communicating with us, so we live in a little isolation bubble that becomes second-nature.  I explain that we’re surrounded by a language we don’t know, and we just tune it out a lot so we don’t become overwhelmed.

But they’re still stuck up…

“Are they really?” I ask.  I tell her:  Remember why they are here;  what their jobs are.  They are being paid to be consultants on the language that comes naturally to them.   It’s ridiculous, really.  Most have no credentials.  To make a living here they have to act like they have something special.  We are only getting paid for what we give away freely where we live. We have to make what we know seem valuable if we want to live here.  And Koreans bring  us here and  pay us for that but don’t want the other things we can teach aren’t interested in learning about our culture or anything else we could teach.  And Koreans don’t really take the time to share their culture with us or show us they want to be friends or care about us.

Actually,     you    create     us.

She nodded thoughtfully at this concept.  I look at the “only  nice foreigners” she’s met, and yes, they are nice enough.  And kind of goofy dorks. (added:  they’d be the first to joke and admit that) That can’t make money in America; that have found a niche here, or created some trumped-up expertise here.  (added:  that would include most of us waygooks here)

I wonder to myself — how many foreigners has she met?  I am a waegukin, but because I have a familiar face I am neither as feared nor sought after as my Caucasian peers.  I know I won’t be counted in that tally of foreigners met, just like I won’t be counted as a Korean.

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In the classroom, the translations fly at amazingly fast speed.  Occasionally a student does something a little disrespectful and gets admonished, which I gather translates something like, “give the foreign teacher a break and stop being rude.”  I hear wonnami sung saeng nim (teacher) A LOT.  “What does wonnami mean?”  I ask.  I am told it means foreign.

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For the morning t.v. broadcast, we have to cover the question, “Where are you from?”

I explain how this can be offensive in America.

I’ve taken it upon myself to also be teaching about western culture, multiculturalism, individual respect,  sensitivity training, personal politics, etc.  I ‘m kind of slapping everyone silly here, as I don’t think anyone here has any idea that America is not what is portrayed on MTV or Sex in the City or FOX programming:  they see these shows and they think we’re all hedonistic, superficial, self-centered morons with no values…

Where are you from = You’re not from here = You must be a foreigner = YOU DON’T BELONG HERE

There were some barely audible gasps in the room, and the co-teacher was nodding her head like she’d seen the light for the first time.  It seems they’d not thought of calling some one a foreigner means telling them:  You don’t belong.  They call people foreigner all the time.  To them, it simply means — not Korean.

I told them that it’s really hurtful to be called a foreigner.  In America, YOU CAN’T ASSUME someone is a foreigner, simply because they look different, because everyone except Native Americans are immigrants.  Especially in America, it’s really rude to ask someone where they are from, when they might have been living there all their life.  Or maybe their family has been living there for three generations.  In the future, Koreans won’t always be able to tell who is Korean and who isn’t Korean.  To call someone a foreigner is an insult.  It makes people feel BAD.  Instead, we call people new or visitors.

I hope, just like all the students now call me Ms. Leith, that they also stop calling visitors to this country foreigners. And I hope, I hope that Westerners coming here start realizing that Koreans don’t know they are alienating people.  And I wish, I wish Westerners would show Koreans a better face than is presented via cable t.v.

Someday, I’d like to stop being embarrassed that I’m a rude American and that I’m an unfriendly Korean.

But as an adoptee, I’ll always be both.