The very first morning I stayed in my new apartment I was woken up at 5 a.m. by loud cursing and crashing sounds.  Someone was reaming someone else out at the top of their lungs.  Most of this assault on my ears was coming from one man, but occasionally I’d hear the second one lobby something back.  I could hear them arguing and hitting each other at each location change, and especially in the marble-lined hallways.  It wasn’t long before the argument moved outside and they, amazingly, continued to beat the crap out of each other for about another half an hour.

Great.  Just great.

Then during the week, I can hear when this guy gets home because I can hear him berating someone as soon as he enters his apartment.  It’s a fine, “Hi honey!  I’m home!”

The following week, about 8 pm., I wake up from a nap to hear wailing.  I mean, I thought it was a cat in heat or an injured dog or something, and it took a few minutes to realize it was a human.  And then it just turned into the most pitiful heart-wrenching sobbing/wailing ever.  And my violent neighbor is screaming at her, reaming her out.  blah blah blah blah blah EH?  blah blah blah EH? (smack) blah blah blah EH? (smack) EH? (smack)(smack)(smack) Lots of crashing, things being knocked over.  Obviously this jerk lives right above me.  Children in other apartments are crying.  Finally, I hear banging on the door and some other man yelling at them to (probably) shut up.

A few days later I am woken up at 5:30 am by the guy doing the blah blah blah EH? thing again as his “bye, honey, have a good day!”  That night I text the school office worker Dongja that I can’t live like this, and she asks me to come in early the following morning to see what we can do.  The solutions were:

1. Complain to the owner
2. Find me a new apartment in Gapyeong (the bigger town and county seat, about 20 minutes away by bus)
3. Live with her and her mother

Actually, I liked the idea of number 3, because then I could really learn more Korean.  But they are a deeply religious family and Dongja gets up at 5 a.m. for sunrise services, and I didn’t know if I’d be able to keep my freewheeling self contained to one room.  Plus, what would I do with the housewares I now own?  And what about all this school furniture, would it fit?

So I chose number one.  I’m not sure if number two is even possible, as the school would lose their cheonsae (huge deposit money) for breaking the year lease…

Well, I don’t know what was said or if it was Dongja’s complaints or maybe everyone’s complaints, but it’s been quiet this week, thank God.

The other day in Chuncheon’s Lotte Marte, I saw a Philippina farm bride with a big black eye and felt so bad for her.  She probably had a neanderthal  like my neighbor as a husband, and what possible recourses can she have her?  The answer?  none…

I’d asked Dongja to place an advertisement for me somewhere for a local helper/guide/teacher.  She talked to the county’s Korean instructor for immigrant wives, and I will begin free lessons twice a week beginning in April.  Not what I wanted, but I look forward to seeing what it’s like anyway.  I hope there won’t be any black eyes…

Um, I STILL don’t know how to do this and probably never will.  If people bow to me, I usually do a little head-nod, smile, and stick out my hand for a shake.

Most bowing I experience is in passing.  The students shuffle past, (and humorously speed up out of nervousness) and then jack-knife their head into a quick and violent little head-nod bow.

Lately, I’ve been seeing the full-on most formal bow A LOT.  As a punishment, two of the teachers in my office make their students bow to them formally.  From a standing position, they must then get on their knees, put their hands together over their heads, and then bend over ’til their forehead and outspread arms touch the ground.  On a formal occasion this is done slowly and reverently but as a punishment, because the students may have fifty of these to do, they try to get it over with as soon as possible.  It must be hugely aerobic, going from standing to almost prone, as they are really laboring in a short while.

It’s really hard to watch/hear, as even though they put a book on the floor to soften the blow, I can hear the impact of their knees on the ground each time, and I’m sure their poor knees are black and blue by the time punishment is over.

The home-room teacher for the Architecture students has them do knee bends.  From my desk, I am always seeing student heads bobbing up and down.  It’s not severe enough, I guess, because there are always a lot of them, and it’s seen as more of an interesting challenge, as you can see them laughing with determination as they bob as fast as they can.

My co-teacher has the students line up on their knees and then she she chews them out.

And every day there is one student or another being lectured endlessly until they cry.  Parents are always being called in as well.  Nothing like making mom have to come to the school, because the wrath of one’s mother is probably the worst punishment of all.

Students who are late can be seen in the drive-way receiving their punishment.  They must walk back and forth around the drive-way I-don’t-know-how-much.  But they are in a squatting position the entire time, and not allowed to get up.  It’s absolutely brutal!  I’ve seen the kids writhing in pain afterward, and one of my students had a charlie horse so bad he couldn’t walk the next hour.  I had to help him out of his seat and out of the classroom and another student helped him get to his next class…

All of the above may sound excessive, but I actually like it a lot.  It’s a helluva lot better than the actual beating that sometimes occurred at the last place.  There was rarely a student in the office getting lectured or disciplined there.  The teachers were either jaded, lazy, vastly outnumbered, or wielding their influence in other ways.  At least here, all the students feel really cared for.  And NOT ONE of the teachers here carries a “stick of love.”

The biggest problem in this particular school is smoking.  I can’t figure out why they are stupid enough to smoke in the bathroom repeatedly, when there are other places they could go to which would be less obvious, but they do.  As one of the punishments, the offender must stand outside of the bathroom during breaks and lunch-time with a sign warning the other students of the consequences of smoking.

I’d asked one of the students why they are standing there, holding that sign, and he said, “tambay.” I looked at the sign, and suddenly I realized I’d been spelling cigarette wrong.  It’s spelled:  담배 (dambae) and NOT 탐배 (tambae) but they say many of their ㄷ (d) with a “t” sound.  The ㅌ(t) is rarely used, and it has a higher pitch that escapes my foreign ear, while ㄷ sounds somewhere between the “d” and “t” sounds.  It’s a phonetic alphabet, but these distinctions make it sometimes hard for the foreigner to spell or pronounce things correctly.

I just bought stickers for my keyboard with the hanguel symbols on them.  Most Korean computers have a language switching hot-key, and all the keys are printed with both English and Korean.  But this isn’t the case with Macs.  They don’t sell a Korean version.  So, I got really excited when I saw these keyboard stickers at Alpha office supply store.  Myung-Sook, do you need these?  I think they only had pink left…

There are actually several different keyboard layouts, but this 2-set is the most common one.  Cell phones (Koreans say “handuh pone-uh” because that’s the closest hand phone can be spelled phonetically in Korean) also have different keyboard layouts, depending on the make and model.  The alphabet consists only of lines and circles, so one keyboard makes you build the vowels and another keyboard has them already built.  And somehow, somehow the keyboards know just when to stack the letters so the syllable blocks come out perfectly.  It’s tricky on my cell phone, because you have to enter in the text QUICKLY or sometimes it won’t build the syllables correctly.  And I write Korean as fast as I read Korean, which is still at illiterate pace.  Fortunately, most Koreans I deal with can read English, even though they can’t speak it.

The other day I went to the new Lotte Marte in Chuncheon and arrived before it was open.  They let a couple of us in early and gave us a cup of tea, and I got to enjoy watching the check-out girls do their morning calisthenics!  (just like in the “Gung Ho” movie!) With happy music playing in the background, a worker lead the workers through some exercises over the store PA, and then they all had them turn to a partner and practice greetings and bowing to the customers.  They were all cracking up by the end of the exercise, and it was a great way to start a long day of customer service.

(As a preamble, the following is from a little newsletter I was going to send out before I got connected to the internet two days ago, and because I’m swamped I thought it would be more expedient to just cut and paste)

Being disconnected has been a little disconcerting, so I finally decided I’d have to write down my thoughts somehow/someway and send them to y’all.

Above is a photo of the dog-eared index card I’ve been carrying around with me, to jot down and remind me what to write about once I get (if I ever get) internet.  The other side is full, too!  It got to be a little over-whelming, looking at it all, so when the card got full, I figured it couldn’t wait — and I’ll probably end up just re-posting this little report to the blog once I’m back on-line.

A job prospect
Things were getting pretty desperate, what with being black-listed from public school jobs and from a fourth of the recruiters in Korea.  I networked as hard as I could, and the few people I know were awesome, trying to find me work:  A Korean volunteer with TRACK was posting my name for privates at his apartment building and going to peddle me to his Seoul National University (the Ivy League of Korea) alumni university business activity group.  Art, the rueda guy, tried to get me privates through his dancing friends, and through a friend’s church connections.  Miwha tried to find me privates through her daughter’s friends.  Korean War Baby tried to get me work with his temp agency, to no avail because I wasn’t white, and introduced me to his conversation class, which also didn’t work out because of the timing.  Jane kept sending me contacts which were awesome, but the timing never worked out.  I spent many hours every other day combing the help wanted ads, sending out several applications each time, but rarely heard back from the hogwans and the part-time recruiters were timid about taking a chance on someone with no business English experience (which is really not that much different from regular English) teaching for them.  And then the part-time jobs I tried for turned out to be ludicrous exercises. The high salaries of these part-time jobs turned out to not be so great, after all, since the prime time hours were limited.  It turned out that these were only viable as supplement to a full-time job, and those that make their living with these part-time jobs are established enough to have many privates filling in the off hours.  And not being WHITE just made be a low commodity in any and all hiring sectors.

Fortunately, I had previously joined a group of F-class English teachers.  This is the visa status which connects you to ethnic Koreans. (or if you are ethnic Korean like me, but not a Korean citizen)   Most of the members of this group are married to Koreans, and I am a minority (as always, in all things everywhere) being an actual ethnic Korean non-citizen, (grrr… I actually WAS a Korean citizen until I tried to live here, at which point they make you RENOUNCE your citizenship) but I joined it anyway.  Anyway, it paid off in spades, with two very real jobs to choose from.  Some of the group are a little pedantic, as you’d expect some would play up when they suddenly find themselves experts at their native language, and that one can profit by that, and some of the group are no better than the worst foreigners just passing through.  But most are very cool and have to wrestle with some very unique issues bridging cultures and being mixed-race couples with mixed-race children in an extremely xenophobic country.  Of particular interest to me are the small handful of white women who’ve married Korean men, who have to also deal with traditional expectations of sexist roles here.  Of course, the thing that distinguishes all of their spouses is that their Korean spouses are particularly open-minded.  There’s a wealth of information and support there, especially on the teaching front, and I don’t mind so much being (perhaps) the only Korean there.

I’m terrible at networking, but it was as easy as, “that job you posted, is it available?”  “Sure, gimmie a call.”  It’s actually a good system.  Less headache and expense for the institutions hiring, and they get employees who are personally vested in the people here and they generally have more experience.  Unfortunately, the Korean schools prefer the F2’s, who are mostly all white.  Of COURSE.

So I went on a reconnaissance trip to check out the school and town, (population 14, 700 ish) liked what I saw, and was bowled over by the scenic beauty and the friendliness of everyone. A few days later, with Willie as company, we returned to sign the contract and look at apartments.

Breaking up
The only thing that made me sad was having to say goodbye to Mrs. Kim.  I mean, on New Year’s she brought me ddeok (rice cake) soup and she was always putting herself through the ordeal of coming down to feed me and have an awkward conversation where we were unable to communicate more than, “It’s delicious.  Thank you.”  Jane was out of town on tour and I had no idea how to explain the complexities of my situation to her, so Joyce came to the rescue and translated a letter to Mrs. Kim for me.

On a side note, I have found the people I have the most affinity with living in Korea is not adoptees, but gyopos. (ethnic Koreans raised abroad)  Like them, we adoptees are instantly pegged as Koreans and are expected to behave like Koreans and tow the Confucian line.  But like us, gyopos really don’t fully understand what they’re supposed to do:  even if they’ve heard about it in the past from their ethnic Korean parents.  Theory and practice are two different things.  Prior to coming here, I thought I was a gyopo because I am ethnic Korean raised abroad.  (thus the url of my blog) but upon later reflection, most adoptees don’t consider themselves gyopos, because the second generation or more gyopos still have a little knowledge about Korean culture and get to see – and live with – Korean faces.  Both of these/our/uri populations are marginalized for our wrong behavior;  for our mistakes made out of ignorance and experience culture shock living in Korea.  The adoptees have to learn from a deficit situation, whereas the gyopos have heard/ learned Korean culture in an academic sense and in a very real sense when it comes to feeling the full weight of Confucian familial pressure.

Something about being forced to stay here longer than a visit changes the lens in which I view this culture.  I see it less as the country that rejected me and more as this difficult nut to crack.  The more I learn about this place, the more I can relate to the pressures my gyopo friends are under.  With my gyopo friend I never get that, “Oh.  Korea’s just like that.  You’ll get used to it.” kind of attitude like I get from other adoptees who live here.  I get not only sympathy because we’re both experiencing similar experiences, but also real empathy because they truly understand the gravity and seriousness of each recrimination.

For example, the inability for me to date here.  I’m divorced = I don’t value family honor.  I’m adopted = I wasn’t raised with good Korean values.  I’m a foreigner = I’ve been polluted with egoism, individualism, and rudeness.  I can’t speak Korean = I can’t possibly say anything meaningful.  All these combined make me untouchable.  Unless I want to settle for whoredom with foreigners.  Who, btw, also would reject me for not being Korean enough.  I also can’t date other adoptees.  Because most of them are half my age and only half as far on this journey, self-absorbed as youth are, in pain or denial, and often anesthetizing themselves with drink or hedonism.  I don’t blame them one bit.  More, I wish I could do the same.  But I’ve responsibilities and there’s no one there to be irresponsible with.

But I digress:  The letter must have been translated perfectly, because Mrs. Kim and her adorable husband (they both remind me of weebles!) instantly understood and didn’t resent me or my situation at all, and instantly went into action to facilitate the move.  The real estate agent, too, who I had wrongly mistrusted at first, took it upon himself to help me out as much as possible.  I really hated the idea of leaving them all, as they all really cared about me.

Another side note:  one time Mrs. Kim brought me some chicken noodle soup.  The noodles were fat like linguini, and the broth was strained of all the chicken, so it was clear and golden;  slightly thickened by the starch from the noodles.  It was very garlicky and had leeks for some added color and flavor.  It was, hands down, THE BEST chicken noodle soup I’ve ever had the pleasure of eating.

New Digs
I’d predicated my employment on my residence.  I’d told them that where I lived was extremely important, and that I absolutely could not stand to live in a high-rise apartment ever again.  The place they found for me was a four-story, four apartments per floor building, with the same high security, bank vault doors.  Not to mention, the bedroom was smaller than a shoe-box.  (Willie – once furnished, I now believe my room is actually smaller than yours was!  My bed is smaller, for instance, but still takes up the bulk of the room. They claimed it was the only one available, even though I said I would be willing to live with a family or in an old run-down place or ANYWHERE please God, but not another isolated bank vault.  Too bad for me.  The former teacher told me it was b.s. that they couldn’t find anywhere else and they were just being lazy, but I was forced to accept it.  Something about the contract language saying single teachers can only have one room…so I’ll probably move again next year, if I can save up key money (the HUGE deposit required for a lease in Korea) or maybe not, since I want to fly home for a visit too…

Saying Goodbye
It was hard to say goodbye to Willie.  I kept getting his leave date wrong and said goodbye to him multiple times.  Joyce will leave soon too.  It dawned on me that part of this whole living as an ex-pat thing means saying goodbye to people often to people you come to care about.  I told Jane, “I bet you’ve had to say goodbye to many, many people.”  She told me she has, and that some adoptees who stay solve the problem by just not letting themselves get close to anyone.  I wonder at what point a person puts aside the idea of the inevitability of their own departure and just accepts this place and tries to benefit from the huge personal investment spent learning to adjust?  Can anyone really want to stay here?

Jane does.   She likes blending in.  She likes not being the target of stalkers with yellow fever who want to murder her.  Me, I miss being exotic.  I hate blending in.  I also didn’t grow up in Minnesota, with its huge population of Korean adoptees and the weird way in which questioning race and identity are accepted yet censored.  Here, I am forced to censor myself so I don’t exacerbate my rejection.  There, someone is always interested in me — even if it is unwanted attention, I never feel invisible.  But coming to live in the country is changing that.

Moving Out
Because my life-line (Jane) was out of the country, and my new colleagues in CheongPyeong seemed unable to arrange anything for me, I went on-line to hire movers.  I had to hire movers, as my job was starting in a day and I had no time to be able to pack my belongings.

As it was, I just turned up the floor heating and was sleeping on the dirty floors (no time to purchase mops and towels, etc.) of the empty and new apartment and that’s how I spent my first week on the job:  clothes and belongings in Seoul, floor to sleep on in CheongPyeong, (I did eventually clean the whole thing by hand) so I did a lot of traveling back and forth every other day, packing as many necessities as I could carry, trying to come up with lesson plans during the commute, and getting very little rest.  I found a match-making agency for English speaking movers on-line, but only one of the six companies returned my call.  It seems I didn’t own enough stuff to make it worth their while, or maybe they didn’t want to travel that far.  At any rate, I went to Craig’s list and found Brandon movers.

Love-starved me began to fantasize about a fling with the mover as a perfect leaving Seoul scenario.  I was surprised to find out Brandon was really both personable AND attractive.  But, as luck would have it, Brandon’s back hurt and he had a friend in tow to help him.  “Brandon wants to be in movies.  Brandon thinks he is a MOVIE star, but actually, Brandon is a MOVING star!” his friend joked.  Again.  And again and again.  It seemed to be the only thing he could say in English.  Brandon took it all in stride.

Mrs. Kim came down to make sure that Brandon didn’t try to take the stove, as only the natural gas technician was allowed to unhook the appliance, and also I’d promised her I’d leave the appliances and closet hardware and shelving I’d bought.  She and Brandon talked for awhile, and he told me that she was “all emotional” about my leaving.  I sometimes wonder if maybe Mrs. Kim, or someone she knows, gave up a baby and that’s why she had such tenderness for ibyung me.

On the long ride to CheongPyeong, Brandon and I got to talk a bit, since his friend couldn’t also fit in the tiny Daewoo truck cab and was riding in the back.  Brandon had lived in the U.S. for ten years, and that’s why his English was so good.  He’d tried teaching English here, because it paid so well, but he said he couldn’t stand it because the students were such spoiled brats.   So between modeling and acting jobs, one foreign teacher he knew asked him to help her move.  He did such a good job, she told him how to set up his own business so he could connect with foreigners, and that’s how he makes his living today.

It did my heart a world of good to find a Korean who also thought Korean children were spoiled, and he went on to tell me about a recent incident in the news where a 21 year old boy, whose mother yelled at him for spending three days straight playing video games retaliated by murdering her.  He also cited some incidents in the past where 30 somethings who were living at home and not working  had murdered their parents for refusing to give them the allowance they felt entitled to.

After they were finished unpacking I waved goodbye to probably the last male I can speak with for God only knows how long.

Moving In
I had to complain because the apartment was empty of appliances for a long time – most of the first week and, damn it, I had already scheduled the internet and cable t.v. to be installed and there was no t.v., which was supposed to come with the apartment.  So the owner told us the appliances would be there that evening.  And when they weren’t there that evening, I had to call DongJa, the angel who works in the school office, to complain again. (not that it even mattered, as the cable guy was a no-show, and this happened about three times for various – cough – saving face reasons)

Later that evening, the maintenance man, dressed in a suit, (and really pissed off) comes knocking at the door with the refrigerator that he’d recklessly bumped up the stairs.  (there’s a nice dent to prove it) Then the t.v.  Then he grunted for me to help him with the washing machine and swore because he cut himself on a staple.  (he’d had the whole previous week to do this leisurely)  Anyway, sweating like a pig in his suit he started ranting about the temperature.  I’d had it up high because I had no bed and no blankets and also it was different from my last two thermostats, so I didn’t know how to work it.  He started yelling about how 20 degrees celsius was all that was needed and that anything more was unnatural.  (why couldn’t he go to Baekyoung teacher’s offices and tell THEM that?)  And then he started going on and on about 20 and he TOOK OUT A PEN and WROTE 20 ON THE WALL!!!  The brand new wall.

I screamed, “oh my God, what are you doing writing on the wall?” and I went and got a damp cloth to wipe it off – only Korean wall paper isn’t coated, and THE PAPER started rubbing off.  I just muttered to myself shaking my head about the wall as I tried to push the fibers back into something resembling paper and the guy left.  I told this story to my co-teacher the next day, incredulous, and she was totally nonplussed by the fact of someone writing on a brand new wall.  THIS is kind of the hallmark of living in Korea, these things that violate all your sensibilities about civilization that are greeted with a, “yeah, so?” response…Complaining is so NOT Korean.  But Weeping is like the national past time…

Because the previous teacher was already married and had his own furnishings, the school was required to provide me with some basics.  So I jumped on the chance to convince them to let me have a say in the choices, because even though Korean design can be minimalist, beautiful, and elegant, (for a huge boutique price) the bulk of Korean furniture is cheap, shitty, and butt ugly.  (Think low quality Ikea with brown wood-grained contact paper slapped onto it.  Think tables with plastic tubes as legs.  I rest my case)  I’d thought I’d really scored with this victory, but actually it was a total bitch, because the apartment is so tiny, and the bedroom is almost a perfect square, making it even more challenging to fit out.  I had to hand draw a floor plan to scale and carefully make sure each item would fit.  And I’m glad I did, or it would have been a disaster.  I am now, however, able to size up things in millimeters with my eye.
The amazing thing about Korea is their delivery service.  Typically it’s lightening fast.  Emergency obscure item  in one day?  You’re in the boonies three hours from civilization?  No problem.  Anyway, so I spend the next week selecting merchandise and being house-bound, with nothing to do, each night as I waited for the next delivery to arrive, wishing to God I had internet…

The countryside
I’m actually writing you while riding on the bus, on my way to Chuncheon to visit the former teacher and his wife and look for a t.v. stand at the home-plus where his wife works.  I wish I could buy a car and travel more, as it’s impossible to take photos from the bus with the slow reflexes of pocket digital cameras.  I’ just passed an eiffel tower and some really gorgeous gravesites.  Again, Korean mountains remind me of Appalachia, with all its ridges, furrows, and hollows.  I can’t wait for spring. This place is going to blow me away in spring.  The scenery just keeps getting more and more beautiful.  I have to find a way to save money somehow, so I can both get transportation and find some way to get the kids here to visit me!

The apartment
So this is my new home for now.

As you can see, it’s brand-spanking new and again, having all the modern conveniences the officetel had.  (except the remote control for the air conditioner, but we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it)  It’s actually in better shape than the officetel was, because it’s so brand new, but instead of everything being pure white, it’s got a dark trim and floor palette.  The floors are plastic and impressed with a faux grain, so every little spec and hair doesn’t show as badly.  Here in Korea,  there is always a shoe closet and the entry is before the raised heated floor begins.

The refrigerator isn’t much bigger than one of those dorm refrigerators plus a vegetable drawer, and then the small freezer.  Good thing I decided to eat dinners at school, since there’s no room to store much food.

The little table was made in Vietnam.  With its four stools instead of chairs, I can also use them as side tables and step stools.

So this is my sofa-bed.  It’s Japanese and actually a hinged futon.  Once folded out, it exactly takes up the free space in the center of the room.  And the ottoman to the left exactly holds a bottom quilt and a top quilt.   Prior to its arrival, I went and purchased the second quilt because my first one was stranded in Seoul at the Itaewon apartment and the floor was getting too hard to sleep on and perform well during the day. It’s purchase is another whole story on its own.

TRYING to live with the wall-paper…..

And this, this is the world’s longest desk.   It’s about 5 feet long and has that great shelf underneath, which also makes a nice footrest.  I hate the looks of the typical Korean cheap desk, which is basically a slab of a top resting as a bridge between an end shelf or cabinet and a book case turned the wrong way.  Hate them.  And the desks are always too short.  So this gives me lots of shelf space and keeps my walls free of clutter.  I just need a t.v. stand that will hold the dvd player & movies, and then a little vanity to hide all my vain items.   I hate not having a place for everything.  It’s really critical in a space this small, too.
This is the wardrobe.  …I’m a little disappointed, because I thought the curtain was flat white from the internet store.  But instead it has the usual Asian love of shiny flora on it.  Behind the curtain are three clothes bars and two rows of plastic drawers.  The stacks of floor furniture and craft items will all be shelved in the “garage”  (the veranda) as soon as the shelving gets delivered, which had to wait for my first paycheck, as it’s not on the official school district list of supplied furniture.

Then there’s the bathroom.  I no longer have Korea’s largest bathroom, nor do I have an enclosed shower like in the officetel.  No.  This is the typical bathroom here, so the shower is a hose attached to the sink, and I have to remember to put the toilet seat up so it doesn’t get wet.  So that’s not so bad.  But I do forget to turn the dial from shower back to sink, so when I go to brush my teeth or wash my face I often get an unintended cold shower.  I don’t know how many of these it will take before I learn, but I have a feeling I’ll never quite get this down as second nature.

The medicine cabinet is:  plastic.  It has the typical stainless blade hanging over the t.p. roll.  I’d always thought this was for tearing off the paper, but when I mentioned worrying about the paper getting wet, Willie wondered why, since that’s what the blade was for.  So, actually, it’s like a bike fender for your paper…There’s not enough space for toiletries, so I also need to get some kind of storage for that, as well as a coat tree for the hallway.

Enough about the apartment, when there’s so many more interesting things to talk about.  So now, I’m going to go grab a bite to eat, come back, and tackle that list of things I wanted to write about, so there will be a couple dozen small posts all in a row…

I’ve been really, really, REALLY busy.  My house is a mess, I’m dirty, don’t have any clean clothes, and eating while running to catch trains.

Saying goodbye to Chingus, purchasing teaching materials, organizing volunteer meetings, editing my friend’s memoirs, creating a new website, running to Cheongpyong 3 times, getting my hair done, shopping for a dozen items on-line when there are THOUSANDS of pages of items for each item, getting lost in my new town and getting lost coming home, etc.

There’s a billion things to write about and no time to write, and Tuesday I start my new job in a totally different scenario, under totally different circumstances.  And the following Saturday I move – AGAIN.

So come back in a week, and there should be a long, long post about this third chapter on my stay in Korea, as an ethnic Korean who’s not really a Korean but looks Korean, trying to break the social barriers as an anti-social person in a place where social connectedness means everything, working in the only capacity she can, as a foreigner speaking a foreign language.

Despite all the blows, this has been/is an incredible experience.  I am hopeful.

Sorry to leave you, my friends and family, in suspense.

I’ve been churning out another website for TRACK while deliberating.

Negotiated an interview at the news agency, and despite scrambling to make that interview happen in a deadline timely manner, those in charge of hiring were still unable to give me anything concrete upon which to justify taking the position:  a position that hasn’t yet been created, with a salary that hasn’t been defined, benefits that haven’t been defined, and a start date which hasn’t been defined.

Inside sources tell me that foreign workers have been arrogantly critical of the journalism being produced and, therefore, one of those hiring was open to hiring a non professional writer as editing staff.  But another one acted like journalism was only the realm of special people and that I couldn’t possibly understand what that kind of writing entails.  I told them I would be happy to wait for a job opening, but that I needed to at least know what I was waiting for.  They weren’t willing to give me even one item to hold out for, so I had to decline.

Maybe stringing potential candidates along indefinitely works for Koreans, as so many still live with their families and have support networks in place during times of unemployment.  I, too, have been offered support by a dear friend during this process, which is what gave me license to consider the job in the first place.  But as wonderful as that support was, it would only be temporary and not help me should, at the end of the wait period, I am rejected and facing unemployment.  Witnessing the two men in charge of hiring’s division of opinion regarding my potential was alarming enough for me to see that it was too much of a risk.    CheongPyeong it is!

Negotiating with the school has proven very fruitful, and they are allowing me to approve or disapprove my housing, since they haven’t secured any yet.  (their former teacher was married and had his own housing)  Also, they own no furnishing stock, so I am allowed to order what I want from G-market!  I told them I would renew my contract for a second year, because a round trip visit home comes with contract renewal.  However, I asked to take this over Christmas vacation so it would coincide with the kids’ university breaks, since the Korean school system’s breaks are different, and that is the only time there is overlap.  There is the beastly summer as well, but that is too soon to renew the contract.  Anyway, they are discussing that option right now.

Willie went with me to CheongPyeong yesterday and gave it his seal of approval, so that makes me feel good!  And, he got to go look at some housing with me.  A very nice brand-new apartment that was cozy and had lots of natural light and nice views.  A vast improvement over an officetel, yet still overly secure and isolating.  They couldn’t really understand how I could have a problem with it, despite having written them previously about needing to be able to hear and see signs of human life around me.  So I had to explain again that I would rather live somewhere in a real neighborhood, with real people, and someplace with real character.  (not an efficient cookie cutter bee hive)  The problem is, in a town that small there really aren’t many places from which to choose.  So, the realtor asked for two days to try and dig something up, and I go back again Monday to choose a place and sign the contract.

It’s a beautiful place.  The town is sleepy.  The town folk are friendly.  The school hallways are clean and sunny, and the mountain panorama is in every window.  The principal was warm, and the co-teachers accessible and reasonable.

I’m going to like it there.

Stupid me, I didn’t stock up on groceries and forgot it was a holiday.  At dinner time yesterday, all the restaurants were shut down and the streets were deserted, and it took me until I saw a little girl in her hanbok walking with her father in a suit to realize and remember that it was the Chinese Lunar New Year, Solnal.

Solnal is that lovely time of the year when all your putting up with being put in your place pays off.  It’s when you literally bow and grovel and for your efforts grandpa and grandma give you lots of money for honoring them.

It just happens to fall on Valentine’s day this year.

Some how, some way, I have managed to fritter away two days of my life accomplishing nothing at all.  Fretting about this decision.  Doing anything I can to avoid making it.

I realize this isn’t about living in beautiful surroundings, because I’ve lived in some of the most beautiful surroundings on the planet, and I was still accomplishing nothing in isolation.

I realize this isn’t about the money, because I’ve had money before and it didn’t buy me or anyone else anything, and I was still accomplishing nothing in isolation.

I realize this isn’t about job satisfaction, because after 40 jobs, I know there is no such thing; nothing’s satisfying when you’re alone.

What this is about is:

I don’t want to be adopted any more

I don’t want to be Korean any more

I don’t want to be lonely any more

Either position would be equally good or awful, have its benefits or drawbacks.  I just don’t want to spend another Valentine’s day sitting by myself eating a bowl of instant noodles.

Reverend Kim invited me to the Koroot adoptee Solnal gathering, as he called to gently reprimand me for forgetting to let him know I’d canceled our meeting there.

But I forgot to go.  I actually got productive for a couple hours while editing a friend’s memoirs.  But I don’t want to go eat noodles with adoptees either.  I don’t want to always be working on adoptee issues.  I don’t want to always be confronted with my race.  I don’t want to be black in the Jim Crow South, when I can be yellow everywhere else.  I don’t want my only value to be because I speak English.  I don’t want to be surrounded by Korean walls. I don’t love it here.

I need a vacation from my fucking identity.

Unlike most adoptees who come here for a visit in their college years as tourists or students, I had way too much Korea, way too fast.  I got an overdose of culture shock this year.  no partying.  no hedonism.  no fun.  just lots and lots of rejection, and even among adoptees, I have no one my age to relate to.

Jennifer and Jane talk about the adoptee freak-out, and I told Jane this is not what I’m having and I’m merely trying to find a way to be sustainable here.   But today I’m not so sure.  There’s more to life than fighting for this cause.  Even they have people in their lives.

I signed up for a Korean personals site today.  It wouldn’t accept Seoul as a city…Is that hilarious, or what?  Even the personals ads reject me…

I want my life back.

Or, rather, I want a life.   I deserve a freaking life.  NOW.

Maybe this IS what an adoptee freak-out looks like.

If so, I’m not convinced it’s such a bad thing.