Today I saw a purple car…maybe there IS hope for me after all.

I can’t find my tax forms from last year – I swore I brought them.  I am in such deep doo doo.  I might never be able to come home if I don’t get 2007 resolved, since the government thinks I owe them almost $200,000.00. (I actually lost more than that, but haven’t been able to coordinate the numbers and respond in a timely manner)

I live near a hospital and walk past it everyday.  Hospitals in Korea operate a little differently than in America.   The lounge is outside, in the garden.  It’s not too unusual to see some wayward patient, sneaking off to a convenience store, walking down the sidewalk of a busy road pulling his IV stand with him…I read somewhere that many of the duties that nurses assistants take care of in the states are left up to the family to attend to.

Y told Nine Stones that I want to learn how to cook from his mother-in-law.  He told her I should learn Korean first…  : (  I told her we may both be dead by then…

I wish I didn’t have to teach at summer school.  For the other teachers, there are classes offered.  One of them was wood carving.  I would have liked that.  Sara is moving and I told her to get rid of everything.  But I sure would like to have my pocket knife…

Being here is so alienating sometimes.  Like it would take me years to ever find half the stuff I love in America.  Even the stuff I don’t love.  For example, the glass cook top at my officetel has burnt-on food from the last tenant.  I’ve bought several cleaners and the closest thing to cleanser I could find (a British pot scrubbing product) and used much elbow grease and gone through several scrub pads, but the stuff won’t go away.  All I really need is a disposable razor.  But I can’t find them anywhere.  Even a putty knife might work.  But again, I can’t find one anywhere.  I asked In Kyung about them, and she said she thought she knew what I was talking about but didn’t know where to find one.  And so I have a crusty cook top.  So there you have it – one small item and three months later, I still can’t find it.

Must ask my tutor where her art store is.  Maybe they would have something like that.

My tutor might have to leave soon for NYC.  I will miss her if she goes.  I’m doing so slowly at the language lessons that I might just continue on without lessons and just do self-study.  Maybe if she goes I should just take some crafty cultural class or something.  Or maybe I should just find some knitting supplies and watch Kdramas, like I did before I left the states.  I think I knew more Korean then than I do now…

Hanging out with Lisa was interesting.  Of particular note was how markedly different our experience here is, and yet so much the same…

While we were walking around, trying to talk and window shop, we got accosted three times by locals wanting to chat her up.  A statuesque and attractive waygook (foreigner) of Dutch descent, she’s an instant target for those wanting to improve their English.  The solicitations were everything from obnoxious to needy to eliciting sympathy. Lisa dismissed the first two and then participated in a survey in English, conducted by a student and her father.

Interestingly, I also am a foreigner, speaking perfect English to her, but nobody bothered to ask me anything…while I felt new appreciation for the imposition she had to face being in public, I also felt the stark inconsequence of being a returning adoptee.

Often, as I travel around Seoul to various functions or meetings, I notice young foreigners with posses of Korean friends, having a blast.  They are celebrities here.  For some it is an annoyance, but for most it is a flattering annoyance that has benefits – inclusion and introduction and welcome into the culture.  Yes, it is self-serving.  But mutually beneficial.

Me, I have said hello to the foreigners in my building on many occasions.  I’ve even spent quite some time with them having conversations.  And a week later, they don’t recognize me.  Standing in the elevator.  Passing in the lobby.  Walking down the street.  Waiting for a taxi.  I say hello.  There is a double-take.  They walk on.  Next time, no recognition.  I just blend into the woodwork.  I am invisible here.  Invisible to foreigners.  A rude deaf mute to natives.  The salespeople coming into the office try to sell me their teacher aids and snacks, and everyone chuckles and tells them I can’t speak.  The phone rings and everyone chuckles as I tell them I can’t speak.  People come in and inquire about this or that, and I have to point them helplessly towards some other teacher.  An odd curiosity at my workplace.  An interesting project and source of compassion and pity for my nearest co-workers. And then there are those times where I’ve been sworn at and received a barrage of verbal assaults in Korean, because I’d done something that, had I been Caucasion would have been dismissed, but because I’m Korean is held against me.

It is a most unusual phenomenon being a returning adoptee, especially an older returning adoptee.

I get asked all the time by anyone who speaks English how long I plan to stay.  I have ceased to give a date.  I say that every other day I feel differently about it.  I say until I can’t stand it anymore.  My goal used to be to stay until I can speak fluently enough to learn about the culture in depth.  Now my goal is to learn enough so I can be safe and take care of myself.  If, for example, I have to call 119 (emergency)  I am pretty much screwed and will die.

I think I’ll eventually need to find that third country, wherever it is.  A place where I’m JUST an expat and everything is clear and obvious to everyone.

I asked Young-a if there was somewhere I could get a hanbok pattern.  She wasn’t sure what I meant by pattern, but she told me they were very difficult to make.  I told her it wasn’t a problem, and if only I had a pattern I could make one for myself.  She told me I could have her hanbok, since it was too small for her.  I told her I would be interested in borrowing it from her, so I could see how it was made, but that what I really wanted to do was MAKE one.  She told me it was too difficult and I should just take hers. I told her owning the hanbok wasn’t the point – the point was I wanted to make one.  She’s perplexed and incredulous, but I may get my wish!

Lisa, my Canadian friend I saw last week took me past a place that sells the ramie fabric for the jeogori (jacket), and that’s all I want to do now is make one.  I caught a documentary on the making of the fabric, and it was inspiring: They take the plant fibers and bleach and dry them in the sun, then they beat them.  Then they separate all the fibers individually by RUNNING THEM THROUGH THEIR TEETH, like dental floss.  Yup, every single thread was separated by teeth.  It is then spun into continuous threads and threaded through antique looms, the warp threads pulled taught and brushed with sizing.  And then each weft woven with a deft toss of the shuttle and syncopated beat of the foot.

I also read an article on a living intangible treasure that teaches traditional Korean sewing.  I guess every seem is a french seam.  Not one raw seam to be found. Not one exposed stitch to be found.  The seams are about an eigth of an inch wide and super durable.

I have also seen photos of Korean embroidery, and it looks to be predominantly satin stitch.  I have a photo of a really lovely plain hanbok with its jeogori sparsely embroidered on its lapels, and it was really sweet.

I like the raimie jacket and chima (skirt) and the fur-lined quilted vests, but I don’t like the colored silk and brocade hanbok.  Just too full and too busy for my taste.

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Lisa also took me by a Korean toy store, circa 1960’s.  Not much bigger than a bathroom, the place was full of reproduction prints, nearly extinct candies, and toys that I couldn’t tell if they were real antiques or vintage.  (most likely vintage, since some of the antiques were protected behind plastic displays)  Anyway, it was VERY COOL.  I must go back with a fistful of won and my camera.

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Today my favorite student (well, he’s not even my student really, as he’s grade 2 [junior] ) was by my desk and we were chatting.  He WAS my student for two classes, but his father made him drop out because he didn’t do good enough on a test.

He said he was sorry we didn’t get to talk more, and I asked how he was doing.  “Not good,”  he told me.  The pressure of final exams was killing him.  I told him this lousy system was totally broken.  He agreed.  I told him I hope he can change things, and he said – with great vigor – that he plans to.  For now, he has to get in a top position so he is able to change things.  I told him good, I hope he is successful.  I felt like hugging him.

Please God, watch over this boy and help him change things!

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Got into a discussion with the teachers about shamanism today.  Nine Stones got really excited and told me how to find ritual sites if I ever go hiking in the mountains.  We discussed syncretism, compared shamanism and santeria, talked about griots and animism and nature, and also talked about what we would major in if we could turn back the clock twenty years.  Nine Stones would be an artist.  Young-a would be a ballerina.  They all think I should be a photographer and asked me if I was really interested in Korean architecture.  I told them no.  I am interested in the way in which people make their own environment and use it.  I told them I would be an anthropologist.  Or an artist.  Maybe combine all three.  And throw in some puppets or dolls…(ack!)

We also talked about socialism in Central America and the importance of the Chinese language for Korea.  I actually think Korea’s making a mistake not giving Chinese equal focus, since it could be their major trading partner in the future…Most Koreans can write some simplified Chinese, but can’t speak it at all.

Amazing what two cigarette breaks can do.

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The kids all begged to have study hall for their tests today, as finals start tomorrow.  Last class I gave the boys a choice between study hall and a movie, and I was surprised they chose a movie.  I had brought the Princess Bride and Donnie Darko.  I’d been worried about Donnie Darko, since one of the first scenes involves a lot of swearing, but Young-a watched it and said it was okay.  So I got really embarassed later on when Donnie is on the psychiatrists couch talking about masterbating.  Totally forgot that was in there!  Then, I got even more nervous because I only have enough time to air half of the movie at a time, and the first half is all Donnie destroying things.  I hope Mr. Lee doesn’t report me to the Vice Principal!  So have some damage control to do after finals are over next week…what was I thinking?  Can I justify playing this movie to the students and possibly have an in-depth discussion about the larger implications of what’s important in life, and deciphering good from bad with one of my worst classes in a private missionary high school?  omg…what was I thinking….

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Young-a’s son and husband were each doing their own thing tonight and she took me out to eat.  At dinner, we talked about our relationships.  She’s been putting her head to the matchmaking business, but couldn’t come up with anything, and suggested I pay for a dating service, because I am a teacher that speaks English, I could have new dates every week and that there are many men and not many women who sign up for those, so the price is very cheap for the women.  Then she said a friend of hers got married that way and that it turned out badly, because the guy was not what he seemed.  (duh…)  So she would not recommend…

As much as I’d like to date a Korean, the odds of finding one who is both my age, peer, single, and can speak enough English that we can have some limited communication is about the same as finding a lavendar colored car in Seoul…

ha ha ha!  I crack myself up…

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Thank God for finals week and half days.  It’s like the pre-vacation to summer vacation.  A welcome sight indeed.

i’m so spent.

it’s been an exhausting four months here:

• having my two week settling in destroyed by recruiter’s mistake.
• draining labor dispute and plea bargain with recruiter.
• landing a teaching position with no dedicated classroom, broken equipment, and poor support.
• traveling to my birthplace and finding nothing twice.
• going on tv twice
• being in the magazine article
• being the subject of the documentary, all 30+ hours it took
• my new role as adoption gone wrong poster child
• the grind of commuting to my korean lessons
• the inability to concentrate on korean lessons
• the fight with holt
• the impossible task ahead of me, searching for kim sook ja

but the worst part is the isolation.

• i only hear english.  i therefore, can’t practice or learn korean.
• all my colleagues have their own lives.
• i haven’t the money or energy after all of the above to party with the young foreigners
• my struggles on-line get buried because i don’t cry loud enough
• foreigners always forget who i am because i blend in with all the other koreans, and i’ve given up trying
• i can’t have a functional conversation in korean with anyone korean who can’t speak english
• i’ve no prospects for company, and i can just totally forget about romance at my age.  even the korean women my age can’t find it, and i especially can’t find it because of the two previous reasons.
• i only have this stupid computer and this stupid blog and these four walls and a pile of heavy subject matter to work through that would make grown men tremble.

what the hell was i thinking, coming here?  in my city of 600,000 on the edge of the almost 12 million people of seoul, i am totally alone all the time.

why must i be the fighter for social justice?  why must i be the translator of this pain?  why have i never been free to just enjoy myself?  why have i always been so exquisitely lonely? why has it ALWAYS been so crushingly intense?

i’d just like the freedom to be weak for a minute.  i’m just a simple girl who wants a simple life and someone to love me, that’s all.

please, God, if you’re out there.  please allow me that.

This week on the subway I saw a young man with a guitar offer his seat so a couple could sit together.

I saw several people my age give their seats to older people.

I gave my seat to a woman with high heels.

I pressed my last kleenex into the hands of a woman in a public bathroom because there was no toilet paper.

It’s nice to see smiles for such unexpected things.

CARS

There are 1 million cars in Seoul.  300,000 of them are black. 300,000 of them are silver, and 300,000 of them are white.  Of the remaining 100,000. 75,000 are blue or white trucks, and the other 24,999 are specs of red or blue.  There is 1 green car.

OK.  I’m making up those numbers, but seriously try and find your car in a parking lot of 200 black, white, and silver cars of three Korean car manufacturers and BMW…

Koreans love everything sophisticated and status conscious, so you won’t find any exhuberant dashboard decorations, rear-view mirror baubles, or any art cars here.  You will find all kinds of air-flow seat cushions and massaging seat back liners and comfort grip steering wheel covers.  And everywhere will be the prerequisite air deodorizer and cleaning cloth. You can practically eat off the seats…

HOW TO BE A STUDENT

Ok.  Where is your handout?  Um, how can you do your handout when it is under your books?  Why are your books out?  I told you no books or homework from other classes.

Why is your handout on the floor?  I didn’t bother to copy it for you so you could throw it on the floor. Here is another handout.

Nice.  Nice origami. Here’s another handout.

Nice drawings.  Are they in English?  Please do the English assignment.

That assignment is not from my class.  Put it away.  Now.

I’ll take that (pillow, game, cell phone).

Didn’t you eat breakfast today?  Where is the missing portion of your assignment…Here is another one.

Turn to your partners.  You must turn to your partner if you are going to have a conversation. (Teacher must physically turn student 170 degrees.  Teacher must do this about 12 times in each class. Your partner is here.  You can’t do the assignment unless you talk to your partner.

Nice conversation.  Now say it in English.

I’m glad you can swear in English.  Now do the assignment.

Hi.  (students magically start talking to each other in English)

There is nothing on your paper!  Where is your pencil?  You must have a pencil so you can write.  On the paper.  The paper I gave you.  The one with the assignment on it.

But the worst of all follows:

FINISHED

Seems almost every class there is a handout, some pair of kids who have ignored their assignment try to tell me “finish-ed!”

Now, how stupid do I look?  Especially if it’s only ten minutes after I’ve handed it out and when I tell them that if they’re so skilled, then please demonstrate for me, and it takes them three minutes to struggle forming their sentences.  Can you say, “teacher is pissed?”  I can.

Last time this happened I told the girls liars and told them I found that really insulting and offensive, but I didn’t punish them.  But you know, the only reason is because I’m not by nature a punisher and I couldn’t think of anything.  But I mean to “finish-ed” this kind of b.s. somehow.  I think the next time this happens, I am going to make them do the Korean kneel on the desk holding their hands up in the air for the rest of the class.

ACID RAIN

Thus, the fanatic use of umbrellas, even if there are only two drops, everyone is convinced the leaves growing from their heads are going to be burnt by chemicals.

FAME

Got several too familiar text messages from someone.  “Who is this?”  I texted back, upon which I got a phone call.  Turns out it was Mi Young.  She saw me on t.v. and wanted to get together.  My cool response was noted.  “Are you tired?”  If I am ever in Seoul, I am supposed to call her.  Right.

MORE FAME

As I was walking through the lobby so SBS could film me leaving my building, the building manager stepped in front of me, blocking my way out, and said, “HOW do you do?!”  Normally he’s a nice guy and not creepy, but the presence of the cameras turned him into a major creep.

I was eating lunch by myself because I was late, and some teacher I’d never met brought me the warm rice water drink after dinner.  “I watching you.” he said.  I thanked him for the drink.  He said, “fighting!” and I made a fist, held it up, and said weakly, “fighting!”

At the bank, Young-a helped me fill out a form I’d not filled out before.  She and the teller have a conversation about the documentary, and Young -a laughs and tells me she wants my autograph.  I laugh too and we finish our transaction.  Later, Young-a asks me “How come you didn’t give her your autograph?”  I thought she was joking…”Next time you come, give her your autograph.”  sigh.  I hope Koreans don’t see me and say, “hey – there’s that abused adoptee from t.v.”

All I want is to know my fucking name, birthdate, and reason for abadonment.  That’s all.