Michael = Dog?

Michael, Dog?

Anna is one of my favorite students. She is in second grade and just adorable and beats up most of the boys in our class as a bonus. She has black hair like everyone else here, brown eyes like everyone else here but hers are deeper, darker and rounder than most. Her full cheeks with that soft, silky Korean skin is just unavoidable for a quick, gentle caress every time I see her when she is done walking with me with her little hand inside mine. Anna is very affectionate and loves to be loved. Fortunately, I love loving her, so we get along well.

Today while waiting for her classmates to get to class, she was holding my hand, well actually my wrist and looking up at me with those wondrous eyes and dimpled smile. I was lost in her world when I noticed there was someone petting me, yes petting my forearm and I came back to earth and my classroom. It was Anna stroking and petting the hair on my arms. She again looked back up at me this time with wonder in her eyes and said in her best English, “Michael, dog?” and she pointed to my arm hair and then to my chest. Translation for the non-EFL teachers of the world: “Michael you have hair on your arms, are you a dog?”

I laughed half-heartedly and smiled at my precious little angel who somehow made calling me a dog sound sweet. Second graders can get away with stuff like that but adults get the Jersey/NYC stare when they venture into making comments of that sort.

I still get startled at the fact that most Koreans, both children and adults have never touched a human being with body hair or facial hair. It startles me. I grew up in an Italian family and amongst Italians, chest hair and facial hair are signs of virility. In fact, you are not really considered a man until you have chest hair. I faired well in that department. The other symbol of Italian manhood is not as easy to see, but we will leave that one alone for now. The idea that men can be men and not have hair on their chests, face and arms is beyond my mental capacity to understand. When I am lazy and do not shave, the next day almost every young one will come and rub my stubble. It occurs to me that they may have never felt a man’s facial hair as stiff as mine, another fact that baffles me and my social programming.

While on a roll about my social programming, bodies and cultural differences, I might as well dive into the women. Wait, that did not come out right. What I meant to say was I would like to explore the different bodies of Korean and Western women. OK, that didn’t work either but I think you get the point! I was here almost a month before I realized that the majority of females in Korea are not teenagers! Korean women have very slight frames and bones. It is of the highest importance for a woman in Korea to be skinny. I mean skinny, not thin or athletic. Typically, their bodies remind me of the standard American eighth grade girl in girth, bone structure, weight and size of butt and breasts. Even when pregnant, Korean women are less voluptuous then the American college girl on a diet. And I am speaking of American White girls, not Blacks or Latinas. Their butts are smaller then most pre-pubescent American girls, often with even skinnier legs. If thin is in, then Korean women are it but if curves are what shake your nerves, head east in a hurry! Again, I grew up around Italian women and the physical features that define her as a woman are her curves coming and going.

It has taken me a while to adjust my personal definitions of what is considered attractive, sexy and mature here in Korea. I am not sure I would ever adapt completely from the social and familial programming that is seated deep in this curious mind. But I am curious about what the skin feels like, I cannot lie. Koreans have the smoothest, silkiest skin on this planet. It almost doesn’t feel real. I have a friend in the states who is half Korean and I call her Silky Pants (she calls me Jerk Face for the record) and she warned about how the whole country has skin like hers. I did not believe her, I am a believer now. At times, I reflect on wanting to have a one-night stand or something similar just to touch, caress and lay next to such soft smooth skin. My Inner-Slut has a field day with these kinds of thoughts. But generally, return to my prudish ways and go about my business while trying not to gawk at an occasional woman that I cannot tell if she is twelve or twenty-eight- their bodies, faces, skin and clothes are almost identical. I blush when I realize they are a child and lower my head in shame.

The lessons and education continue for me here in Korea. I am starting to pay attention again to my surroundings knowing that my time here is limited. So the young ones will have to find another man to pet and call dog, and I will have to hold the hands of somebody else’s children with skin more course and a lot less bowing. In the mean time, Michael Dog will try to not smirk at the idea of being a man without chest and facial hairs and being a woman without curves. The programming is deep, like the center of an old Oak Tree. And like an Oak Tree, they don’t die easily.

Go Ask The Mountain

Go Ask the Mountain

It’s just a simple three-kilometer hike, nothing of great proportions. I do it almost daily, well, really nightly. It is a mountain, like but not like every other mountain in Korea, with one bug except. It is the mountain I will miss when I leave here. Tang San is my best friend in Korea.

Tonight while climbing up the side by the Golden Buddha of the Temple I sit at on occasion, it occurred to me I would leave this mountain, soon. I was sad for a moment and then felt my heart twitch with joy. I have lived and learned on this mountain. I meditate every morning in my room but Tang San is where I ask the questions that I need and often do not want the answers. Tonight the question was simple while slowly stepping on the bed of fallen pine needles with the refl3tio of the almost full moon shining a light for me over the branches and stumps. “What do I need to learn to tonight about myself, us or how I can be of better service or become of better man?” A simple question.

What struck me as I came to one of the side paths which I took a left around the family trying to coax their little dog with a red light blinking around its neck is this; why do I always ask to be a better man? Why not a better person?

I passed the dog and headed toward the bench I spent Saturday afternoon in the slight drizzle on Buddha’s Birthday sitting and reflecting. It one of my favorite spots on the mountain. Yesterday late afternoon I had an energizing experience of standing Qi Gong in front of the bench while sensing the curious Koreans passing by looking at the strange Foreigner. Strange indeed but not because I was standing and meditating. Tonight I kept walking. I wanted to stay focused and present. There is something here I need to learn.

Then another question slid into my consciousness. Why do I get irritated when women speak of themselves as something separate and, therefore, special and seem totally fine with making that distinction myself? Hummm good question. Maybe someday I will have the answer. I was not able to let go of a nagging feeling in my belly. It was initially stirred yesterday afternoon during a Skype session with a friend discussing our departures from Korea. What have I done here? How is it that a mountain in a city of a half million people is my best friend? Maybe my only close friend? How did I spend this much time here and really only make a few semi-strong relationships and they were predominantly with Koreans? Why have I avoided non-Koreans with such commitment?

Well, I have done some things! I have done the rough drafts of a novel, a book of essays and memoirs and the foundation of a cultural and social book about Korea and Koreans. That is something. And I learned about non-verbal communication, especially energetic exchanges between people. I leaned that sex is not a given. Good friendships can be formed with folks I have never seen or heard online. That writing is important to me, no, essential at this point in my life. That I could fly 8,000 miles but still miss my dead family members. I still don’t have a clue about much, not a surprise. That going months between ANY physical contact with humans above grade six is challenging, very challenging. Koreans do not share physical affection with other that are not family except for women who walk with their hands or arms wrapped around each other as a matter of course. Hugging matters, even to a semi-cold distant man like myself.

Tang San is my friend. It is hard for me to visualize my experience here in Korea without my time on this mountain. Like all good friends, Tang San lets me come to my own conclusions but rarely leaves me without something new to chew on. Tonight, while reaching the base of the mountain and walking down the staircase in front of the Church with large red cross in the sky and the larger painting of Jesus n front of the building I realized where I am headed next has many mountains. They are larger and dry with little else but rock. Deserts are like that. This particular desert is without sand, just rocks, mountains and space. I will try to make friends with those mountains like I have been fortunate enough to with this one. And hopefully that will not give me the answers without forcing me to search and claw a bit first too. Tonight I was thinking of Gurdjieff while walking- a Teacher, a model and haunting face with intense expressions of locked eyes, forceful cheeks and a forehead that tells stories of many miles. I will walk some of those same miles soon enough.