Crossing the Lines

Crossing The Lines

She is standing at the curb shifting her weight back and forth. She has her light blue Kumon bag full of books from the hakwon she just left at 11:00p.m. tightly clutched to her chest covering her white uniform top that is neatly tucked into her grayish black uniform skirt. Her cell phone is somehow squeezed between her fingers ready for whatever calls or text may come. Her eyes are darting back and forth looking up and down the empty street across from the Nunghyup Bank. Her agitation increases with every passing second. The urges are beginning to overpower her, but they are wrong. She has been taught better. The training from her mother and grandmother for the past sixteen years will not be thrown away in a fleeting moment like this. She can’t do it, not now, not tonight. Her mother has already tucked her little brothers and sister into bed and is preparing rice for tomorrow morning. Her father, who just showered after another twelve-hour day on the road selling fruits across town, is trying to relax for a few minutes before crashing for the night without dinner again. They have worked hard to get her in to this hakwon, the best science, math and English academy in Cheonan. She cannot disrespect them like this; it would crush them if they ever found out.

Besides, how will she be able to go to Church on Sunday after such disregard for Korean tradition and values? NO! She will not do it! She lowers her head in shame at the very thought of even attempting to be so reckless.

And then as if she just figured out her clothes were on fire she raisers her head and starts running across the street. I can see her sheer delight at this moment of freedom at being like a real woman who is strong and able. Her eyes are wide-open and bright, cheeks flushed with vibrancy and arms lifted with each stride. She is halfway there ands realizes what she has done, almost comes to a complete stop, begins to lower her head again with a natural twitch but realizes she has come too far, she cannot go back now. She panics and hurriedly looks left and right, then forward and again darts across the street, exhilaration pours out of her like she is an American girl who is out drunk with her friends on a Friday night accepting free drinks from all the boys trying to attract her fancy knowing they will just flirt, tease and go home laughing together at their conquests. She reaches the other side of the road and freezes cold in her tracks. The momentary flash of freedom evaporates and becomes drenched in guilt, shame and humiliation. She wants to hold back the tears but is not able. She drops her cell phone for the first time and bends over to pick it up forgetting she is wearing a skirt and is supposed to lower herself properly like nice girls do. Her book bag slides out from her grasp and the books fall all over the black sidewalk, she is aware she will be noticed now for certain. Someone will tell her mother. There is no way she can now just walk in the door like nothing has happened. They will know even before she runs the final three blocks to their seventieth floor apartment in Highvill 2. She trembles as she gathers her things off the ground and stuffs her cell phone into the bag and takes off running even faster than she crossed the street towards home with tears streaming down her now pale cheeks. How could she be so careless and ungrateful to her family and bring such shame upon them? They did not raise her to be the kind of girl who crosses the street while the light is still red! Nice girls follow the rules even if there are no cars on the road at 11:20 at night. They obey and follow traditions no matter what. Crossing the street while the light was still red; who did she think she was and did she forget where she is and what country she lives in?

Me, I am shocked. I have lived here for ten months and waited patiently to see if during my thirteen months stay I would see one, just one young woman or girl cross on the red. Their moms do it, all teen boys do it and certainly all men do it without even thinking, but young women are trained well here. By well, I mean effectively.

It has been three weeks since I saw that girl cross the street on a red light. Every night when I am walking after dinner I think about her and how hard being obedient must be to those who need to dance and stretch their own limits. What pressure these young girls carry with them day and night to conform to traditions that are so old that there are nobody left to explain why they exist or where they came from. The answer is simple- “It is what we do”.

This is how to do it

This is how to do it

“No, no, no. Michael you don’t use the lettuce to eat grilled beef, that is for pork only.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Grilled pork we eat directly from the grill.”

“Why?’

“I don’t know. It is Korean culture.”

It is those last four words that have been playing through my mind tonight and many nights lately, It is Korean culture.

What does that mean? Really, what does that mean? Stating it is the way it is because that is what we do is not an answer to a question.

Arresting Officer: “Why did you rape those poor defenseless women?”
Perpetrator: “This is what men do”.


Divorce Lawyer: “So why did you cheat on your husband of 27 years?”
Woman: “This is what women do when their men don’t pay attention to them.”

NYC Tourist: "Why will nobody help me find the Brooklyn Bridge?”
NYPD: "This is New York. If you don’t like it, get the hell out of here and go back to where you came from.”
NYC Tourist: "Why does nobody care about helping a lost visitor out?”
NYPD: "We’re Americans that’s why.”

Washington Post Reporter: "Mr. President, Why are we attacking the people of Iraq?"
George W. Bush: “Because we are the United States of America."
Washington Post Reporter: “What does that mean Sir?”
George W. Bush: "It means we are Americans. This is what we do.”

I used to live in an intentional community for a few years around the turn of the millennium. It was a vegan, environmentalist community with a small group of radical activists; I was not one of them but lived there and participated in our activities. I was labeled the community Passivist. Not pacifist, Passivist. They said I was the opposite of an activist, therefore, Passivist. But that is another story. One of the community members liked to go into town from our space on the outskirts of Hoosier National Forest on Tuesday nights to go to Tortilla Flats for Taco Tuesday- tacos for $1.00. I could usually be talked into going. I never quite got the point of a taco without cheese, but the meatless part didn’t faze me. One night while seated outside on their terrace with white iron table and chairs, we were talking about why we feel the need to identify as vegan, as opposed to just not eating meat or dairy and when we feel moved to do so, choose to eat it in special situations. She said something to me that felt very profound, “Michael, for me it is easier to just to make the decision to not eat meat or dairy products than to have make the decision before every meal. It is just easier this way. To be vegan, this is how to do it. It solves all the questions.” I think this is how most of us go through life- the this is how to do it system of life.

In Korea, this seems to be more so than most places. Koreans in general seem to embrace the notion of one way to do everything. The say hello all in the same exact tone and cadence. They say goodbye in the exact same tone and cadence. Mood, affect, relationship or environment do not matter, it is always said the same way by pretty much everybody- one tone for men and one tone for women. Done. This is how to do it. When being taught how to say hello my first day and by every single person thereafter, they all demonstrated the exact same tone and cadence for saying hello and made me practice it that exact way. Until less than ten years ago, every boy and girl in Korea had the same haircuts-one for boys and one for girls and each had their own uniforms. This is how to do it if you are a child in Korea. Done.

A friend was aware a few weeks back that it was the anniversary of my mothers passing. She asked, “Are you going to Church tonight?”

“NO. I will light a candle at home and say a prayer.”

“Can I join you?”

“Yes, I would like that. Thank you.”

Around 9:00 that night, she rings my doorbell and I open the door and she is standing there with sad expression holding a large grocery bag. “I brought you some fruit.” She hands me the bag and I look inside and there are oranges, kiwi and strawberries. She knows how much I like fruit.

“WOW. Thank you! Do you want to come in?”

“No. I can’t. It is Korean culture. Sorry.”

“Oh, OK. Well thanks for the fruit and the thought. See you tomorrow.”

“OK, hope you feel Better. See you tomorrow.” And she leaves. At another conversation she explains how she thought she would be able to join me with her sister but her sister could not come. And in Korean culture a woman cannot be in a room alone with a man that is not her husband. Done. This is how to do it. I knew this fact of Korean culture, although more rare today than twenty-five years ago, but did not think that applied to prayer and memorials but hey, it is Korean culture. Done.


Non-Korean: “Why do you not hug or have physical contact with your friends?”

Korean Native: “It is Korean culture. Why do you and your friends hug each other all the time?”

Non-Korean: “It is what we do as humans.”

Korean Native: “Really? Humm. We are human and we do not do this.”


Why do we grip so tightly to this need to have one way to do things? We are we so afraid if living without prescribed rules, mores and laws? Are we that fearful of what we are capable of? If so, do these rules really keep those dark desires and longings from being expressed? Or are they the cause of the outward expression themselves? Do Catholic girls who go away to college get pregnant so quickly because they are sheltered from the knowledge and experiences to deal with their feelings and actions or is it hidden desires that finally are expressed?

Boy: “Why do you spend an hour getting ready every day?”

Girl: "This is what girls do. Why do you play sports every day?"

Boy: "Because this is what boys do."


White Person: "Why do you talk like that?"

Black Person: "Why do you talk like that?"


Person from Culture A: “Why do you eat the skin on the apple?”

Person from Culture B: “It is where all the vitamins are and it tastes good.”

Person from Culture A: “No, the skin is bad for you, you shouldn’t eat it.


French Chef: “Why do you serve the vegetable salad after the meal?”

Italian Chef: “To help you digest your meal. Why do you serve it before the meal?”

French Chef: “To help you digest the meal.”


If there is one thing that will push me towards definitely making the decision to not renew my contract and stay another year, it is the exact phrase, It is Korean culture. It is not that the social rules or mores themselves are that troublesome for me, it is the blind obedience to living a certain way for no reason other than it is what we do. I ache every time I hear this phrase. It is what is wrong with every ‘developed’ society, this need to set life up to be a certain way with no or little room for personal or spiritual growth, guidance or direction. Love and Compassion lose out to this is how we do it. God takes a back seat to social programming and acceptance. Have we completely lost touch with our primal sense of being?

Michael: “Why do you keep giving different versions of the same example?”

Michael: “Because this is what I do. It is how I do it.” Done. This must be how to do it.

Not with the Door Open Young Man

I was having a conversation with a female Korean friend over lunch the yesterday. We shared some brown rice that I over steamed, Kuk (light soup) and several Panchan (side dishes). I thought this an excellent opportunity to dig into some social questions I had in my ‘whenever I get a chance’ section of the brain waiting for a willing informant on Korean culture. I was ready to seize the moment like the shark I can be at times.

But first we had some business to discuss. I was meeting a mutual person few know for language exchange later on that evening and needed to work out the details since she does translating via phone for us sometimes. Like most folks learning a foreign language, my exchange partner does better in person with understanding me where she can utilize facial expressions, energy, hand signals and lip reading to aid her comprehension of words and phrases. My friend asked, “Where do you want to meet her tonight, that same coffee shop you went to before you went to Malaysia again? You both liked it there.” We did, but caffeine at night is not something that is supportive of positive circadian rhythms for folks like me. So, with ignorance and naiveté as my guides I asked what I thought to be a reasonable question, “What about my apartment? I do not have a good table for us to work on but the floor would be fine.”

“No michael, she cannot do that.”

Wanting more information and an explanation, Curious George became my next guide into ignorance, “Why not?” Simple, direct and to the point.

“Michael, in Korean culture, a woman cannot be in a man’s apartment or room unless they are married or there is another woman present.”

Stunned and a little embarrassed, I proceeded with clarification to make certain I didn’t get things lost in translation, “You mean that you or her can never come to my place for dinner, to watch TV or drink tea without the other one present?” I was hopeful there was a communication problem.

“No. The only way is if we leave the door completely open so that your neighbors can see in.”

“You are kidding right?” Still hopeful but starting to fade.

“No, I am not kidding Michael! Korean women cannot go to a man’s room or he cannot come into ours until we are married.”

“So your boyfriend has never been to your room?” Reaching now, knowing they have been best friends for seven years and a couple for the last year.

“No.” I gulp and try not to let the Kimchi in my mouth choke me. I succeeded at that endeavor but am struggling to swallow with the deeper one.

“Really?” I had nothing else.

“Michael. We can’t be seen with a man on the floor of his room or on the couch without another woman present unless we leave the door open. People will think something is happening. And it is also for the girl’s safety too. Bad things happen to girls when they are left alone with guys with the door shut.” She hesitates reflectively, “Do women do this in America?”

I am able to answer without laughing at her, Koreans or American values and boundaries or the lack of them. I silently reflect on how many different women’s couches and assorted other sleeping arrangements I have been offered and accepted through The CouchSurfing Project in the last year. “Yes, all the time. It is very common now for men and women to even share apartments together as friends. We hang out together at each other’s places all the time and it is not a big thing for a guy or girl to just crash at the friend’s home if they are too tired to go home or something. It is very normal in America. I know that some married women will not be alone with a man that is not their husband down South but I think that is even becoming rare these days.”

“Really?” Her face looked like she just saw a ghost, maybe two.

“Is this about rumors and gossip?”

“Yes, a lot if it is about rumors and gossip. If people say the wrong things about a girl she may not be able to get married.” My turn to wear the ‘I just saw a ghost or two look’.

We finished lunch with more digestible topics like children, English, Hangeul and Kimchi. But is stuck with me all day! At night, after our language exchange session at the coffee shop, I asked my language partner who does not command the English language as well at this point about this conversation. It took nearly five tries to communicate the content enough for her to understand. Her reply put this whole thing to bed for me, errr, maybe not a good choice of words. “No Michael. A woman cannot do that Michael. I do not know why but it is never allowed.”

“So you or her will never be able to come to my place across the street from both of you and eat dinner or watch a movie with me and talk? Ever?”

“No Michael. I am sorry but we cannot do that. It is Korean culture. I do not know why but it is this way Michael.”

I shared with her the part of my earlier discussion about safety and gossip. “Yes, that must be why Michael.”

“This makes me sad.” I stopped there.

I am still sad a day later. Partially since I cannot hang out with my friends individually and I for the most part, do not like crowds larger than two people. That is the self-centered sadness. The greater ache is that of social norms that prevent love, friendship and relationships based on gossip and perceived or potential safety hazards. Have we not gotten past some of this yet? How can a college professor still not be able to keep male friendships and maintain her social and professional status? AAAHHHHHHH!

I am sad, very sad. I was happier standing in my cultural bliss of ignorance less than thirty-six hours ago.

Who are these women and what are they doing on my TV screen?

Who are these women and why are they on my TV screen?

I have been putting off writing this piece for almost six months now. Wow has it really been six months since I landed here in Korea? Almost.

I have struggled with observing the way Korean TV portrays women in commercials. They remind me of the stuff that was on TV in the states in the fifties and early sixties when women were dressed in expensive, perfect clothes to vacuum their living rooms with the hair perfectly set in a bun, make-up that most models would drool over and smiling from ear to ear like they are being romanced by Antonio Banderas AND Sean Connery on a solo vacation in Madrid. They all have that glazed over I love being a dutiful housewife look. It just grosses me out sometimes. I kept thinking at some point I would find some kind of acceptance or something but I have become even more intolerant as time has gone by. I didn’t want to write this from such a judgmental, insensitive perspective but tonight it ached to see a woman smiling in her perfectly clean soft white cotton dress, skin without a blemish, hair that does not move, smiling orgasmically at the exterminator killing the cockroaches behind the fridgerator while her two angelic children stand on each side of her with arms around each either. Eeeeeeww! Somehow I found the cockroaches more acceptable than the woman herself. Who would want to marry such a woman?

This is the standard portrayal of the Korean woman on TV commercials; The Stepford Wives meet Kim Eun Cheong (not a real name). They have other life or aspirations but a clean house, cute children, happy husband and a perfect smile that has no color or expression of Self. They live a martyr’s life in their kitchen and laundry room dressed in their white cotton and silk dresses that appear to have never been breathed on precious to that moment. Men are rarely present in TV commercials, it is strange their lack of visibility. Was June Cleaver even this perfect? At least Carol Brady had a housekeeper when looking like she had never touched a dish, mud stain or a child’s vomit. We could count on Olivia Walton to be dirty, you know live up there on Blue Ridge Mountain with all that survival stuff going on before they went to bed at night with their absurd goodnight ritual:
“Ben: Goodnight Mama.
Olivia: Goodnight Ben. Goodnight Jim Bob.
Jim Bob: 'Night Mama, 'night Erin.
Erin: 'Night Jim Bob, 'night Grandpa.
Grandpa: 'Night Erin, goodnight Jason.
Jason: Goodnight Grandpa, goodnight Daddy.
John: Goodnight Jason, goodnight Elizabeth.
Elizabeth: Goodnight Daddy. Goodnight John-Boy.
John-Boy is standing outside listening to the voices. He answers quietly: Goodnight everybody, - I love you.”

The thing that irks me the most about these commercials is the fact that for the most part, Korean moms are simple, grounded and wonderfully imperfect people. It is what I like most about them; they are regular folks who do their best dressed in clothes that make sense for the tasks of their day. They bare no resemblance to these women who have a post-sex contentment over their Hauzen washer’s tiny bubbles filling their home to the ceiling with bubbles. It would make more sense in the states where moms often wear make-up, fix their hair and change their clothes five times a day to look good for the other mother's who live down the street and pick up their children after soccer practice but this is Korea and moms really are not like that here.

Why does this still exist in 2009?
Who buys into this crap?

I only have thing left to say:
“Good night Jim Bob.”

Dryer

When I first walked through Ssang-yongdong in mid-July, I noticed clothing racks in windows from the apartments of the higher levels of these large white cement buildings. I recall thinking; “I think that is so cool that folks don’t use their dryers during the summer to save electricity. What a great conservationist lifestyle.” That was until I made my way into a few different apartments and observed that they do not have dryers. Hummm. Interesting how some of the buildings actually support the environment like this. My small building is one of them. We have a washer on each floor that is used by about six or seven tenants each.

By late summer, I was getting the feeling that it was not just a building specific thing to not have dryers. So, being Curious George, the next time I went to E-Mart and Lotte Mart; I looked briefly at the major appliances to see if they actually sold dryers. They do. BUT, there are about ten washers to one dryer available for purchase.

See, in Korea, apartments are made with this little area of whatever width the apartment is as an extension of the living room or studio that is closest to the window for placing your clothes on a dryer rack to dry. They do not use clothes dryers. Really. They do not use clothes dryers. They wash their clothes in these really cool efficient washers that look more like a huge bucket than a washer. It has small agitators, and no, I am not talking about George Bush or his friends, I mean the little fins that protrude from the base of the washer to help shake things up. Everything about the technology and design is simple, very simple. In fact, there is a button that you can push and the washer will shake for about ten seconds to determine which water level is necessary and what cycle it will run at. It then displays how long it will take on a red LED and begins it’s filling of the machine with water. One does not have to figure anything out, the machine does it all for you. If you are one of those controlling types that need to fuss and be in charge of everything in your life, there are buttons for you to set the cycles and water level yourself. Otherwise, push the red button and come back in 50 minutes to empty your clothes out of the washer to bring your damp clothes to your little ‘balcony’ to dry. Done. Minimal natural resources are used and simple, real simple. Korean technology is aimed at simplicity. American technology is aimed at lack of simplicity, the more you spend, the more buttons and gadgets there are to operate and repair when they break. Simplicity.

My space does not have one of those little ‘balconies’. I have had to get a little more creative. I hang a clothesline across my space when I need to dry clothes and hang shorts and pants on little hooks that are stuck to the ceiling for other stuff. Big things I hang outside my large south-facing window to dry quicker. I love it! It so much fun each time figuring how to find a way to get everything dry without interfering with my life. I have not bought a drying rack yet; I don't like them or the way the look. So, being an American, I have found a way to take technology that simplifies and complicate it. Thank God shoelaces do not have any electrical appliances for me to complicate. More importantly, I have found a way to leave the world of “I need my clothes dry now!” to “My clothes will be dry when they dry” and get added moisture in my room during winter nights as a bonus. I started not using dryers for the most part about a decade ago. I am glad that the option has been taken from me completely.

What would your life look like without a dryer?

My First Korean Language Lesson

I was a little nervous meeting with my co-teacher’s sister for the first time. Actually, I was nervous about her meeting with me for the first time. My co-teacher, Miji, in English, Ashley, has told me that her sister is “scary” (scared) about meeting me since she is shy about speaking in English to foreigners. I was conscious of bringing out my gentle self, not the bulldog that typically steps, rolls and tramples over everything in its path.

“Hello Michael, This is my sister Christina.” Looks at sister with excitement, “This is Michael.”

“Hi Christina, what a nice name!”

“Oh, uh, Hi.”

That was out beginning. I did not expect much more based on the foreshadowing by said sister. We hemmed and hawed about where to sit and talk and ended up at the KTX high-speed train station about two kilometers away for reasons I am not sure I could find a way to make sense of in written word. We sat down in the Dunkin Donuts in the far left corner away from all other humans. I let her choose the table and seating arrangements to support her lack of comfort. I sipped on my mocha latte and she sipped on whatever hot coffee beverage she ordered plus the green tea rice cake that was brought to the table about three minutes of anxious non-conversation later. I think to myself, OK if this is going to happen, I need to take the leap and just start asking her questions. I wanted to offer her the opportunity to demonstrate to herself she can do the language sharing that her sister set up for us. Her sister was sitting at a nearby table with one of our professional co-workers Sam to provide adult supervision to the scared little children, Michael and Christina.. Where to start, Oh! I can use help with pronunciation of HanGul. This will give her some footing and me a chance to correct my bad use of the language before I create habits.

We went through the Korean alphabet and she was very patient and firm in her attempt to provide me with quality Korean accents, a good thing since Koreans are not used to foreigners speaking their language and have not developed skills in deciphering incorrect pronunciation the way native English speakers have needed to. Often when I pronounce a word with my American accent in HanGul, I receive a blank stare with no response to provide me with a drip of confidence to move forward and try again. They just do not have enough opportunities to discern the difference in speech to make up for my mistakes. It is my problem not theirs and grateful my language exchange partner is motivated to support me learning the correct way and not just a close facsimile. Often language is drastically different than horseshoes and hand grenades, close has no value. The difference between rust and lust are drastic but sound the same to an Asian native.

Example: ‘I am feeling lust’, to be mistaken as ‘I am feeling rust’ on a first date would make things go much differently. Or, ‘Look at the horse’ is much different than ‘Look at the whores’.

So we went through the alphabet and then tackled some basic words like hello and goodbye, which I already knew but did not want to break her rhythm. Then we moved to phrases like “I am leaving” and “I am sorry”, and the ever important for a teacher in an elementary school, “Please leave”.

Without her noticing, we slid into some English basics even though she has a large English vocabulary but cannot speak much. She is a college professor and reads English textbooks but has no one to speak it with but her sister. Her being the older sister, she is not going to learn English from Miji. She warmed and we had fun. I showed her how to let an English native know you don’t understand what they are saying in both casual and formal conversation. Things I never thought about previously.

Example: In conversation with an Englishman on a train in Seoul she could say, “I do not understand what you said.” But, speaking to the CEO of Marriot Hotels, she is a hotel management professor, she may say something like, “I am sorry, can you please repeat that slowly. I didn’t understand everything you said.”

We shared our cell phone numbers and made some arrangements for next Thursday night. She even leaned forward a few times and without realizing, she was getting comfortable with me and our exchange. She is a kind, intelligent and patient woman- the perfect person to teach me HanGul and to share what I can to help her in her dealings with native English speakers confidently. I am excited to meet with her again, learn a little more HanGul and make a new friend. As has been my experience previously, most exchanges and transactions happen on many levels, I see the possibilities of continuing that trend with my new language partner Christina.

ka yo. (I am leaving now.)

Please Leave your Shoes at the Door

I enter the door of Cheonanyoungam elementary school for the first time after sleeping just a few hours from my journey that lasted more than twenty-four hours. I am exhausted and anxious about the new opportunity that awaits me on the other side of the double glass doors to this large brick building an entire block long. Just three steps in and my new manager stops me and points to my shoes. Then directs me to the cubbyholes where the slippers for guests are kept and instructs me to take mine off and replace them with the slippers that have Korean writing along the top. I internally smirk at the idea that I brought with me a good pair of shoes just to be professional at work and I will never where them in the building during my one year commitment here as an esl teacher.

For many years, I have practiced the Buddhist tradition of taking off footwear before entering the home. The physical and mental decision to leave the outside world outside has been valuable and supportive to me in my spiritual development. During my two weeks of notice before coming to Korea, I had forgotten that detail and was not aware that in Korea, public schools are treated like homes and no shoes are worn in the building.

As cumbersome as it can be when leaving for lunch or something to switch back and forth between shoes and slippers, I enjoy working in slippers. I like teaching in slippers and the feeling of warmth and family that it creates. Besides, they are much more comfortable and relaxing to stand all day teaching. I bought my own pair to keep at the school and the vice-principal who is very worried how a man who is single will survive alone in Korea has given me my very own cubbyhole near the middle entrance to keep my slippers in.

When parents or even construction-type workers enter the building, they either bring their own slippers or wear the guest pairs available to anyone. It brings me great joy to see men gutting and putting together the two new computer rooms and the new English teachers office in a form of slippers. Quite different than the heavy work boots that men wear when working in the USA. It reminds me of a piece on 60 Minutes I watched five years ago after a football game about mowing the lawn and gender. The reporter explained how men wear heavy work boots when mowing the lawn with clothes built for protection from something dangerous. He then showed brief videos of women mowing the lawn in pretty sundresses and sandals with summer hats and fashionable sunglasses. His point was that men see any kind if outdoor work as an expression of their manhood and women try to find a way to enjoy experiences when possible (and get a “tan”) and see no reason to put on their “battle fatigues” to mow the lawn. This is the image I maintain in my head about the contrast of intention and mentality of men that are Korean and American. One is proving the size of his penis while the other is proving that being a man includes caring about children and the sense of home.

This is one of the ways that Koreans make schools feel like an extension of home to children. There is no feeling if sterility, austerity or power from the teachers to the students. The kids offer too much respect for that to happen, even if a teacher thought that it might be helpful. Kids do not give teachers the finger, curse at them, sit in the back of the class with hands folded sulking or storm out of the room dramatically. A child would not do this because it is not what you do to teachers AND it would be embarrassing to act that way in front of your friends. It would demonstrate traits that children do not appreciate, so to act that way would cause them to be friendless and lose respect from their teacher and parents. Here, losing respect is a big deal and something that children work very hard to avoid. They want to be thought of as smart, hard working and caring, anything less is a reason for a child to cry out of internal shame.

I enjoy living and working in a land where slippers are worn in homes and schools, and a sense of home is more important than a sense of self-importance among principals, teachers, parents and kids.

Korean Expectations

Be Nice, always
Be Happy, always
Be Respectful, always
Be Healthy, always
Be Yourself, always
Be Genuine, always
Be Smart, always
Be your Best, always
Be a Family Representative, always
Be part of Life, always
Be Open, always
Be Honest, always
Be Joy, always
Be Gratitude, always
Be Educated, always
Be Humble, always
Be, always

August Nights In Cheonan

It is a cool night for August in Cheonan. The humidity is still present, I can tell by the moisture in my apartment from the shirts, socks, underwear and slacks hanging to dry. We have not had many nights like this in the five weeks I have been here. I take advantage of the break in the heat and venture out for an evening walk with a stomach full of tofu, potatoes and carrots sautéed over green cabbage and a large fresh vegetables salad with sunflower seeds on top. The oil and vinegar dressing I made reminds of home, my mother.

I walk out the front door of the Darae House where I live across the stone and cement walkway to the street cattycornered from the Blue Café still trying to seduce me in its doors unsuccessfully. I pass the Cozy Café again peering in and wondering if it is really a café, or is it another code word for bar. Everything else on Ssang-yongdong gil is restaurants with Korean names I cannot yet understand but can read without any comprehension. I turn right up the slight incline to the main street in the Ssang-yongdong neighborhood before I get to the Police station with policemen always outside smoking cigarettes, since they seem to have little else to do. I have been here five weeks and have not seen or heard anything producing evidence of crime in this mid-sized city of a half million people. Next to the station is a lighted park with some cement seats and a basketball court with teenage boys shooting hoops. A boy of about 6’2” is playing against two boys and beating them badly, he has skills and knows it. I cross the street and see many families and young people playing soccer, basketball, badminton and just hanging around the dirt and gravel lot of Cheonanyoungam elementary school where I am a teacher. I smile knowing that fun, family and community continue there long after I go home. I like this school and the family-based feeling it manifests. I continue around the corner to an area of the neighborhood I have not ventured to yet except by #14 bus to downtown Cheonan.

They have nice wide sidewalks made for comfortable walking for families and relaxation. Koreans love to enjoy a casual walk after dinner till late at night. They are out most nights as individuals with iPods, couples holding hands, teens walking home from English academies and families being families. I notice the soft, gentle pace of all the walkers, none have on designated walking outfits, none are with equipment to lose weight, and none are running in tight Lycra displaying their bodies. They are walking for walking sake. They look happy with smiles on their faces evidencing the simplicity of an activity of peace, community and health. It is refreshing walking on these rose, yellow and green tiled cement walkways without observing people jogging in complete misery desperate to lose another three pounds. No misery walking in Korea. Walking is for health, not appearance.

After a mile or so, I mean about fifteen hundred kilometers, (I couldn’t resist); I walk up an incline to little park with benchs and a center resting area. I sit and stare at the clouds hovering above; they are white, soft and mostly still. The gentle breeze is not enough to get them moving, so I can see and take time to watch. A young girl of about eight or nine runs up the hill excited, quickly looks at me and sits across from me to look at the foreigner. She is careful to not be rude- her glances are brief and non-direct. Since she is young, I know she can speak some English, I assume that is why she is here in the first place. Young kids love to practice their limited English on foreigners.

I say, “Hello”.
She smiles, containing her excitement and replies, “Hi!” She looks away to not seem eager or disrespectful to an adult, especially a foreigner. A moment later, she gets up, says, “Good-bye”, glances at me briefly and runs down the hill and across the thin side street. She is back a few minutes later while I am still staring and appreciating the clouds and the trees. I say, “Hello” again to make her feel welcome. Kids here cannot wait to say “Hello” to anyone who will let them. I am a willing participant at any opportunity I can get. Who would not want to be the focus of these beautiful, excited smiles?
I get up to leave, and say “Good-bye” again.
She says, “Bye Bye”.
I ask, “How are you?”
“I am fine” she responds in perfect English as if she has done so every day of her life.
“Nice to meet you” I say knowing they are all taught to say this.
“Nice to meet you too.” She bows, as do I. I walk away smiling from ear to ear, she is beaming next to her little brother.

The walk back to my space is full of breathing in the night air, noticing young kids out walking, talking and riding bikes after ten at night and feeling Blessed to be here in Korea. I reflect for a moment on how I will ever be able to return to a land without bowing, casual walking, friendliness, cops too bored to do anything but smoke cigarettes and families enjoying the night without regard for the hour embracing now and this moment. I have a flinch of shame over how many nights I have been too lazy or distracted to make my evening walk here in Cheonan to remember life and why it is so special. I stop at Tous les Jous and buy their last baguette for the night for the equivalent of $1.50. I walk with it in my right hand past folks sitting on the floor of the restaurant on my right just before I turn towards my street. Again, I peer in the windows of the Cozy Café without discerning any more than the other ten times I have tried and failed. This was a great walk. I walk up the steps to the second floor, entering my apartment and clothes hanging on my hand made indoor clothesline. It is good to be home and actually have a home.

American TV Reruns in Korea

It is amusing to see which American TV shows turn up on Korean Digital cable. The other night I saw Windfall, which did not make it through its first season in America but is shown nightly in Korea with subtitles. Dexter, whatever that show is about, is also on nightly, as well as How I Met Your Mother. I have not seen any of these shows in the USA and do not feel all that motivated to watch them here. The one that I was totally surprised to see here was a show that only lasted a few episodes on CW named Hidden Palms. I wonder if Koreans think that they are watching the best of American TV or are they aware that they are getting many throw away series that can only recoup their investments by selling them to unknowing subscribers elsewhere. Or am I the fool that thinks that these subscribers are blind. Maybe they know that they have an audience market here that was not successful in the U.S. Is there really a market for Windfall and Hidden Palms subtitled here in Korea?

With there being several questionable reruns here, shows that have been very successful in America like Greys Anatomy, 30 Rock and Boston Legal are also shown regularly on some of the Fox affiliates in Korea. Fox is the sole American Network that has several prominent cable channels in Korea. Almost all of the English TV shows from America are on one of the Fox affiliates, somehow I feel like a hypocrite by watching anything connected to Fox TV but I too enjoy a distraction from time to time, TV is one of them. Along with plenty of comedy, drama, drama, drama and reality TV, Korea includes some programming for those with finer tastes interested in Korean history and culture will not be disappointed, as long as they speak HanGul. If not, Arirang is the English option that will demonstrate Korea for tourists and foreigners alike.

Oh yeah, one more thing, digital cable costs less here than basic cable in the U.S. and the service is more personal, they even schedule around your needs in about one day notice and the installation is done by people who treat their customers with respect- there is no “you are lucky we came” attitude here. Just another example of traditional culture surviving in the modern world. The installer will bow at your door and take of their shoes, replace them with their own slippers and ask you if they can come in. Welcome to Korea.

A Korean Resaurant

“Annyeong-haseyo”

You will always hear this when you enter a Korean restaurant. It is the greeting for Good Morning/Afternoon/Evening, and they mean it. They will shout this out from the kitchen if they hear somebody enter. There is not a clinical or air of western austerity, just a warm welcome, a bow and a tray with little metal cups and a 1 liter glass bottle of water from the tap you can pour yourself at your leisure. Often the cook, host, owner and wait staff is all the same person.

If you choose a traditional restaurant, you will see a rack at the door when you enter to take your shoes off before entering the dining room. There will be a slight elevation to distinguish the entrance for the dining room; they don’t waste space on hallways and things like that, everything is used. Some nicer restaurants will have slippers for you to wear while dining, if not bare feet or socks will do fine. Traditional seating is on the floor, again, nicer places will offer you flat cushions to sit on if you desire. It is fun seeing mothers with children and businesspeople dressed professional all seated on the floor enjoying their meals.

The utensils, metal chopsticks and a soup spoons, are typically in a little box with a clear glass lid where you can take your eating utensils for yourself, along with a napkin holder with napkins that resemble tissues more than napkins in their thickness and size, nothing is wasted. The floor typically will have a thin piled rug for each table and a real wooden table in a rectangular shape. It is not unusual for strangers to share the same table, nothing is wasted and everybody is family.

If you do not speak or read HanGul, ordering can be tricky, even traumatic at times. If you stare and look stupid long enough they will just bring you something traditional and smile warmly. They know foreigners do not typically eat food as spicy as theirs, so they will bring you a milder dish. There is no judgment for foreigners lack of knowledge, they feel worse about it than the customer because they really want you to feel comfortable and at home. Quickly they will scurry away to bring the order to the kitchen and return with another tray full of “side dishes” that are to be shared by everyone directly from the dishes they come in. There are no separate plates/bowls for each person with the exception of receiving a small cup of a broth-like soup similar to Miso soup to cleanse the palette before the meal, nothing is wasted. It is fun to share food; it breeds warmth, conversation and closeness while enjoying the meal. The side dishes typically will include a small dish of Kimchi and another small dish of pickled yellow radish sliced thinly, those are the two most common. You may also find various forms of cooked greens with sesame or some other delicious sauce; small strips of seasoned pork, a flavored ground and textured bean paste or substance, or other pickled vegetables. It all comes free with your meal, as does the broth-like soup. While you are picking on the side dishes, your main meal will be served. Most meals are made to be eaten individually but some are for more than one person and to be shared like all the other foods on the table. If you are struggling with chopsticks, they gladly will bring you a fork without laughing or being insulted, they understand and accept differences. Most meals come with a small bowl of rice in a metal bowl with a metal lid that can be taking on and off to keep the rice warm, or noodles. There are rarely breads with a meal. One of the most enjoyable features of Korean food is that meals have compatible foods that go with each other for taste, digestion and nutrition, all is on balance with each other. The exception is the Korean versions of fast food like fried or BBQ chicken. Most meals are based with a sauce of either red pepper, which is very spicy and hot, or a bean paste, except for meals that are stews, which can be anything that tastes and belongs together. The juicy stews are such good meals and you will never leave without being full and satisfied with your body happy and smiling.

One area where my ego is out of balance is related to the consumption of food, specifically, quantity. I have always eaten more than small families and when I was younger I thought that was something to be proud of like drinking more beer than others, which I also did as well when younger. Korean meals are made to leave you feeling full and satisfied. They are not based on leaving you still unsatiated so you will order desert, they want you pleased and full. It is very difficult to finish all the food on the table, very difficult. It is expected you will leave some of your side dishes or rice uneaten, it is not considered offensive to the cook, they want you to be full and complete when you leave. Many restaurants will offer you a small cup of green tea or coffee flavored like some kind of latte-type thing for free when you are done.

At most local neighborhood establishments, you will eat all that I mentioned made to perfection for the equivalent of between $4-7, yes, you read that correctly, less than eight dollars is the typical meal outside of Seoul, and not much more in Seoul. They do not change the prices or quantities for lunch and dinner; you get the same good value and quantity every time you eat. One other thing, they do not change their menus often and typically only have one or two “specials” which are not really specials since they are part of the printed menu on the wall. Special means a little bit more expensive, like the equivalent of two dollars and includes more ingredients.

As someone who has been a professional cook and finds cooking to be one of my favorite activities, it is hard to choose not to go out to eat, since it is such good food, warm atmosphere and cheaper than preparing your own meals. Like if McDonalds starting making real food by real people that was healthier than what you can make at home but in a delightful atmosphere. Hard to get motivated to go to the store and put together a meal when you can walk a block in any direction and have ten choices to eat, much like most NYC neighborhoods but cheaper than home, better quality and taste. There is no tipping as an added charge, and they include taxes in the price of the meal. It really costs what it says it costs. They don’t need a tip to serve you well; they do it because that is what you do here. If all else sucked for me in Korea, which is doesn’t, I would stay here for the food till I learned how to make all the dishes traditionally. The food and atmosphere is worth the trip all by itself.

On the way out, “Anyeonghi-gaseo” goodbye, and another bow while you are putting your shoes back on your feet smiling from a great meal and good people. Welcome to Korea.

Rediscovering Latin American Soul in Seoul

Discovering Latin American Soul in Seoul

I spent part of my afternoon at Deoksugung Palace and the Korean National Museum of Art after escaping Itaewon and all the American tourists buying Puma or Nike sneakers, Gap shorts and Levis jeans in Seoul, South Korea. I have never understood why Americans fly all over the world to go shopping for things they can purchase at their local mall. It is not like America doesn’t have enough malls, although I am not a very good American tourist, I must have missed the class on how to be a quality American tourist no matter where you go.

The Palace was elegant, homey, fun and stirred some old memories from different times and places from before I was michael. I have been here before; not as who I am today in this body. It’s nice to visit home away from home every now and then. My heart felt full of times when I lived more focused and committed than I do today. There was no remorse for the steps I have taken backwards, it was more about remembering who I am, and what and where I have come from as a human and as a Presence.

As invigorating as the Palace experience was for me, the art museum reached deeper. It never occurred to me while riding the yellow, orange, brown and blues lines downtown that I would end up at a Korean art museum exhibiting Latin American art in downtown Seoul. I giggled internally when walking up the steps and could feel the smirk on my face.

The exhibit rocked. Each viewing room and its theme touched a different part of me. The first room full of work expressing The Revolution connected with The Revolutionary in me that is never too far from the surface. Diego Rivera’s work got me the most fired-up with his passion and use of colors and texture that soothe and stir simultaneously.

The exhibit on mixing of cultures and races with black, brown and every shade of woman in between with their varied bodies, fashion, joy and pain reminded me of how long women have struggled for recognition and respect.

The final two rooms exhibited work focused on cultural and individual identity. Of course, this is when I felt most connected with the artists and the brushstrokes and heart strokes of their lives as people. Folks seemed to be moved by Frida Cahlo’s pieces the most, me, it was the force of Wilfredo Lam, Alexandro Xul Solar and Roberto Matta Echaurren.

Apparently I needed a dose of Latin American culture while visiting Seoul. I am grateful to have experienced such beauty and passion here next to City Hall in Seoul.

7,800 Miles?

Dunkin Donuts, KFC, MacDonalds, Apple Mall, Starbucks, Krispy Kreme, Cafe Latte, suburban clones, OMG, etc.
Isn't this what i left home to get away from?

Augsut 7, 2008- Seoul (Bandung), South Korea

The Korean Haircut

Looking in hair salon and barbershop windows like a stalker in search of his prey, I roamed the streets of Ssang-yangdong neighborhood for a place to get a haircut. No, not the place with the hairdressers in fake brown hair. I’ll pass on the salon with the sign stating their cheapest haircut is 29,000 won, equal to about $29.00 US dollars. I keep looking and staring in windows. As I pass the Lotte Mart on the right across from the Baskin Robbins Ice Cream shop, I see a sign for 4,000 won in the large glass window of a hair place. Of course, it must be 4,000 won for some specific service that is additional to the haircut itself, maybe shampoo or a shave?

I step up the single step to enter their front door and an older man wearing black slacks and a button down shirt comes from the back of the shop and greets me and says, “Do you want a haircut?” in perfect English! What a relief.

I ask, “How much?”

He replies promptly, “Are you a member?”

“No.”

“Have you ever been here before?”

I knew there was a catch or something to the 4,000-won haircut. “No.”

“OK. It is 4,000 won. Do you want a haircut?”

“Yes.”

He points to a seat on the couch on the other side of a coffee table covered with scattered newspapers that have been read and reread throughout the day, or week. “Sit down.”

I sit following orders. I scan the newspapers in HanGul and see a picture of a baseball player. It must be the sports section. I pick it up and remember I cannot read HanGul yet. I put it back down and sit patiently staring at nothing.

Less than five minutes go by and he walks over and says, “OK.” And points to an open station in front of a young woman wearing a nice comfortable black dress with short black hair simple but stylish.

I get up and start to sit and he points to a little plastic covered series of men’s pictures to demonstrate styles of men’s haircuts. They are all cuts made for Asian hair, not my thick, heavy Italian hair. I get nervous thinking of having to pick one that will not be successful for me. He recognizes my confusion and asks, “Do you se a style you want?”

“I would like the same I have but shorter” pointing to my head. As if he didn’t know wear my hair was.

“OK” He then has a brief conversation with the woman about to cut my hair in HanGul and she starts right in while he is still carrying on a conversation with me. “Where are you from?”

“New Jersey, I mean America, right outside of New York City.”

“Good.” He nods his head in affirmation of something and walks away. She is cutting away like a trained technician. In America, it seems there is more of a need for making the customer feel special, cared for. They are not technicians as much as service providers. She was a technician.

At one point about five minutes later, she said something in one word that I did not understand that I think was q question. I just nodded my head yes and hoped I did not just give her permission to shave my head. She continued cutting.

The rest of the haircut was in silence. I have never had a silent haircut before. I am not sure I have even ever had a haircut when I was not flirted with as part of the “service” whether woman or gay man cutting my hair. I closed my eyes and relaxed. One of the benefits of very poor vision is the lack of ability to see your hair being cut. When you put on your glasses after completion, it doesn’t matter if you like it or not; it is already cut.

When I was in my early twenties, I tried wearing hard contacts for a little while. During those few months of dry eyes and always being tired with headaches; I got a haircut at a neighborhood salon by a killer babe with long brownish-black hair, a dangerous body and a soft smile. I saw every chop and clip of my hair falling away for the first time in my life and it was horrific. I stopped wearing haircuts and made a promise to myself I would never wear glasses, contacts or anything else while receiving a haircut again. I have kept my promise so far.

She said something in a short phrase and looked at me for a response. I assumed she was asking me if I liked it or wanted it shorter. I pointed to my glasses with a smile and when she handed them to me gently, I put them on and looked. I liked the cut, simple and short. She is a technician. The man came over and asked, “Is it OK?”

“Yes. Perfect.”

He nods and walked away. She cleaned me up including this really cool wide vacuum hose that took all the little hairs off my scalp and head in just ten seconds! She finishes and nodded at me.

I got up, put my glasses back on and went to see the man at the small black counter near the front door. I asked, “Should I give her a tip?” Since there is no tipping at restaurants, I thought it was a fair question.

He laughed a little and said warmly, “No.” Then a minute later, he added, “If you want to give her 1,000 won that would be OK” I did. The total for my haircut was 5,000-won including tip! This is about $5 US dollars. No flirting or conversations about celebrities while being flirted with and an occasional breast rub against the back of the neck for extra service but she was a technician I and I got a 5,000 won haircut. Things certainly are different here. A haircut costs less than the tip in America. And, I did not have to hear the latest about Britney, Lindsay, Angelina’s new baby or Paris being naked

Kids Running Free

It is nearly 10:00p.m. I am walking home from the grocery store after picking up some soy milk with a picture of a soybean on the outside, red leaf lettuce, ripe bananas and Korean Tofu. I spent the day in downtown Cheonan for the first time by myself. I braved the bus system without any Korean language skills and was successful in my round trip. Of course, along the way I thought, “I must be going the wrong way” at least five times each way. At least the attractive woman with the subtle, warm fragrance eased my fears on the return trip. Yes, I made it safely both ways, walked around downtown, had some Kimpop as a snack in an urban park with concrete, tile and marble foundation and a really neat water fountain that raised and lowered its multiple sprouts. For dinner I enjoyed a Korean table “barbeque” of marinated chicken with peppers, onions and very spicy. It was fun eating it with the leaf lettuce they provided along with the Kimchi, pickled radish and a salad of green cabbage with sweet kiwi yoghurt dressing on top.

It has cooled tonight and the fresh air feels real nice on my skin after a hot scorching day. There are kids walking around in small groups and as individuals. They look happy, safe and free. It is approaching 10:00p.m. and kids are out by themselves on the streets. This would be unheard of back in America. Kids and parents have been programmed to believe all children are unsafe by themselves anywhere, anytime, especially at night in an urban environment. Not here in Cheonan. Kids who barely reach my waist are out food shopping for their families, eating Korean pizza, laughing and playing. There are many girls dressed in their uniforms with grey skirts and white button-down shirts from the private English schools they attend at night. Boys dressed similarly with business casual pants and white dress shirts enjoying the nighttime after their studies eating ice cream on a stick from the convenience store Buy the way. I see one of the students at the school I teach. He is on his blue bike and comes up next to me with his face excited and points, “Teacher!” I pat him on the head, smile and say slowly so he will understand, “Hello. How are you doing?” He is so excited to see his English teacher form America he forgets what those words mean and just says, “Hello” the default setting whenever they don’t know what to say to a native English speaker. I smile at his joy in being able to say anything to me. He waves goodbye, turns his bike in the direction it was originally facing and says “Bye, Bye” in the exact tone and cadence that I used when dong our practice in class the other day.

I enjoy seeing the kids out at night walking around doing their thing. They don’t seem afraid or even think they should be afraid, which is the thing that warms my heart the most. They have not yet been brainwashed into believing they are a target and therefore should run and hide at home or be monitored by their parents or some other paid person 24/7. Not here in Cheonan, maybe in Seoul, but not here in Cheonan- yet. When will the West convince them that kids should be watched every minute of every day and that they are helpless and in danger. That being a kid means you are not capable of much except going to school and helping with making chocolate chip cookies and brownies. These kids are trusted and respected, and they have respect for the parents, teachers (most of the time) and adults in general.
No, not here in Cheonan. Kids here roam the streets at night and play basketball or badminton. At least, not yet.
August 4, 2008

A Land Without Lifting and Separating

It is refreshing to walk down the street and see women’s bodies, well, look like women’s bodies. Since Victoria’s Secret came out with the first Miracle Bra, lifting and separating have become the way of the American female. This is even true with girls in middle school who are still part of the itty-bitty-titty-committee and, therefore, nothing to actually lift or separate. Here in Cheonan, South Korea, I do not think I have seen more than a handful of women who think they need to make the breasts look like something other than a human female and her natural beauty. And by the way, Victoria’s Secret isn’t really a secret, men liking sexy lingerie on the women they love existed way before “Victoria” and her air-brushed models that haven’t eaten since the late eighties shared her “secret” with us.

I have also seen very few women who feel obligated to make sure we see their bra every time they leave the house. It is a fashion and style that I find unattractive and have since it first become popular among the late night bar scene girls about a dozen years ago. I think Madonna was the one responsible for starting this trend but am not certain. Whether it is male or female, I really do not want to see your underwear, even if it is a pink, silk thong. I think being the only person who sees someone’s underwear is half the fun of seeing it. It being public viewing somehow reduces this sense of a private and intimate experience.

The third form of fashion that has come to my attention is the polarity of choices of exposure to the sun in America and here in South Korea. Cute little white girls dedicate their whole summer to “getting a tan”. It is a full-time job that pretty much nullifies any other daytime commitments for many a white college girl. Here in the east, women go to even greater lengths to NOT let their skin change color. In fact, many walk a way around with a special form of umbrella specifically made for shielding a woman from the sun. Woman who are a little older use a different method of limiting exposure of the sun and its rays. They were these neat sun visors that are similar to what many tennis players wear, except it extends out much further blocking exposure to the whole face, not just the eyes.

I have enjoyed observing the differences between cultures and what they see as attractive and what they go to great lengths to avoid. It may be just the novelty of something new and different, but so far, being in a culture where sexuality is not flaunted as openly is refreshing and helpful in supporting me becoming the man I know I am to be. I cannot imagine how much easier it must be for the women.

Greater Value Than Money

As an American that grew up thirty miles from NYC, money has always had high importance in my life. Both my parents were children during the great Depression and never quite accepted times of affluence or at least economic comfort in their lives. I inherited their fears and sense of scarcity in general but more specifically, food and money. I was raised to be financial successful as a means of measuring my manhood since money is the currency that acquires women, the ultimate prize and stature of a man. The value of money and the women attached to its attainment were al I was groomed for as a young man. It took forty-seven years and a seven thousand mile airplane flight for me to see there is actually something of greater value than money. A good umbrella.

It rains often and heavy here in South Korea. There are times it is a complete downpour for hours and hours. There has only been one day since I have arrived that at least a quarter of the day wasn’t raining hard. I have never been an umbrella kind of guy. I was the tough it out like a man sort of rain dweller. That has changed. I have a good umbrella by my side whenever I set foot outside the apartment building I live in. I can hear the pitter patter of the raindrops on the roof as I write this. It is soothing and disruptive at the same time. The noise feels very comforting to me as if a gentle reminder that nature is nature. This kind of voice whispering to me, “You are not in charge or control and never will be.” is such a relief to me. The force of the downfalls can be unsettling in the exact same way, a reminder that nature is nature and will do as he pleases when she pleases to whatever extent she pleases. I tried to be cool my first couple of days walking about without and umbrella but after totally soaking my purple t-shirt to the point where it became heavy to wear, I accepted I am not bigger nor bolder than nature herself. I humbly spent 12,000 Won to purchase a nice strong but simple plaid green, black and red umbrella that I have only left behind at one restaurant and my classroom at school twice so far. As with many other adjustments, like putting on the air conditioner for a few hours so my clothes will dry before I go to work on Monday, I am have learned why and what value a good umbrella is here on the peninsula of South Korea.

A White Guy with Blue Eyes and Long Brown Hair

An amazing mural painted on the front of a camel colored building with soft stucco exterior. The warm blue sky, the gentle desert sand of the earth, animals peacefully grazing and roaming and then there ion the middle of downtown Cheonan is a white guy with blue eyes and long brown hair holding a staff. On top of the building in central Korea is a pointed structure also of camel color stucco where sits a large neon red Cross on top for all to see. What is this white guy with blue eyes and long brown hair doing next to the small take-out with white noodle soups of tomato, garlic and fresh seafood across from the restaurant where customers take off their shoes upon entering and sitting on the floor in slippers with their legs crossed while dining?

How did he get white here in the land of yellow and light brown? How did a man for the Middle East acquire pale skin and blue eyes to begin with? I am not a historian but were white people with blue eyes in existence yet?

Hearing the unmistakable flat, monotoned hymns in any language could only be that composed by white Protestant here in a city of almost a half million with probably les than fifty non-Asians while in meditation this morning made my heart sink. The ache if oppression and imperialism pierced through y veins and poisoned my blood.

Just like the day when I realized WHY Black Americans are so attached to Christianity and the Church. And why so many Muslim Americans have to take low-skill, low-income jobs that allow them the opportunity to honor their spiritual commitment of regular Prayer throughout the day. As the Jews that had to close their family business when malls and shopping centers made Saturday, the Seventh Day, a shopping day and they had to decide between God of the Bible that says, “You will keep the Seventh day Holy” or go out of business. Finally, the irony of Catholic missionaries brainwashing Africans into believing their idols of Crosses, Jesus and Mary would “save” them and the idols they worshipped happily and peacefully for thousands of years would send them to hell. This ache I know well, I fell it in my belly and I cringe.

I wonder how many people have taken the time to learn any of the languages of the Bible in Hebrew or any Aramaic language to receive the Teachings before white Kings, Queens, Czars and Emperors reframed them to meet their personal needs for power and domination? I wonder if the white guy with blue eyes and long brown hair laughs or cries when He hears us “quote the Gospel” according to King James and NIV? My money is on tears and many of them but possibly laughter while witnessing us use His Love, Healing and Teachings for everything that is not Love, Healing and Teaching amusing Himself “Funny white people, they just don’t get it.” He may question Himself, “Don’t they know back then the language didn’t have vowels in writing till modern day and that was to keep the Teachings fresh and not allow them stagnation.”

And in the beginning, God created the heavens and the Earth”, could have been written as follows, “In the beginning, and God is creating Heaven and Earth?’ just as easily. Why do they keep quoting only one possibility?” “If they are going to quote me all the time, you would think it would be important enough for them to learn my language to make sure they are actually quoting me!” This puts a whole new spin on the whole Seven Days, especially since Christians celebrate the Sabbath on the first day, not the seventh day, like the Bible says.

Which commandment in the Bible directs us to rape, pillage, loot, oppress, brainwash, own and take over people as a “mission”?

Oh my dear Friend, The White Guy with Blue Eyes and Long Brown Hair, what have we done to You?
Your Love and Your Teachings?
How did we move from, “the Meek shall inherit the Earth” to the arrogant shall rule it?

What have we done to You my Friend, what have we done?

July 20, 2008- Cheonan, Choongchung-namdo, South Korea

Martian or Rock Star?

He walks down the street and everybody stares. Not the stare they give the homeless guy or the woman dressed soliciting attention; this is a stare that stops people in their path. They look, hold their children’s hands who start to run towards him to get a closer look. Small children hide behind their mothers for safety but curiously peek around the back of her legs to explore while shielded by her body. Teenagers point and giggle in their formal uniforms of grey and white from school even as late as 9:30 at night. One little child walked up and rubbed his hairy arms just to see what an arm “like that” felt like disappointed that it felt like a regular arm. Yes, these are my first days on the streets in downtown Cheonan, South Korea.

When eating lunch in the cafeteria of the school I teach English at, students trip and drop their trays startled by the sight of a foreigner. Groups of youth all over the neighborhood see me walking by and all yell out “Hello!” and laugh hysterically. I wonder if this is what it was like for another Michael with the last name Jackson when at the peek pf his popularity; received a strange mix of celebrity status including: curiosity and circus clown. Personally, I think I resemble the latter the most closely but what do I know, I am the foreigner walking the streets without police protection or escort. It is possible after two days of not shaving, I may have more facial hair than this city of nearly a half million residents. It is possible that my short dark hair may have more natural wave to it than this city of nearly a half million residents. It is probable that I have more hair on my light brown arms than the entire city of nearly a half million residents. It is a fact that I came here to become somewhat anonymous and end up drawing more attention than any single person walking down the street casually and certainly more than I have at any time in my life.

All the kids want to play with and say “Hello” to Michael, the foreigner. In my short time here that has included many miles of walking and roaming the streets, I have seen one other non-Asian in public and have seen another white person through the window across from my efficiency apartment. Two non-Asians among several thousand native Koreans, Japanese and Chinese. Growing up outside NYC where every nation in the world that has access to an airplane has representatives wandering the streets, seeing so many folks of similar hair, eyes, and skin color with fashion that to my untrained eyes lacks much diversity is quite an eye-opener, literally. Due to my lack of distance vision, I have learned how to distinguish people in life through discerning hair, eye and skin color that has no value here. They ALL know who I am. I think I could walk around without clothes on and draw less attention, as long as naked I resemble the residents more closely.

It feels awkward to be stared at so frequently and unabashed. Anyone who knows me is aware I desire attention, but it is only attention on my terms that fills that need for me. I do not accept attention that I did not facilitate very gracefully. Seeing several thousand people a day and predominantly being stared at by most of them has stirred my sense of public comfort. I am aware of what I wear, how I eat, what I purchase at the grocery store, bowing and how I say,” Annyoeng-haseyo” the greeting equivalent of Good morning/afternoon/evening. Most of all, I am extremely mindful of not confirming their assumption that all Americans are rude, disrespectful and arrogant, I am still working on the third one. I eat very slowly and carefully in public with the metal chopsticks that Koreans use. I do not want to use the wrong utensils for the wrong foods. It is expected that one uses the spoon for soups, stews and rice, and chopsticks for everything else. I used my chopsticks to eat rice the first week here and was corrected yesterday with a look of disapproval. I am still learning what, how and when to bow and how low for each person. There are guidelines that are not always real clear. I love bowing. It feels so good to me. I feel such connection and heritage when doing so. I feel respected, acknowledged and honored every time. I believe i will have a hard time returning to a world without bowing when and if I choose to do so. I dress more conservative than I typically do and maybe even a little more like an adult than I have in recent years. I notice if I am buying only western style food at the grocery store and quickly grab something native that I have no idea what it is since I cannot read the labels but know I will like it anyway. Although I doubt I will replace cereal as my standard breakfast food before work in the morning. Seeing Post brand cereals in Korean with flavors I never saw before I also find amusing.

Side note: I can no longer imagine a world that does not include Kinchi on a daily basis after only ten days.

Being treated as a rock star where everybody wants you to walk through the door first because “he” is here among us I hope will wear off soon. Again, I came partially to shed some old patterns of attention-seeking and stroking of the ego. Ironic no? Fortunately, clerks in the both the local grocery stores I shop at treat me fairly rudely since I can’t read the writing on the scales to print out labels in advance of purchasing produce, it is good to be reminded that I am not larger than life or even equal to them.

It is funny how the Universe works; anonymity and humility were two of my primary motivations for living in a land where my methods of navigating through life would be ineffective and altered. Here I am the most noticed person everywhere I go- good, bad or indifferent- part Martian, part Rock Star.

Go Get You a Good One

Being Offended

In the last two weeks while sharing with others that I will be going to Korea for one year to teach English, I have gotten a surprising response form several people. More than those that I have not received this response from.

“Korea. Wow that should be cool. You can go and get yourself a nice Korean girl to bring back with you.”

At first, I thought this was funny, or at least an attempt to be funny. It is not funny any more. I do not know if the implication is that I need to go elsewhere to find women or that Korean women want American men so much it will be a breeze to acquire one, even for someone like me. I do not know which version offends me more.

Starting with the humor directed at me, I am not going to Korea to “find me a nice one to bring home that will cook and clean for me”. I don’t need anyone to cook or clean for me, I love doing both. I do not need a slave. I do not need to go elsewhere to find me a good woman, I don’t think. I am not with a woman due to being in the wrong country or culture. I am not with a woman for many reasons and I am offended that folks seem so convinced I need one to be happy or survive. We do not all walk the same journey in this life, till now; mine has not included a woman to be a life partner and companion. It is not that I do not want one; it is just not my highest priority or what has manifested.

The other theory of Korean women waiting for “American men like you to take them away from all that” is just downright gross to me. Why do these people think Korean women are waiting around to be “saved” by American men? We don’t seem to be doing such a great job with our own women, what makes anybody think we are such a premium that they are willing to leave their homes, family and culture just to be with an American man? This is what I hate about being American. It is embarrassing how arrogant and egocentric we are. To think we are the pinnacle of everybody else’s dreams and desires are so foolish and blind. It is why a guy like George W. Bush can become President. I wonder if we will ever accept that we are not “it” to the whole world. In fact, many folks are disgusted in us and what we do and how we life. At times, I am one of them. I do not need to save any Korean woman or any woman from her world. I do not posses any magical powers that any other man does not posses, especially not just being born in the USA as the sole characteristic that makes me a good catch.

I am offended, deeply. One of the reasons I wanted to spend a year out of the country in a culture drastically different that the one I have lived my whole life is to se the world through a different set of lens. A lens that does not see me or us as the center. A world where we trumps me. A world where family and community take precedent over personal ambition and goals. A world where it is not assumed that I will always know what is best for everyone else because it worked for me, or at least it is what I have done, successful or not.

Sitting on a soft purple seat in Narita Airport I Tokyo waiting for my flight to Seoul surrounded by predominantly Asian folks, I am ready to leap, to learn and to grow. I don’t think any one of them is sitting here thinking, “I hope that American man will save me from my poor Asian life”. There is apart of me that does not want to meet any women in my year in Korea just to give all these folks the finger for their arrogance and self-righteousness. Or, maybe one of them will “save me from all that” and I will stay here. I am here to learn and experience news things. My hope is that humility and respect are two of them.
July 14, 2008: Tokyo, Japan