Korea was a wonderful experience to say the least and though my clothes began to become unkempt and dirty, my heart still had a steady palpitation of love. The last week was full of teaching once again. I was losing my patience quicker because the sight of Home was illuminated on the horizons of my thoughts. Perhaps the reason I was not at all reluctant to disembark from teaching in Korea was due to the fact that I was severely fatigued. I seemed to have strayed away from writing the last week I was teaching, usually I would be irked because of my lack of discipline. However, I did make an exception, as it was nearing the end of my teaching trip this summer.
To sum up the entire last week would be quite ridiculous and rather improbable. What I can do is tell you how this trip has affected me, how the lessons I have come to learn will impact my life indefinitely. I was incredulous at the aspect of leaving Korea, though I was direly homesick, I loved my students. You come to love things with time, especially people. I found that my stomach -against my will- had come to love Korean cuisine, and my western mind had come to not so much enjoy, but rather, to respect Eastern culture as it is. The last day of the Wanju-gun English Camp was on Friday, August 13th. The ceremony was drawn out and tiresome. Although I could barely retain my cognitive faculties, if they existed at all, I fell even deeper in love with my students. Two of them left the hall crying in front of their parents. One particular student, Kim Bo Ram Chan stood in front of me to snap one final picture, as I creased the corners of my mouth in a smile I glanced over to see his head slouched down and tears welling up in his tiny eyes. He blinked with a fury, his black eyelashes fluttering to keep out the moisture. Red rings circled his eyes and soon he was in a terrible fit of tears. He turned on his heels and pressed his fifth grade head into my shoulder and started sobbing. I looked at his father and his face retained a hint of benevolence, and he smiled assuringly that he understood what his sons emotions were doing. Bo Ram Chan peeled his face off of my sleeve and meandered towards the exit. His father shared with me his business card, so we could keep our friendship active for the future.
I learned a multitude of things while I was abroad in Korea. The hard times that I faced while I was teaching was just preparation for the turmoils that adult life seem to beget. It showed me that no matter how difficult a classroom may be, I should persevere . I have counted this new knowledge as invaluable, and store it in the back of my brain for the next time I am in a teaching situation. Lord willing, this situation will be soon.
Until I am again overseas,
your quirky writer,
David
Monday, August 16, 2010
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
August 12th- Wrapping up
Beckoning
inspired by being away, and wanting to be Home --
I spend my nights staring
into the infinite black of
dusk, hoping to see the
red flashing lights of your
train in its posthaste gait.
Stampeding on iron tracks,
as a herd of horses, their
manes billowing as banners,
their nostrils blowing warm
sighs, and their eyes, those
chesnut brown spheres, locked
on a destination. I eagerly
await your return as Mercedes,
and if I put my ear to the track,
I think I can hear the vibrations
of your heart, the subtle palpitations-
just when I have given up and
turn to leave, I hear the howling
of your heart, chugging and
billowing back Home. You
were always worth the wait
Odyesseus, I, Penelope have
moored myself to your love,
and this bond cannot be broken.
inspired by being away, and wanting to be Home --
I spend my nights staring
into the infinite black of
dusk, hoping to see the
red flashing lights of your
train in its posthaste gait.
Stampeding on iron tracks,
as a herd of horses, their
manes billowing as banners,
their nostrils blowing warm
sighs, and their eyes, those
chesnut brown spheres, locked
on a destination. I eagerly
await your return as Mercedes,
and if I put my ear to the track,
I think I can hear the vibrations
of your heart, the subtle palpitations-
just when I have given up and
turn to leave, I hear the howling
of your heart, chugging and
billowing back Home. You
were always worth the wait
Odyesseus, I, Penelope have
moored myself to your love,
and this bond cannot be broken.
Sunday, August 8, 2010
August 9th- Wandering
Inspired by James Joyce's, "A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man"
i awoke finding
myself wandering
the narrow alleyways
of sleep, a deep darkness
like a moonless night
strung itself between
the trees as a clothes
line, and her parted lips,
that silent pressure
of desire descended
upon me. The warm rising
and falling of her chest
against mine, soothed
and allayed my confessions,
upon the alter of sin,
we find our true faces.
i awoke finding
myself wandering
the narrow alleyways
of sleep, a deep darkness
like a moonless night
strung itself between
the trees as a clothes
line, and her parted lips,
that silent pressure
of desire descended
upon me. The warm rising
and falling of her chest
against mine, soothed
and allayed my confessions,
upon the alter of sin,
we find our true faces.
Saturday, August 7, 2010
August 7th- Desert Day
This was the first free day we have had all trip. The personal assistants and our team went out on the town for twelve hours ad explored the downtown area. The Koreans are very outgoing people once they are comfortable around you. Getting them to respond to your humor and personality is an interesting ordeal, but after hearing the voracious laughter exuded today, I can only say that it was unequivocally worth it. We started the day taxing to the downtown district, and after arriving at the movie theater and finding that the movie Inception was sold out, we bought tickets for later in the night, and headed to the Korean barbershop.
We walked around the corn maze of the shopping district and found our destination. Strutting up the wooden steps onto the second floor of the building, we immediately noticed the wall full of glimmering mirrors and the swift snapping sounds of scissors chomping down on fresh follicles.
Every guy on the team decided to get a Korean styled haircut. It was the most relaxing experience I have had on this trip to date. The young woman that cut my hair exercised scrutiny, and was deliberate with her detailing, and when the bulk of the cut was finished she washed my hair, and then styled it with wax. I looked about ten times better, and would consider myself, quite the Casanova- as the Korean PA’s like to term me.
The remainder of the afternoon was spent shopping, and I ended up picking up a couple trifles here and there. As we wafted between the shops to and fro, I began to notice that I was being sucked into consumerism quickly. Even though it was not my money I was using, but the cash we received for teaching the English camp, I still had to say to myself that enough was enough, and I pocketed my remaining money, and kept it there.
We then went to see Inception. It is now ranked among my all time favorite movies. The message of the movie is quite unclear, and my team mate and I had a genial discussion pertaining to the existentialism that permeated throughout. It is curious that I bought," The Plague" by Albert Camus tonight, the grandfather of existentialism. During the movie, the lead character seems to be dominated by guilt, and oftentimes justifies his actions with his insurmountable guilt.
I would argue that as they explained in the movie, that dreaming is a result of emotion, and guilt is too. Now if existentialism if based on the ideals of the individual, and free will, wouldn't that mean that ones future is determined by emotions? I would argue that our futures are not. If reality is what we make of it, and everyones reality is different, then is there even such a condition as reality? Reality is not imagined as it was in Inception, so though there are different perspectives on reality, real and fraudulent are entirely opposite entities. We cannot confuse our emotions and justification with reality. Emotions are no means in determining reality from fantasy, but merely a gauge or barometer, if you will, on our individualistic traits.
We went to a Korean 'singing room', which essentially is a room with five televisions in it, the lights off, and a disco ball where a group of friends entertain themselves by singing karaoke.
After an hour and a half, costing only 10,000 won- nearly ten dollars- to occupy the room with fifteen sweaty adults, was well worth it. I had an absolute blast, and I would love it if they opened some of these peculiar entertainment facilities in the United States.I found that my voice was a but sore from the persistent yelling, screaming, and occasional singing that occurred. It was most definitely a night to remember.
Oftentimes a day of rest is all that one needs to recuperate and restart ones mental faculties, to be a more cognizant being in the subsequent days. I feel rested, and look forward to the last week I have in Korea.
We walked around the corn maze of the shopping district and found our destination. Strutting up the wooden steps onto the second floor of the building, we immediately noticed the wall full of glimmering mirrors and the swift snapping sounds of scissors chomping down on fresh follicles.
Every guy on the team decided to get a Korean styled haircut. It was the most relaxing experience I have had on this trip to date. The young woman that cut my hair exercised scrutiny, and was deliberate with her detailing, and when the bulk of the cut was finished she washed my hair, and then styled it with wax. I looked about ten times better, and would consider myself, quite the Casanova- as the Korean PA’s like to term me. The remainder of the afternoon was spent shopping, and I ended up picking up a couple trifles here and there. As we wafted between the shops to and fro, I began to notice that I was being sucked into consumerism quickly. Even though it was not my money I was using, but the cash we received for teaching the English camp, I still had to say to myself that enough was enough, and I pocketed my remaining money, and kept it there.
We then went to see Inception. It is now ranked among my all time favorite movies. The message of the movie is quite unclear, and my team mate and I had a genial discussion pertaining to the existentialism that permeated throughout. It is curious that I bought," The Plague" by Albert Camus tonight, the grandfather of existentialism. During the movie, the lead character seems to be dominated by guilt, and oftentimes justifies his actions with his insurmountable guilt.
I would argue that as they explained in the movie, that dreaming is a result of emotion, and guilt is too. Now if existentialism if based on the ideals of the individual, and free will, wouldn't that mean that ones future is determined by emotions? I would argue that our futures are not. If reality is what we make of it, and everyones reality is different, then is there even such a condition as reality? Reality is not imagined as it was in Inception, so though there are different perspectives on reality, real and fraudulent are entirely opposite entities. We cannot confuse our emotions and justification with reality. Emotions are no means in determining reality from fantasy, but merely a gauge or barometer, if you will, on our individualistic traits. We went to a Korean 'singing room', which essentially is a room with five televisions in it, the lights off, and a disco ball where a group of friends entertain themselves by singing karaoke.
After an hour and a half, costing only 10,000 won- nearly ten dollars- to occupy the room with fifteen sweaty adults, was well worth it. I had an absolute blast, and I would love it if they opened some of these peculiar entertainment facilities in the United States.I found that my voice was a but sore from the persistent yelling, screaming, and occasional singing that occurred. It was most definitely a night to remember. Oftentimes a day of rest is all that one needs to recuperate and restart ones mental faculties, to be a more cognizant being in the subsequent days. I feel rested, and look forward to the last week I have in Korea.
Thursday, August 5, 2010
August 6th- Pressure Cooker
Korea is a pressure cooker of sorts. It's like a clockmaker wound up the entire country, and then walked away, and let it run itself. Stress levels are increasingly high today, with the parents of the students coming in to watch a lesson. I am hoping that my students speeches eat up a a chunk of the time tonight.
The rain pounds harder and harder by the minute, slapping and slashing everything within sight. The tender hands of the clouds waste stampede on the roof like the hooves of horses. A sound like the shaking of a plastic bag. Nature clapping and applauding itself for the spectacle that a thunderstorm truly is. In my thoughts the synapses pulse and explode in florid colors, exposing the deeps alleyways of thought to the light, and the end result is more than frightening. I am seeing all of the inconsistencies in this country.
The rally was replaced last minute with a parent visitation and inspection of the classroom. I was terribly nervous. I just need a hiatus from the perpetual teaching and last minute planning. When we were preparing for this event there was most definitely a dash of animosity in the air. I spent the entirety of the afternoon preparing speeches with my students, and I felt as though their speeches were assembled.
The event went very smooth, and many of the parents approaching me and shook my hands- some even attempted having conversation with me. I father wearing very flamboyant black and white checkered dress pants made small talk with me. His son, Kim Bo Ram Chan is a very talented artist. In Korea the family name is said first. So in this case, his last name is Kim, and his first name would be Bo Ram Chan. It was enlightening to experience how respectful and gracious Korean parents are for their teachers. I opened the room up for questions, and the parents chuckled as if I was fickle or jesting. I entertained the thought that in America you would have parents talking and debating for hours. It was awesome teaching in front of the parents, it was stressful, but worth it even more.
The rain pounds harder and harder by the minute, slapping and slashing everything within sight. The tender hands of the clouds waste stampede on the roof like the hooves of horses. A sound like the shaking of a plastic bag. Nature clapping and applauding itself for the spectacle that a thunderstorm truly is. In my thoughts the synapses pulse and explode in florid colors, exposing the deeps alleyways of thought to the light, and the end result is more than frightening. I am seeing all of the inconsistencies in this country.
The rally was replaced last minute with a parent visitation and inspection of the classroom. I was terribly nervous. I just need a hiatus from the perpetual teaching and last minute planning. When we were preparing for this event there was most definitely a dash of animosity in the air. I spent the entirety of the afternoon preparing speeches with my students, and I felt as though their speeches were assembled.
The event went very smooth, and many of the parents approaching me and shook my hands- some even attempted having conversation with me. I father wearing very flamboyant black and white checkered dress pants made small talk with me. His son, Kim Bo Ram Chan is a very talented artist. In Korea the family name is said first. So in this case, his last name is Kim, and his first name would be Bo Ram Chan. It was enlightening to experience how respectful and gracious Korean parents are for their teachers. I opened the room up for questions, and the parents chuckled as if I was fickle or jesting. I entertained the thought that in America you would have parents talking and debating for hours. It was awesome teaching in front of the parents, it was stressful, but worth it even more.
August 5th- Crazy Hair
During class today I allowed my students adequate time to prepare their speeches, which they will be performing in front of their peers and parents on Friday. I caught news that they must memorize these, but I highly doubt they will be able to properly submit two minutes worth of a foreign language to memory, though like many other aspects in the classroom, I could be proven wrong.
Oh heavy burden of the cross! I thank thee Lord for your blood, those torrents of flesh torn from your bones. I have been ravished by sin, and yet you ransomed your skin for my smallest molecule, and still redeemed me clean. I will never repay those parched scarlet lips that tasted the vinegar infused wine, and Lord I want to drink from your pure presence. I am your slave for life, I am your slave, master. I can feel the splinters run up my spine like spiders, hang me next to you Lord. Nail me to your heart with iron nails, so that when you speak the Holy Name of God, I might hear his perfect still voice. I am a slave to you Jesus. I'd give everything to wash your feet with my bare hands.
This is a prayer I wrote, hope you enjoy it.
At the rally we had Weird Hair Night, where the students fashioned their hair, gelled it in abnormal angles, and sprayed it with seemingly endless quantities of chemicals. Some students did not want to have their hair fashioned, however, this was not their choice to decide. And in a true Republic, that is a Socialist community, one must conform to the ideals of the whole. As for artists, I see no escape for expression when the rights of the individual are sacrificed for the general well being of the populace. This ideal, whether it was openly versed among us or not, was at the core of our mob hunts for students who remained obstinate to our practices. Some squirmed, squiggled and fought their ways out of our grasps, but were eventually made to submit. Here are the post-mortem pictures of our victims after their hair was cruelly thrust into artistic angles. I am more than obliged to share these specimen with you. Enjoy
And here is your writer in all of his crazy haired glory
Oh heavy burden of the cross! I thank thee Lord for your blood, those torrents of flesh torn from your bones. I have been ravished by sin, and yet you ransomed your skin for my smallest molecule, and still redeemed me clean. I will never repay those parched scarlet lips that tasted the vinegar infused wine, and Lord I want to drink from your pure presence. I am your slave for life, I am your slave, master. I can feel the splinters run up my spine like spiders, hang me next to you Lord. Nail me to your heart with iron nails, so that when you speak the Holy Name of God, I might hear his perfect still voice. I am a slave to you Jesus. I'd give everything to wash your feet with my bare hands.
This is a prayer I wrote, hope you enjoy it.
At the rally we had Weird Hair Night, where the students fashioned their hair, gelled it in abnormal angles, and sprayed it with seemingly endless quantities of chemicals. Some students did not want to have their hair fashioned, however, this was not their choice to decide. And in a true Republic, that is a Socialist community, one must conform to the ideals of the whole. As for artists, I see no escape for expression when the rights of the individual are sacrificed for the general well being of the populace. This ideal, whether it was openly versed among us or not, was at the core of our mob hunts for students who remained obstinate to our practices. Some squirmed, squiggled and fought their ways out of our grasps, but were eventually made to submit. Here are the post-mortem pictures of our victims after their hair was cruelly thrust into artistic angles. I am more than obliged to share these specimen with you. Enjoy
And here is your writer in all of his crazy haired glory
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
August 4th- In Korea, with a Canadian, poolside, well technically
Once again, teaching was strenuous like always today but a felicitous event was about to occur in the evening hours, long after the rigors of teaching were subsided. The persistent heat fettered us to anything with an air conditioner. The team had met this middle aged man named Stuart at Game Science High School, which was our first camp we taught. At five o'clock we were ushered to Stuarts apartment, or man cave, which just so happens to be a five minute drive from JeonJu Universities campus.
Staurts apartment is the defintion of what a man's, or rather, a wooer's apartment should entail. A piece of heaven was sliced from the husk of classy, and set in front of my eyes. There was a fish-tank gurgling and churning, filling the humble abode with an aquatic resonance. A 42' flat screen television glared out at the room with a vivid menace. Leather couches and sofas adorned the place, and traditional Korean decorations hung upon the walls.
As we were taken up onto the roof I heard a familiar splashing sound. This sound was not due to yet another grandiose fish-tank, but an inflatable pool situated on top of the apartment buildings roof. Apparently Stuart, who is Canadian, likes to go against the grain of what Korea is, and instead of using his space for an array of exotic plants, he instead chose to inflate a blue pool, buy an gas grill, and throw out some lawn chairs- to make it more like home. Along the horizon and adjacent to our building were rows, columns and more rows of colossal apartment complexes. I can just imagine a Korean family pressed up against their windows, looking like fishes, as nine Americans and a Canadian- possessing a pale white complexion- all splashed around in an already jumbo inflatable pool. Pink Floyd was blaring on tiny Ipod speakers, and the sizzling of meat was audible upon the entire roof. The afternoon was a bit ineffable, but this description will suffice.
As Stuart explained to me, Some times you must treat yourself, especially when you are in another culture, with the simple pleasures of home. This, as he further explained, is set in place in order for you to keep your sanity. It was a pleasant evening dinner on the rooftop, surrounded by insurmountable mountain ranges, dwarfed by the array of apartment towers. I love Home, and this trip is helping me to realize how truly amazing America is.
I direly miss home, and I am highly anticipating the moment I step off the plane, and breathe the air of my Home. America I miss thee.
Staurts apartment is the defintion of what a man's, or rather, a wooer's apartment should entail. A piece of heaven was sliced from the husk of classy, and set in front of my eyes. There was a fish-tank gurgling and churning, filling the humble abode with an aquatic resonance. A 42' flat screen television glared out at the room with a vivid menace. Leather couches and sofas adorned the place, and traditional Korean decorations hung upon the walls.
As we were taken up onto the roof I heard a familiar splashing sound. This sound was not due to yet another grandiose fish-tank, but an inflatable pool situated on top of the apartment buildings roof. Apparently Stuart, who is Canadian, likes to go against the grain of what Korea is, and instead of using his space for an array of exotic plants, he instead chose to inflate a blue pool, buy an gas grill, and throw out some lawn chairs- to make it more like home. Along the horizon and adjacent to our building were rows, columns and more rows of colossal apartment complexes. I can just imagine a Korean family pressed up against their windows, looking like fishes, as nine Americans and a Canadian- possessing a pale white complexion- all splashed around in an already jumbo inflatable pool. Pink Floyd was blaring on tiny Ipod speakers, and the sizzling of meat was audible upon the entire roof. The afternoon was a bit ineffable, but this description will suffice.
As Stuart explained to me, Some times you must treat yourself, especially when you are in another culture, with the simple pleasures of home. This, as he further explained, is set in place in order for you to keep your sanity. It was a pleasant evening dinner on the rooftop, surrounded by insurmountable mountain ranges, dwarfed by the array of apartment towers. I love Home, and this trip is helping me to realize how truly amazing America is.
I direly miss home, and I am highly anticipating the moment I step off the plane, and breathe the air of my Home. America I miss thee.
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