Uijeongbu Time Capsule

Someone shared this photo in the Uijeongbu Crew Facebook group (which I can never bring myself to leave, ever):



Main street Uijeongbu, 1966.

Googling to find the original online (in case the Facebook image link ever breaks), I came across this page. It's mind-blowing how much Uijeongbu changed in nearly 50 years and how quickly.

http://www.qsl.net/wd4ngb/crc1a.htm

Now Uijeongbu looks like this:





If that photo up there is taken where I THINK It is, then these two right here are just a few blocks down from that location.



This fresh on the heels of news that the THC9, beloved downtown movie theater, has finally been crushed under the heel of the CGV that opened when they put in the Shinsegae right at Uijeongbu Station. And that one of my favorite places downtown, Birdland, has gone from a cool jazz club with regular performers who recognized me and my friends to "Birdland 7080," which means no more live jazz in Uijeongbu and probably yet another loud, obnoxious 7080 bar.

Nothing is permanent except change. But when you leave a place, you like to pretend that you're leaving it in a state of suspended animation. That the things you loved will continue on after you forever and in some way that part of your life will, too; that you can come back whenever you want to and it'll be like you never left.

Womp womp womp.

A Fit of Koreaboo Pique

American news reporting on North Korea continues to astound me, and I mean that in the least generous way possible. Maybe in another life I would have been an international correspondent or writer covering the situation on the Korean peninsula, but—oh well. Despite the fact that I am probably preaching to the choir, I am still irritated enough that I feel compelled to provide you, dear faithful blog reader/Internet searcher who has stumbled across my blog/family member, with the means to educate yourselves if you so please! Here are Internet things dealing with the Koreas that I like:

• Ask A Korean! - This is the best English language blog on South Korea, for fairly obvious reasons. (Those reasons are: it's written by a Korean who writes well.) If you are an expat blogger you probably follow him already (and if you don't, you should). While The Korean currently resides in Virginia, he keeps abreast of news and I see stories on his blog that I don't see anywhere else in English. He's also written a few well-researched and extensive series on assorted issues in South Korea: the presidents, the suicide rate, the financial crisis, etc.
  
  The downside is that The Korean is a lawyer, so he can get called away from blogging for long periods of time. He also is a bit of a food and language snob, so once in a while there are rants about the purity of Korean food or language or whatever that makes me roll my eyes, but he seems to know that he's being irrational.
  
  For those of you that care, The Korean also does not apologize or care about being flamingly, staunchly liberal.
  
  If you are at all curious about Korea, this is the blog to add to your feed.

• NK News - I don't follow this one but I read it occasionally. Any article here will certainly provide more depth and insight than most American news programs.

• Daily NK - What makes this news site exceptional is that it's run by North Korean defectors who still have ties back home. The result is not only real information instead of meaningless echo chamber speculation, but a more nuanced look into the country beyond the international image of  one crazy (or corrupt, or both) leader and a vague notion of hungry citizens. If you follow nothing else from this list, follow this one. The link here is to their English page; they publish in Korean, Chinese, and Japanese as well.

• Justice for North Korea - The Facebook page for the charity my friend Breda works at. She's a grad student in international relations at Korea University, with a focus on North Korea and reunification, so Breda is not a stupid ignorant American when it comes to the issues. She (and maybe some of the other JFNK volunteers) maintain the Facebook page and regularly post links to assorted articles that are usually insightful and nuanced interpretations of events. (I say "usually" only because I will skim past articles now and then and not read them, so I can't vouch for EVERY SINGLE THING posted.) It's always in English, no worries.

• Despite recent shenanigans with Dennis Rodman and the Harlem Globetrotters (I'm still undecided on if that was good, bad, both, or neither), VICE magazine has a few (mostly) good series on North Korea:
  
  The original VICE Guide to North Korea
  
  The North Korean Logging Camps
  
  The North Korean Movie Industry
  
  Sometimes it kind of becomes more of a "check out this insane country" rubber-necking spectacle than actual journalism, but not so bad it's distracting or obnoxious or whatever.

Also there are some books that are good. Here are ones that I like:

• Under the Loving Care of the Fatherly Leader - It is definitely a bit outdated (last updated in 2010), but holy shit this tome on North Korea is fairly exhaustive and great and I will definitely be re-reading it in the near future to re-absorb things I missed the first time.

• Korea's Place in the Sun - Bruce Cumings is basically the senior White Expat Expert on Korea, though not without controversy. This book was banned in South Korea for a while (I think by Chun Doo-hwan?) and at least one other Korean specialist has accused him of being a North Korean apologist, so there you go. I haven't read this one, but I did read his history of the Korean war, which I felt was very thorough and as impartial as possible.

• This is Paradise! My North Korean Childhood - This one is a short, easy read that sometimes suffers from language clunkiness (translated from Korean to French to English, as I recall) but is invaluable as a firsthand account of living in North Korea written by a North Korean. It's not Escape From Camp 14 which I can't bring myself to read, despite my interest in North Korea, because I KNOW it'll be depressing. If you feel the same way, this one is a good substitute.

Happy Pi Day! And to my friends still in Korea, happy white day!

Satire: Korea, Ben Folds, and Asian Americans

Oh hey, I'm still here. I've been meaning to do some student profiles, before they slip out of my memory (I had so many good kids at my last hagwon), but I guess I can't bring myself to do it.

What I CAN bring myself to do, though, is bitter, incompetent parody. I started working on this—a parody of Rockin' the Suburbs changed to reflect some of the worst foreigners I ever met in Korea—a couple years ago and, inspired by Douglas Kim's "I'm Asian American," decided to finish it today. First, enjoy Kim's version, because it's great:



That said, here's my own Rockin' the Suburbs parody. It'd be my dream if someone recorded this. Maybe I'll record it myself when I have the time. (Hah! Fat chance.)

Rockin' Korea
(White Whine Anthem)
With apologies to Ben Folds


Let me tell y'all what it's like
Being male, middle class, and white.
Despite my privileges I still believe
I'm an oppressed minority.
Sham on!

I got shit posted on my blog
It's so hip, please follow along
While I drink in Itaewon
And sing Journey in the noraebang.

I'm rockin' Korea,
Just like Doug MacArthur did.
I'm rockin' Korea;
Only care when it's me that's exploited.
I'm rockin' Korea!
Cash the checks and drink the booze.
After all, I'm not Korean, why should I follow all their rules?


I'm pissed off, it's because I'm white
That people push on the subway line.
Ajosshis, you make me so uptight
Gonna rant in the bar tonight.
All I do is piss and moan
But never, ever go back home.

I'm rockin' in Korea,
Just like Bella Bishop did.
I'm rockin' Korea;
Only care when it's me that's exploited.
I'm rockin' Korea!
Cash the check and drink the booze.
After all, I'm not Korean, why should I follow all their rules?

In a haze today,
What the fuck did I do last night?
I can feel that something's not right
I can feel that someone's next to me
in bed! I'm dead,
I don't want a K-girlfriend!
'Cause all the guys who post on Dave's place
Have well assured me that Korean girls are cray.
It wasn't my idea,
It wasn't my idea,
It never was my idea.
I just went to Hongdae
For some soju stress relief.

Ya'll don't know what it's like
Being male, middle class and white.

Y'all don't know what it's like,
being male, middle class, and white.

Y'all don't know what it's like,
being male, middle class and white.

Y'all don't know what it's like,
being male, middle class, and white.

It gets me real pissed off and it makes me wanna say
It gets me real pissed off and it makes me wanna say
It gets me real pissed off and it makes me wanna say

씨 발~~~~!


Just like Alan Alda did.
I'm rockin' Korea;
Only care when it's me that's exploited.
I'm rockin' Korea,
Cash the checks and drink the booze.
After all, I'm not Korean, why should I follow all their rules?
Fuck this place~

Yeah, yeah!

I'm rockin' Korea,
yeah, yeah!

I'm rockin' Korea,
yeah, yeah!

You better watch out, because I'm gonna say 씨 발.
You better watch out, because I'm gonna say 씨 발.
You better watch out, because I'm gonna say 씨 발.
You better watch out, because I'm gonna say 씨 발.

Uijeongbu Pension Nonsense

For posterity, allow me to document my experience with the Uijeongbu Pension Office.

It went about as smoothly as the Internet would indicate; however, either there's been a slight rules change or the official I talked to was a jerk. When I went, the clerk refused to take any of my bank information (SWFT code, address, account number) from me. She would only take it from a receipt from the bank...even though the bank receipt would be based on the same information she wouldn't accept from me. Uh, what?

She also refused to just let me cash it out; I could either wire it home, wire it to a Korean account, or set up a new bank account in the bank downstairs and transfer it there.

So I just sucked it up, went to the bank to send my money home, and came back with the bank receipt, and it was all good.

And icing on the bad service cake: despite working at the FOR FOREIGNERS desk, seeing my American passport, and hearing me fail miserably at Korean (stress + my crappy Korean = crappier Korean), she didn't use English with me at all until I broke down and gave a sad, "I don't know, I just need to send this money home," in English. And then perfectly fluent English. What.

It was not a pleasant experience at all, but I suspect it was mostly due to this particular government worker being kind of a bitch.

WHAT YOU NEED FOR THE UIJEONGBU PENSION OFFICE
(as of 11/2012)

• Passport
• ARC
• Proof of leaving (printed flight itinerary works just fine)
• Receipt from a wire transfer at your bank with: SWFT code, bank name, bank address, account number, and bank branch number

HOW TO FIND THE UIJEONGBU PENSION OFFICE

From the new Uijeongbu Station/Shinsegae department store, take exit 2, towards City Hall. Go past the building with the THC 9 theater. Cross the street; "Wedding Palace" will be on your left. The Uijeongbu Pension Office is in the next building, "Samseong Sang Myeong." (NB: The name is only in Hangul: 삼성생명 or something similar.) Don't make any turns at all once you leave the station, just make a beeline out of exit 2. The Pension Office is on the second floor; you can take the elevators dead ahead or take the curving staircase to your left.

On Saying Goodbyes: Foreign vs Korean

As I leave the country on Friday(!!), I've been saying goodbye to a lot of people. I've never been very good at goodbyes, in that I am kind of resistant to any kind huge change at all ever, so it's been rough (but I'm glad I took a month off to do it). There is definitely a different attitude, on my end, between saying goodbye to my other foreign friends and to my Korean friends.

My foreign friends here are all ~*~free spirits~*~, as in they put stock in traveling and seeing the world and so forth. They know there's a couch in Stockholm for them; it's not goodbye, it's see you later, as the saying goes.

My Korean friends, though, are mostly of an age where that traveling is more or less behind them. They have already traveled and done all of that and now it's time to find a career. Either that or they're of the aggressive and ambitious type who intend to get into a career as soon as they can; forget taking time off to travel. Those goodbyes are goodbyes. They sting. And while I intend to come back to Korea, who knows if I will. Who knows if time won't diminish our friendships.

I've been singing a lot of this recently. It definitely makes it on to my "Korea: Round Two" soundtrack. It keeps me sane to insist to myself that we will meet again.

So It Goes

Yesterday was my last day. It was even more bittersweet than one would expect, because Halloween is a school-wide "Market Day" at my hagwon. Instead of teaching, I just get to sell the kids snacks and toys for fake money they earn by getting stickers in class. Playing with the kids and just goofing off with them is always more fun than teaching, no matter how good they are as students. The older kids had presentations to give, where they earned real money, so I really did jack-all. I "taught" one and a half classes (the second class was interrupted mid-way for more Market Day), which consisted of watching "My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic" and playing speed quiz.

I moved out yesterday morning, because I thought the new teacher would move in after Market Day was over (like I did a year ago). You guys, I legit had a tearing-up moment as I shouldered my travel bag and went out the door. Which is dumb, I mean it's an officetel like any other, but I lived there, man! It was the happiest year I had in Korea and that was my home for it all. It's weird how you get attached to a living space depending on how you feel about your life: I had some pretty big issues at Sherlock and so when I left didn't give the officetel much thought; my apartment in Bundang was by far the "nicest" but I was so glad to be out of there when I left. When I try to mentally picture my other two living spaces, there aren't any feelings that hit me in the gut. When I think about this officetel, it brings on a lot of warm fuzzies.

Now I'm back at the love motel I crashed at during the two week gap between my job at Cassandra (aka The Gates of Hell) and this job in Uijeongbu. I have some errands and things to do until Monday, at which point I will have a miniature White Liberal Guilt tour of Gwangju and then over to see a friend  in Busan.

I heard that my neighborhood at home is without power for two weeks, though hopefully the power company is applying The Scotty Principle to this one. I think that was the worst of it, though; unless we got some basement flooding or roof leakage.

Post-Teaching Itinerary

My job ends on Halloween, as I might have mentioned before. But I don't leave Korea until November 30th; I'm giving myself a month of free time in the Land of the Morning Calm to chill out, see the sights, and just generally be a lazy bum in a country where liquor runs about $1 US a bottle.

So far my plans include going to Gwangju, Jeonju (bibimbap!!) Busan, the Dragon Hill Spa in Yongsan, the comfort women protests in Seoul, and a weekend trip to Jusanji (I think that's the name) Lake with my Korean friend Jenny. There's the foreigner Thanksgiving get-together at a pension my friend Leah wants to pull together as well, and perhaps a hike up Seoraksan.

Since I'm nominally participating in NaNoWriMo this year, all of this will have to be squeezed around me cranking out 50,000 words of young adult fantasy bullshit that will hopefully become something good.

I saw a great quote on Pinterest (I'm a girl, I have to, it's part of the new rules of the girls' club) which, in a stereotypically over-dramatic fashion, is, like, my life, you guys!! OMG!!!

Only, pretend that it says "goodbye" and not "goddbye."

I like to imagine a future where all of my awesome friends from Korea are still my awesome friends thirty years from now. I know that's not realistic, but, well, hope is the greatest of things and all that jazz. Coping with the fact that I will never see many of them face-to-face after I catch that plane in Incheon is already tough enough.

Things I Won't Miss

I'm just trying to get myself in the mindset to be ready to get out of Korea and go back home. To find something wrong with my current setup, I really have to really nitpick.

So far, I've only come up with one thing I won't miss: living in a second floor apartment off one of the busiest intersections in Uijeongbu. It is nothing but a ceaseless parade of cars, obnoxious delivery motorbikes, and the not unoccasional drunk costumer customer  from the hof across the street. My previous apartments were on much higher floors and on much smaller streets, and about as quiet as my neighborhood in the states.

Oh wait, two things: my neighbors and their 24/7 love affair with television.

In other news, it's now October. My last month on the job. :(

You Encounter: Men Behaving Well

I would be remiss if I only complained about (what I think is) awful behavior from people without ever noting the good behavior. Consider this entry part of my attempt to be fair and balanced. (Har.)

My friend Max's father was stationed in Korea during the Vietnam War, up at Camp Casey. Two weeks ago, Max, along with his fiancee (Kirsten) and another one of our mutual friends (Frank), came up to visit me at Uijeongbu. It was a two-birds-one-stone trip, since they hadn't seen me for a few weeks and they had been meaning to see Camp Casey since they got to Korea, anyway.

The trip to Dongducheon and the walk around the weird Americatown in Bosan is worth another entry on its own (I'm waiting for Kirsten to upload the pictures), but I didn't want to forget the ride back. It was substantive enough to warrant its own entry, anyway.

While we were waiting for the subway back to Uijeongbu, another foreign guy asked us if this was the train back to Seoul. He had a Southern accent, hair too long and face too scruffy for either the army or a hagwon. We said yes, it was, and then he got to talking.

I've said it before, and I'll say it again: I'm the queen of the socially awkward penguins. Among other things, unexpected conversations on the subway (or anywhere) stress me out. I end up just kind of standing there, mouth hanging open, grasping for follow-up questions or responses, so hung up about "doing it wrong" that I end up...doing it wrong.

 This is seriously a thing I have to do.

Fortunately, my company that day was all much better at these things than I am, so they drew out the conversation much more easily and naturally than I would have been able to do on my own.

It turns out our interlocutor had been stationed in Korea in the mid-80s. He was here on vacation. Before this trip, he had spent seven years trucking in the states, saving up money to buy a bar. I do have to say, he would make an excellent bartender, as he never ran out of interesting conversation fodder. Before he wanted to buy the bar, he said, he decided to come back to Korea on vacation to see how much had changed (the answer is: a lot). I think he was even considering buying a bar somewhere in Seoul. He also got to talking about army stuff with the military couple next to us, about the hoops you had to jump through to get your spouse over, life on the base, and so forth.

There were two things about the conversation that struck me. First, you wouldn't think it when you first looked or talked to him, but he displayed an incredibly remarkable level of self-reflection and self-awareness, aware of the ambassadorship he held for whatever category he happened to be representing at the time: army, American, trucker, etc.

"When you're a trucker, those big truck stops will offer you a free shower if you fill up the tank there. Since the company's paying for the fuel, it's like a free shower. Well, one of these I was at there was a waiting list. The girl told the guy in front of me he'd have to wait, and he freaked out. 'I'm gonna have to wait how long? Aw man, I haven't had a shower in a week!' And I took him aside and I was like, 'Jesus, man, did you even think before you talked? You haven't showered in a week? When you say something like that, it makes all of us look bad.'" He shook his head.  "Didn't even think, man. No wonder people think truckers are the scum of the earth."

The second thing that struck me was twofold: the extent to which the government and also private enterprise will go to fuck over anyone, as well as the depth and strength of my own hang-ups about American servicemen and women. I have met some really cool and decent officers, but my instinct when I'm sharing space with someone with a military aura is to get the hell away. My first thought is: Nuisance. Is this good or fair? No. Absolutely not. I forget that they're someone's son, brother, uncle, father, what have you: both the ones that are behaving badly, and the ones that have adapted well.

Our interlocuter's son—his only child, from the sound of it—served in Afghanistan. He was killed in an attack on his unit. That's already heartbreaking and awful. "No father should have to bury his son," to paraphrase Theoden in Lord of the Rings. What takes this to an awful, and previously unknown, level of fuckery, is that the private insurance company that's the de facto (maybe only) option for soldiers initially refused to pay out benefits to his surviving father because they didn't have proof that he had worn his helmet. No matter what happens, apparently, if you are not in full combat gear and you die during an attack, you get squat. The other military guy on the train with us relayed a story about a guy whose family had been denied benefits because he wasn't wearing kneepads.

I'm sorry, but a helmet or kneepads is not going to save you from enemy mortars.

It took some amount of paperwork (not sure how much, but honestly any paperwork in this situation is too much), but the company eventually conceded that he had indeed been wearing his helmet and paid up the money owed. One of his son's friends, fuming with rage and grief at the death of his friend, made sure to help him fight the good fight.

"When I went to collect this things, lots of the generals shook my and told me how sorry they were. My son's friend was with me, and he looked pissed. Later when we were alone, he said, 'They don't give a fuck about your son. They don't care about anyone here.'" The other military guy with us nodded his head in assent.

"I've got his dog tags tattooed here." He rolled up his t-shirt sleeve to show us. "It was hell over there. I'd talk to him on Skype a couple days a week, and ask how it was. And he'd just say, 'Applebee's.' Like, 'I'll tell you when I get home and we have dinner at Applebee's.'"

The extent to which people will go to make money, including trying to screw over grieving families, set a a hard little ball of nausea in my stomach. Why isn't this a huge news story? Why did I hear about it by chance on a subway trip back home?

Safe travels to you, Mr. Carolina-raised Hoosier. If I could, I'd stop by for a few drinks at your bar, wherever it ends up being.

Preach

Great blog entry about attachments and being an expat.

So you look at your life, and the two countries that hold it, and realize that you are now two distinct people. As much as your countries represent and fulfill different parts of you and what you enjoy about life, as much as you have formed unbreakable bonds with people you love in both places, as much as you feel truly at home in either one, so you are divided in two. For the rest of your life, or at least it feels this way, you will spend your time in one naggingly longing for the other, and waiting until you can get back for at least a few weeks and dive back into the person you were back there. It takes so much to carve out a new life for yourself somewhere new, and it can’t die simply because you’ve moved over a few time zones. The people that took you into their country and became your new family, they aren’t going to mean any less to you when you’re far away.

This.  This is pretty much the story of my life. Part of me never wants to leave Korea, or at least not for a long, long time.  Part of me never wants to leave my job at home. Part of me never wants to be away from  The Boy again. Wherever I go, something's missing. It's incredibly schizophrenic.

Men Behaving Badly: A Call to Action

A few assorted things have gone wrong enough this week (goofed up some assignments for work, boyfriend apparently has some serious sleep apnea so now I worry about him DYING IN HIS SLEEP HALF THE WORLD AWAY FROM ME, dinner plans canceled) that I'm going to put on my Piss And Moan hat. However, I'm going to try to productively channel my frustration and take it above and beyond My Life Is So Hard into Have Some Constructive Criticism. Also, with the Piss And Moan hat come the Feminist goggles, so if that's not your thing, well, fair warning.

I like to think of my Feminist goggles as sexy cateye glasses.

The Incident

Last Saturday was kind of a whole parade of Men (And An Ajumma) Behaving Badly. You should bear in mind that because of said parade, this particular incident struck a rawer nerve than it might have otherwise. (In other words: psychologists would say I was "prepped" for FEMINIST HULK RAGE mode.) However, those other incidents are boring and personal, while this one has implications for way more people. Hence my sharing it (and my reaction) here.

It was a nice night out, so my friend Yousef¹ and I decided to take some air and enjoy a street performance by two high school guys with a guitar and bongos in Uijeongbu's attractive new downtown pedestrian mall. A small crowd had gathered, including two very American military looking guys who were working their way through an assortment of Cass and soju bottles (and who had already struck me as douchecanoes for entirely unrelated reasons²). After a while, they decided to try and get a couple of Korean girls to drink with them (and, in my cynical and somewhat misandrist viewpoint that particular night, to later sleep with them, but in the interest of fairness neither of them mentioned or indicated anything sexual, as far as I could hear).

When I say "Korean girls," I don't mean "Korean women in their 20s." I mean, "girls who are definitely still in high school." Yousef was convinced they were still middle schoolers. So yes, I mean actual, literal, pubescent girls. Girls with whom it would be sketchy and inappropriate for men in their twenties (if not older, though I am a poor judge of age) to be socializing with, especially with alcohol present.

Naturally the girls declined, and after some more back-and-forthing as best could be had considering neither party had a fluent common language, they got up and left. Not surprising, since it was around or after midnight. The men who had been pestering them immediately turned resentful. "Well, fuck you, then. Bitches."

Interlude: An Outside Resource

Now, take a break and have this Cracked.com article: Five Ways Modern Men Are Trained to Hate Women. It's not really directly relevant, but I think it does a lot to explain (to me at least) the venom and resentment in the end of that above exchange, in the deployment of  the words "fuck" and "bitches." I mean really, all you need to read is the first point alone and you don't need any more explanation than that.

Call To Action

So what am I getting at? Aside from "SHIT LIKE THIS PISSES ME OFF," I mean. Good question! Here are my theses:

1. I'd like to live in a world—in any country—where a woman's refusal to join a man for drinks and/or sexytimes would be met with nothing more the same silent chagrin I feel every time I try to speak passable Korean or introduce myself to a new co-worker. No resentment, no misdirected rage ("How dare she not want to hang out with me!"), no name-calling: just feeling that small sting of rejection or awkwardness and then moving on.

In some ways I already do live in that world because (drunk) men typically don't invite me for drinks and/or sexytimes because the women I drink with are invariably prettier than me, more outgoing than me, or both. But I'd like everyone to have that experience, regardless of personality or sex appeal.

2. I'd like to live in a Korea without people perpetuating the awful stereotypes about foreign men and their douchey, lecherous behavior. I get to dodge this one a bit by being a foreign woman (thereby making it harder for me to be a lecherous douche), but it still bugs me. It bugs me because it still kind of follows me around, and it bugs me more because I know plenty of foreign guys who don't play into those awful stereotypes—let's be real, most of you don't, even if I don't know you—and who knows what kind of crap they get nonetheless.

So, my call to action is this: if you're a guy, and you see a guy being a lecherous douche, tell him to knock it off. This goes doubly-so if you're a foreigner and so is the lecherous douche.

Justification

"But Katherine!" you cry. "Isn't that asking the menfolk to stand up for the weak, useless women? Or the white savior to stand up for the Eroticized Other? What kind of feminist are you? And telling people to go stick their noses in other people's business? Really?"  But hear me out.

First of all, I don't advocate White Knighting. Especially if it's for the sake of getting into someone else's pants. I'm definitely not endorsing the "Say honey, is this guy bothering you?" trope.³ Rather, my intent is that if we as a society or a people or a community or whatever word start etiquette-policing against scumbaggery, it'll become less viable an option.

Likewise I am not calling for an end to drunken bar-flirting or hookup culture. Whatever consenting grown-ups want to do with each other, awesome. But the above scenario was not two consenting adults, it was two belligerent and drunk adults on one side and two sober, clearly not interested  and clearly uncomfortable teenagers on the other.

Nor do I think women are inherently incapable of diffusing these situations on their own. We can be clever enough, gracious enough, classy enough, whatever enough, to be sure. Sometimes, though, other factors outside of sex and gender (in this case, there was a clear language barrier) make it hard to summon those traits. Other times, it's nice to know there's some kind of vocal and active support from the vast majority of men who aren't gross scumbags.

In a nutshell: my focus isn't on "saving the (non-white) woman," here. My focus is on, "Men receiving censure from fellow men." It's on: "Someone telling someone they're behaving poorly." I mean, how else do we learn how to function in society? A lot of things we intuit, sure, based on what seem to be inherent a priori rules: causing other things pain is bad, helping them is good, and so forth. But other things we need to be told; what's more, what one person can intuit another person needs an explicit explanation for.

And the truth is, sometimes it takes someone "of your kind" to meaningfully communicate that explanation. (Hence why Tim Wise, a white guy, is such an effective speaker against racism.) I'd like to think that if the guys in question here had enough straight, cisgendered men tell them, "Hey, I think you're being really creepy, why don't you lay off because she's clearly not interested and it's making you/the rest of us look really bad." every time they tried to drunkenly pick up disinterested women⁴, they'd get the idea. They'd stop. Maybe. ⁵

Of course we don't live in a perfect world and if anyone took this call to action as seriously as I think it should be taken, they'd no doubt end up in at least a few fights and other unfortunate scenarios. That's why I realize it's a pipe dream. But hey, a girl can dream, right?

---

1. Yousef is never a Man Behaving Badly. In case you were wondering.

2. "Freebird!"

3.  In fact, confronting these kinds of douchebags with the intent to show off to the lady how much of a Nice Guy you are is even worse than the initial scumbaggery, in my book.


4. I know I am making an assumption here about these guys'  consistent behavior over time, but I don't think it's so much of a stretch.


5. I realize that this is a method that deals only with surface level behaviors and not underlying thought patterns (ie treating the symptoms instead of the disease) but that's a discussion for another day.

The Best Pizza in Seoul (Or, Thank You For Sucking, LG)

LG is my cell phone provider and with my most recent phone it seems they've just given up. I'd say about a third of the texts I send Jong-min never get there, and instead he gets a message saying they're from a number no longer in use. And, likewise, some of his texts never get to me.

Neither of us realized this until about 9:30 this past Saturday night, when he finally got a hold of me by actually calling and I found out that no, he hadn't been blowing me off all day (he was supposed to come up to visit me in Uijeongbu, and this was the third in a series of scheduled visits that inevitably had to be put off), my phone had just been fucking me over.

Fortunately I was with a friend of mine with a real apartment and an electric piano so I blew off some of my rage-against-the-machine by beating the shit out of the first few bars of Schubert's Moment Musical No. 5.

Relevant to this, I guess: I took piano lessons for all of my growing-up years and (until the end of high school) took it fairly seriously. I was an orch dork and a bando too, but piano is my first (and best) instrument; this piece is my go-to rage song/musical therapy choice. I played it a lot in high school, because I was a stupid teenager who was pissed off a lot. I've mostly since mellowed out, so the fact that I felt it necessary to abuse poor Schubert says a lot about how I felt at that particular moment in time.

Beating up Schubert did a lot to make me feel better, but on Sunday I still woke up pissed. Determined to make the best of weekend plans ruined, I texted Jong-min and said I was free if he wanted to get dinner in Seoul to make up for our failed outing.

Lest I sound like a desperate creeper: back in my Sherlock days, Jong-min and I would easily see each other once a week, if not twice. Since I've come back, our schedules haven't been nearly as complementary and we're lucky to see each other twice a month. A missed friend-date now stings a bit more than it would otherwise. 

Besides, I figured it was about time I learn where the 3100 (Daejin Uni - Uijeongbu - Gangnam) bus stop is, so we decided to meet at 6:30 at Sinnonhyeon station and grab some eats. 

Our meandering took us to a place a few blocks back from Gangnam-ro with the banal name of New York Pizza. It seemed a lot quieter than the surrounding coffee shops and restaurants (some of which had lines out the door), and the entrance boasted an owner who had gone to New York city to learn how to make New York-style pizza.

After five minutes faffing about and debating whether we should try a nearby Spanish restaurant instead, we went for the pizza. "It's hard to fuck up pizza. Even bad pizza is still good food."

They didn't fuck it up, though. It was amazing.

I'm not the kind of person who gets homesick a lot. The things I do crave, I either do without (whole wheat potato bread) or make myself (pirogi). Pizza isn't really one of those things. I don't have the beef with Korean pizza that some people do. Sure, it's different than home but it's still good enough to eat. There's even an Italian place in Minlak-dong my friends and I frequent that does really tasty Italian-style artisan pizzas.

But American New York style pizza, greasy and thin with a nice dough-y crust and without any renegade corn is not that common here. There is a niche to fill and New York Pizza does it well. So well that I didn't realize I missed it until I had some. Jong-min was equally impressed. 

There are some foreigners who
would kill a man for this.

The owner speaks pretty good English. He even came over to ask me what I thought of the pizza (I guess because as a foreigner/American I was like a litmus test for him?), which I couldn't praise enough. Because holy shit.

I'm pretty sure the place is rather new. I'm not seeing it mentioned online anywhere, nor does it seem to have a web presence (at least one in English).  For all I know, I may have been the first foreign customer to find the place. I really hope it takes off, and I see no reason why it shouldn't, because there are so many American/Canadians homesick for exactly that. The downside is, it's damn expensive pizza (like 27,000 won for a 14" "couple" pizza), but maybe he'll be able to bring the prices down in the future, once business picks up a bit.

They make your pizza to order right behind the counter, which is always a fun time. The interior is nice, too. And either they pay for some kind of Internet radio, or they keep the stereo loaded up with a nice selection of old anglophone top 40 hits, (or they keep it tuned to whatever American military radio station there is?) because this was the first time I've heard The Monkees, Deep Purple, or George Harrison while I've been out and about. That was just as much fun for me as the food. (Jong-min, who is not the most musically literate of people, clearly was not as amused as I was.)

In fact, recounting just how tasty it was has pretty much wiped the memory of my shit phone from my brain, which was my whole reason for posting in the first place. That's how good it is, guys: it's magical memory-wiping pizza. It's like the neuralizer from Men in Black

So, if my phone is so shit, why should I be thanking LG?

Well, if their service hadn't sucked, Jong-min would have come up to Uijeongbu on Saturday. If he had come up to Uijeongbu on Saturday, I wouldn't have felt the need to suggest we get dinner in Gangnam on Sunday. And if we hadn't had dinner in Gangnam on Sunday, then we wouldn't have found New York Pizza. .

New York Pizza is near exit 10 of Gangnam station, set up the hill, a few blocks away from the main road. Because we were just kind of meandering, I didn't keep track of where we were. It'll take you a bit of hunting, but if you're a bit homesick and in need of artery-clogging pizza, head to Gangnam to see if you can find New York Pizza. Absolutely worth it. 

More On Being Fat In Korea: Shopping

As a reward for taking care of some stressful errands, I went to the "plus-sized" clothing store downtown. I'd dropped in a couple times before and found some cute leggings and tops. My goal today was a new pair of jeans and some spring t-shirts.

I only succeeded in one of those missions (the jeans). Definitely one of the more unrewarding of my shopping ventures.

If this were America, I could have gone to Target, Wal*Mart, or Sears, and found everything in a "mainstream" store, alongside the size 0s and 00s. Sure, the fancy boutique-type places are off-limits to my size 14 badonkadonk, but there are alternatives. There's even places like Fashion Bug, Lane Bryant, or Torrid, that cater nearly exclusively to fat chicks like me.

That's not quite the case here. I can comfortably buy t-shirts in department stores that are the equivalent of Target or Wal*Mart, and the occasional elastic-waisted bottom, but jeans, trousers, or fitted blouses are not happening. Like at home, the cutesy boutiques you find on almost every street are only so much fashion-critic window shopping for me. The only place I can buy any clothes beyond t-shirts is one called, creatively, "큰 옷." Literally: "Big Clothing." Not the most inspiring of names.

It's a small store, like all of these boutiques, but they manage to cram a lot of clothing in there. That's a plus. The sizes range from L to 5X. Also a plus. But that was it.

For whatever reason (finances? lack of opportunity? bad timing on my part?) the spring selection was simply not there. Everything was still fleece leggings and gray winter long-sleeve tops. Ninety percent of the color palette in tops and bottoms was gray, black, or brown. Not really the most cheerful, spring-like fashion choices. The first strike of the day. I ended up getting my spring t-shirts at a men's store in the Underground Market.

People complain a lot about vanity sizing in America and how it's nonsensical and confusing. It's even more so if you get clothes overseas, because all of a sudden I went from a 14/M/L/XL (depending on the company) to a XXXL. Kind of depressing, but more depressing for the fact that there are obviously women (and men) in America who are much larger than me. I couldn't imagine being a XXXL in the states and coming to Korea, stuck with trips down to Itaewon or Internet shopping, and then seeing signs that said "3X" in this store—what bitter, awful disappointment.*

She'd probably be a XXL.

Even when garments were outfitted with measurements (which almost all of the trousers and jeans were: another plus), they seem to correspond to hip measurements, or something else that's not your waist. Observe: I have a 35" waist; pants marked 38" would (sometimes) be impossible to get on. Yet the denim skirt I got labeled 38" fit about how I would expect a 38" skirt to fit my waist (it comes with a belt, which is why I got it). The jeans I went home with have an easy couple inches of give at the waist, but none at the hips/stomach. They're also too long (even in Korea, I'm short!) and just not as nice as the pair I had to retire.

The worst, though, was the dressing room. Again, props for even having one (a lot of times these kinds of stores won't let you try things on), but it was the most miserable fitting room experience of my clothes-shopping life. It was an ad-hoc affair, akin to the dressing rooms of a Salvation Army or Goodwill, but on a raised floor that creaked every time I shifted my weight. Silly little things like that are magnified infinitely when you are in your underwear, struggling with a pair of jeans that won't reach higher than your thighs, with only a flimsy plastic curtain without a latch or lock between you and the public.

Assuming you even get the pants on, there was no mirror to inspect your choice in the privacy of the dressing room: you had to step out from behind the curtain to see how you looked. Instead, on the walls there were ads for what was on sale (modeled on fairly conventionally-sized women, of course) and maternity clothes. As if the only reason anyone could have for being this size was being pregnant. (Though, to be fair, I don't think I've seen a lot of maternity sections/stores, so maybe this is the only place in the 'bu to get maternity clothes.)

That wasn't the worst part, though. The worst part was:

There was a scale right there in the dressing room.


What sadistic individual thought that would be a good idea? As a (fat) woman, to have that scale there in a moment of shame, stress, and self-loathing is just so much more salt in the wound. I am a badass and beyond giving shits about how much I weigh, but obviously not everyone is a badass. As soon as I saw that scale I decided that I was done shopping there for the day.

So now I'm torn: I haven't really been frustrated or had issues shopping here before (well, one kind of rude sales lady, but just one time), but this experience was so unpleasant that I'm afraid it means the store is on its way down/out; either that, or it was simply never what I wanted it to be. Do I keep shopping at 큰옷, or hold out for Itaewon/Dongdaemun?  Or go the rest of my contract without new clothes? (Obvious answer is: go through the rest of the contract without clothes-shopping, because I don't really need anything. Hopefully I won't need any more retail therapy before November.)



*Aside: now, I realize that Americans are just plain bigger than Koreans, and that as a country we have higher rates of obesity; a quick stroll between Uijeongbu and Hoeryong stations will be enough to tell you that. It's rare (though not unheard of) for me to see a Korean woman my size, let alone even bigger. I'm not calling for a radical readjustment of the clothing sizes in South Korea, merely observing. As for the Korean women my size, or larger (they do exist), I can't imagine where they shop: places like this store? GMarket? Or do they make things themselves?

Adventures at the Underground Market

My cellphone, which suffered the tragic loss of its plastic backing in December, is sputtering gracelessly into the twilight of its years. I occasionally get text messages a full 48 hours after they've been sent, and apparently when I call people, they can't hear me—and I can't hear them either, unless I plug my headphones in. My friend and former coworker Mina gave me her old phone, so I could hopefully switch my contract (yeah, I don't have a pay-as-you-go) from this phone to hers.

I have this, but in orange. Do not go gentle into that good night, little guy!

I've been meaning to do this for two weeks now, but stress and anxiety over trying to negotiate the situation with the phone store guys in my shitty Korean and their shitty English kept me away. Yes, simple things like talking to sales clerks gets my heart rate up. There's a reason I'm a reclusive hermit unless I'm with well-established friends and drinking buddies.

Anyway, today was doing to be different! I was going to be a normal person and be undaunted by the simple task before me! Surely I was worrying too much! It would be simple! Like when I left my first phone at a random bus stop in Uijeongbu and had to buy my now-perishing iriver!

BZZZT.

DO NOT PASS GO. DO NOT COLLECT A NEW PHONE.

I tried three different phone stores that carried the correct brand of cellphone (as far as I could tell) and not a one could (would?) help me. Add to this that my water bottle had leaked in my purse and gotten my Korean vocab book quite soggy and ruined the fastidious notes I had taken in a cute yellow notepad from Daiso, my mood quickly went from "LIFE IS GREAT WHAT A BEAUTIFUL DAY YEAH BEING RESPONSIBLE" to "NNNNNNNRGH SOD EVERYTHING I NEED A DRINK."

Being that there are no bars in the Uijeongbu Underground Market, I did the next best thing: engaged in retail therapy. But no clothes (too fat) or shoes (feet too big) or purses (cannot bring myself to give half a shit about them) for me. Instead, I availed myself of one of the countless optometrists in the market. I had tried to change my phone, after all. Surely I deserved some kind of reward! It had been stressful! I had felt like an idiot! I'd had to talk to strangers! Besides, I had been meaning to get a pair of black frames anyway, as my old black frames were now hopelessly out of date with their prescription and also more navy and less a true black than I'd like.

After some shopping around, the ajosshi behind the counter helped me find a pair of frames I liked, and he cut new lenses for them as well. It was just one man running the whole shop, which he did with such a well-practiced efficiency that it made me wonder if he wasn't some kind of magical glasses wizard.  He even had a very dapper pair of round lenses in thick black plastic himself. They suited him very well and made him look like a glasses magician even more. That or a cartoon character.

He didn't bother to tell me to go and shop around and wait for the new glasses, so I stayed and watched the lens-cutting machine drill out my new eyewear. That was pretty neat, because before when I've bought glasses, the store didn't keep the equipment out where people could watch. They'd just tell me to come back in like half an hour or whatever to pick them up. I'm sure he thought I was a weirdo for being so fascinated by it, but oh well.

So, sixty dollars later, I didn't have a new and more useful phone, but I did have some sweet new glasses!

This is the face of defeat.

I did manage to find some reasonably-priced ($15) bright red rain boots in my size, so even if my phone is broken, I'm ready for the upcoming rainy season. I guess I have that to feel productive about.

You Encounter: Older Men Before Work

It's getting to be warmer—a bit. Some mornings I tutor North Korean defectors (more on that in another post), and then afterwards I head to the gym, and after that I sit outside and read or study Korean. Often times, before or after the gym, I run into Korean grandfathers (or I suspect it's been the same grandfather), and he says hello and smiles. The last time I saw him, he asked about what I was reading. I happened to be reading a book called  How to Read a Book, which he thought was very funny.  Which, you know, I think it is, too.

I look forward to running into him (or them, if it's been more than one) in my mornings, it's a pleasant little exchange that brightens my day a little bit.

But yesterday, instead of a grandfather, it was an ajosshi who stopped to talk to me.

"Hello! How are you?"

"I'm doing well, thanks!"

And then instead of going on his way, he continued to talk to me. At first it was just awkward small talk, and he tried to insist that he was American, that Philadelphia was in Virginia, and that he had an uncle who lived there.

Red flags went up left and right, especially when he tried to pry into my quasi-private life: what did I do, where did I teach, did I work full-time, etc.

"I teach English home school. I am always looking for native teachers to come on Saturdays."

Oh, so that's where this was going.

"I'm very busy, sorry."

"I can pay you. Only one or two times a month."

"Maybe, but I'm very busy, I'm sorry."

"Ah." He would not be so easily defeated, though. "Are you a Christian?"

"Uhh. Yes?"

"Do you go to church?"

"No, I like to rest on the weekend. I don't think God minds."

He made a disappointed face. "My church is very close to here. You should come. This Sunday, it's...Jesus...um..."

"Easter," I suggested.

"Yes! Easter Sunday. You can come!"

"I'm going to my friend's church (Ed. note: blatant lie), and then we're going on a picnic (Ed. note: the truth). I'm sorry."

"Oh." Crestfallen. "Where is it?"

"In Seoul."

"Oh. Well, this is my church, and maybe someday you can visit." He gave me a flyer for some church or other, which I graciously accepted with two hands. I then spied that the crosswalk signal was green and tore the hell out of there. Fortunately, my interlocutor was going in the other direction. I did some shopping and, as soon as I got to work, threw the flyer in the trash.

It's funny now, but at the time I was fuming. If you want to hire someone, you don't ask people off the street (who tell you they already work full-time). You advertise in appropriate venues. You put up posters. You hire a recruiter. You don't assume that you can just strike up a conversation with Jane "Whitey" Doe on the street, immediately ask her to work for you, and have her be okay with that.

Fortunately, that was my first experience with being approached with the motivation to be used as cheap English labor, instead of normal human interaction. I can't imagine how bitter I'd be if this happened all the time.

Sexism, Korean Culture, and White Whine

This is old news, first of all (the blog post that inspired me to write this is from early November). But sexism is an issue that comes up a lot when foreigners complain about Korea and so blogging about it is always relevant, I think.

Second of all, this is going to be kind of scatter shot, so bear with me. To help navigate, I've organized my thoughts into sections.

How to Properly Complain About Sexism

Let me be clear: I think a lot of aspects of Korean culture are sexist. What gets left out of the discussion (usually populated by white American males) is that America is sexist, too. I have no hard data (or even anecdata) about this, but rather I will simply say this: if you are "outraged" at how Korean society treats women but have never given a second thought to women's status in American society, you are (as we say on the Intarbutts) "doin it rong."

I've seen this point come up vis-à-vis religion a lot, too—more specifically, about Islam. And again, there are parts of Islamic culture that are sexist. There is no doubt. But to say, "I don't like Islam because of how they treat their women," and then brush off instances of sexism within your own non-Islamic culture is not how you do feminism, y'all. That's how you use feminism to justify racism. That is how you use feminism to justify your own personal beef with religion. In short, that's how you fail at feminism and it happens in our awesome enlightened white culture all the fucking time, most recently with the "Elevatorgate" kerfuffle between basically "Team Richard Dawkins" and "Team Rebecca Watson."

So, if you are a Western guy blogging about how Korea is soooo sexist and how they could really learn a lesson from Western culture, kindly shut the fuck up.

In short, I am prefacing this essay with the huge and bold and super important admission that Korea is not the only sexist country in the world. Not by a large margin. Not even the only sexist "developed"/"First World"/whatever country. My own home country fails at feminism pretty hard, too, and I think overall the gap between the two countries is negligible at best, because it's give and take. Horrible abortion laws in Korea? Well, they also have cheap and readily available over-the-counter birth control.

You see my point.

Basically, I call sexist bullshit where I see it: US, Korea, the moon, whatever. I just usually keep my hairy-legged man-hating soapboxing off of here because it's not often relevant to Korea and I'd like this blog to be, for the most part, Korea-relevant.

Being the Fattest Girl in the Jjimjilbang

This time, the hairy-legged man-hating is Korea-relevant. Here is what is prompting me to write:  My Manifesto: Fat, Health, Why Don't You Have a Boyfriend? and Korean Culture, from ThingsEveWouldDo.

The teal deer version is that after fourteen successful (minus body-shaming comments and unwanted inquiries about marital status) months at a hagwon, Eve was told she "must" lose weight. She refused, and ultimately resigned because her principal went apeshit about it and presumably because fourteen months of your boss commenting negatively about your body is going to grind you down.

I had actually talked about exactly this kind of scenario in the form of a hypothetical with Jong-min before I returned to Korea and started at Cassandra. I was concerned that the economic upgrade from Uijeongbu (which, while looking very upwardly mobile these days, is still not as posh as Bundang) would mean greater scrutiny placed upon my personal appearance.

Let me also backtrack and remind y'all that I'm a bit of a chubster. Also, for any new readers: here, it's me! For my family and friends: look, I'm at a famous temple!

This is not an attempt at compliment-fishing or female neurotic body-hatred: it's just fact. My body does all kinds of awesome things for me and I love it for that. I'm pretty healthy overall and I rarely get sick because my immune system is baller. As far as bodies go, I've done all right for myself, and my boyfriend really likes it too (not that a body's worth should be based on whether or not a man finds it attractive!). I can go running on a regular basis (three days a week) without any pain or discomfort, I can take long walks on the mountains on the quickly-warming weekends and enjoy the beautiful nature out here in Uijeongbu.

So no "but you're not fat!" or "you're not THAT fat" or "it's just a bad picture" comments, or assumptions that I hate my body. That's not true, and that's not the point. As for the "lose some weight, porker" comments: whatever. Haters to the left.

Naturally, I was worried about the kind of situation that Eve outlined above coming to a head at Cassandra, despite not experiencing a single weight-related workplace issue at Sherlock. My kneejerk, loudmouthed American feminist reaction would be to flip some tables and give them the finger, but I knew that wouldn't get me anywhere. I asked Jong-min what he thought a reasonable reaction would be to such a request.

"If that happens, just look a little sad and say, 'I'm trying,' and they'll feel bad and probably leave you alone." 

As it turned out, I had no reason to worry. Cassandra would turn out to be a miserable place to work for numerous other reasons, but body-shaming was not one of them. As I mentioned in my comment on Eve's blog, I have worked at three different hagwons now and not a one has made my body or appearance in any way a professional issue. Sometimes students say something, but it's not all that often and they're kids. Kids have a notoriously poor filter between brain and mouth. This was the most "dramatic" incident, which happened with one of my kindergarten classes at Cassandra.

Jaymon: "Teacher, you are very big!"
Me: "No, I'm not! I'm very short!"
Jaymon: "No, I mean you are fat!"
Me: "Is that a problem? Am I a bad person?"
Jaymon: *thinking about it* "No..."

Me: "Okay then!"

And he never brought it up again. Though, I did also leave like six weeks later so maybe it would have continued to be an issue—but I doubt that.

That was it. That was the sum total of my experience of professional fat-shaming in Korea.

The Manifesto Itself, and "Korean Culture"

So when Eve posted her story and got responses from SMOE, other bloggers, and other Koreans that getting hounded about her weight and marital status was just "Korean culture" and that she should just shut up and take it, I went into Feminist Hulk Rage mode. When people linked to her as an example of how this was an example of how Korea is "omg so sexist," I went into Cork Up the White Whine mode.

First, such reactions are bullshit because Eve's experience totally fucking isn't Korean culture. Not for Western women, anyway. Like I said, if professional body-shaming were part of "Korean culture" for Western women here, I would almost certainly have experienced it by now. I would have heard of it more often by now. And while my friends and I trade stories of "awful shit our students say" and it sometimes comes up, it has never been a professional issue.  I will admit, though, that maybe I've been lucky. Maybe my friends have been lucky. 

Don't get me wrong. There are loads of other things you can use to support the "Korean working culture can be really sexist" thesis, definitely: sexist remarks and awkward personal questions at job interviews, ageism in hiring, disproportionate numbers of layoffs falling on female employees, a rather low and shatter-proof glass ceiling. These are all widespread, institutionalized things that are awful and should change. These are most certainly sexist aspects of Korean culture. 

Eve's experience was not a result of Korean culture, but the result of one jackass. That jackass may have been informed and influenced by Korean culture, sure, but the fact that neither I nor my heavier female teacher friends here have experienced major professional issues because of our size is a pretty strong indicator that his behavior is far from institutionalized and condoned. Lest you forget, the US has its fair share of douchebag body-shaming bosses. Japan was looking at a program to make waist measurements mandatory for employees and to punish employees above a certain threshold just a few months ago. A culture isn't sexist because you hear about one $cultural_member_douchebag, it's sexist when wide-scale sexist practices are the norm within that culture. Taking it that way treads dangerously close to the "White Whine" category.

The second reason they're bullshit is that even if it were "Korean culture," neither Eve nor a Korean woman should ever be subject to body-shaming and body-policing from an employer. Ever. It's that fucking simple.

Closing Words

Maybe Eve could have handled it in a more "Korean" way (see Jong-min's suggestion). Maybe they weren't happy with her as a teacher and were looking for a way to pressure her out without firing her outright. Maybe Eve's version of the story is unfair and there was more going on than she told. Even if these things were true, it doesn't matter. How people react to a story and what they say about it can often be more important than the story (and its truth value) itself. While I think I may have reacted to that situation differently than Eve, I can't know for sure. I'm just glad she successfully got herself out of what sounded like a very poisonous place, and I can only hope her former principal will either be removed from his position or be less of a jackass in the future.

Student Profile: Minsoo

This is one I've been meaning to write up for a while, but I've always put it off for whatever reason. Which is silly, because Minsoo is a student I want to remember forever. Of course, I think I'd have a hard time forgetting him, but it's surprising and scary what you can forget, so here goes.

Minsoo is not a student I have now. He was in my kindergarten homeroom when I worked at Cassandra Academy, and my first day was his first or second day in the school, so we both were kind of flying blind at the same time.

At first, I had no idea what to do with him because he was so fantastically hyperactive compared to the other children in the class. My foreign partner teacher and I both agreed he was a bit weird. This is the same class as Jaymon and everyone who taught this class agreed that they were the best ever. But Minsoo is definitely the most high-strung of the bunch, forever out of his seat and sometimes incredibly temperamental. Early on I handed back work the rest of the class had done with their old homeroom teacher. Naturally, Minsoo wasn't there, so he didn't get a paper back, and this brought him to tears. Even when I let the kids break the cardinal rule of  "No Korean at Cassandra" to explain to him that this was work they did before he joined, he still wasn't okay.

The next day, of course, he had completely forgotten.

I can't say exactly when I hit a turning point, but eventually he rose to be my favorite in the class (though they were all an adorable bunch that I miss dearly even now). Beneath the spastic energy there was a very sharp and perceptive mind going on. They were all pretty smart kids and, for the most part, quick learners, but Minsoo was easily the quickest. He'd pick up on new vocabulary words almost instantly, or even words I just used a lot. ("Clever boy!" he especially liked to repeat.) He and Jaymon used to have discussions, in English, about dinosaurs. Which one were the biggest, which ones could fly, and so forth. He eventually got to be pages ahead of his classmates in their math textbook and was always the first to finish worksheets—this I dealt with by having him copy his work over again neatly, or just having him flip papers over and draw dinosaurs.

"That's awesome work, Minsoo! Can you draw me a dinosaur now?"

"Okay!!"

 Dinosaurs were Minsoo's favorite thing, and he absolutely loved drawing pictures of them and labeling them and telling me all about them. I kept one of those drawings, laminated it (company time and resources, natch), and I have it taped on the wall of my new apartment.

Yeah, sometimes I'm a lazy teacher.

Or sometimes he'd jump out of his seat and, while I was squatting and helping another student with their work, latch himself on to my back.

"Back hug!"

My Korean partner teacher came to me towards the end of my tenure and said I might have to be a little more strict with Minsoo, as parent teacher conferences were coming up and neither of us wanted a breakdown or anything like he sometimes had (in his other class, he hit his teacher with a pencil and then refused to apologize, meaning a conference with the Korean teacher).

"He likes you a lot, maybe too much. He thinks you are like his mother."

(Aside: just goes to show how great the communication is at Cassandra: this was mere days before I was leaving and my Korean partner teacher HAD NO IDEA I had quit. I managed to get away without having any parent teacher conferences at all, mwuahaha.)

The last day with my kindergarten kids was fun, though a bit sad. Minsoo didn't really process that I was leaving until his other foreign kindergarten teacher showed up, and then (according to her) his face just fell. During the break before the last kindergarten class of the day, he came to the teacher's room to bring me a pencil I had forgotten in class. For a moment, he didn't move: he just stood in the doorway and started sniffling. Everyone's heart broke a little bit, seeing that.

"Aw, Minsoo my boy, come here." He bolted and almost knocked me over with the force of his hug. I gave him a good squeeze.

"Shh, I'll come visit you guys during lunchtime, I'm not gone yet."

I came to visit and sing and play with them one last time, before they left for the day and a new teacher took over on Monday.

The whole class and I, being silly on my last day.

And the man himself.

The teacher who replaced me also is leaving early, but she waited until "graduation" so that she could see this class off until the end. She also got really attached to them, which is easy because they're sweet and smart and adorable. I hope she had as much fun with them as I did.

I worry about Minsoo, and what will happen to him: whether his hyperactive and highly-sensitive nature is just him being young, or if it's something more permanent to his psyche. He's obviously incredibly smart, but—like Travis, though perhaps not as severely—very sensitive and just different as well. I hope he's always as curious and as unflappable for his future teachers as he was for me.

Going to the Gym

A few months ago, I decided to start training for a 5K. I don't want to actually run in one, so don't ask me when my race is; I just want to be able to do it. I'm a firm believer in rule number one:

 Because it's winter, and the sidewalk pavement is uneven and awful to the point of being dangerous, and running in the dirty air is basically the same as getting a punch right in the lungs, I did the unthinkable: I coughed up money for a gym membership.

For a while I had been using the health room at my favorite jjimjilbang, but once I figured out the gym near my work was charging W130,000 for three months instead of just one, the gym quickly became the more economically viable option. I bit the bullet and signed up last week, and it was the MOST TRAUMATIZING THING I'VE EVER DONE IN SOUTH KOREA OH MY GOD.

Protip: 8:30 in the evening is THE WORST POSSIBLE TIME to go to the gym. Unfortunately, that's when I decided to go be an adult and sign up. As I walked in the door, I could hear the record needle scratch in the soundtrack of my life. Half of the weight machines face the door, and they were just crammed full of ajosshis who didn't seem to care that they were staring at the fat white girl.

(Lots of my friends complain a lot about being stared at, but honestly I think a lot of them exaggerate, are paranoid, or legitimately draw more stares than I do, because normally I never notice it or really care. Not this time, though.)

The guy at the desk spoke some English, not that signing up was particularly hard: name, cell phone number, and hand over your credit card, please. I didn't get any kind of membership card or anything so I'm not sure how they keep track of me. Of course, I am pretty easy to keep track of.

After I filled out the paperwork, I followed the guy at the desk around for the grand tour: shoe lockers, locker room, jjimjilbang, finished.  Eyes followed me the whole time. The only respite from them was in the locker room, but I didn't just pay good money to stand around naked and eventually take a shower. I put my gym clothes on (gyms in Korea typically provide you with jjimjilbang/sauna-like shorts and shirts, but I didn't want to risk not fitting into their clothes so I brought my own) and returned to the fray. Still the stares. They got better by the time I left, but the damage was done: I felt immensely self-conscious, moreso than I ever did at the jjimjilbang or the other gym I used to go to when I worked at Sherlock Academy. The whole time I was working out, I wanted to melt into the floor.

And, of course, what I really wanted—the treadmills—were all taken, so I made do with the weight machines I could recognize and use instead. Just to be annoying, they were set at slightly different weight increments than the ones at the jjimjilbang (increments of 5 until 15 kg, when it switches to 10 kg increments; the machines at the gym I had been at used 5 kg increments the whole time and I had been doing quite well at 20 kg) and had either lost the helpful little stickers that demonstrate how to use the machine, or had simply never had them in the first place. Some were complicated to the point where they lookd like Medieval torture devices, and even the ones I did recognize and know well had some kind of secondary pin you can adjust in addition to the weight. I think it adjusts the resistance without changing how heavy the weight is? I have no idea, I'd never seen a weight machine like that ever before.

I was also terrified that one of the trainer guys would feel obligated to come over and try to help me with the machines which is so mortifying in so many ways that I can't even begin to enumerate, so I didn't even bother to investigate the torture devices to see if I could figure them out on my own. Eventually, though, I finished up my strength training and could no longer put off my cardio.

Except, of course, the treadmills were still all taken, twenty minutes later.

The other issue at stake was that I was working under a time limit: in about ninety minutes I was meeting a friend for beers and language exchange. I needed at least half an hour on the treadmill, plus time to shower and change my clothes. Disgruntled, I settled for one of the ellipticals, figuring cardio without the actual 5K training was still better than no cardio at all.

But good Lord do I hate ellipticals. They are awkward and there seemed to be no way to account for my short legs that didn't force my beer gut and fat ass off the seat. Once my butt was comfortable, I couldn't really pedal properly.

Fortunately I only had to endure a couple minutes of elliptical hell before someone relinquished one of the treadmills. I squeezed myself between the ellipticals and triumphantly commandeered the treadmill.

VICTORY.

Temporarily.

I left the gym not feeling invigorated and renewed, but awkward, judged, and just generally miserable. What little good I felt about accomplishing a grown-up thing like signing up for a gym membership and working out was negated by how awfully out of place I felt. I regretted my membership and wondered if I should cancel it, or if I even could.

The mornings, I've found, are infinitely better. I go before work and I share the space with three or four other people at maximum. I still have all kinds of anxiety about the weight machines and about the trainers coming over to have an awkward conversation I won't entirely understand in pidgin English/pidgin Korean about how to use the machine, and I still fuck things up (shoes get complicated), but at least I don't have a gym full of people as my audience.

Moral of the story? A gym in Korea at 8:30 on a weeknight is a special kind of hell, and you should avoid it if at all possible.

Un-Korean-ness and White Whine

I originally wanted to call this entry title, "Eat a Dick, Chris."  I panned that for obvious reasons.  The next title was going to be, "Let Me Tell You All What It's Like, Being Male, Middle-Class, and White," but that's kind of long. Fortunately, after my knee jerk reaction of "eat a dick," I have moved on. Now, I  just hope Chris was just having a bad day when he wrote up his bit of white whine about embracing his un-korean-ness, and I hope he feels better now.  Because to that Chris, in that moment of time, I still say, "eat a dick."

Before we go any further, I feel that this is an incredibly appropriate soundtrack.  Facebook won't embed any goddamn videos ever, so just read this on my blog at the link here.  I'm also posting the NSFW version with all of the swear words because I'm ~edgy~ like that.  If ever you listened to a song I've posted here, listen to this one.  Never has a song been more apropos.

Korea is not a perfect place.  I don't need to enumerate the many ways in which it is not perfect because that's not my point.  My point is that when white "waygooks" (good Christ, how much do I hate that word, especially in anglicized form?) suddenly complain about racial and ethnic other-ness, about not being able to integrate, about being judged and presumed about based on their race, I have one and only one response: eat a dick.

Never mind the UNSPEAKABLE FUCKING HILARITY of someone from a pretty privileged class complaining about being treated differently because he's a minority, let's just talk about the big reason all of us teachers are here in the first place, the giant elephant in the room when it comes to our lives as teachers.  Okay, yeah, we all love teaching kids or molding minds or kimchi or whatever, but the biggest, fattest reason of them all is

MONEY.

Of course there are people who are just so unfit to teach that no amount of money would make life worth it for them.  And there are people who are glad to be doing the teaching no matter where they are or what they were being paid, because they're saints.  There are people who came for the money but stay now because they have adapted well to the country, put down roots here and have (gasp!) integrated into society. But if you take a quick survey of foreign teachers here, you'd probably find that the vast majority are relatively fresh out of school and in need of a job and this was easier/more exotic/better-paying than back at home.  At some point, it was indeed about the Benjamins.  (Or the Shin Saim-dongs, rather.)

Because of this, we get paid better than the typical Korean does, too—and they're often on their own about the housing, plus the workload-to-payscale ratio from native speaker teachers to Korean teachers is (usually) ridiculous.  Who among us has the typical Korean work schedule?  Who among us has the typical Korean salary? What Korean enjoys the liberty of being able to quit a too-demanding, too-miserable job because their particular demographic is just SO UTTERLY IN DEMAND?

It's not quite an exploitative system, but it's damned close.  Roboseyo (I think?) mentioned a while ago that the overall attitude of English teachers in Korea is a pretty mercenary one and I'd generally agree with that assessment.  Whether it applies to Chris, I don't know, I haven't met him personally (and however much of a person's blog you read, you can never get the full picture).  But to ask a culture to embrace you with open arms (which seems to mean giving you a magical foreigner bubble through which no ajosshis can shove you or ajummas can elbow you, even like they do to other Koreans; through which no biographical details or "typical" foreigner questions can be put to you; through which only the "acceptable" Koreans can pass) while also (presumably) demanding that they pay you a relatively handsome salary and not work you too hard for it? To also have the luxury of never needing to learn even the most basic bits of the language to survive? Jesus Christ, did you also want the happy ending?  Maybe you work ten hour days, six days a week (and spend your Sundays at the Korean hagwon), Chris, but I'm going to go ahead and doubt that.

And yes, I get that sometimes people have bad days, or that sometimes they need to vent, and that no one is perfect.  I have also been an entitled foreigner in Korea, more often than I'd care to remember or admit: I read back on earlier entries and cringe. It's necessary to recognize your entitlement, though, and to see how it affects your attitude towards Korea and Koreans.  For people like, say, Roboseyo, The Grand Narrative, I'm No Picasso, and so on—the "big names" of the K-blog network, you know who you/they are—there is an especial burden/expectation of you to think twice before you post this kind of white whine.  It reflects poorly on other foreigners and it reflects poorly on you, as well.  (I mean, not to beat a dead horse, but mocking Koreans' crappy English accents?  Really?  Especially as an English teacher, that's poor form.)

Instead of closing with another dick joke, I'm just going to say: I hope you feel better, Chris.  I hope writing and posting that was cathartic.  I also hope that next time you're tempted to vent your frustrations, you either take a critical look at them and realize what kind of impression you're giving, or you find another, much less public (and much more anonymous) space to air them out.   What you choose to do with your blog is your own business, of course—I'm a true 'murican at heart and no one but you should dictate what you say in your own space on the Internet—but I think we all expected a little bit better from you.