14 posts tagged “reflecting”

Last week I turned 25.  It seems like a rather monumental birthday, if only because I can FINALLY rent a car.  I made sure to celebrate in style, with lots of good food, friends and fun.  D and I had dinner at a favourite Thai restaurant in Seoul, then we joined some friends for drinks and cake (and party hats!) at a relaxed bar, and ended the night at a basement place called "Reggae Bar" that felt exactly like someone's hippy living room.  It was wonderful.  I decided I would like to have a picnic the next day, so we made our way to the only real park I've ever come across in Seoul and made an afternoon of it, complete with cupcakes, brie, baguettes, and frisbee. Here are some pictures.  Only this year did it occur to me that I've had a picnic on every one of my last 5 birthdays.  I started a tradition without even realizing, but I fully intend to continue it.

So, 25.  I feel like an official adult now, which feels both awesome and terrible.  I feel more in control of my life than I ever have before, but also much more responsible for my actions and decisions.  I love the freedom I have to live how I choose, but I feel the guilt that comes with it more now.  I've also never been so aware of how scary and dangerous the world is, though I feel like it is wide open for me (and others) to explore.

This year has been a test for me, but also an opportunity.  I don't think I would have come back to Korea if I had known that the tension between north and south would escalate so high this year.  It has caused me a lot of anxiety to be
living in North Korea's backyard, but it has tested my endurance and my strength of character to have stayed.  There is no way to know whether I will be in danger while I'm living here, but I'm proud of myself for dealing with the anxiety and being as responsible as I can be in this situation.  At the same time, this year back in Korea has given me the opportunity to achieve some of my goals.  I've had the time and money to finish two courses I needed to take.  I've had the great chance to meet and work with Korean and foreign artists, and I've been able to pay back my university debt.  It feels like my 25th was a very full year.

Looking toward my next year, my goals are not so clear.  There are certainly things I know I want to achieve in the next 3-5 years, but none of them seems particularly urgent.  I think it's a foregone conclusion that I want travel to remain a big part of my life.  Though it scares me a bit, I'm not sure I'll ever get over the need to explore and experience new places.  I'm also certain that I want art to become a bigger priority in my life, and that teaching has become important to me as well.  For the time being, I'm trying to take the societal pressure to achieve the expected standards off of myself.  All I want at 25 is to have purpose and balance in whatever I'm doing.

I've started writing at least three posts about my first impressions (for the second time) of Korea.  I think there is just too much I could say, and so I get overwhelmed and unable to write anything coherent and meaningful.  Today I was walking home from school and I realized it doesn't really matter any longer what my first impressions were.  What matters now is that nearly two months after arriving, I'm very happy with how things are.

I'm happy that I work at a great school, with wonderful staff.
I'm happy that Korean food tastes a lot better this time around.
I'm happy that my students are at an age where I can connect with them.
I'm happy that I can walk everywhere I need to go.
I'm happy that the big city is only an hour long train ride (and $1.50) away.
I'm happy that I get to come home to my boys every night.
I'm happy that we have a lovely apartment, that is nestled among traditional Korean homes.
I'm happy that our little town doesn't have a McDonalds or a Pizza Hut.
I'm happy that I have met wonderful people in Korea.
I'm happy that I have made so much progress on my goals in these two months.
I'm happy that I have a helpful, loving and fun partner.
I'm happy that it is still autumn.
I'm happy that I have access to technology that makes it easy to feel connected with the rest of the world.
I'm happy that Barack Obama will be the next president of the United States.
I'm happy that the world has renewed hope.
I'm happy to be here, doing this, at this moment.

It has felt like Spring on and off for two weeks.  The temperature has shot up and then plummeted again half a dozen times, confusing all kinds of flora, fauna, and people.  I wasn't confused, though.  I knew exactly what was going on.  It was almost time for the change of a new season, and the weather was so excited it kept making false starts, desperate to push through to Spring.  And of course, I sympathized, because the last two weeks have been the end of my time in Korea and I have been desperate to push through them and emerge on the other side.

I did indeed sign a year contract to teach in Korea.  And I had every intention to do that.  But somewhere around the 4 month mark, I realized the job wasn't suiting me, or I wasn't suiting it, and I just wasn't very happy doing what I was doing.  It took me a long time to acknowledge it and even longer to make a decision, because I like teaching and it was really hard to put my finger on what exactly was making me unhappy.  After many long discussions and daily incidences of banging my head against figurative walls, I came to the conclusion that whatever it was, this job wasn't good for me.  This decision was made easier, since D felt exactly the same way and was also ready for a change. 
We mulled it over for a while and only officially decided to quit when our boss ignored everything we had talked to him about improving the program and instead made our jobs harder. We handed in our letters of resignation the next day. 

Since that day almost two months ago we have been on a quest for what to do next.  There were at least 10 different 'plans' and countless hours of research put into it, but it was not until two weeks ago that THE plan was set.  We would fly to Russia, via Japan for a week or so, and then see what happened next.  We might look for jobs there if we liked it, or we might move onto to somewhere else, but we would at least go to Japan and Russia, two of our collective top countries to visit.

And so, the last two weeks have been tough.  As the date of departure approached, the excitement was rising, which made working all the more tedious.  Then there were forms to fill out and accounts to close and things to sell and apartments to clean, and amazing friends to say goodbye to, and a home to find for a kitty we're pretty attached to. Of course, all of these things cause the good kind of stress, which makes you feel crazy, but that you would not trade because once you finish those things it will be time for the change you want.     And, if you just stay focussed on that change, eventually it will happen.  It will be Spring, and you'll be in Tokyo with your amazing boyfriend, navigating a whole new adventure.

ready for spring

Although 2007 was technically known as the year of the pig in the Lunar Calender, in the Aveleigh Calender it will always be known as the 'Year of Travel'.   This year, I lived in two new countries and traveled to a total of 10.  I spent only two months in the country where I hold citizenship. I've traveled for school, work and pleasure.  I've been on approximately 20 airplanes, 10 trains, 4 boats and 17 buses. And I've taken somewhere in the range of 5000 pictures documenting it all.   

If I had to describe last year in any other way, it would be the year that I turned my life upside down, more than once.  First, I moved to Europe to study and to live in another country.   Then, I moved to Korea to work and to explore the world with one of my favourite people.  Both of these decisions seemed, at times, insane.  But such change has only ever proven positive in my experience.  And thankfully, that trend continues.

I think the only way to improve the title of 2007 would be if it came to be known as the 'First year of Travel'. I have some goals in mind for 2008, and very near the top of the list is to continue traveling in some capacity.  Also near the top of the list is to spend some time volunteering for something I care about.  It has been awhile since I've done volunteer work anywhere, and I've never been able to commit my time fully to any one cause.  I'd like to do that this year.  I'd also like to learn Russian, or atleast, start to.  Last night I began learning the alphabet and how to read the letters and I felt so accomplished.  I think this is a langauge I can get behind. 

I'm not a big fan of resolutions, but I am a fan of setting goals.  The new year is just a convenient time to do so. However, last year I didn't have any specific goals and that turned out pretty well.  Maybe I should adopt the same attitude I held a year ago (when I started this journal), that I would go easily wherever life took me.  Last year took me farther than I expected and maybe this year will do the same. 

I got back from Canada on Sunday.  I decided, after my grandfather passed away on Dec. 22nd, that I should attend the memorial that would be a week and a half later.  I spent 4.3 days in Canada, visiting my family and a few friends. It was a lot of money and a lot of effort, but I'm positive it was the right decision.  I will never regret being there for the memorial and saying goodbye in my own way (which unfortunately included me losing it in front of a lot of people). 

My interlude was short, but helpful.  I had a lot of time to think on all those planes and buses.  I thought about Korea and Canada.  I thought about what I'm doing and what I want to be doing.  I thought about my family. Most importantly, I thought about the kind of person my grandfather was and what he would think of all these things.  I think he would agree with the decisions I've made.

It feels like I've been in motion for two weeks and I just got kicked off the bus that was carrying me. I'm back in Korea, suspiciously absent of any jet-lag, and thrust back into the daily routine of a circus act/teacher.  I've got new students and new classes to think about, but my mind is stuck rotating between last week and the coming weeks.

When deciding to leave Canada for six months and then again for a year, in the back of my mind rolled around a fear that someone whom I loved would become sick, or worse, die, while I was away.  It happens, and I knew that it was certainly a possibility in my case.   The health of one of my grandmothers has been slowly deteriorating for 15 years and every year we are reminded that she might not see another.  But, I ultimately decided that I could not let go of opportunities that I wanted to take because I was afraid I might not be around in a worst case scenario. 

This morning, I woke up to an e-mail from my uncle, saying that my grandfather (the one who takes sole care of my ailing grandmother) suffered a massive stroke yesterday.  All I knew was that he was having a CT scan.  I immediately called my mom, who said she would try to find out what was happening.  While I waited to hear back from her, all of the terrible thoughts you would expect streamed through my head.  Would he be ok? Would he ever be himself again? What would my grandma do? Should I go home? Could I do anything?

When I finally talked to my dad, he confirmed my worst fears.  My grandfather is basically in a coma.  He is still breathing on his own, but his body is shutting down and it is only a matter of time before it stops working.  He does not want to be resuscitated.  While I write this, he may have already passed away.  All I can do is wait.  My dad said it's my decision whether or not I come home, but no one expects me too.  He will be cremated and no formal funeral will take place right away anyway.  We'll have a memorial service in the future.

So now, I have to make some very big decisions.  Even if I left right now, I may not be there in time to see him alive.  And if I did make it, he wouldn't be physically aware of my presence regardless.  There is no service I need to rush back for.  But, I have a week vacation starting next week and I could be there, with my family.  I could help them grieve and help them cook and just BE there.  I know they want me to be there. My grandparents were as prepared for this as they could be, but it breaks my heart to think of her being alone and of my dad and uncle missing their father. 

What can I do when I'm on the other side of the world?  I can only dwell on it or clean my entire apartment (which I've already done).  And, I can write about it, but it doesn't change any facts.  The facts here are that when death becomes inevitable in the immediate future, you have to make decisions that are difficult. And when you decide to travel and be away from those you love for long periods of time, those decisions become infinitely more complicated.

I know I haven't written very much about my teaching experience so far.  There are probably a lot of reasons, but the main one is laziness.  I've had so many thoughts and emotions surrounding the topic that it seemed too overwhelming to write down when I found the time.  After today I finally have the energy to explore it, because today was one of few that I felt like a real teacher. More often, it's a balance of entertaining my students and trying to convey something to them threw a mish-mash of hand movements, korean and english words and animal noises.

Most days are one of the following: a great morning followed by a challenging afternoon, a stressful morning followed by a surprisingly calm afternoon, or an all out bad day.  There are days when everything goes according to plan, or at least turns out positively, and I think, ' maybe I'm getting the hang of this.'  The problem is that everyday, every lesson, and every class is different.  I suppose this is equally an advantage for someone who gets bored, but day after day it can become wearing. 

Let me clarify something.  I'm not really teaching for most of my 43 working hours every week.  I spent a lot of time at the library preparing for classes, reading story books to tiny humans in my most animated voices (I even sing sometimes! Those poor children), playing games with tiny humans that like to get pushy about who can clean up all the pieces the quickest (It kills me every time) and generally being the token foreigner for all the children and parents to gawk at.  I only count the four hours a week that I spent teaching art as actual teaching there.  I love that art class because it's 'my' thing.  I make everything decision related to it, so everything that goes well I feel proud of. 

At my other office I teach four hours a day, split between advanced and beginner adults and children.  My adult classes are generally very good.  I really enjoy teaching the advanced students because we get to discuss current events and issues and it's always fun to hear their opinions.  I feel increasingly capable of teaching adults who are beginners, but who want to be there.  I can see them learning and that feels great.  The children have been the cause of most of the challenges I've had. 

These kids are terrible as a group.  In no particular order they have done all of the following since I've been teaching them: roller-blade around the classroom, scream as loud as they can for as long as they can, stick their tongues out at me, arrive up to 45 minutes late for a class that lasts 50 minutes, leave my classroom for no particular reason without acknowledging me, repeat everything I say,  disrupt my class by going outside and yelling into the window over and over again, erase things or write new things on my board, stand on the desks, hit each other.  I know I'm missing some things, but I think that will suffice for my point.  My point is: these have been tough kids to teach. 

Not all of them participate in the mayhem, but enough to pretty much derail me from my lesson. The attendance fluctuates every class and some days things are fine simply because the 'bad' kids aren't there.  I hate that its necessary to have absent students in order to have a productive class, but that's how it is. Today I had all the bad kids I can remember, and it was certainly a bumpy class, but there were entire stretches of 30 seconds when they all just worked on the sheets I had given them.  This felt like such an accomplishment.  If they started talking I said "Ssshhh, no talking" and it actually worked!  I was in control of this class and it was the first time that has happened with all the kids present. 

I know the reason the they act the way they do.  They come from a poor neighborhood.  Korea has developed and essentially become rich overnight and the ones who were left behind are especially poor compared to all the sparkle wearing, fancy car driving people who populate a city like this.  I get the impression their futures have been decided in this country because they can't afford to go to private academies and take expensive tests.   Why would they care about studying or learning English? I'm sorry to sound all 'dangerous minds', but from what I can tell, that is the situation.   I finally feel like I'm getting through to them a bit.  They still test their boundaries, but they know I'm their teacher and I won't take their crap.

After class a few of them stayed behind and asked me questions like, "Canada president?" "Paris Beautiful?"  I stayed late to talk to them because I finally realized why I was there.  To teach English, sure, but more importantly to expose them to things they wouldn't be otherwise.  I can tell them that Paris IS beautiful and that Canada has a Prime Minister, not a President.  I'm here to offer education, in whatever form that might take.

I don't consider myself a 'real teacher'.  After all, I have no qualification aside from having a university degree and being a native speaker.   However, there are days, like today, when I go home very proud to be called 'samsanim'.  

Yesterday was Patrick's birthday.  We tried to celebrate the anniversary of the day he entered this crazy world, but the day seemed to be overshadowed by other themes.  It started off brilliantly with some homemade crepes and real maple syrup (a recurring craving we far from home Canadians have).  He wanted to visit the famed photography museum "Foam", so we made our way there after several setbacks, including a flat tire and a return home for me to pick up some very important things (like money and my museum card, both of which I had forgotten in a rush).

The photography museum is beautiful and displays some very interesting work (a sociological photo experiment of Dutch youth in their schools during breaks, for example).  But the current largest and most attention catching exhibit is that of James Nachtwey.  He is a famed 'crisis' photographer who has been visually documenting the major human disasters of the last 15 years.  Rwanda, Afghanistan, Bosnia, Kosova, South Africa, Indonesia, Somalia, Chechnya, Iraq, and Romania, to name a few.  These photos are haunting, some even overwhelming, and it took us both a good silent hour or more to get through each of them and their corresponding descriptions. 

The section that hit me hardest was the one I'm ashamed to admit I'd never heard off.  Mr. Nachtwey offers a summary of this specific situation in Romania.  It's a bit long, but bear with me because I think it's important to know:
"In 1966 Nicolae Ceausescu issued Decree 770, a plan to expand industrialization by increasing the size of the country's work force. All forms of birth control and sex education were outlawed.  Women were urged to have as many babies as possible and threatened with criminal prosecution for avoiding their 'patriotic duties'.  In effect, women's bodies became instruments of state economic policy.  Twenty-four years later, the grim faces and disease-wracked bodies of 160,000 institutionalized infants and children testified to the disastrous results of the communist dictator's attempt to engineer a Romanian 'workers paradise'.

In reality, the Romanian government was incapable of sustaining a productive economy and severely rationed food, clothing, shelter, heat and hot water.  Facing the hopelessness of trying to raise four or five children in such conditions, many pregnant women sought illegal abortions.  Thousands of these women died, orphaning the children who remained at home.  These children were confined to state institutions many of which degenerated into overcrowded, inhuman hovels.  The most heartbreaking cases involved children with congenital defects, who were officially branded as 'incurable' then cast into conditions of squalor and malnutrition. 

In 1985 doctors in Romania noticed the first local cases of infant AIDS, but they were forced to conceal all diagnoses of the disease while minimizing the risks of HIV transmission.  Frightened nonetheless by climbing infant mortality, doctors administered antibiotics and micro-transfusions of unscreened adult blood by injection with unsterilized needles.  By 1990, thousands of Romanian children were diagnosed with AIDS.  Ceausescu and his wife were executed on December 25, 1989 and the next day, the anti-abortion decree was repealed.  The plight of Romania's children stimulated a wave of adoptions; some were rescued but many others still languish in these orphanages.  Romania will be marked for generations by the effect of these horrors."

The pictures in this section were mostly of these young victims, a snapshot of their lives spent confined to a bed with little stimulation or food.   There is so much more to this story, but you'll either have to come visit it yourself or ask me to recall the experience for you one day.  I felt cold to the bone for the rest of the day.  But I'm thankful that Patrick was there to debrief with.  Ultimately, the exhibit left us both feeling overwhelmed with the suffering in the world.  I just couldn't stop thinking, 'Somewhere, this is happening right now.'

Feeling quite helpless, we decided to continue in our birthday plans and have dinner.  Just as we finished ordering some thai food at a restaurant, Patrick got a strange call.  One of his good Dutch friends (and by extension one of my Dutch friends) was hit by a car while he was bicycling.  The details were vague, but he had broken his back and was being assessed at the hospital.  We spent the next hour agonizing over how bad his injuries might be and whether or not we should go to the hospital.  I tried my best to help him enjoy his birthday and suggested we go find some cake while we waited for more news.  While at the store, this friend called and explained that while he was in a lot of pain, he had been released from the hospital in a wheelchair and would have to wait for test results.  It could have been so much worse, but this will greatly affect the next few months if not the rest of his life.

Each of the days events (the birthday, the museum, the accident) made it impossible not to think about the nature of human life.  It can be joyful and beautiful.   It can be tortuous and unbearable.  It is precarious and vulnerable.  And it makes absolutely no sense to me sometimes.   More than that, I'm not always sure that I want to understand it.  But I will keep trying, because I suppose that in order to improve something, you must first try to understand it.

It's a very strange thing to have two lives.  Even more strange is to mesh them together.  I remember always having an issue with this.  When I was 11 and had friends from both my first and second hometowns, as well as at least one friend that didn't fit into either category, I spent countless hours worried about how everyone would get along at my birthday party.  Although the social circle of a preteen can be quite complicated, life has only gotten more complex.

I've established some kind of temporary life here away from every influence of my past.  When my mom was visiting it felt just a little bit strange to show her around these new stomping grounds of mine.  Sure, it was great to share some of my experiences and see her taking it all in, but I was seeing the city in such a different way than I normally do. It wasn't until they had left that I really felt the impact.  I felt a bit lost, or maybe stuck is a better word, between this experience and the life I had at "home" (which is largely defined by all of the people there).  The past few days have been blurry to me, partly because it's been raining on and off all week, and partly because I feel like I went back to Canada for a few days and am once again trying to adjust to my surroundings.

I know how silly it all is, of course.  It's just got me thinking about my imminent return.  The one I am excited and terrified to approach.  I'm a paradox, after all.  I'm excited about the many possibilities that await me and yet I worry because I don't know where I'll be and what I'll be doing in the not so distant future.   Fortunately, I find it much easier these days than ever before to let things roll of my shoulders.  I'm learning to chill out because most things are not worth worry and stress. Float on, I say.