The Mask Protects Him from Peanuts

INTRODUCTION

 

For anyone who is not aware, I have a pretty major allergy to peanuts. I have been allergic to peanuts since birth, and although I do my best to avoid eating them, I tend to have a peanut incident about once a year. This is the annual peanut report, along with a bit of a preface on alcohol and Korean culture. This explanation makes for a better understanding of just why Koreans in a crowded movie theater reacted to me in the way that they did when I started throwing up in front of them. Also, it serves as a guide to anyone who wants to visit Korea and wishes to know the best excuse to use for getting away with bad behavior while here.

 

PRETEND SOJU IS IN ITALICS

 

Alcohol in Korea for the most part consists of a drink called soju. Yes, Korea has beer and wine and every other type of alcohol, but none of it compares in popularity to what is officially and very aptly called “the national drink of Korea.” Soju is clear and is made from distilled sweet potatoes, and if I had to describe its taste I would say it is akin to turpentine with a few sugar cubes dropped in. Despite tasting so incredibly horrible, I think soju is so incredibly popular because it is so incredibly inexpensive; with a bottle costing less than a similarly sized soft drink, it must not take young Koreans long to realize what the most economical path to drunkenness is. After the initial aversion to the taste of paint thinner is overcome, a habit forms for the same economical reasons and Koreans that drink begin to drink soju like water. In comparison to American attitudes concerning public alcohol consumption and intoxication, this is very interesting.

 

Koreans are very reserved and very proper. People keep to themselves for the most part and doing something like talking to a stranger on a bus or thanking a waitress for bringing you food can be puzzling behavior. The exception, however, is when alcohol is involved, and on any given weeknight or any time during a weekend it is fairly common to see Koreans stumbling about, singing, yelling, throwing up, and passing out. I have seen Koreans do almost all of these activities in everything from subways to gutters, and the ages range from high school to senior citizen. None of this should be mistaken for a statement in which I am saying Korea is a land of drunks; for the most part I think people in Korean do drink more than people in America, but not hugely so. What I am saying, however, is that in Korea there is absolutely no shame in walking about the city while trashed and acting outrageously, and in fact such behavior often seems to be encouraged.

 

PRETEND HARRY POTTER IS IN ITALICS

 

To get to the topic of peanuts and myself, a while ago my friend Bethany and I went to see the newest Harry Potter movie. Before going into the theater Bethany wanted popcorn, and due to the odd way in which food works in Korea, in order to get some popcorn she had to buy a soft drink and some fried squid. Not liking seafood, Bethany gave me the squid, which made me quite happy since I love seafood almost as much as I love free. As it turns out, the squid was peanut butter fried squid, a food that most of my non-peanut allergic foreign friends have described to me as “weird, but surprisingly good.” Anyway, as the movie’s previews began, I did not pick up on the smell of peanuts and expecting just plain squid I popped a few pieces into my mouth. Immediately after swallowing the taste hit me, and instantly I realized my trip to the movies would soon transform into a trip to the house of pain. That realization is almost always worse than actually being sick.

 

To be completely honest, having an allergic reaction to peanuts could probably better be described as being in the house of extreme nausea, dull chest pressure, and an extremely scratchy  and irritation airway. Not wanting to fully enter that house, I ran out of the theater for a bathroom and tried to gag myself directly after the peanut revelation. I was not, however, successful, which ultimately left me with a choice; go home and feel increasingly sick over the course of an hour or two until I eventually threw up, or stay in the theater and watch the movie I had already paid for while I feel increasingly sick over the course of an hour or two until I eventually threw up. As it turns out, Harry Potter was exceptionally long, and for the second half of the movie when my head was not between legs due to queasiness things on screen swooned pretty badly. I am proud to say, however, that I made it through the entire thing and got my money’s worth.

 

The moment the credits began to roll I sprinted out of my seat, ran up the stairs out of the theater, and threw my head into a nearby garbage can. Between my bend-over body, which was blocking a good portion of exiting Korean’s paths, and the extremely loud noises I was making, my vomiting created a pretty good scene. If I had behaved similarly in America, I think a large number of people would have given me a wide birth while walking by, as well as gawked. Being as it was Korea, however, as I threw up Koreans exiting the theater behaved like normal, including the large number of Koreans that brushed up against me since things were crowded. No one batted an eye; I got more looks on Halloween when I dressed up in a costume. I can guarantee not a single person that night that saw me or heard me thought “allergy,” “flu,” “irresponsible,” or even “gross.” All of them thought “sojo, it happens” and gave it not another moment of their time.

 

CONCLUSION

 

Besides being allergic to peanuts, in the spring found out I had a pretty major allergy to some sort of pollen. Twenty minutes into a run I suddenly started sneezing and soon afterwards my eyes swelled shut. Half blind and covered in snot, I managed to get back to my apartment, take a shower, and get some antihistamines down. Luckily, my breathing was fine the entire time. The next day when I went to school I looked like I had gotten in a fist fight. This is, of course, was exact reason I gave to students who inquired as to why my face was messed up.

I’ve Built a Stronghold Around Greenland

INTRODUCTION

This is a continuation of the last bit on various Korean festivals I have attended. As mentioned before, festivals are quite popular here; in terms of things Koreans like, I would rank festivals ahead of wearing uniforms or making goofy faces for cameras, although behind wearing decorated SARs masks or eating pickled vegetables. Or, to put it another way, the prevalence of festivals is on an equal plain with singing rooms and street stands that sell intestine sausage: it is nearly impossible to walk anywhere without running into all three, which of course makes life very exciting.

THERE WERE NO FREE T-SHIRTS

The most popular festival in Korea is probably the large mud festival in the city of Boryeong. This festival attracts almost two million people annually, which is not bad considering the festival is only about a decade old. Having not learned my lesson about mud safety at this time, as it would be a couple weeks until a mud-in-eye injury would send me to an emergency room, the trip was not marked by the paranoia muddy Korean beaches now arouse in me. The festival consisted of vendors, a beach, mud pits, mud ponds, mud slides, mud races, a type of “mud jail,” and a concert. Most of the attending mud enthusiasts could perhaps be better described as swimsuit and alcohol enthusiasts, and overall I thought the festival was just ok; interesting, but not anymore interesting than my college’s undie run. What was exciting, however, where the dozens of professional photographers walking around, all looking for unusual things to photograph.

I was with a group of five other foreigners and we all quickly found out that it was foreigners most of the photographers wanted to take pictures of. We also found out that if we posed in goofy ways or did goofy things, like pour mud on each other, throw mud at each other, or tackled my friend Joel unexpectedly, the photographers would go nuts. By pretty much acting like elementary school students we were at one point able to build up a paparazzi force eleven photographs strong. Following the mud festival, I went back to Seoul with a feeling that I should respect myself a little less; all that showing off and I got nothing but a moment’s worth of attention. Then I logged onto the internet and discovered that one of the photographers who took a picture of me and my friends worked for the AP. A picture of us from the mud festival had made it into dozens of newspapers across the United States. The showing-off was totally worth it.

MAXIMUM HEIGHT AND WEIGHT REQUIREMENTS

A couple of weeks after the big mud festival I went to a much smaller white mud and pottery festival. This festival was supposed to be a little more tame, although from what I read still fun for adults to attend. As it turns out, the “less wild” part was entirely true, although the adult part was not. Besides looking at some white pottery, about the only other things to do at the festival seemed to be dig up treasure in a large sandbox, play in some portable fountains, and go down a waterslide that emptied into a very shallow kiddy pool. Wanting to get my money’s worth, I dug up a squirt gun, squirted water a kid in the fountains, then made my way down the waterslide. I had inkling before going down the slide that the half meter or so of water at the bottom would not be enough to stop my descent, and the inkling proved to be true. While the first mud festival was marked by silliness and fame, the second mud festival was marked by stupidity and pain.

IS THAT ALL THE NOISE ALL THAT YOU CAN MAKE?

Probably the best festival I have attended was been an Asian music festival held in one of Seoul’s soccer stadiums. I had heard that foreigners could get free, special foreigner tickets if they send their information to the festivals organizers in advanced. Doing so, my friends and I were able to show up to the stadium an hour before the concert, bypass the zoo of 60,000 Koreans waiting to get through the unopened gates, and get free tickets to the VIP section. As I sat down in my folding chair in front of the stage on the stadium’s ground level, I felt rather bad; the majority of the people at the festival were thirteen and fourteen-year-old sign-wielding Korean girls who had waited in line for hours and paid money to see their favorite groups perform songs they were familiar with. It was by far the best treatment I have ever received for something I in no way deserved, although with that said, I would not mind if similar situations occurred more frequently.

The festival featured thirteen different groups or artists from all over Asia. All of the big numbers and performances before breaks were Koreans, but there were also performers from Japan, Thailand, China, Taiwan, Indonesia, and even the Ukraine. There was a traditional drum performance, good light shows, lots of fireworks, tons of dancing, and a couple things I had never seen before, such as a fortyish male singer who performed love ballads to women but wore a skirt, backup dancers who looked like Vikings, a vampire guitarist and his vampire band, a nine-member girl group, a thirteen-member boy group, and a large amount of sparkly clothing. Perhaps it is bad to admit it, but the reason I had so much fun at the concert was probably because I spent the entire time laughing my head off. Although I am unsure about who vampire was aiming for, in general I think the other performances were not meant for my demographic.

CONCLUSION

Just walking around I have stumbled onto a couple of book festivals, none of which have been exciting since my understanding of Korean, and hence Korean books, is limited. I have also gone to a large future festival which was the equivalent of a world’s fair, as well as two different film festivals. Although I will say that the book and future festivals did seem like actual celebrations, I am no longer impressed by the words “film festival” because they pretty much consist of watching movies in a theater; any trip to the movie could be a film festival. Unless there are lights, fireworks, or Viking dancers, I guess you could say I am really not interested.

We Need to Check Their Credentials

INTRODUCTION

Korea is a country in love with festivals and there is literally a festival every week in some part of the country. The festivals range from fun, like the mud festivals, to somewhat not as fun, like the plant your own yam and sweet potato festivals. By this point of my stay in Korea I have been to almost a dozen of these interesting Korean celebrations, so its time I highlight some of the experiences I have had attending them. The next time I write I will probably write on the topic of festivals as well.

HESTON WAS THE MASTER OF CEREMONIES

At the southern tip of Korea is a large island called Jindo. Jindo is known for having very large tidal swings, and about three times a year low tide becomes so low that a “magical sea road” forms across what used to be the ocean bottom. The magical sea road leads to a much smaller island about two kilometers away, and at these special occasions when the two islands are briefly connected Jindo throws a festival. The festival involves more than just exposed ocean bottom, as there are tons of venders, music shows, dance shows, dog shows, and contests. While I was watching the activities and waiting for the sea to part I lost my friends I was traveling with, although luckily I made friends with some with some other foreigners and we decided to all walk the magical sea road together. Once the waters receded, however, I quickly discovered my new friends were more interested with “rescuing” starfish from the mud than actually walking anywhere. Our pace was a crawl.

We were about halfway to the second island when the alarms sounded, signaling the return of the tide and that everyone would need to go back to Jindo. Actually, when the alarms sounded I did not turn back, but instead took off sprinting, determined to ride the Brigadoon Autobahn out until the end. I thought perhaps if I made it to the second island I could just take a boat back, although I never got to find out if this was a possibility or not because unfortunately some policemen caught up to me forced me to turn around. Also, unfortunately, being as I am sometimes cheap, I had opted not to buy the mud boots that the venders were selling everywhere. The mud boots were inexpensive, but I figured I could save money by simply going barefoot. As it turns out, the bottom of the sea is littered with little bits of corral and broken shells. I ended up doing a number on my feet, although this, along with not getting to the island, is still not my biggest Jindo regret.

My original travel companions to Jindo were my friends Julie and Joel, and although we had booked a room in advanced, due to a mix-up once we reunited we ended up having to crash with the starfish people I befriended earlier. We went out to eat as one large group that night, and intriguingly the restaurant we went to had whale on the menu. This made me quite excited and I was completely ready start smack down delicious blubber until I noticed two things; the price of the dish, and the upset expressions on the faces of our hosts, two of which were vegetarians. Consequently, I ordered a plain meal of rice and vegetables. Talking with Julie after the meal, I realized she had wanted to eat the whale but had refrained for the same reasons. It did not take long for us to realize that we should have just split a plate, and if our hosts had kicked us out, eating whale would have been worth it. Despite looking everywhere in Korea, I have yet to find whale anyplace else.

CHEWING HELPS KILL IT

A few weeks after the trip to Jindo I went with Julie and Joel to the Busan, Korea’s second largest city. At the time we traveled it was Buddha’s birthday, so numerous Buddhist festivals were taking part in the city. We ended up touring a Buddhist temple, and so far it has been the best one I have seen. The architecture was impressive, the statues grand, and fountains wonderful. The most interesting thing about the temple was, however, the thousands of hanging paper lanterns that had been constructed for the holiday. In fact, the paper lanterns were such a draw that there also seemed to be a separate lantern-making festival. I guess Buddhists believe that constructing basketball-sized lanterns out of extremely delicate crepe paper is peaceful and mind-clearing. To me, however, the process looked frustrating, so frustratingly intricate in fact that just watching people make the lanterns made me angry. I did not participate in this festival.

Busan is right on the ocean, and after going to the temple we went to the aquarium. We did this so we could see what animals were swimming around in the bay nearby, and directly after going to the aquarium we went to a famous fish market so we could eat what we had just seen. At the market I ate some shark, which was fine, although the highlight of the trip was the live octopus. You can eat live octopus anywhere in Korea, although most Koreans will tell you that the live octopus in Busan is the best, which strikes me as a bit odd; with almost no preparation involved, I doubt the taste of live octopus varies from one restaurant to another, much less between cities. In addition to the celebrations at the temples, there was dancing on the beach, and fireworks. The revelry ended with us crashing on someone else’s hotel floor after we could not find a room again, and if Korea has gotten me used to one thing it is sleeping without a mattress.

CONCLUSION

About a month after going to Jindo I went to a Dr. Fish restaurant in Seoul. The Dr. Fish restaurants are like normal restaurants, except underneath the tables are tanks full of little fish. You put your bare feet in the tanks, and as you eat food the little fish eat the dead skin off your feet. Being as my feet were still pretty ragged from not buying mud boots, I figured I could provide the fish with a feast. After two hours of having my feet tickled, however, I took them out of the water and they looked exactly the same. Additionally, on very close inspection I discovered a pebble under my skin. A good doctor would have removed this souvenir.

A Peculiarity of Physiology or Engineering

INTRODUCTION

Before summer vacation began our school had summer camp. Although some teachers complained before camp that watching students twenty-four hours a day was going to be a pain, I was honestly excited for a chance to leave Seoul and play in the woods. That, and as an English-speaker who works in a Korean school filled predominantly with Koreans, I really did not have to organize anything beforehand or do any work once summer camp began. My job was to play with the students and doing so was a whole lot of fun, up until I got hit in the eye with mud and had to go to the emergency room.

I CANNOT CHANGE COLOR EITHER

Our summer camp was on an island, and not far from the main grounds of the camp was a beach. The beach was not, however, a normal beach, as instead of sand it had lots and lots of mud. Like many things in Korea, the mud was supposedly good for one’s health, particularly for skin, although our student’s could really have cared less. Instead of spreading mud over their bodies and lying in the sun like the other Koreans at the beach, or even swimming, all our students wanted to do is throw the mud at each other. Although it did occur to me at the beginning of the great mud fight that there was a potential for injury, joining the students in throwing mud seemed like it would be a lot more fun than sitting by myself while thinking of the dangers such throwing entailed. One other teacher had already joined in the mud fight, and being as there was only one of him against about two hundred students, I thought I would give him a hand.

Although I doubt the mud on my skin did anything special other than clog my pores, I will admit the mud was pretty unique in a non-medicinal way. It had the consistency of peanut butter, and this stickiness made it ideal in forming into mud balls that would not fall apart when thrown over long distances. Such stickiness also made it possible for the mud to firmly lodge itself deep inside my right eye after I was blindsided by an overzealous student. Although my left eye was fine, being as I cannot move my eyes independently like a chameleon, I was essentially left blind; the mud packed in my eye was gritty so any movement quite painful. I tried to flush the mud out with water, then eye-drops. Later, I tried digging the mud out with Q-tips, although shoving Q-tips up into my eye also hurt a great deal. It was also difficult since I could never really see what I was doing, and after about six Q-tips I gave up.

One of the teachers at our school was the equivalent of a Green Beret in the Korean Army. Through a translator he said that in the army they were taught to remove mud from a fellow soldier’s eyes using their tongues, and offered to help. Although I figured it would have made a good story, I declined and went to the island’s emergency room instead, and there a doctor spent a good half hour flushing my eye out with saline. At first he used saline drained from an IV bag, which felt nice but did nothing to remove the viscous mud stuck up inside my eyelid. Subsequently, he moved on to saline shot at high pressure from syringes, which was extremely unpleasant but did the trick. About six hours after leaving the beach that I returned to our camp with a bright red eye that was watery and swollen shut, although clear of mud. It hurt for the next three days and as my tears dried my face was continually covered in a crusty residue, but now it is much better.

AIR CONDITIONERS ARE ALSO DANGEROUS

In addition to my eye, a particular Korean urban legend made summer camp a camp of irritation. Although it is not good form to blatantly make fun of widespread cultural beliefs, Korean “fan death” is just too humorous to pass up. To describe fan death simply, Koreans believe that fans left running in rooms overnight are life-threateningly dangerous. Different theories on why fan kills people exist, such as fans create vortexes which suck oxygen out of rooms, fans chop up oxygen molecules so small that there is nothing left to breathe, fans convert oxygen into carbon dioxide, and fans cause both hypothermia and hyperthermia. These are just some of the theories, and in truth some of the less fantastical ones. Despite none of the theories making any scientifically sense, the Korean media widely hypes fan death, and to the point that it actually accepted as a cause of death by numerous Korean doctors.

Almost all fans sold in Korea have shut-off timers so people going to bed do not have to worry about dying in their sleep, and in fact, fans with timers are officially endorsed by the Korean government. As for how this pertains to summer camp, I was assigned to sleep in a hot room with eight Korean students. The only means of cooling the room was a fairly large fan, which did its job well, but, unfortunately was old and did not have a timer. Although I heard about fan death before camp, I never realized how fervently it was believed until the first night’s bedtime when otherwise extremely respectful and unquestioningly obedient Korean students began passionately arguing against my insistence that the fan remain on while we sleep. I thought I won the argument, but as soon as I fell asleep they shut the fan off. The following night I gave up, not wanting summer camp to be remembered by my students as a time when they feared for their lives.

CONCLUSION

Although there were a few aspects of summer camp that were not enjoyable, overall it was alright. I got to swim a great deal, I taught the kids how to play Frisbee, the fireworks we had made up for my firework-less Fourth of July, and I learned that Koreans roast spam over campfires. Also, thanks to getting hit in the eye, I finally came to appreciate extremely long, girlish eyelashes; as the doctor said, if my eyelashes had been of a normal length, pulling back my wet eyelid and flushing out my eye for half an hour would have been all but impossible. Women in the United States regularly compliment me on my freakishly long eyelashes. Since coming to Korea this has not changed, although oddly compliments here frequently come from men as well.

It’s Not Really About Japan

INTRODUCTION

A few months ago I left Korea for a long weekend to visit my school’s sister school in Japan. Although the purpose of the trip was training, it might as well have been a vacation; I got to fly in planes, try new foods, play in hotel rooms, and go on multiple tours. The classes I took were quite informative, and upon entering the customs booth in Japan I was finally able to state truthfully that the purpose for my visit was “business.” When my passport was handed back to me I also said “domo arigato,” although this got me laughed at and I do not know why. Thank you, Mr. Roboto.

WHY JAPAN MAKES KOREANS ANGRY

It is actually quite interesting that my school in Korea has close ties with a school in Japan. To say that Koreans often dislike the Japanese is an understatement, given Korean-Japanese history. From 1910 until the end of World War II Japan actually occupied Korea, a rule which at it worst included army conscription, forced prostitution, and medical experimentation. Although today feelings have simmered down, calling a Korean “Japanese” can still be a pretty big insult. Luckily, I have not been so dense as to do that while in Korea. Many of my Korean friends do, however, complain about being misidentified while abroad, and have asked me on multiple occasions why Americans cannot tell Korean and Japanese people apart. I usually reply by asking them if Koreans can tell English and French people or German and Russian people apart. I am always told that these cases are “different” and “do not count,” although they can never explain why or how. I do not think my point will ever sink in.

WHY JAPAN MAKES ME ANGRY

Although my status as an American would seemingly prevent me from harboring grudges against Japan, I have to admit that one thing in particular makes me regularly mad at our neighbors to the East. In America people drive and walk on the right. In Japan people drive and walk on the left. Both systems work because both are uniform, although the same cannot be said of the system used in Korea. When Korea was under Japanese rule it was forced to do all things Japanese. Following the occupation, Korea switched the direction of its automotive traffic, but that is where the changes stopped. As a result, Koreans drive on the right side of the road but walk on the left side of the sidewalk. In recent years there has been a movement to bring the country’s sidewalk traffic in line with its road traffic, but the movement seems to be half-supported at best. As a result, Koreans sidewalks are a confusion of people frequently running into each other; sadly, the country is not even consistent in its inconsistency.

Even though the direction in which people walk seems like a minor issue, it is hard for me to describe just how confusing this was for me when I first arrived in Korea. Additionally, given my size in comparison to the typical Korean, and given the fact that most people run here instead of walk, I no longer have any idea just how many Koreans have slammed into me and fallen over. To return to the subject of Japan, during the last instance of having to apologize to a Korean, a Korean who ran into me while I was calmly walking amidst a crowd of many other Koreans walking in the same direction, I found myself blaming Japan. When thinking about it later, I realized Korea’s messed up system is as much the result of American influence as it is of Japanese influence. Blaming Japan is pretty much the national pastime here, and it is funny how quickly I have taken to it. Japan is the reason why there are no public trashcans anywhere and why I can never find oatmeal to buy, I am sure.

WHY JAPAN MAKES SLUGWORTH ANGRY

As for what I did in Japan, I was sent to the country to take some ESL classes and to tour a model school. The classes were informative and the school was well organization, although reading about either would be boring. The same could not, however, be said about the school’s enormous playground. There were sandboxes and teeter-totters. There were swings and jungle gyms. There were balance beams, monkey bars, animals on springs, and since the whole area was hilly there were massive slides and rope bridges as well as tunnels that went under everything. The Japanese designers had decided to buck the new-age trend of making the equipment out of plastic, so everything was made from good, old-fashioned metal, and they also made numerous streams and waterfalls so everything was pretty. When our tour guide asked if we wanted to play on the equipment, pretty much everyone ran towards it immediately. To put things into perspective, I was the youngest on the tour at twenty-three.

Playing on the equipment was a blast, which makes sense; achievable levels of fun for any particular activity are inversely proportion to the amount of danger such an activity involves. At numerous times I almost fell off walkways that lacked rails and ladders that tilted backwards, and while I was there the weather was cold so everything was icy. Of course, per the fun-danger relationship, the ice made things like the slides even better. Although I currently think the school I toured in Japan is surrounded by the world’s most fun playground, I think if I were a parent I would have only seen potential broken bones, concussions, and drownings. Such danger is probably the reason the playground was also blanketed by Oompa-Loompas, who on a days with students are undoubtedly kept quite busy cushioning, catching, and life-guarding. All they did when I was there was sing, although I could not understand a word of it since it was in Japanese.

CONCLUSION

The other day our school has a day where teachers were assigned to students as they went out and did fun things in Seoul. My group of students chose to go to a karaoke room, where I chose to sing “I’m Turning Japanese” by The Vapors. It irritated everyone quite a bit, which was the intention. And that is all I have to say about Japan.

Also, You Shouldn’t Smoke

INTRODUCTION

Last year I was diagnosed with acid reflux, a disease marked by heartburn, difficulty swallowing, high water pants, and dentures. In general having acid reflux is not a big deal, except for when you have been in Korea for six months and you are trying to get a refill on your medication without first having to be re-diagnosed. Filling out paperwork and talking with doctors through translators does not make for an entertaining story. Getting sedated and suffering from anterograde amnesia is, however, interesting.

SOMEDAY I WILL WIN

Acid reflux occurs when stomach acid repeatedly leaves the stomach to go on an adventure in the esophagus. Esophageal damage can be detected by a camera shoved down a person’s throat, a medical procedure succinctly referred to as an esophagogastroduodenoscopy (EGD). An EGD takes about ten minutes to perform, and about the only complication it involves is finding a ride to and from the doctor’s office since the procedure involves sedation. Normally I do not enjoy going to the doctor; it is usually expensive, and sometimes it makes me feel stupid for having made some type of bad decision. When I learned that having an EGD would involve medical-induced unconsciousness, however, I was excited; having had surgery an unfortunate number of times, I view sedatives and anesthesia as a challenge to resist and stay awake and thus prove my willpower. Truthfully, I have never been able to totally maintain consciousness, but I am confident that some day it will happen; I simply need more practice.

LIKE YOU JUST WOKE UP

On the day of my first EGD my friend Ashley volunteered to drive me. I think she decided to help me partially because she is nice, and partially because after telling her about trying to fight the medication during appendix, tonsil, and wisdom teeth surgery she wanted to watch me in action. That, or she wanted to laugh at me while I was doped up. On the off chance that my willpower failed and I did get put under, I wanted to be able to measure my recover ability so Ashley and I devised a series of memory tests. We practiced the tests on the way to the doctor’s office, which got me quite excited, and when the time came for the doctor to inject me I confidently told him that I had experience being put under and that I was prepared. I said that this time things were going to be different, and that he was going to be amazed at my ability to stay awake. The doctor may have replied or he may not have, I really cannot remember. The next thing I knew I was back at my college, eating.

According to Ashley, following the EGD I seemed pretty coherent. I was able to hold a conversation, none of my words were slurred, and I even expressed anger at my failure to stay awake. The problem was, however, I expressed that anger repeatedly, just as I asked Ashley the same questions over and over again. I failed all of the memorization tests we had setup, and what quickly became apparent was that the sedative was blocking my ability to form new memories. After driving me back from the doctor’s office Ashley dropped me off at the school cafeteria where I got some food and sat down with some friends. My very first memory is of telling someone that I had just been sedated, and them telling me that it was actually the fifth time I had mentioned it. Similarly, when I later caught up with my friend Bryan that evening, he told me I had called him seven times, a fact confirmed by my cell phone. As “Call Bryan” was written on my hand from earlier that day, I was not surprised.

ANOTHER SIDE EFFECT IS NARCISSISM

The EGD showed that I had acid reflux so the doctor put me on medication. I then had to go back and have another EGD a month later to confirm that the medication was working. Again Ashley drove me, and again I failed to fight off the medication for more than a few seconds. My reactions to the sedative were also identical, although instead of waking up in the cafeteria I instead woke up in my room next to a rather large shopping bag; apparently after being sedated and having a camera look at my insides the first thought that occurred to me was “buy stuff.” At this time summer was just around the corner and I was preparing for Bike and Build. I needed bicycling gear, and as it turns out that is what I had bought. Bicycling gear is expensive, and when I saw that the total on the receipt at the top of the bag was in the triple digits I became worried. That was, however, until I saw what I had bought, after which I decided I was awesome.

Everything I had bought was exactly what I would have gotten if I had not been sedated. The parts were the exact parts I needed, the clothing fit perfectly, and the helmet was the one I had researched and liked the best. Nearly everything I purchased had been on sale, and nothing I got was non-essential. I was in the middle of congratulating myself for making such good purchases while sedated when I saw the second, smaller bag. This bag had the logo of a local coffee house on it, and since I almost always avoid coffee houses, it surprised me a good deal. I was, however, quick to go back to self-congratulation after seeing inside the bag; it contained a gift certificate for Ashley. Wanting to show my appreciate to her for driving me around and putting up with me doing, saying, and asking the same things over and over again, I had gotten her a present. It was an incredibly attentive and generous gesture of me, and one which I can speak of in such a removed and admiring way since I do not remember doing it.

CONCLUSION

Besides taking medicine, I am also supposed to manage my acid reflux by avoiding acid and spicy foods. For that reason I moved to Korea, where the use of peppers in meals most definitely exceeds that of meals prepared in Mexico. Although I am having a great time, I do not think my esophagus is very happy here.

At First I Wrote “Etymologist”

INTRODUCTION

Korean kindergarteners attend full-day classes. Korean elementary and junior high students typically go home at 6:30 pm, and many of my high schoolers are lucky if they get to their homes before the clocks hit double digits. For males, the slight lull of college is interrupted by two and a half years of mandatory military service, and the average work week here is sixty hours. So, what group of Koreans actually seems to have leisure time? The answer is retirees, as at any given time when I am trekking up a mountain or exploring an island I can pretty much guarantee I am the youngest person in the area, usually by a factor of three. My name is Jeffy Hunt, and as judged by my weekend activities, I am a very typical Korean senior citizen.

IN CLASS THEY SEEM NORMAL ENOUGH

A few months back I found a trekking organization in Seoul whose members were supposedly other foreigners like myself. Wanting to be able to converse in English as I hiked, as well as meet some people with similar interests who were also my age, I joined them for an ascent. As it turns out, the group was primarily foreigners, but foreign professors. Yes, I was able to talk with them, but no, disappointingly none of them were in their twenties. Or thirties. Or forties. Despite the group not being exactly what I expected, I decided to give it a go; I have no problem with people who are older than me, and in general I guess I do prescribe to the “older and wiser” train of thought. Now, however, I am not exactly sure about that, because a few of the people I met on the hike were quite peculiar. Since then, I have repeatedly tried to imagine what a hike with my favorite college professors would be like. I guess when I get back the America I will have to send out the invitations. I hope they end up being strange.

BUT NOT THIS STRANGE

The first professor I started chatting with was a man from Ireland. He was fiftyish, told me he had a doctorate, and I assumed, incorrectly, that his degree was in the insect field. Our group took a short break about halfway up the mountain at a Buddhist temple, and towards the end of the break I noticed the Irishman was thoroughly engrossed in a bush surrounded by a swarm of bees. I went over to talk to him, which caused him to promptly tell me all sorts of bee trivia. According to him the bees we were observing were honeybees, they were genetically identical to the bees found in America, and seeing them was a real treat because bees in Ireland had died out some three decades before. As the Irishman spoke he got more and more excited about real-life bees, and to the point where he began trying to catch them with his hands so that he could have a closer look. Obviously I made a false assumption when we first made our acquaintance, because there was no way the Irishman was an entomologist.

As the bees began to get angry and swarm more and more in our direction, I warned the Irishman that the bees would begin stinging us soon if he did not stop trying to touch them. He replied that the bees he was trying to catch were unable to sting humans, a statement which struck me as odd since he had just told me they were the exact same bees found around my home back in the United States and those bees had stung me numerous times. I pointed this fact out to him, in addition to mentioning that the bees swarming around us were not exactly exhibiting harmless behavior and that perhaps someone who had not seen bees for over thirty years should listen to someone who has seen them on a weekly basis throughout his entire life. The Irishman replied smarmily that that I was mistaken and again stated that the bees he was trying to catch could not hurt humans. For a second I tried to think of an equally smarmy reply, but then I realized that bees would cover that one for me so I evacuated.

OR THIS STRANGE

A little further into the hike I began talking with a female Canadian professor who wanted to know how I was adjusting to Korea. I told her that I thought I was doing pretty well, and after giving various examples of cultural differences that I had encountered and adjusted to she complimented me for being so open minded and setting a good example for foreigners in other countries everywhere. Jollied on by such approval, I went on to talk about how I enjoyed making such adjustments and how I wanted to try everything Korea had to offer, especially in the realm of food. I talked about how I wanted to eat whale, shark, live octopus, and all of the other “strange” foods I had seen advertised, and such comments received nods of approval. I also mentioned that I wanted to try dog, and immediately the Canadian’s hands were around my neck. She began shaking my head back and forth while yelling rapidly, and so far in my life this marks the very first time a complete stranger has ever tried to strangle me.

In crazy professor number two’s defense, I am almost certain she was not trying to kill me or give me brain damage; her grip on my neck was weak, and I am a good 280 so months away from being in infant. She was simply trying to add force to her argument, although this was really counterproductive because eventually I just started laughing; we looked like a cartoon. I am not exactly sure what the Canadian said during her tirade, although I do know the words “cute” and “innocent” were repeated frequently, in addition to the phrase “Koreans are barbarians.” When I was finally able to control my laughter I tried to mention our previous conversation about foreigners and cultural differences, although it was quickly cut-off; a picture of a Shih Tzu-like animal was thrust in my face, and in true Korean style its ears were dyed neon pink. This is when I decided to walk away for the second time that the day, although it was not a clean break because for the rest of the hike the Canadian harassed me.

CONCLUSION

The number of foreigners I have met in Korea who I would not leave alone in a room with my sister seems disproportional high in comparison to the number of similar Americans in America. If I had to make a guess, I would say foreigners either end up here because they want to experience a new culture or because they are running from something back home, like extreme social awkwardness or a criminal record. Although I tell everyone I came here for the culture, I also told someone the other day that I highly doubt anyone is truly objective enough to accurately judge themselves. I now see that a problem has arisen.

Grading Takes So Long

INTRODUCTION

Most foreign teachers in Korea work as English language instructors. The majority of these instructors work in hagwons, although a few work in public high schools. I, on the other hand, do not teach English as a language, but rather as a subject, and at a private high school. I somehow got my job when I applied to a totally different school in Japan, and I have no type of teaching certificate whatsoever. My name is Jeffy Hunt, and I am not really sure how I wound up where I am today.

KOREAN SCHOOLS ARE BETTER THAN BICYCLES

In one way Korean high schools could be considered the exact opposite of American high schools. Instead of individual teachers having classrooms and students moving about, it is students who have classrooms and the teachers that go from one part of the school to another. Sometimes I am late to class, and sometimes I forget materials and I have to backtrack to retrieve them. I get slightly annoying when the classroom I have to return to is on the fourth floor of the other school building, the one without an elevator, but I think if Korea is improving me as an individual in any way the things receiving the most benefit from my time aboard are my calf muscles. And yes, I really should not be late or forgetful since I did switch classrooms with relative ease throughout middle school, high school, and university. It seems, however, that the moment I received my undergraduate degree my mortarboard was not the only thing I removed from my head and threw away.

TYRANNY SEEMS TO BE ENCOURAGED

When I first began teaching the other American at our school gave me a warning. She said that no matter how much homework I assigned, my student’s parents would still complain and request more homework, and this prediction came true within my first month of teaching. So now, much to my student’s dismay, I hand out an amount of homework that is roughly three times the amount of homework I would assign in the United States. Additionally, another expectation in Korea is for teachers to be very strict, and at our school the occasional bad student actually gets hit with bamboo across the hands. This is a punishment my school’s administrators encouraged me to adopt, as seen by the fact that when I first arrived in Korea I was presented with my own personal hitting stick. Given my status as a foreigner, however, I decided that hitting students with bamboo, though tempting, would probably not be wise.

Instead of using the bamboo I assign dictionary pages, where before eating lunch a bad student must first copy an entire page out of the dictionary. I decided this was a good punishment as when I was thinking back to the various punishments I suffered through in middle school and high school, dictionary pages came at the top of the “most hated” list. Thank you Mr. Robinson, six and seventh grade language arts. In general copying a page out of the dictionary takes a hungry student about forty minutes, and this punishment is assigned for not being in seats on time, forgetting classroom materials, having any late homework, or flunking any assignment because a question is left unanswered. This zero tolerance policy for incomplete assignments has worked wonders on a few of my occasionally lazy and careless students, which does not surprise me because it also worked well on me. Thank you Mr. Holland, freshman and sophomore mathematics.

The other month I assigned detention to a girl and made her cry, which was a first for me and I felt pretty bad. The next day I gave detention to both of the principal’s boys, and this worried me because I did not know how their father would react. I guess both situations were not, however, situations worth losing sleep over, because both the girl’s father and the principal came to me later and said that they thought my punishments were great and that I should punish their children more often, as well as assign them more homework. As one of these requests was a request from my boss, I have since stepped up the amount of weekend homework I give, which I believe has made me increasingly popular with our school’s parent population. I do, however, feel a bit sorry for some of my students, especially when I assign journal topics such as “what did you do last weekend?” and all they write about is doing the work I assigned them.

BECAUSE IT IS FUN

Many teachers I know here are required to organize some type of Christmas performance. Since Christmas is not as significant here as it is in America, and because generally parents here do not know English, teachers are allowed a bit of creativity; one of my friends taught her kindergarteners songs and dances from “The Little Shop of Horrors,” while another used “The Rocky Horror Picture Show.” Since I teach high school children, I do not get to teach my students funny musicals. I am, however, expected to increase my student’s reading proficiency by assigning extra reading to supplement our school’s curriculum. Consequently, my students read a great deal of science fiction, especially science fiction from the 1950s and 1960s, because that is what I like the most. When I was in high school I had teachers that would occasionally become fixated on a single topic and teach it into the ground. Now I know why they did it.

CONCLUSION

When I was a freshman in university I heard our school was putting on “The Little Shop of Horrors.” I was quite excited to see the play, as not only is it clever and humorous, but also because in the previous year I had played a pivotal role in my high school’s production of the play; I was one of three actors who helped operated the killer plant. When I went to the show at my university it was not “The Little Shop of Horrors,” however, but rather the other previously mentioned play. It was a large surprise.

Been Working Like a Student

INTRODUCTION

A number of people back home have asked me about Korea’s educational system and if the reports of it being vastly superior to America’s educational system are true. I originally planned to write about the older students at my school, but I think I will hold that off until next time since a little background information would be helpful in understand my teaching situation. So, the following are my ethnographical observations concerning Korean high schools and high school students. My name is Jeffy Hunt, and on a side note, the number one class I hated more than any other class in college was anthropology.

SORRY HERR LEIBNIZ

To straight up confirm one rumor, beyond any doubt students here are light-years ahead of their American counterparts in math. I am continually mocked by fifteen-year-olds for only having completed one year of calculus in college, and recently I have even begun to even pity myself for forgetting how to calculate integrals. Yes, I am an English teacher and such a job requires only rudimentary math skills, but I really do not like it when students can show me up. To return to other subjects, however, I would have to say in general I do not think Korea lives up to its stereotype of having an educational system amazingly ahead of the one found in America. The Korean work ethic is incredible; students arrive at my school and begin studying before I am even awake, and they continue studying long past midnight. The focus is undeniably there, but the argument that such focus translated into smarter or more knowledgeable students seems shaky.

Korean public schools have hours comparable to American public schools. Unlike in American, however, where students leave classrooms in the afternoon and go on to play sports, participate in clubs, or go home and watch television, in Korea nearly all students leave regular school and go straight to private cram schools. The quality of any given Korean public school is often dismal, so if a student was only to attend public school he or she would have virtually no chance of ever getting into a college. As a result, students must spent as much of their available free time as possible attending supplemental schooling, which means parents much spent as much of their available income as possible on supplemental schools that are far from free. Interestingly, such a situation is one of the reasons Korea has the world’s second lowest birth rate; paying for more than one child to get all the way to college is an impossibility for most families.

As for why Korean public schools are not simply improved and supplemental schools, known as “hagwons,” are not made unnecessary, this is the number one thing about Korea that does not make sense to me. Being a foreigner and pointing out oddities in a culture is a lot like shooting fish in a barrel; its good for a sure laugh, but anyone can do it and it does not bring much satisfaction. Still, stating one of the main reasons Korea’s public schools are declining in quality is simply too irresistible to pass up: Korean students often spend their public school time sleeping so that they can attend hagwons that run long into the night, and they must attend the hagwons because they learn little in the public schools where they spend most of their time sleeping. The importance of attending hagwons increases yearly and the importance of public schooling inversely falls, and in a vicious circle hagwons are increasingly becoming the sites of real learning.

Interestingly, although the life of a high school student is one of little sleep and intense cramming, the life of a college student is altogether different. Once a Korean makes it to college, a feat that often involves several post-high school years of intense studying for standardized tests, education becomes a cakewalk. Classes are supposedly rarely difficult, and with no higher plane of education to study for, college students finally have free time. It is in college that Koreans finally join clubs, start playing sports, go out with friends, and even start dating. Every Korean I have talked to so far who has attended college has told me that he or she got eight or nine hours of sleep per night in college compared to four or five hours of sleep during high school. With regards to America, high schools and colleges in Korea are reversed in many ways, even to the point that it is in college, and not high school, that students proudly wear letterman jackets.

I’M LIKE A CAPTIVE RACCOON

The number two about Korea that does not make sense to me is the fact that Koreans drink little, if nothing, while eating. This is the country of eating meals dry, and I really cannot understand it because even if the food I am eating is not spicy I still need some liquid to wash it down. And, when I say “some liquid” to wash it down, I really mean “four or five of the tiny Korean glasses filled to the brim.” I eat most of my meals at our school’s cafeteria, and since using four or five glasses to drink from during a meal would irritate the dishwashers, especially since all the Koreans around me have zero glasses, I stick to one glass at meals. Thus, if a meal is spicy, I have to get out of my seat multiple times to get a refill, and this is a huge pain. I no longer think of meals as “bad” or “good,” but rather in terms of “glass number,” or more accurately, “interrupt my meal number.” Someone should really just mail me a big cup.

CONCLUSION

Whether or not the Korean educational system is superior to the American educational system is a difficult question to answer, as not only does each system have its strengths and weaknesses, but an answer also hinges on just what is defined as the Korean educational system; just public schools, or hagwons as well? Since ending without answering anyone’s questions is a bit of a letdown, I will instead end with a series of definite, judgmental statements: Not drinking water at meals is irritating. Tiny cups are irritating. Tiny bottled drinks are irritating. Tiny canned drinks are irritating. A lack of water fountains anywhere is irritating. And, not drinking anything after playing ultimate frisbee stupid for two hours is irritating. I swear this whole country is going to die of dehydration.

All About the Younglings

INTRODUCTION

I spent my first month in Korea observing kindergarten classes. I spent my second month in Korea subbing for kindergarten teachers. Whenever I had free time at school I played with kindergartners, and in the evenings after school I spent countless hours trying to memorize kindergartener’s faces and names. Then, three days before the new school year began, I was informed I would be teaching high school. My name is Jeff Hunt, and I used to consider myself quite flexible. Now, however, I do not think an English word exists that can adequately describe my ability to drastically change plans at the drop of a hat.

IT’S NOT AT ALL LIKE DOG YEARS

When a baby is born is born in Korea it is automatically one year old. Unlike in America, where the counting of age begins at birth, in Korea the counting of age begins at conception, or, more accurately, three months prior to conception. The process of converting Korean ages to American ages is not, however, as simple as subtracting one year. On January first every Korean, regardless of the month or day of their actual birthday, automatically ages one year, all at the same time. As school grade levels are determined by birth year, all children in a grade are subsequently exactly the same age, even if their birthdays are ten or eleven months apart. Yes, this means twins born a few minutes apart around New Year’s will always be a year apart in age, and yes, at school we do celebrate each child’s individual birthday, complete with cake, balloons, and presents. As Koreans do not age on their birthdays, however, I almost do not see the point.

When I first began observing kindergarten classes I spent a great deal of time wondering why every Korean who looked to be about four or five told me that they were eight or nine. As it turns out, Korean children are notorious liars; age in Korean culture is quite important so young children are prone to extreme wishful thinking. Tack on two “bonus years” a American arriving in Korea at the beginning of January is not aware of, and the result is a teacher who begins to wonder if he has some previously unknown racial issue towards the people he has chosen to live among for the next fourteen months. If I thought nine and ten year olds were half their age and was treating them as such, how was I going to function around Korean adults? Was I constantly misestimating everyone’s age? What does such misestimation say about my subconscious view of Korean culture? Am I prejudiced? Anyway, that is how lying Korean children caused me a bit of undue stress.

“LITTLE” BECAUSE IT SOUNDS LESS VILLAINOUS

In addition to Korean names, all Koreans at our school have English names and a list of such names for students over the age of twelve, American years, would pretty much be indistinguishable from a similar list in America; we have Kaylas and Kyles, Lilys and Logans, Marys and Mathews, in addition to a surprisingly and annoyingly large number of Sarahs, Emilys, and Johns. A list of names of the younger students at our school would, however, be a bit different. In kindergarten through the sixth grade we have four Esthers, three Ethels, two Mabels, two Ezekiels, two Hortons, two Gilberts, a Proust, a Great, a boy named June, and Little Adolf. Around middle school students in Korea seem to develop and ability to perceive how “normal” their names are, at which point some students decide to pick new names. Of course, such a switch causes no problems whatsoever with grade books, birthday charts, or anything based on alphabetical order.

The administration at our school often uses student’s English names when filling out paperwork. As a result, they find such name switching to be irritating, and enough so that when the new school year began in March various teachers were told to take students aside who they believed could potentially want to change their name in the future and try to get such students to choose new names. This attempt at nipping the problem in the bud was smart, yet unfortunately short lived as Great’s mother quickly caught wind of it. For a woman who thought “Great” was an acceptable English name, Great’s mother had a surprisingly good grasp of English. She pointed out, using a book, that her son’s name meant “good, wonderful, first rate,” which is exactly what she wanted when she chose it. And so the administration ended the name-switching campaign, brought to a halt by a single Korean parent who had read an English dictionary.

THE DISTANT FUTURE

Younger students at my school do not properly understand the question “how are you?” At some point before I arrived in Korea they were all taught that there was only one proper response to “how are you,” which is to say “I’m fine thank you how are you” in a voice as monotone as possible with an equally matching flat and lifeless cadence. When I see a happy student and ask them how they are doing: “I’m fine thank you how are you?” When I comment to a student that I am having a good day and then ask them if their day is going in a similar manner: “I’m fine thank you how are you?” When I see a student crying in the stairway and I try and find out what is wrong: “I’m fine thank you how are you?” Our school has a secondary goal to teaching English and general studies, and that is to produce as many emotionless, 1960s-esque robots as possible. Very clearly we are succeeding.

CONCLUSION

The other day I was eating one of our school’s mystery snacks. The snacks are not, of course, mysteries to our students, but whenever one is handed to me it is usually assumed I have had dried Yaki or Mat Dong San or whatever else so I rarely get an explanation. I was about two thirds of the way through eating a grayish gelatinous ribbon of something that did not resemble any food I knew of but smelt vaguely like the ocean, and wanting to know what it was I asked a first grader walking by if he enlighten me. The reply came back “fried fish skin.” Usually I wish the students at our school the best in using English words, but in that situation I hoped very much that he was in error.