Reasonably Québécois

If Quebec were a reasonable province, Bill 101 would never have passed. Montreal would still be the country’s economic centre. Francophone children would have the right to go to school in English and allophones the right to choose between French and English education. If Quebec were a reasonable province, it would never have built the world’s second largest airport two hours away from the city it was meant to serve. Nor would they have built a stadium that took thirty years of smoking by Montreal residents to pay it off. Were Quebec a reasonable province, two hundred thousand Montreal residents would not spend their national holiday moving. Major grocery stores would be allowed to staff more than four employees after nine pm and bread would be delivered everyday, even on Mondays.

In light of these lapses of judgment, forgive me if I question the goals of a body established to discuss the issue deemed reasonable accommodation. Do I believe that newcomers to Canada should have the right to retain their culture? Absolutely; what would Montreal be without its Muslim population or its Jewish population? It would be a city without Schwartz’s and shish taouk. Diversity characterizes Montreal. Makes the city and the province more rich. In how many other cities of the world could you have ten friends sitting around a table, all of different backgrounds, switching back and forth between English and French as though they were one language? It should go without saying that values guaranteed every Canadian under the Charter of rights and freedoms will also be applied to newcomers. That is what made Hérrouxville’s code of conduct so shocking- that it was denying the newcomers basic rights promised to every Canadian. The Charter is not a buffet. It doesn’t allow us to decide that particular groups are exempt from it. The Charter is part of our culture in Quebec, and in Canada. There is no greater threat to this culture than a proposed code of conduct that contradicts what it means to be a Canadian.

My old roommate, Fajer, on the cover of a Quebec weekly

drawing attention to the reasonable accommodation debate.

The world is changing. Economics and communication are moving people more than ever from one edge of the globe to the other. It is not just Quebec that is changing. Korea has always been proud to have the most homogenous population in the world, but even they are starting to see blue-eyed Korean children. There is no need and no point in fighting these changes- they are inevitable. In a diverse city like Montreal, mixed race couples are now common place and there is no turning back. The argument that society is changing too fast is a weak one. The pace of change around the world has been accelerated, not just here.

As the reasonable accommodation debate heats up, I cringe. In a province that has never been known to be reasonable to any sort of accommodation, I fear the judgments that will soon flow freely. Quebec needs to wake up and realize they are dangerously close to falling behind the rest of the world. While children in China, Japan, North and South Korea are learning English, many Quebeckers are still unable to communicate in the world’s language of business. Bill 101 will not be remembered as Quebec’s saving grace, but rather as the nail in the coffin. If reason resided in Quebec, our street signs would be bilingual and bus drivers would all speak English, if for no other reason than to accommodate tourists. Quebec’s children would grow up perfectly bilingual and unconcerned about the politics of learning to speak English. If the Chinese are learning to speak Japanese, even after World War II, I’m sure we can toss French/English politics aside. But reason, I’m afraid, resides in Toronto. Which is what makes the reasonable accommodation debate so frightening here. If Quebec is unable to accommodate its English speaking population, what chance do other ethnicities have?

Oh Canada

Being a young Concordia graduate in Canada means that I must do my part to keep up the reputation of my alma mater. Concordia is famous for its politically charged atmosphere- and its students reputed for speaking (or screaming out) their political views. In these rare moments where I contemplate for a moment how lucky we are to be in Quebec, and in Canada, I feel I need to acknowledge them.

Fred waited about five months for his new kidney/pancreas set. Our friend Ethan waited two years for his kidney (also in Montreal). In Ontario, patients wait up to eight years for a kidney transplant and have to be on dialysis before even being put on the transplant list. Fred was fortunate that he is an AB blood type, making him a universal recipient. His age and his diabetes allowed him to move up the list quickly, saving him the ordeal of undergoing dialysis. On top of that, the Royal Victoria Hospital here in Montreal happens to be the only hospital in Eastern Canada that performs pancreas transplants. Had we been anywhere else, we would have had the added stress of flying here for the procedure and dealing with hotel bills for his family and myself, not to mention the absense of friends around us.

Every day this week I have contemplated how fortunate we are not to be living in the US. The base cost of Fred's procedure in the US is broken down as follows:

• Procurement of organs: 118,000$
• Hospital stay: 70,400$
• Physician: 20,500$
• Testing: 12,400$
• Follow-up: 40,800$
• One year of Immuno-suppresant drugs: 31,000$
• Total: 293,100$

Cost to us for Fred's procedure in Canada:

0$

• Cost of Immuno-suppresants in the US over the next fifty years: 1,550,000$

• Cost of Immuno-suppresants in Canada over the next fifty years: 35,000$
• Canadian citizens pay no more than 700$ per year for prescription drugs
• The Immuno-suppresants cost 2,000$ per month, charged to the Canadian government
  

As much as we bitch and complain about our less than perfect system, we need to remind ourselves that the grass is not always greener. It almost makes me wish I weren't spending Canada Day helping people move (yet again).

Stephen Harper is Embarrassing Us!

The Clean Air Act is a total embarrasment to Canada. Our country is not doing enough to neutralize climate change. Please, please, please- click on the link below and send a letter to Harper. The message is already written for you! Just type your name and click send- that's it, that's all.


http://www.avaaz.org/en/harperdotherightthing/

What does David Suzuki think?

http://www.davidsuzuki.org/latestnews/dsfnews04270701.asp

Reuters reports Canada receives international "Fossil" award for misleading countries on climate change:

http://www.planetark.com/dailynewsstory.cfm/newsid/39038/story.htm

What does Al Gore think?

http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20070430/ap_on_re_ca/gore_canada_warming

Just Politics

A short rant for you today. I'm off to bed in a minute here, but need to get something off my chest. Ever since I left Canada, I've been contemplating how ridiculous our government is, and how we allow them to go on this way. The Liberal government stole billions of dollars from tax payers and we punished them with re-election. I bet they learned their lesson. Thankfully in the following election we came to our senses and booted them out- even if it did result in Harper being elected. They were too cocky and needed a wake-up call. In any case, I began to contemplate Canadian politics more and more and I became infuriated. We've been brainwashed into believing that our health care system is fantastic- when in truth we only think that because it's better than what you find in the US. We still pale in comparison to many European countries and we pay comparable tax. Our education system is also weak in comparison. My rollerblades have become useless since I moved to Montreal. The roads are too bad to allow me to use them. Travelling in Thailand, I wished that I had them with me. I dream of coasting down hills of roads so nicely paved. Even Mexicans enjoy free education. With all these thoughts floating about in my head, I returned to Canada.

I was determined to get some answers. I hope down the road Canada will be my home away from home- dreaming of settling in a warmer, more transparently corrupt country. For now, however, I feel I should make the most of being home. And I want some answers. I want to know where my tax money goes. I want to know why I nearly starved on the less than adequate student loans provided by the Quebec government. I want to know how they justify cutting off my loans because I made 8,000$ in my graduating year. According to their calculations, 5000$ should have been set aside for my education the woman had told me, glaring down her long pointy nose at me. I've seen how things are done elsewhere, and I'm just not happy with our system. So I looked up my député provinciale- M Yves Séguin (Liberal). All I wanted was to talk. Of course, previous calls to his office have never resulted in a phone being answered, or a message returned. I don't know why I would expect any different in Quebec. Nothing on the Quebec government site indicates anything out of the ordinary. A Google search, however, reveals that M Séguin has stepped down and his seat has been left vacant. Hmmm... I searched for my Member of Parliament. Lo and behold, this position is also vacant. I'm glad that my interests are not being represented at the provincial or the federal level. What a relief!

That's what I get for having a spurt of idealism. Thank god it comes at a time when the Quebec government is voting on raising tuition for the first time since 1994. I'm thrilled that my opinions on the matter will not be heard and that I can enjoy a 200% increase in tuition upon starting my next degree.

The End of an Era

A street in Montreal- after it was hit by freezing rain.

I feel as though I haven't properly closed the Korean chapter of my life. As though I refuse to close the book- refuse to move on to the next. Perhaps it's difficult to do until I've reestablished myself in Montreal- until I've settled into our new apartment (housewarming pending) and found started to see money coming in. Until I have my gym pass in my wallet, half of me is still living in Korea. Admittedly, Fred came home the other day to find me applying for jobs at winter camps in Korea- a month long position (flight, accomodation, food paid- plus two thousand dollars). I thought it was perfectly reasonable to want to go back- Fred didn't seem to agree. I know I've only been back in Montreal a few weeks, but it feels like much longer. It's difficult to turn my back on the easy lifestyle I had in Korea. That said, I'm also glad to be back. I walked down St Catherine Street with my brother, Travis the other day and I felt annoyed by all the people around me. Memories of the markets in Seoul seem so distant now. I'm sure I've become a very distant memory to the kids by now. I feel pressure to stabilize myself. Fred has been very supportive of me- and keeps telling me not to stress about finding work. I need to hear it since I was in Calgary just a few weeks ago and probably could have walked into any number of jobs that I was unqualified for. Such are the benefits of being bilingual in oil-rich Alberta. With the thought of Fred being called in for his transplant, possibly as soon as June- it seems it's time for me to fnd a real adult job.

Fred at Karaoke

All this said, visions of my next trip are already rushing about in my head. Fred's mother is going to India next year to visit family- and since none of her children (for some odd reason) have any interest in going- I will hopefully be going with her. If all goes well with work and Fred's health, I should be headed there soon enough. Already I can't wait.

Can Con

One of the things I loved about Korea was their strong sense of culture and history. Though American movies still sneak their way into Korean cinemas, Korean people flock to Korean movies. American movies are bought on DVD from the street vendors selling pirated copies- in my opinion, just the way it should be. I'd much rather he get my three dollars than George Lucas who has already gotten too much of my hard earned money for producing crap (apologies to all the hard-core Star Wars fans, but I just can't calm the feeling in the pit of my stomach that says we've been ripped off). Fiercely proud and patriotic, Koreans would rather see films that reflect their history and culture than American films reflecting American culture. Makes sense to me.

One of my Korean co-workers asked me why Canadians didn't like the arts. I was confused, and she went on to site the lack of Canadian actors and films as support for her thinking. It was one of my saddest moments as a Canadian. I hung my head and informed her that John Candy, Mike Myers, Jim Carrey, Kim Cattrall, David Cronenberg, Pamela Anderson, Keanu Reaves, Carrie-Anne Moss, Dan Aykroyd, Eugene Levy, James Cameron, Alex Trebek, Kiefer Sutherland, Hayden Christianson and Michael J Fox all hail from Canada. I was so embarrased. So many incredibly talented artists move south because of the lack of support for the arts in our own country. Watching CTV is truly a frustrating experience for a supporter of the Canadian arts. The shows that are truly Canadian- Corner Gas, Trailer Park Boys, Degrassi High- are incredibly successful, and yet for some reason we still jam CTV full of American-style shows. Why do we attempt to produce lame rip-offs of American shows when there are plenty of talented people in Canada working hard to produce original art? Why do so many Canadians roll their eyes at the thought of attending a Canadian film, as though it's synonimous with low production values and a bad script- when clearly we deserve to be proud of our arts?

Having said all this- go see Bon Cop, Bad Cop - Canada's first bilingual film about a murder that takes place on the border of Ontario and Quebec. The film is hilarious- and while stereotyping the Québécois character as an irresponsible, chain smoking ladies man and the Anglo as a maudite tête carré, at least it gets the two sides talking. In fact, support the arts- don't just see it, buy it. Of course, this message is somewhat self-serving as I hope for more film work in Canada so I never have to consider that trip down south. Just imagine the film industry we could have if our talent didn't have to leave to make money.

Aren't We Being a Little Extreme?

There are few things that allow such a clear insight into a culture like its arts. I loved to go see movies in Korea, because it was interesting to see how people would react. A few months ago, Song and I went to see Matchpoint- that new Woody Allen movie. The movie itself was mediocre for Woody Allen (I usually love him), but it was the reactions of the audience that made it well worth the price of the ticket. Song kept giggling to herself as she explained to me that the girl beside her was absolutely livid that the leading man was having an affair. She seemed to miss the point of the movie- or at least the point as I saw it. The character married the wrong woman and continued to have an affair with the woman he really loved throughout the film. But love was no excuse for this woman- clearly determined that marriage should be honored above all, an unusual opinion in Asian culture. The highlight of the film, however, was seeing the leading man sitting at his laptop. His frustration got the better of him and he swiped at the glass of wine that was beside his computer. And as the glass of wine tipped, the audience GASPED. There have been a few film moments in my lifetime that prompted the entire audience to gasp audibly. Perhaps in Usual Suspects when the identity of Keiser Soze is revealed. Maybe in Empire Strikes Back when we find out Luke & Leia are brother and sister. Or Darth Vader is Luke's father. These moments may well have prompted audible gasps- but does a falling glass of wine really merit such a reaction?

What I love about these moments is how transparent it makes our values. Clearly Korean people have a very strong relationship with technology. Before I returned to Canada, I was hit with the realization that our values are often quite backwards. I picked up a newspaper in Chiang Mai, Thailand and allowed myself to be absorbed by what was making headlines there. I was struck by two articles- side by side- from an American newspaper. The first was a clip about a man who was escorted out of a World Health Club facility by police and security guards when he grunted as he was lifting a weight that was over two hundred pounds. Apparently the gym has a strict 'no grunting' policy, as it can be intimidating to other patrons. Have we really gotten to the point where we are obliged to repress every one of our animal instincts because of societal convention? As far as I'm concerned if other patrons are intimidated by a man grunting at the gym, it is their sensitivity that is the problem, and not his grunting. One of the things that I enjoy most about going to the gym is that (at least in Korea) you are free to react authentically to your body. When you push your body to run a little farther, or lift a little more- you silence that inner voice that keeps you acting properly in public. All your energy is devoted and focused on the task at hand.

In order to prepare children to face dumb restrictions at their health clubs in their adult years, we need to start early. We wouldn't want them questioning the stupidity of such rules. I repressed the impulse to exploded into an hour long rant about the irony of such occurences in a a country that delights in spreading a rumour that they are 'land of the free' and I moved on to the next article. It was also a clip from an American paper- this one explaining why hugging had been banned in some elementary schools. Apparently tardiness was becoming a problem because students were spending too much time hugging in the hallways. Rather than addressing the real problem of their lack of time management, or perhaps inability to emmulate Pavlo's dog and respond to the ringing of bells, hugging has been banned. Just what children need- more protection from the evil grips of... each other.

When I accepted my teaching position in Korea, I thought little about the actual experience of teaching. I was more focused on the prospect of seeing a new country and getting paid well to do it. But at some point on my twelve hour flight from Calgary, I got scared. I suddenly realized that I would need to learn all these strange Korean names that I wouldn't be familiar with. What if I mixed up their names? Would the kids think that I thought they all looked the same? Some of my kids would be as young as three- how do I react if they give me a hug? Do I really have to raise my hands in the air and pray their parents don't complain? A mild panic set in. I wasn't sure if I could refuse a hug to a three year old kid. Both my fears were eased my first day at school as I was introduced to my first class of the day- Ryan and Leah among them. I realized all the kids took on an English name for English school- which left me pondering if they really gave me so little credit that I couldn't learn a few strange names. I watched as the kids launched themselves into the teachers' arms as they entered the school that morning, and how they all enjoyed being tossed around a little before class started. I was so relieved. I quickly learned that in Korean culture, the teacher is considered the third parent and instantly becomes a part of the family. Both kids and parents expect you to be affectionate with the kids- to give them plenty of hugs and you'll soon hear complaints from parents if you don't.

Only in North America do we make such a big deal of physical interaction. Throughout the world, people greet each other with a kiss on the cheek (or two, or three depending on the country) or a big hug. In Asia, men and women alike are very affectionate with their friends and family. It is common to see a mother and daughter walking down the street holding hands. Men young and old will snooze on each other's shoulders on the subway. Almost natural, isn't it? In North America, we greet each other with a handshake. The most distant of physical interactions. Why are we so uptight about it? Most other cultures break through the physical barrier immediately and they seem more at ease with each other. When I passed through security in Korea, the metal detector went off. The woman who's employed to feel people up wasn't shy in patting me down every which way until she was satisfied there was no knife in my bra. I landed in Vancouver and then continued on to Calgary on a different airline. As I passed through security there, I set off the metal detector again. The Canadian woman charged with checking me for weapons was so thoroughly uncomfortable with the idea of patting me down that she was nearly across the room as she did it. With arms outstretched, she patted my back a couple times and whisked me on my way.

What is wrong with us? Why are we so prudish? Did we inherit this from the Brits and simply take it to the extreme? Does it come hand in hand with our culture's focus on independence? Just because we are capable of standing alone- does that mean we have to? Are we so worried about offending the people around us that we're losing touch with how we're meant to interact? How we're meant to behave? And at what point can we expect these codes of conduct to stop being pushed to extremes? Will we soon be at the point where even a hug between a parent and child is questionable? What are we so afraid of?

Self-Rev?

I've never been one to trust therapists. I had a bad experience at the age of fourteen and quickly declared it all a crock of shit. My parents had just split (for the second and final time) and things had become chaotic as they do when the balance is thrown and everyone is recast in different roles. My dad became the 'week-end dad', as that was the only time we had to see him. My mom was suddenly the bread-winner, I was 'stand-in parent' and Tyler and Travis were... well- confused. With chaos, of course comes anger and frustation- but instead of sitting down and discussing our feelings within the family, my brothers and I were carted off to therapists. Or rather Tyler and Travis were- I refused to go. Then one Saturday morning, my sleep was interrupted by a strange woman sitting on the foot of my bed. For those of you who have not had the pleasure of waking up next to me, I can assure you- it is no pleasure. I am a nasty, hateful morning person and everybody knows it. The woman introduced herself (as though I'd care) and I lay there in silence. I don't remember what she said or what happened, I don't remember how long she stayed, but I remember being mad. She finally declared that perhaps she had caught me at a bad time and would schedule an appointment. What a novel idea, I thought! At what other point in my life would a complete stranger have the audacity to come into my room, wake me up and tell me how I feel? I hope that any of my friends crazy enough to have children will remember this story when they decide that their teenagers don't deserve the same respect given every other person. In any case, she scheduled an appointment and told me when I could expect to see her again. Unfortunately, I immediately forgot the appointment date and happened to be home when she stopped by. She and her crazy male counterpart took me for pizza and again, I sat in silence. They rattled off about how they understood how I felt and knew I was sad my dad had left. I shouldn't blame myself. Why the hell would I blame myself? This woman was unbelievable- it was as though she had rented all the teen angst movies she could find in preparation for our meeting. I opened my mouth only twice over dinner- once to correct her and tell her that I had been hoping my parents would split since I was nine years old. The second time to answer her stupidest question yet- if your parents were animals, what kind of animals would they be? Without thinking, I rattled off the first two that came to mind and refused to explain why. I imagine they probably looked up said animals in their 'guidebook to the teenage mind' when they returned to the office. It was right next to the check list of the way fourteen year olds feel about their parents divorce and the asterix that says teenagers love pizza so much, they'll do anything for it.


Apparently psychologists and all their friends (social workers, psychiatrists and all the other crazies) believe that family life in childhood has a huge impact on how you grow up. They say that girls will marry someone 'just like their father' (although my mother has often told me that I'm just like my father- now what could that mean?), and boys will marry someone just like their mothers. They believe that if you grow up with instability, you'll seek it out as a comfort in your adulthood. I wonder. As I deal with crisis after crisis, it has occured to me that perhaps there is some truth to all this. I do seem to have a knack for choosing the most difficult route in every possible situation. As the oldest child and the only girl, I was a little spoiled when I was young. Not in the way that I would get a toy for crying, or a candy if I screamed, but spoiled in activities. My parents always supported my interests. I started swimming before I could walk, and skating shortly after I did. There was an endless string of lessons- piano, clarinet, ballet, gymnastics, soccer, basketball, baseball, figure skating... my parents spent alot of my childhood driving me all over for my lessons. There was never any pressure to continue if I wasn't happy, but it seemed I couldn't be happy unless I was running around. I've definitely brought that to my adult life.

As this year draws to a close, I've begun to contemplate how I've changed. My mom has asked me countless times this year if I regret my choice to come. It's seemed a ridiculous question to me all along. How could I regret an experience that is so unique? Before making an exciting new purchase, we get excited, we think about it alot and then we convince outselves we need it. So we buy it and our focus quickly shifts to the next exciting purchase. In the same way, it's easy to forget what an incredible opportunity this is, because it has become my reality. My dad reminded me the other day that he's never had the chance to travel, and I remembered that it is something special. When I consider that I knew absolutely nothing of Korean culture only a year ago, it's amazing how much I've learned. And how much I've changed. When I landed here in Korea, I had in mind only two goals- to see the country and pay off my student loans. But my plans soon changed. I had never travelled before. Why would I waste all the money I saved on paying off my student loans? One hundred and fifty dollars a month for the rest of my life wasn't the end of the world. How could I waste an opportunity to travel in Asia just to pay down a relatively small loan? How could I think about returning to school when I hadn't owned a computer since I left my parent's house? How could I think of giving money back to the banks that had screwed me for years, at the expense of all this? This year has given me some distance. When I lived in rich, rich Alberta I always had a savings account. I went out alot. There was rarely money problems, from what I remember. But all that changed when I moved to Quebec and got sucked into a system built around taxing you to death. Quebec say fare (Quebec sait faire), as my dad says. It becomes difficult to see your options when you're living paycheck to paycheck. In fact, all you see is that you have no options at all.


I feel like I'm constantly fighting part of myself. I have a desire to be stable, responsible and dependable. Part of me wishes that my apartment were always clean and my things always in order. The other part of me is the definition of indirect. I start a hundred things and only finish two. In fact, I start things I know I won't finish just for something to do. For those of you astrology buffs, I'm a Gemini in a Virgo's body. I feel like my friends are split right down the middle- those that know me from my Calgary days and those that know me from Montreal. My Calgarian friends will remember that I was constantly changing apartments, jobs, roomates and boyfriends. My Montreal friends remember that I lived in St Henri before Fred and I moved in together. They don't remember me before Fred because I met them around the same time we started dating. I always run into at least two of my exs when I visit Calgary- but in Montreal, I only have two exs (and they don't count). I know that either I've changed alot, or I've found something worth keeping when I think about Fred. We just passed our four year mark- the last year of which has been entirely long distance. We've talked almost everyday- even if it was just a couple minutes. Fred tells me that years ago, he wouldn't have been able to handle it. I know for a fact that years ago, I wouldn't even have tried. The problem with loving chaos and stability at the same time is that the grass is always greener. Years ago, I would have taken my year away as a chance to enjoy the freedom from my committed relationship. But when I arrived in Korea, I realized that I had found what I was looking for- there was no point in looking further. I don't know when I grew up, but it seems that I did. I can't decide if that's scary or not. It definitely scares me that I'm passed samples of anti-wrinkle cream in stores here, or that my kids sometimes slip and call me ajimma (middle-aged woman with kids). I look forward to getting carded in Calgary when I arrive- just so I know that I haven't aged that much.


I left Montreal without thinking too much about the experience of being away for a year, about teaching or about living in Korea. I really wasn't sure where I would stand once I got here- with my situation, with acting, with Fred, with myself. How could I? You can read every tourist book you find and still not be prepared for the actual shock of being here. There are tons of teachers that arrive and quickly leave because they hadn't considered that they might have to eat unfamiliar foods. Or feel unprepared when they sit down for their first meal in Korea and realize they've never used chopsticks. I wrote my first couple updates and emailed them off to anyone and everyone who had shown an interest... and many who hadn't. I hadn't imagined that I would keep writing regularly. But I kept getting a steady flow of comments and emails from people who loved the rants and were keeping on top of them. So I kept writing. I've always known that I could write, but I also took it for granted. I sort of threw it into the same category as brushing your teeth. But I've come to realize that it isn't that simple and I can get paid to do it. So why not? There is so much pressure in our culture to label ourselves and it leaks into everything. I remember thinking at 18 that I was too young to decide what I wanted to do for the rest of my life. Here I am at 26 and I still feel too young. I don't want to make a choice. There's no reason I should have to. I can be an actor and a writer. I've discovered that I don't have a passion for teaching like I do writing or acting, but I can do it for awhile. Suddenly I see options everywhere. When I left the Hyatt last year, I told myself that I was leaving customer service for good. And I am. University graduates shouldn't have to work in restaurants- and the ones who get stuck are those that are too scared to leave. I've also come to accept, once and for all, that I need to work for myself. No more screwing around. IMAX aside, I've never had a job where I didn't look at my boss and think, "You're just so stupid." I'm not cut out for the 9 to 5 job, I hate mornings- although I've learned to be a little nicer because I can't yell at three year olds just for being three before I've had a coffee.

What's my point? I'm rambling. Young people often travel to 'find themselves', which has always sounded so cheezy to me. It's not a matter of finding yourself, at least not for me. There's no such thing, in my mind. It implies that you're static and just playing hide and seek. We as people are constantly changing- our views, our opinions, our realities and there is no better way of challenging yourself than spending time abroad. It's about being taken out of your safe life and dropped into the unfamiliar. When I think back on where I was a year ago, it was crucial that I came to Korea. No other country in Asia would have allowed me the same experience. I left Canada feeling disgusted with the state of the world. I looked around me, in one of the world's wealthiest countries and saw University students struggling through with minimal student loans. I saw homeless people that clearly should have been institutionalized. I saw myself working a crappy union job, where my co-workers kept assuring me that if I stayed thirty years like they had, I would enjoy equal rights. When I visited Calgary on my way here, I was shocked by what my old home had become. Big city problems had moved in and for the first time I didn't feel safe in downtown Calgary. I looked around and saw ten times the number of homeless than before the big boom. I saw more hard drugs. I saw more vandalism. I needed to see something different to show me that the whole world wasn't in such a desperate state. Being in Korea has been so refreshing. The subways are free of graffiti and trash- immaculately clean despite the absense of garbage cans. The incredible sense of respect that defines Korean culture makes it such a sharp contrast to Canada. Big screen TVs sit in public areas- no one even dreaming of stealing them. Heaps of bicyles in the street are unlocked. Young people quickly stand up to give their elders a seat on the subway- the seats for the elderly and handicapped remain empty in a crowded car. In some parts of Korea, in fact, they've had to install new signs to include pregnant women because even they were standing next to the empty seats. The tremendous respect and pride that Korean people have in their country has been so refreshing. It was exactly what I needed to see. There are still problems here- their hold on traditional ways has prevented feminism from really being successful. Corporal punishment is still acceptable in schools, and being Korean still means having two parents- both of whom are Korean. But these are all areas in which Korea can move forward, can change. I'm not sure about Canada. It seems that we have to move backwards to fix our problems. We need to move back and admit that maybe it is beneficial to have a parent at home. Maybe we try to pack too much into our lives and that is why we've lost a connection with our families. All those therapists make a killing off of telling us that the root of all problems is in the family. So why aren't we fixing it? There's a lot of talk and not a whole lot of action, as far as I can see. When will we stop asking why kids are getting fatter and fatter and just kick them outside to play with a soccer ball? When will we realize that despite all our talk of the enviroment, we're really slow on making any changes?

I'll soon be leaving Korea- taking with me a new knowledge of this very different culture. I know that some things will be very hard to adjust to in Canada. I might have my purse stolen a few times because I'll forget that that happens. I'll be really annoyed that my cell phone doesn't work on the metro, despite the fact that I pay five times more for the service than I do here. I'll be upset that Starbucks doesn't charge a deposit for the cup and that the depanneur doesn't charge for the plastic bag. The lack of street food will undoubtedly upset me. Where will I get my egg sandwiches? Even if I could get them, they wouldn't be a dollar. On the other hand, I look forward to enjoying a pizza without corn and sweet potato. I'm looking forward to seeing crowds of women smoking in the streets of Montreal, since it's the only place you can smoke now. I'm excited to get back and see so many nationalities around me and hear so many languages. I can't wait to have a good cup of coffee.

Luck

We hear a lot about luck. About good luck, and bad luck, and then about the people who have no luck. I've never really known where to rate myself in terms of luck. I've had good luck with some things, and terrible luck with others. As a Canadian, I've often heard how lucky I am to be born and raised in Canada. It is my home, and sure there are things that I love and things I hate, but this year I have come to realize why I am lucky to be Canadian.

My parents really tried their best to encourage me to follow a Christian path. Between Catholic school, Christian summer camp and a Christian version of Girl Guides, it's a wonder that they didn't succeed. For awhile I bought into it all. I accepted everything as children do, whole heartedly and satisfied with the vague answers I was given. But then things stopped adding up for me. This was, of course, right after the unfortunate incident involving a Bishop and oil on my forehead. In the eyes of the Catholic Church, I was stuck for life. I find it interesting that the sacriment of Confirmation takes place just before most children really start questioning their faith. It's even more intriguing that today very little prep time goes into this ceremony that supposedly has life long consequences. In comparison, Jewish children spend years preparing for their bar mitzvas/bat mitzvas. Whatever. Catholic kids are kept ignorant- the less they know, the fewer questions they'll have. Or at least, that's the view from a disgruntled 'Catholic'. It's not that I've found a different faith, or that I've tossed aside a belief in a higher power. It just seems to me that organized religion has taken a few wrong turns, and I'm not interested in identifying myself under a label I don't agree with. I'm not Catholic because I believe in a woman's right to have control over her body. I believe in a person's right to love, marry and sleep with whomever they might want to (unless it's Fred-hands off!). I wonder if the Church would be so concerned about who you were sleeping with if anyone in Vatican City had ever had the pleasure of getting laid. I believe that people should be able to challenge their faith without being kicked out of the Church. I believe that people need to learn to laugh at themselves. I'm amazed that the Vatican's tantrum over daVinci Code succeeded in winning more press attention than the President of Kenya begging the Church to okay the use of condoms to help stop the spread of AIDS. Priorities are all wrong for my taste, and so, when approached by the countless swarms of Korean Christians trying to save my soul, I can't help but feel a little nauseated. Although the sea of gleaming red crosses in the night sky doesn't help either.

But this isn't going to be a rant about religion, fear not. I haven't the time, nor the patience to take on such an issue. Not to mention the fact that I have no real concrete opinions on that front. It's more about growing up, I suppose. I was confirmed to the Catholic faith in grade six, in grade seven I became dissatisfied with the answers I was getting. I had always hated being carted off to Church on Sunday morning, but now that my parents were fighting more than usual, I realized I had a way out. I asked my mother if maybe she wouldn't mind going to another church with me. Of course, she jumped at the chance as tensions between her and my dad had mounted to the breaking point. En route to this eutopia of a church we were heading to, I told her I'd changed my mind and asked her if she wouldn't just want to go for breakfast instead. Simple as that. For the next few months, my mother and I pretended to be off to our own church when in reality we were at McDonald's having egg mcmuffins. A sneaky and questionable rebellion since I was with my mom all the while, but it was the best I could come up with to get out of Church on a regular basis.

I was always one of those dorky kids that loved school. Maybe because I never had to work particularly hard at it. I was always kept busy with sports after school and to my memory, did very little homework. The nights I stayed up till all hours to write papers were always my fault- I had usually just started the paper that day. I was never very good at math, but I still got decent marks. When I started complaining of blurred vision in grade two, I was taken to the eye doctor. Tests said I had 20/20 vision. But blurry patches would come and go, accompanied with pressure building up in my eyes. I still get it every now and then. In grade seven, the eye doctor told me I was reading too much and insisted that I not read more than twenty minutes at a time. So I stopped reading. How much could you possibly do in twenty minutes? I breezed through high school with little effort (not always with the best marks) and headed off to University. I finally had a teacher call me on my lack of effort in my learning, and it shocked me. Was it that obvious? Of course it was- a mediocre effort had usually gotten me by, so I became accustomed to offering the bare minimum. Why work harder for no good reason? I've never thought that I wasn't smart enough to go into a particular field of study, but I have wondered if realistically I could commit myself. (Phobic, remember?) A question that I'm faced with now that I contemplate a return to school... I know I'll find myself back in school soon enough, but the direction that I'll take is still up in the air. It was important for me to break away from academics and explore my creativity- and I'm not giving up on that. I'm thankful that I've had that opportunity.

There are of a course countless variables that impact who we become as adults. As I look at these kids that I'll soon be leaving, I contemplate the differences between how I grew up and how they will. All of the most important moments of my life have come from tearing myself away from my friends, family, faith, boyfriends and academics. It's seen as a normal part of the process of growing up. But these kids are already experiencing tremendous pressures that I never had to deal with. They are already aware that image is everything. They are aware that their mothers always have perfectly manicured nails and that a hair is never out of place. They are aware that mom diets really hard to make sure that she is not labelled 'fat'. They are aware that in their world, there are roles for girls and roles for boys. They know that living on the twenty-second floor is better than living on the tenth floor. They are aware of what brand of shoes they wear to school, and the student who goes to the most schools has the most money. The pressure to look the same as everyone else is intense. Middle school girls are not allowed to have their hair shorter than their chin or longer than their shoulders, and will be sent to the barber shop to have it fixed before returning to school. Fingernail checks are done to make sure that your nails are not only clean, but of a uniform length. Jewelry and make-up is still forbidden. Most things in Korean culture can be chalked up to image- in fact, my very presence here has less to do with an active interest in learning English and more to do with keeping pace with everyone else. It is fashionable to learn English. Korea is the plastic surgery capital of the world for a reason. The Korean knock-off industry is worth a billion dollars a year. That's alot of fake Channels. It's all about image.

The kids I teach range in age from three years to sixteen years. Some of my three year olds start school at 9am and finish at 4:30pm. Half of that is Korean school, the other half English school. Some of my Elementary school students attend as many as eleven schools- so they leave the house at 8am and return home around 8 or 9pm, just in time to finish their homework and pass out. Middle school children are often dropped off on their doorsteps by the school bus at 1am. Even during their much deserved breaks from school, the average Korean student spends more than 48 hours in school or studying, each week. All of these schools are designed to give students a 'leg up' in the horrid exam that they have to write their final year of high school. Children learn to fear this exam from the time they start grade one. The Korean Scholastic Aptitude Test determines what University you will attend and what course of study you can follow. Because image is everything- it also impacts how successful you will be in your career and in your marriage prospects after graduation. The exam takes place in November. In August, mothers start frequenting temples and churches (often both, not either or) to offer prayers for their child's performance in the exam. One month before, mothers make their way to the temples to light candles for their children. The teachers responsible for writing the exam are sequestered for a month before it takes place. Businesses open an hour later to help ease the flow of traffic, as the 700,000 students make their way to the exams. Flights into and out of Seoul are stopped for the listening portion of the exam, to cut down on outside noise pollution. The exam last eight hours, and will determine the course your life will take. Ironically, once you're accepted into University, it's a joke. By all accounts, no one learns a thing.

As a Canadian, I breathe a sigh of relief that I was able to choose my field of study and that there isn't a point of no return in our education system. A high school drop-out could still go back to school and become a doctor. It is so difficult to wrap my mind around some of these differences. Koreans are incredibly strong as a collective, but in terms of individualism, they have a great deal of trouble breaking out of the confines of everyday routine. I wore my hair in a braid to school one day and not only did all my kids notice, and comment, but all the girls in my classes showed up for the next three weeks with their hair in braids. It still baffles the kids that I could spend a year away from Fred. It doesn't fit into their formula, and it doesn't make sense. Just as they thought they had it all figured out, I surprise them by telling them that we're not getting married when I get back. It's unheard of in Korea. The Dutch soccer coach that led the Korean soccer team to the semi-finals in the 2002 World Cup made one change- and it was hugely controversial. He insisted that all players be treated equally, regardless of age. Suddenly the team started winning, and he's held up as national hero. The solution was so simple, but it's difficult to see it from within the box. How can you be a team if you have a hierarchy? I could go on forever here. My point is this. I have realized this year how lucky I am to be able to make choices. That there is nothing limiting me to what I can and cannot do. I can take my BFA and go onto law school, or I can throw myself into a conservatory for the next three years. I can decide to get married tomorrow, or ten years from now or never, and no one will bat an eyelash (well, maybe tomorrow is a little quick...). I can choose to leave my faith because it doesn't fit. I can choose not to follow the path my parents hoped for me. Better yet, they're happy that I did. I got to make mistakes. I can tell Fred's family openly (although they are all aware) that I hate cooking, and I'm horrible at it. We don't need to pretend just because I'm the woman. I can decide not to have kids. I don't have to own a Louis Vuitton purse, or spend 80,000$ on my wedding (the average cost of a Korean wedding). I can run on the treadmill at the gym, because I don't care if men see me sweat. I'm proud to have muscular calves (I've worked damn hard for them), and I don't feel the need to inject poison in them to make them smaller. I've had alot of ups and downs this year- and occasionally questioned my choice in coming to Korea for some of these very reasons. But I think I really needed to experience this. Because I never would have belived it if I hadn't.

East/West Relations

Despite my questionable residency in the eyes of some, Montreal is my home. I was born there, and though I was raised in Alberta, something never quite fit. I always felt mal a l'aise there. I grew tired of explaining to people that I wasn't a separatist, nor were my parents (despite the fact that such ignorant assertions made me sympathize with the separatist movement). I became annoyed that people could not understand that there was a difference between speaking French and being French Canadian. I developed an impatience for the government who propagated the idea that speaking French meant being French and being French meant being separatist. The Alberta goverment defines a francophone as an individual who's first language is French, or who has spent two or more years in a francophone school. According to the government, I was francophone. It's not that it's offensive, it's just that it's always grating to labelled something you're not. I have the same reaction here when people call me American, or Russian. When I arrived in Montreal, I finally felt comfortable. Speaking French was somewhere between a bonus and an expectation and no longer meant that I was in league with Rene Levesque. My last name, Bogue Kerr, was no longer a great mystery that would require lengthy explanations.

Being that my parents and I left Quebec shortly after the referendum of 1980, it is little wonder that I grew up hearing the tales of injustice done to the English people of Montreal. Bill 101 had just kicked in, and guaranteed that my very English father would face challenges in his career. My parents tell tales of the clear French/English divide down Boulevard St Laurent and find it difficult to believe that my Montreal is so different. There are still tensions, it's true. I found working in restaurants that I would always get good tips from French tables if they didn't hear me speak English, and good tips from English tables if they didn't hear me speak French. If my sections were mixed, my tips were mediocre. When Fred and I were apartment hunting, my messages left in French guaranteed a phone call back, while his English messages went unanswered. Sure, the Office de la Langue Francaise keeps itself busy running around to offices and checking to make sure the inter-office emails are sent in French, but all in all, from the point of view of a bilingual Montrealer, tensions aren't so bad. Once I stopped saying that I was from Calgary in interviews, I never had another problem finding a job. It is a little ignorant to assume that a Calgarian could not speak French, but it is less ignorant than assuming that Montrealers cannot speak English.

I had a rough introduction to Montreal, but it quickly became home. I am proud to live in a city that is so rich and so diverse. I knew it was unique in Canada, but I never thought that it was unique on an international scale. When I arrived in Korea, a Korean co-worker was studying Montreal in University, as a model of a bilingual city. Discussion surrounding how to make Seoul the next Montreal in terms of bilingualism was a popular topic at her school. She was absolutely shocked to discover that the politics of speaking French or English in Montreal were so complicated. Today a Montrealer who is born and raised there should speak both languages, but still many don't. The reality is that Bill 101 has given anglophones the upper hand. Anglophone children are going to school in French, so they learn to speak both languages fluently. Francophone children have no choice but to go school in French, and so they only learn French. I can't imagine being 25 years old and realizing I couldn't work in Toronto.

All that said, my point is this. The English language is artificially migrating all over the world in the name of progress. Languages are meant to evolve and change, but in an effort to keep pace with faster growing economies and an increasingly educated population, some countries are being pushed years ahead of where they actually should be. Korea has only just begun to accept foreigners into their country, but now we are here en masse. It didn't happen organically- it was forced. This country was devastated by war fifty years ago and they closed their doors to the world to rebuild. Up until 1980, Koreans were not allowed to travel outside of their country. It was a police state and they were striving to keep Korean money in Korea in an effort to rebuild the economy. When I look around, it is so difficult to wrap my mind around the rate of progress in this country. Soon after Koreans opened their doors to the world, English teachers began to trickle in. The country has quickly became Westernized, to the extent that children fail to realize where Korean culture ends and Westernized culture starts. But when two such different cultures begin to blend, we have to expect that there will tensions and challenges.

Before I arrived in Korea, I had heard that the police and media looked for excuses to pin things on foreigners. That in the media, foreigners were unfairly treated and torn apart. It makes me wonder, are they ready for Western culture? Are they pushing too hard? English teachers here have an E-2 visa, which allows us to work in a private English school, and prohibits us from working in other areas while under this visa. That also means that we are not permitted to take on private tutoring- a point of contention with foreigners and Koreans alike. Many Koreans don't have the time or the resources to attend private schools and seek out lessons with foreigners. The rule about private tutoring came about years ago because the media claimed that marriages were falling apart left, right and center because Western men were tutoring Korean women. Allegedly, these tutoring sessions resulted in affairs between Western men and Korean women, and as a direct result the institution of marriage in Korea was walking a fine line. I find it a little far fetched, but what can you expect? Rules were put in place to prevent this from continuing and most of all, to promote the conservation of the homogenous Korean race. As quickly as that issue was laid to rest, the next quickly took center stage. Western men were pushing their way off the plane, fresh from Canada or America and making their way through the streets of Seoul in hopes random women would begin throwing themselves at them. According to the Korean media, Western women were too independant and refused to care for their lovers, marry or have children, so they were forcing Western men to leave their countries in search of women in Korea. Korean women were caring, loving and subservient (said the papers), and that was what Western men wanted. But more then anything, Western men were here to deflower Korean women. The issue is ongoing and it is still taboo in the eyes of the older generations for Koreans to mix with Westerners. In the streets of Seoul, you see countless Korean women with Western men. But her parents usually don't know. I can understand the attraction between Korean women and Western men. The media almost got it right, but still missed.

Canadian women of my generation were raised to be strong and independant. Our mothers instilled in us the importance of standing on our own two feet. Of choosing a career path that we valued and never relying on a man to carry us along. But maybe we went too far. Many of us came to associate femininity with weakness, and so we suppressed it. We wanted so much to run with the boys that we came to embrace masculinity, leaving our feminine traits on the sidelines. We began to reject part of ourselves. I grew up a tomboy- and still am to some extent, and I remember being offended by being called feminine. I prided myself on being able to run as fast as the boys, but failed to realize that I didn't have to give up being a woman to do that. Feminism made many great strides in Western society, but that is one aspect where we seem to have fallen short. Feminism should be about choice. About choosing what it is you want for yourself, and being able to take that on without ostracism. But we still look at stay at home moms with a bit of pity. As though they aren't doing all that they dreamed because they're at home with the kids. If there's one thing that our generation should have learned, it is the value of having a parent at home. Maybe TV wouldn't have become a full time babysitter in so many houses if a parent could afford to stay at home.

Korean women have travelled. Many have spent time in Western countries and undoubtedly come back depressed. Freedoms enjoyed by Western women have yet to make their way to Korea. It is common for Korean women to have to ask permission of their husbands to go out with their friends. It is expected that they will do all the cooking and the cleaning. It is expected that they will have children and stay at home with them. It is expected that they will keep themselves delicate. Returning to Korea after time abroad is a difficult adjustment for most women. It follows that they would get on well with foreign men who won't have the same expectation of women's roles in society and in the home.

Some Western men, it seems to me, are at a bit of a loss to determine their roles. Women have developed independance to a point that relying on a man is no longer even a consideration for us. We've been raised that way. But men had little say in the changes that swept through the family homes and through society. Men have been socialized to believe that they are stronger than women- that they need to play the role of protectors. But we've asked them not to. We like to think we can take care of ourselves. Men will of course, always be physically stronger, but women have shown we can be just as strong in other ways. Many women are content being single mothers- making it increasingly common to raise their children alone. Our superwoman complex has put everything off balance. Of course it is possible for a woman to raise a child on her own, but that doesn't make it ideal. So we have taken from men both their roles as protector and provider, leaving them (I imagine) feeling a little unsure about what it is we want them to do. They're damned if they do and damned if they don't. A man standing up on the subway to give his seat to a woman could be seen as charming by one woman and chauvanistic by the next. Is it any wonder that they are relieved to find themselves in a place that has clearly defined roles?

In Korea, man is king. Korean men are raised to expect that one day their wives will be gentle, caring and attentive with them. Who would give that up for a woman who will tell you when she's going out, not ask? For a woman who might cook, but only if he does the dishes? The combination is like oil and water, they just don't mix. After all, I wouldn't take too well to a man who expected these things of me.

One of my biggest frustrations this year has been with the lack of respect shown for my culture. I recognize I'm a guest here, and I need to accept Korean culture. And I have made an effort, but I have to draw the line at some point. When I'm out and about in the streets of Seoul, I accept Korean culture. I absorb it, I enjoy it, I suppress my frustrations with it. But when I arrive at school, I quickly lose my patience. I have tried to stress to the Korean teachers and the children the importance of learning about Western culture if they want to learn the language. It is impossible to properly learn a language without a concept of how the culture works. But this has fallen on deaf ears. In my culture, it is rude to laugh at others because they are different. But try as I might to express this to my kids- and my co-workers, they simply don't understand. They not only fail to see an issue, but in fact feel that being different is an adequate reason to be laughed at. It is frustrating that because Korean society is so regimented and there are rules for who deserves the most respect, those of us who fall outside of the rules don't get respect. It is so difficult to remember that as frustrating as it is to be treated like a new and interesting play thing, it is simply because Koreans have yet to find a place for foreigners in their culture. Working out the kinks, I suppose. The line between Korean and foreigner is clear cut. After eleven months, I can't help but roll my eyes when I'm asked absolutely ridiculous things about my culture. Like if we sometimes eat dinner at restaurants. Or if we drink beer in pubs. As though all the McDonald's restaurants in Canada are only a facade because Canadians only eat in the privacy of their own igloos. Much like the old English/French divide in Montreal, the Korean/English gap is wide in Seoul. I wonder if in the years to come, Korean culture will change by leaps and bounds and find reconciliation not only with a new language, but also with a new culture. As I prepare to leave Korea, I feel a bit like I'm leaving home. I know I'll always have a soft spot for Korea and I look forward to coming back here in ten, twenty and thirty years and seeing first hand how much of an impact we made by being here. I hope to see many blue-eyed Korean children on my next visit.

A Severe Case of Commitment Phobia

I have always suffered from a severe phobia of commitment. From the time I moved out of my parent's home at the age of eighteen to twenty-one when I moved to Montreal, I count five apartments and twelve roommates. Alex was the only one that lasted a full year. The perpetually complex state of my revolving-door relationships must have been difficult for my friends to follow. Until I met Fred, the longest of these had lasted four months. The first of these four month relationships, was of course the infamous Rob who I believe was forced out of the apartment after promising to move to Montreal with me and revealing he believed we were 'meant for each other'. Famous last words, it would seem. The second of these was the less than infamous Daniel who was kept a guarded secret (one that mysteriously leaked out anyway, Caycee) because of the questionable age difference between us. Daniel saved me the trouble of ending our relationship at the four month mark when he announced he was moving to Ireland to pursue his Master's in Acting (or some such non sense). But Daniel had not yet boarded the plane when I met Fred. I distinctly remember telling Fajer (my roommate of the moment), that Fred terrified me because I had the unsettling feeling that he might break through the four month expiry date. It seems that uneasy feeling was right- here I sit four years later wondering how it is that he snuck up on me like that. I have come to realize that this fear of commitment is not unique to roommates, apartments and boyfriends. It seeps into every aspect of my life. I hate to make plans ahead of time- commitment phobic, you see. More than anything, this commitment phobia has affected my direction with theatre. Teachers and fellow students in school told me that I was a bit of a mystery to them- I had all the pieces to be really successful, but I was choosing not to put it all together. It's true. Putting all those pieces together means making a commitment to myself, to follow through. It means no more excuses, no more bad jobs. It means making a real commitment to theatre.
I glance at my fancy Korean cell phone and realize that the countdown it began long ago to my final days here is fast approaching. As I stumbled in late last night from a day out with Song, I began to feel the first pangs of resistance. Was I ready to leave? For months I had promised Song that I would be back, but the realization has begun to hit that this may be it. Maybe I won't be. Throughout this year, Fred and I have talked many times about returning to Asia together in the future. Part of me loves to believe that it'll happen, but another part of me wonders. I have been bitten by the travel bug- it is certain that I will find myself back 'dans ce coin', but in promising Fred and Song that I'll be back, I suddenly feel as though I'm promising to put my life on hold again. Life in Canada has been on pause for nearly a year now- my career and education plans put aside for a time while I take a year to work on me. The only thing that has changed in Canada is my relationship with Fred. It's continued to grow and change as it needs to under these odd circumstances. In saying that in two years we'll be back, implies that we'll be perfectly willing to again pause our lives in Canada and return to Asia. I'm not sure that's reality. I have found a direction this year. I have come to realize that committing to theatre does not need to mean a commitment to poverty. It doesn't necessarily mean that I am deciding to pursue acting at the exclusion of other interests.
Years ago someone told me that Sesame Street was to blame for the existence of Attention Deficit Disorder in our generation- that we had become so accustomed to receiving a full story in the space of a minute or two that this later affected out ability to focus in school. Perhaps. If this is true, than it is not only my knees that bore the brunt of my active childhood. My parents encouraged and supported my involvement in ballet, gymnastics, figure skating, soccer, basketball, baseball, swimming, synchronised swimming, horseback riding... the list goes on and on. It wasn't until I reached high school that the line was drawn, as it seemed that it was suddenly impossible to participate in everything that I wanted to. My activities were grudgingly narrowed to drama, soccer and basketball. Maybe this is where the reluctance to commit stems from. There's so many choices, so many options- why commit? Why should I choose? To be honest, I've come to realize that it is just not in my nature. There is too much to life that I want to experience, and I've acquired interests and skills in too many areas to say that 'this is it'. My reluctance to commit to theatre is exactly that. I have scattered passions, and I want to pursue them all. And I've realized I can.
Months ago I began to have minor panic attacks at the thought of returning to Montreal. The prospect of returning to customer service both infuriated and terrified me. Now I find myself looking to it excitedly- Montreal, that is, not customer service. At points this year, I have fallen into the trap of treating this year as though it's my one and only opportunity to make money. I felt incredibly guilty buying my computer, convincing myself that I should put the money aside for savings. Illogical when you consider that I'm not sure how I made it through my first degree without a computer, and I am certainly not going to do it again. I contemplated my trip to Taiwan, again thinking I should save the money instead. Fortunately logic kicked in at moments. I've waited since high school for an opportunity to travel, I'm not about to waste this opportunity to see the world. Further, this year has prompted me to see how many opportunities there are and assured me that if I am willing to go a few uncomfortable months upon my return to Montreal, it will pay off. I know what I'm going to do, and I love that I'm tossing around a hundred different possibilities, none of which involve passing out CVs to restaurants.
I seem to be rambling today. Truth of it is that my feelings about returning to Canada change every ten minutes, making it very difficult to articulate them without contradicting myself. Even with the contradictions, it's hard to communicate. Last week, my secretary at school passed me a belated-birthday present. I held back tears as I read her note that apologized for her poor English and expressed how sad she was that I would soon be going home. Kate and I have hardly spoken this year as her English is only slightly better than my Korean. I hadn't considered how difficult leaving was going to be until that moment. I never realized it was possible to feel so close to someone that you had exchanged so few words with. And even fewer were understood. My countdown tells me that I have 50 days until the end of my contract. Part of me feels like that I need more time. I wish I had fewer week-days and more week-ends before October 31st. As Song and I parted ways last night, I felt upset that I am now left with only six Saturdays before I head home. The interviews for the poor sap that will replace me are in full swing. Whoever it is will arrive in five weeks. October 31st will be an incredibly emotional day for me. Not only is it my last day at school, but it is also the two year anniversary of Tyler's death. Instead of rushing home after this emotional day, I'll be packing my bags to rush through Thailand, Laos and Cambodia (true to my nature, making things as difficult as possible) for two weeks before landing in Calgary to visit my mother and my few remaining friends. With all these thoughts floating in my head, I went to bed last night and called Fred this morning when I woke up. He was busy and we only spoke for a minute before hanging up. Suddenly the seven weeks before my departure felt like an eternity. I checked my cell phone, hoping that somehow in the last ten minutes time had sped up and it was finally October. No such luck. The end is so close and so far all at once- and time seems to be slowing down the more excited I become at the prospect of being home at last...

Foreigner in a Foreign Land?

Foreign substance. Foreign object. Foreign affairs. Foreigner. Words like waitress, actress, Eskimo, Indian (meaning Native) and retarded have all mysteriously dissapeared from our vocabulary in a short period of time. I imagine they now find themselves lounging on an old, coggity beach with a slew of racial slurs that we have tossed from our speech in an effort to even the playing field. Many of the words seemed harmless and we scoffed when we first learned that fireman had become fire fighter. But the truth is that the meaning behind the words is what people have fought to change. Our language reflects who we are- how we view the world. As the British Empire raced to spread themselves across the globe, so has the English language. Although it's the Americans that have really stepped it up. English is an intensely complex language that has appropriated countless words from other languages. The suffix 'ess' (as in actress, waitress, stewardess) means 'less than'. So for years after the sexual revolution, we were still indicating that women were inferior by their job titles. Eskimo means eater of raw fish. As though you can sum up an entire people by their diet. Wouldn't it be horrible if Canadians were called grease eaters by the rest of the world? Most baffling to me is the use of the word Indian, meaning First Nations people. How did that word actually last so long in our vocabulary? How is it that no one pointed out that the only reason it was in use was the fact that Christopher Columbus was a very confused man? I don't know that I have ever looked at an Indian person and wondered if they were First Nations. How did he? Blinded by the skin tone, I suppose. But as the English language is exported across the world, we run into problems keeping up with the evolution. Printed in my phonics books are the words Indian and Eskimo- alongside pictures of what Koreans associate with these words. Of course because it drives me nuts, these are the words that kids pick up the fastest and repeat the most. Try as I might to change their wording, it never words. And then of course you deal with the terms left behind by teachers before you that perhaps were not as aware of the ever-changing language that we speak. Forgot to open the email maybe. Missed the billboards that were plastered about with the latest updates. I have tried - with some success, to get my children to stop calling the colour peach 'skin colour'. Of course the success depends on consistency and Korean teachers generally have little patience for our political correctness.

English is imperialist. It has seaped into homes and minds across the world like no other. It has come to be an indication of a person's education and social standing. But as much as it is finding its way into cultures across the globe, English has a polite respect and careful way that reflects the culture from which it comes. Rice is such an important part of the Korean diet that it is reflected in the language. There are numerous words for rice- although I only know one. One of their greetings literally means "Have you eaten rice today?". English has so, so many words that it is hard to pinpoint anything specific and say that we have many words for it. But what does stand out is the ever-changing correctness that, as ridiculous as it many sometimes seem, is really striving for equality. Western culture is difficult to explain to Korean people. They ask if we can tell the difference between Canadians and Americans, or the British and the French. They fear that they are offending us by even asking the question, but they really don't understand that there is no Canadian 'look'. As my kids flip through my photo album, they pause at the sight of Kenshi and Miranda. Kenshi is of Japanese heritage, but has lived most of his life as an American and the few years he's spent away have been masquerading as a Canadian. Miranda is half Vietnamese. But apart from Miranda's international trips, she has spent her entire life in Canada. The kids ask me where these people come from and look genuinely confused when I say Canada. Often times the kids insist that Kenshi is Korean- proving that sometimes even they cannot be sure of heritage. The kids don't seem to think that Fred looks any different from their vision of a Canadian- although some of my Korean friends have tentatively asked if it's okay that we're together. They see me as Canadian and him as foreign- despite the fact that Fred has spent his entire life in Canada. They are unable to wrap their minds around the idea of a culture that is not homogenous. Many are unable to fathom how we could both be so blind to the issue of race and simply don't understand that we are equally Canadian.

Over the last ten months, I have used and heard the word foreigner more times than in my entire life. And I contemplate the experience that someone foreign to Canada would have were they to live there for a year. I can't imagine any greater contrast. No one is foreign in Canada. When I daydream about walking the streets of Montreal in November (in my head November is a beautiful sunny month and I don't need a jacket) it is not white faces that I see passing me by. I contemplate the word foreign. It means something that doesn't belong or is out of place. I had a foreign object in my eye- it was an object that didn't belong there. As I walked by a bar last night (on the occasion of my 26th birthday, although my Korean co-workers insist that I'm older) I laughed at a sign over the door. "Foreigners welcome," it proclaimed. You don't belong here, but you're welcome. How strange. This was, of course in sharp contrast to the signs that indicated they did not welcome US military. We sat down for dinner- my Korean friends shocked that on my birthday I wanted to eat Korean food- and they asked how we celebrate birthdays in Canada. Why is there such a perceived difference between us and them? Apart from not speaking the same language and having a little more variety in our hair and eye colour, are we not the same? Why can't some things be universal? The desire to come together in times of celebration or grief is common to every culture, as far as I know. Why does everything have to be different? The question was innocent enough, but the birthday cards were equally strange. My friend Song passed me a beautiful gift and a card that expressed how lucky she felt that we were friends and asked me to stay in touch when I go home. She is a friend. My co-worker Kristine passed me a card that expressed how happy she was to have made a foreign friend and she hoped that when I go back to Canada she will not lose her foreign friend. Following the painful convention last week-end, she told me that she was so happy to work with us (Reg, Leslie and I) because the other foreigners at the meeting were not as good looking. And they were strange- with tattoos and piercings. I wished that I had a remaining piercing to shock her with. I look forward to going home and am anxious to break back into my Canadian lifestyle with my Canadian boyfriend. I can't wait to sit at a table in a coffee shop and listen to the different languages all around me. I'm going to rebel hard against Korean culture, but no one in Canada will know it. I'm going to wear a tank top. I'm going to stop painting my nails and let them break funny. I'm going to live, unmarried and unbothered by it, with Fred. I'm coming back with a tan so we might look equally un-Canadian in the photos I send back to Korea. I'm going to work out at the gym while Fred cooks dinner at home. And I'm going to take photos of all of it. I want the friends that I leave behind to know how Canadian culture is actually different- not how they perceive it to be. More importantly, I'm going to revel in the fact that I won't hear the word foreigner in my day to day life. I might even work on getting it tossed out of the English language alongside other outdated terms. We have no use for this word in English anymore. All of the English speaking countries are such a mish-mash of cultures and colours that its use only has negative connotations. The French word, etranger (stranger), is a little more friendly and perhaps even more appropriate. It's not that you don't belong, it's just that we don't know you yet.

When Enough's Enough

I remember arguing with my dad when I was younger and I always got in trouble for the last words I would scream out before I slammed my door. I always needed to have the last word. It always made me feel like I won. Of course, often what I ended up winning was a week or two without seeing my friends. I've never been good at keeping my mouth shut and even if I can do it, there's always a breaking point. I have a great deal of patience, but when I snap, that's it. I snap.

For as far back as I can remember I've always had problems with 'authority'. Sometimes it works out for the better and sometimes it doesn't. At sixteen when I quit Red Lobster, they quickly offered me the promotion I wanted, and a raise. At IMAX, quiting got me the pay raise I was after. I walked out on my first job in Montreal to prove a point. Told off the manager and stormed out of the store. My crappy serving job at Nickel's ended when I landed work at an expensive restaurant in the Old Port. There are few things as liberating as telling your boss that you won't be in today or ever- especially when he's fired countless people days before their three month probations were up. I stormed out of Vieux Port after a particularly disgusting display of sexual harassment. I even hit the guy. I was proud of myself. My days at the call center ended with a very honest meeting where I held nothing back in explaining exactly why I was leaving.

Friday night as I left work after an excruciatingly long week, I silently fumed about the unpaid training session I was being forced to attend on the week-end. To make matters worse, the training was being held outside of Seoul and I would be stuck spending the night there. After a long week of children crawling all over me and striving to keep my patience when I'm on the verge of losing it, I dreaded the thought of this session. I knew without a doubt that this would be the biggest waste of time I had ever experienced. And it was. We met our boss at school at 10am Saturday and piled into his mini van for the two hour drive. I slept. When I woke up, I was in a large classroom with a hundred other teachers and a very angry woman from head office was listing off the rules for the conference. 1) Room keys are to be held by head office- if you need to return to your room you need to ask permission 2) Do not leave the grounds without asking permission 3) The dorms will be locked at 10pm. No one is to be out after that. I was suddenly furious. I had resolved myself to spending the week-end at this useless meeting, but I was not about to abide by a curfew. I had calmed myself all week by believing that head office would take us all out for a big dinner, surely with plenty of wine and soju. As we headed to the cafeteria and glanced at the questionable 'fusion' of Korean and Western dishes- I realized it was not about to happen. I had rice for lunch, with a glass of water. The demeaning training session involved watching two adults bouncing around the classroom for an hour pretending that they were teaching five year olds. Equally demeaning was the fact that many of the people around me were playing into it. We had two presentations from publishers about their products- which may have been helpful if I taught any of those books and my kids were old enough for any of the suggested activities. Dinner time. More rice and water. Even the kimchee looked disgusting. As I made a move for the front gate (without permission), I found a depanneur and we stocked up on soju for what would definitely be a long night. After dinner we were subject to a three and a half hour complete and utter waste of time. Each school did a role play of a fake class for the other teachers. I couldn't even begin to wrap my mind around the stupidity of the situation- a grown adult bouncing around like an idiot trying to teach phonics to seven English teachers pretending to be five year old children who are really learning the letter F for the first time. This torture, which began at noon finally ended after 10pm. We were finally released to our rooms with promises of being awoken at 7am. The teachers from my school sat and talked for a bit, drank some beer and soju and then went off to bed. The accommodations were traditional Korean style, so we slept on the floor- meaning that I didn't sleep at all. I tossed and turned until the angry woman from head office pounded on our door and ordered us to go for breakfast.

I got up, dressed and left. I couldn't take it anymore. I was supposed to head back to the conference room and be talked at for another five hours about the different Brighton schools, as though this would have a direct impact on my experience as a teacher. As though I weren't going home in two months and this training wasn't completely useless. I had hit my breaking point. After ten months of dealing with my boss's complete disregard for my contract, I just couldn't take it anymore. The health insurance guaranteed me in my contract never came through. Excuses, excuses and more excuses. The pension guaranteed me never came through. The questionable wording in the contract allowed me to believe that my vacation days were paid, but in fact they are not. My boss kept my degree from me for months, fearful that I would find another job. I finally won the argument to get it back- after three hours in his office trying to remain calm about the theft of the most expensive paper I've ever held. I should have hit my breaking point long ago, but I kept looking forward to the end and saying I could suck it up. But clearly it snapped today. I teach seven classes more a week than any other teacher. I have more baby classes to entertain than anyone else. And I've fought since I got here for one thing after another. I'm tired and ready to go home.

As I left the conference with a feeling of satisfaction, it wasn't until I got on the train to come back to Seoul that I began to wonder about the consequences of this act of defiance. In Canada I know I could talk my way out of it- I could explain myself in a way that they would understand my side. I'm good at bullshitting and usually people find it's easier to agree than to argue. Or perhaps they get confused and lost in my endless monologue. Difficult to say really. But I wonder in a culture that so values keeping up appearances and looking in control what sort of scene will result from my actions. Will there be a big blow-out with my boss tomorrow? Will he find himself thoroughly embarrassed that one of his unhappy employees jetted at the first opportunity? Will I find myself back on a plane to Canada a couple months early? I suppose these are the consequences that I perhaps should have considered before I stormed out. But really, where does it end? In spite of my job, I have had a good experience in Korea but as the end draws near I'm finding it hard to remember that. I know last week my post was also a rant about my frustrations. Don't get me wrong, I have had a really positive experience in Korea. But there are so many things that I just can't take anymore. I have never felt so trapped in my life- trapped by the prospect of being blacklisted by immigration if I bailed on my contract. Trapped by the expense of the plane ticket that would take me home. The bottom line is that a man whose business relies solely on keeping his English teachers happy should learn to do more to keep them happy. There is nothing holding me here. My family, my friends and Fred are all in Canada. I can't wait to be home and if I am fired tomorrow, perhaps it's a blessing in disguise. The ticket home might be expensive, but I'm getting to the point where the money just doesn't matter anymore. I want more than anything to sleep in my bed, in my apartment with my cats and my Fred. I want to speak to people and be understood. I want to come home from work and order a pizza. I want to go for a coffee after work. I want to be surrounded by people who know me. I want to walk down a street and feel invisible. I want to see my family. I want to lie in the middle of a big grassy field and read a book. A French book. I want to get back to my life. I have learned and grown so much this year but none of it fits yet with my life. Will I go back to school? Where will I work? What will I do with theatre? The problem with taking a year off to work abroad is that your life is at a bit of a standstill. My life in Canada is on pause, but everyone else is rushing by at normal speed. I want to be on play again.