The Mystery of the 7th Floor

Having taught in Korea before, the idea of cameras in the classrooms is not entirely foreign to me. It is however, a bit creepy when teachers tell me that if you write a message on the board asking the office to turn off the air conditioning, they actually do it. As the first week of the session drew to a close, teachers exchanged stories about classroom doors flying open and office staff snatching cell phones from sneaky text messaging students. It never happened to me; perhaps because I'm super teacher and am so alert and entertaining that my students are enthralled by my lectures on pronouns, which I feel like I'm making up as I go along, even though I spent three hours preparing for it. Or maybe the camera in my classroom doesn't work. This is more likely. In any case, a group of us went out for a quick dinner the other between the end of class and the start of our hours of prep work. As we walked back to the school, we saw trees on the roof of the school. Many of the buildings in Korea have gardens on the roof, so we got excited and decided to investigate. We took the elevator to the 7th floor and took the stairs to the roof. The door was locked, but we could see a small garden and trees from a half floor below. We turned and headed down the stairs and noticed a set of frosted glass doors. Assuming that they led onto the roof, my co-worker reached out to slide it open. Before his fingers hit the glass, a woman slid the door open from the inside, giggled nervously and shooed us away. The three of us exchanged looks, now so much more curious to discover what lay behind them. We headed for the stairs and as we reached the sixth floor, one of the office staff burst out of the office and in broken English asked us why we were up there. I pointed to the rooftop of the building next door, which had trees and a small rock garden. He shook his head and told us very secret things happen on the 7th floor. It was not a place for teachers. We apologized and bowed our heads to indicate how sorry we were, but we weren't sorry, just curious.

In other news, the young man that I discovered passed out in the street is doing just fine. I pass him on the way to school every morning and am happy to report that is up and about. It's a bit strange crossing paths with him every morning. Foreigners are such a common sight in this area that he never notices me, but I see him every time. It's weird that he had such an impact on my thoughts last week, but since he was asleep he has no idea that it was me that talked an ajimma into calling an ambulance for him. She suggested we let him sleep.

When Enough is Enough

I'm worried about Korea. It's a bit strange. I've been back here for a week and a half and in some ways feel like I never left, but at the same time it feels like everything has been kicked up a notch and I'm beginning to see the seedy underbelly. I wonder if Korea has changed or if my eyes are more open. If I was sheltered the last time I was here by the relative poverty of my neighbourhood; a neighbourhood in which children played and peed in the street, sometimes simultaneously and always dangerously close to my door. A neighbourhood in which parents let their children ride their skateboards down the steep hill while cars share one lane, but head in two directions. Maybe my eyes were heavy with exhaustion and I missed the things that I'm seeing now. Because now I'm worried about Koreans.

Song and I stepped off the subway after a visit to Yongsan market, where I had picked up a used cell phone for 45$. I was delighted to feel connected again and somewhat alarmed by how naked I had felt without a cell phone for two days. In any case, we stepped off the subway and headed for the stairs, bypassing the line of weary Koreans waiting for the escalator. A large crowd was gathered at the top of the escalator. We glanced over, wondering what was wrong but all we saw was blood. An enormous red puddle grew around the top of the escalator and we hurried away, shaken and hoping the man would be alright. I assume he misstepped getting off the escalator and fell, or maybe his shoelaces got caught. Whatever the case it was unnerving to see so much blood. We continued on our way and fought to chase the red puddle from our minds.

Friday morning I was hurrying to work, anxious to get my first teaching day behind me. I stepped off the subway at Apgujeong Station, impressed that I would be making it to work a full half hour ahead of our scheduled morning meeting. As I rounded the corner near my school, a young man lay on the ground in a position that would have been comical if it weren't so frightening. His arms frozen away from his body in the air, as though he were a boxer; one leg pulled over his body as though he were struggling to flip over using only the weight of that leg. His hair was carefully styled, his Prada glasses sat perfectly over his closed eyes. His Louis Vuitton side bag was draped over his shoulder and he lay motionless. I stopped, noticing that Korean businessmen rushed past and glanced our way, but seemed unbothered by the scene. I gently shook the man and noticed he was breathing. An ajimma (older woman) stopped and was asking me what was wrong, but I couldn't answer, I just passed her my cell phone. She called an ambulance, which took twenty minutes to arrive and had to call back twice for directions. Finally I heard the sirens and rushed off to leave the ajimma to explain the situation to the EMTs. My Korean vocabulary definitely was not up to the challenge.

Before rushing away, I made sure to point out that the case for the man's glasses lay on a nearby flower planter and a contact lense case sat open next to it. I was on edge all day. Upset that so many people had passed by the man, likely assuming he was drunk. I wondered if he were diabetic and passed out from low blood sugar, or if he had gotten up to start yet another gruelling day as a Korean student and his body had just given up.

All these things were on my mind as I walked into my classroom at 8:30am, greeted the sleepy faces and passed a pile of SAT diagnostic exams to the twenty-five 14 year olds that were beginning class that day. After completing the two hour exam, I started my lecture and welcomed the kids to the Silver level SAT prep class. I informed them of the three school rules; arrive on time, do your homework and score 90% on the daily vocabulary quizzes. They shuddered as I informed them they had 100 words to study per night and if they 'failed' by getting 89%, they would not only lose their lunch hour to study session, but their mothers would also be informed of this failure immediately by text message. I watched as any hope of summer vacation slipped away as they were passed their course materials, two books totalling more than 700 pages of reading... to complete in July. I cringed as I tried to crack a joke and then directed the students to the first page of their text books. An exert from Einstein's Theory of Relativity. As they read over the text in silence, a few students gave up and put their heads down on their desk, exhausted from a summer morning trying to wrap their minds around words and concepts alien to a 14 year old, no matter how intelligent and mature.

I thought about the man who fell on the escalator and about the young man lying frozen in the street and I wondered whether the two instances were related to the ridiculously long days, stressful environment and pressure to be smarter, richer and better than everyone else. I wondered if that young man, who lay frozen in the street in Seoul's richest neighbourhood with his Prada glasses and Louis Vuitton bag was studying 16 hours a day like so many young Koreans. Or if he was working 16 hours a day to be able to afford his lifestyle and keep pace with his friends. I wondered how many Koreans try desperately to keep it all together, but are tearing themselves apart from stress and exhaustion and the pressure of being perfect. I wondered how long it would take for things to change here and for a forty hour work week to be enforced. Or for parents to decide that their children need to play as much as they need to study. As I take on this new class of children, 14 years old and already concerned about gaining acceptance to Harvard or Princeton, I worry about Korea.

Hangul

I just stumbled upon an excellent site to learn the Korean alphabet. It even talks! Check it out.

http://www.indiana.edu/~koreanrs/hangul.html

Teaching Position Near Seoul

I have a friend just outside of Seoul whose school is desperately looking for a kindergarten teacher. It's a great school, the owner and boss are super nice and the accomodations are way nicer than the usual. They need someone to start ASAP- preferably within the next two weeks. If anyone is interested, leave me a message and let me know.

On The Road to Stability

Earlier this week, I had an interview for a teaching job at a private Catholic school in Montreal's plateau area. The interview went well, with the principal and vice-principal impressed by my French and asking, as usual, for clarification as to how a girl from Calgary came to be so comfortable in French. The head of the English department was impressed by my insights into the education system of Korea, and by my experience as an actor. They promised to call me back by Friday to let me know if I had the job. Thursday I received a call saying they were concerned that with only one year of teaching experience, I may be a little lost when it came to classroom management. Of course, I didn't tell them this, but I was concerned too. My biggest class in Korea was ten kids- at this school, my class size would increase to 28. They asked me to come in the following day and teach a class, to demonstrate my level of comfort and ability to manage the students. Fear kicked in. I was fairly certain that they would sense my inexperience and eat me alive. I awoke painfully early Friday morning (6am) and began the long trip to DeLormier and Sherbrooke East. As a testament to the time of day, my dépanneur was closed and I was forced to go without coffee until I arrived at the school. Then they tossed me in with a class of grade three students to see how I fared. And I learned something. Teaching English in Korea is a thousand times harder than teaching English in Montreal. As the kids grumbled and grunted their confusion about why a young blond woman was demanding their attention and their usual English teacher was nowhere to be seen, I understood every word effortlessly. I could give them the English word when they asked how to say, for instance, guimauve (marshmallow) in English. The biggest difference, however, was the fact that I wasn't expected to play the role of an overly enthusiastic mime. With thirty kids in a class, they aren't accustomed to individual attention the way Korean kids are in classes of ten. They had all their books on their desk when I walked in. Canadian boys aren't used to their mothers dotting on them, so they don't expect it of their teachers. They're accustomed to hearing English spoken around them, so they already have the ear for it. My fear subsided right away and I breezed through the class and was offered the job. Unofficially. I'm still waiting on the final verdict from the principal, but the woman in charge of the department assured me I would be hired. The only catch is that the position in temporary. A replacement for a teacher who's going on leave for an operation, but apparently a date for the surgery won't be confirmed until 48 hours beforehand. So sometime in the next four weeks, I will be working. Needless to say, I'm still looking. It's comforting to know what I'm getting into, however. At first I felt like I was taking advantage of a staffing shortage to gain employment in a position that I was in no way qualified for. Now I can see how much I learned in my year in Korea, and how it definitely prepared me for teaching in Montreal. Once I start working, I'll deal with the question of how exactly this teaching thing can fit into my acting world... or a busy University schedule. Step by step, as crazy Mr Choi would say.

Castro's Anus

I was waiting to find an appropriate moment to use this picture, and I have finally found one!




I have been mocking this sign for months- since I first passed by on my way home from work one day. Anal reconstructive surgery? Were people really so vain that there was a demand for anal beautification? Was I jumping to conclusions by assuming that reconstruction meant cosmetic? Probably, but it's funnier that way. So for many months, I've pondered how to comment on the Seoul Anal Surgery Clinic and gradually, it became a faded memory. But tonight I sat watching The Daily Show and it all became clear. Fidel Castro, Cuba's reknown dictator has been in and out of surgery to fix some problem with his intestines or something.

"A second operation to clean and drain the infected area was conducted. Doctors removed the remainder of Castro's large intestine and created an artificial anus. But this operation also failed, El Pais said... A prosthetic device made in South Korea was implanted in the bile duct and failed..."

So there you have it, folks- Castro's anus brought to you from Mok-Dong, South Korea...

Unexpected Culture Shock

Totally unrelated to my post...
A Korean couple takes wedding photos under water.

Like all of us, I have been profoundly influenced by my parents. My father is a social worker- and though I have long said that I refuse to follow in his footsteps, sometimes it looks quite likely that I will- in my own way, of course. Before my father went to University, he served in the Canadian Air Force. Though he didn't make a career of the military and luckily never had to go to war, there were some lasting effects. To this day, my father still makes his bed with hospital corners, and thus so do I. My apartment may be a complete mess, but there are always hospital corners on my bed- unless my boyfriend (whose father was not in the military) rips the sheets out in his usual careless way. My dad told me once that his poor eating habits stemmed from his time spent in the military. He had to wake up too early and wasn't able to eat right after he woke up, so he would skip breakfast. For some reason, he'd skip lunch also and soon supper became the only meal he ate. He's eaten this way for as long as I can remember. Somewhere along the line, I developed what my mother calls "Kerr eating habits." I began skipping breakfast to squeeze in another fifteen minutes of sleep. For lunch, I'd have a small snack and end the day with a big dinner.

My lifestyle changed completely when I arrived in Korea, though. I was spending my days bouncing about in front of three year old children who didn't understand me. Everything required so much effort and energy. I was also going to the gym everyday. Breakfast became essential to get me through the morning- so I would make myself a fruit smoothie every morning, or grab an egg sandwich from the ajimma on the corner of our street. Lunch was usually bibimbap (egg, rice, vegetable and red pepper paste), kimbap (like sushi, but without fish) or sushi. For dinner, I often ate digigalbi (bbq beef), mandu (dumplings) or Kkachisan's famous chicken on a stick. I was working out at least two hours a day, eaten healthy, sleeping well and feeling great.

Now back in Canada, I find myself struggling to find appetizing food. The pizza that I had craved for so long in Korea is not as good as I remember it. Pasta is pretty bland. Everything seems to be carb heavy or dripping in grease. My first day back in Calgary, I was shocked to find myself downtown- walking past one restaurant after another in search of a Korean restaurant. I didn't know what else to eat.

Mmm... kimchee

It amazed me the whole time I lived there what an awareness the Korean people had of good health. Even my kids would tell me that they didn't like pizza or fried chicken because it was bad for their health. Parents would often bring in donuts for the teachers, but if I tried to share with my kids, they would refuse. It makes sense. When you are so accustomed to eating good, healthy food that makes you feel good- why would you want to eat something that weighs you down and turns your stomach? With that, I'm off to the Korean grocery store in search of gochujang (red pepper paste), mandu and ginseng. I have to eat something familiar.

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.

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?

368 Days in Seoul

Golf in Korea

It's over. I leave Korea on Wednesday morning. The new teacher has arrived and moved in. He has completely taken over my classes and the kids are excited that he has curly hair. He has successfully reminded me that I never again want to have roommates. He has cluttered my kitchen and stomped through my apartment with his shoes on. He's a good guy- I've just become particular. I have four different pairs of slippers in my apartment, all for different spaces. This time I can honestly say that it's not him, it's me. He's proven himself perfect for the job- laid back and unconcerned with all the little things that drove me crazy about my school.

Book vending machine- 2,000 won each (2$)

I just experienced my last week-end in Seoul- mostly calm and relaxed. I went for dinner with Song in Gangnam (or the world's plastic surgery capital) last night, hoping to find billboards encouraging me to have my face redone. Part of me hoped to be dragged off the street by some doctor pleading with me to allow him to perform the dreaded calf-reduction surgery. I hoped to leave Gangnam with stories of the craziness of the plastic surgery explosion. But alas, it was free of unsolicited offers of plastic surgery. We were, however, surrounded by Louis Vitton and Gucci stores. I tried to count the designer purses for awhile, but lost track and gave up. We had Vietnamese food and then indulged in four dollar ice cream. I had to get something obscenely expensive there. After dinner, we hopped on a bus to Hungdae to meet Simona for drinks. The night was largely uneventful- just a casual night out with Song and Simona. It was exactly what I wanted for my last week-end here. I didn't want a ridiculous drunken crawl through the streets that I would regret in the morning, and in years to come look back on my last days in Seoul and kick myself for having spent them recovering from a hang over. It seems Song wasn't ready to say good-bye, as she ducked out early declaring that she was too drunk. A terrible lie when I know full well that she can drink me under the table. We made tentative plans to meet the following day, but it never came to pass. It seems we avoided out tearful good-bye simply y not having one. I know that we'll see each other again because neither of us have finished traveling. In fact, we've barely started. It's just sad that after six months of spending nearly every week-end together, it's come to an end. Just like that. I hate good-byes. When I left Calgary, I learned that you keep in touch with those most important to you and even some you never expected to. But it's harder when you can't see ahead to the next time you'll sit together face-to-face and have a beer. As the stretches between my visits to Calgary grow longer and longer and the visits themselves become shorter, I lose touch with more and more people every year. But that's okay. We have alot of people in our lives who are just 'filler'. People that we don't have a particularly strong connection with, but they're okay to go for drinks with. I've lost touch with all of my filler friends in Calgary. Distance and circumstances have cut the list of people I call when I arrive in town- and of course, it's nothing personal. There are still alot of friends in Calgary that I suspect will be in my life for years to come. But I wonder how many of those relationships only stay alive because of my annual drop-ins. The unspoken promise that I'll pop in to say hi once a year. I hope that Song and I are up to the challenge. That we'll last through the separation until the next time we meet, because I know that there will be a next time- whether it's in Canada, Korea, or some random country in between.

Turtles for dinner?

I've reached the end of a year and the end of my Korea rants, it would seem. Amazingly, I've run out of things to say. That's not exactly true, I suppose. Were I to stay another year or two, I know that I would have just as many rants in me as this year. But my Korean experience has come to an end and I'm looking forward to the next phase. On Wednesday, I leave to run about in Thailand and Laos for two weeks before returning to Canada. The next month will find me running here, there and everywhere. I may or may not update everybody next week on my travels - I suspect that Internet access will be hard to come by in Laos, but plentiful in Thailand. I'll continue to post for as long as I have things to say- and I'm sure you'll find my rants about my first few weeks back throughly entertaining... For those of you in Calgary, I'll see you for my annual stop-in on November 16th - where you hopefully won't feel like tossing me back on the plane as you experience the brunt of my culture shock. Beware that I will probably complain about the cold and how expensive everything is. I may embarass you by trying to barter at 7-11, Moxie's or even KFC. And I'll definitely be speaking a version of English that has come to be recognized as "Konglish". I'll be speaking painfully slowly and doubtlessly making big x's with my arms when I say no. You can't say you haven't been warned. I will expect the undivided attention of everyone in sight for no particular reason. I may become irritable if some random person doesn't tell me I'm beautiful at least once a day. I might take my shoes off in restaurants and try to sit on the floor. I may insist that the server help me put my shoes back on, and then offer him no tip anyway. I will doubtlessly bowl people over in the street in a race to get there first. I apologize in advance to any old ladies who might be knocked to the ground. Ajimma, as they're called here, are a force to be reckoned with.

So the sadness and reluctance to leave have mostly passed and I'm ready to go. After all the ups and downs this year- the excitement, shock, frustrations and occasional anger- I come to an end of my time here, but I look forward to my next visit to Korea. Somehow it'll always be a home away from home. I'll be curious to come back in five, ten, even twenty years and see how much Korea has changed- because as much as I've enjoyed living here this year- this culture is also verging on some immensely exciting changes. It will be a very different place next time I'm here, for change is in the air. My final count of women smoking in the street rests around. I suspect next time I'm here, there'll be many more. If there isn't, it will be because Koreans have finally realized that their healthy food is no match for the amount of cigarettes and soju consumed here. Kimchee might battle some illnesses, but I suspect lung cancer isn't one of them.

The Imminent Good-Bye

As I predicted, the best part of their trip to the War Museum was the pond outside...

October has never been a good month for me. When I was younger, the back to school excitement had worn off and I would look forward to Christmas break. In my days at Bishop Carroll high school, it meant crazy rehearsals and stress. Every year we put together a piece about war for Remembrance Day- and every year I was on the planning/tech committee, and performed as well. Once the show was written and cast, October was the only month we had to rehearse and promote. It usually involved intense arguments with other departments at school over facilities as well. Octobers after high school carried with them an extreme boredom. Maybe I missed the chaos of the Remembrance Day shows, but it always seemed like more than that. October is an ominous month in Canada- it's a little chilly, but you know in your head that you're verging on freezing cold. You prepare for the painfully long winter. October is a little bit sad. So the first year that I experienced this boredom, I headed down to the piercing shop and awarded myself with an eyebrow ring. It eased the boredom a little, and it became an October tradition for awhile. The following October, my friend Tom and I went together for piercings. I was under strict instructions from my boss not to get another facial piercing (which I would have disregarded were he not also a friend), so I had my belly button pierced. Tom had his lip done, but took it out only two days later. The following October, I opted for a tongue piercing. And the following October, I was at theatre school in Montreal and was ordered to take them all out. A perfectly good tradition spoiled by school. Good thing it wasn't tattoos, that would've been expensive. October came to mean something different for me two years ago. Something about that whole month in 2004 didn't sit right with me. I had nightmares, which I've never had before. I had vivid dreams in which my mother died. I had a sick feeling in my stomach, and the sense that something was about to happen. I had been lucky too long. No one close to me had died since I was eight years old. I was certain that my mother was going to pass in the next few weeks. I called her often and always became very anxious when she didn't answer the phone. The week before Halloween, I called my dad and spoke to Travis also. I had talked to Tyler the week before and didn't want to push my luck- he wasn't really a phone person. It drove me nuts all week. Why hadn't I asked to speak to Tyler? I dismissed my uneasy feeling and promised myself that I would call the following week. The night of October 30th, Fred went to a party and I stayed home. I was really sad and didn't know why. I thought about calling Tyler, but decided to do it the next day instead, when I felt better. As it turned out, there was no next time. Tyler passed away the following afternoon, without warning. I look back on pictures from Halloweens past and wonder if there was a reason that it had to be Halloween. Was there a special significance for Tyler? Was it simply that he set out to be remembered? Tyler was born on February 15th- to my memory missing a Valentine's birthday by only a few hours. He died on Halloween and we buried him on Remembrance Day. So many Halloweens that we spent together, trick or treating and playing together without ever the thought that on this day many years later, it would all end. Tyler once clipped off the top of my middle finger on Remembrance Day- there was blood everywhere and I think he cried more than I did. Though the only mark left is a scar only I seem to be able to see, there is also a certain numbness on the tip. I don't really feel anything there. The days after Tyler's death, it throbbed. On the one year anniversary of Tyler's passing, I was here in Korea. The school was chaotic with kids in costume and I ducked out for a little while to take a walk. On the way back from the bank machine, my pictures fell out of my wallet and I went for lunch without noticing. As I crossed back to the school an hour later, a Korean man came running after me, holding out Tyler's picture. I was so confused. In his broken English he explained that he'd seen me drop it and waited for me outside my work. I managed to hold myself together for the rest of the day, and finally made it back to my apartment where I could let it out.

Jacob, Mary & Jennifer

The last week has been really sad for me. The kids have begun to understand that I'm leaving and are acting strangely. A few kids can't pass by my classroom without ducking in to say hello. The four kids that I've taught since day one are the hardest to deal with. I thought that they were young enough that they wouldn't really understand, but they do. They scrunch up their faces in total disgust when I tell them that they'll be meeting their new teacher on Monday. They frown and ask me if he's silly. Yesterday they said good-bye to their Korean teacher, Kristine- who, truth be told, none of the kids particularly liked. Kristine is a very sweet woman, but so afraid of losing control of the kids that she requires absolute order in the classroom. After her good-bye party, I stepped into the class to find the four of them- Mary, Sally, Jennifer and Jacob, sitting in complete silence. Jennifer was crying. We played a game and I hoped that they would quickly feel better, but as they left to go home I could see it hadn't helped. I told them Halloween was coming and we were going to have a party, but they looked at me and said it wouldn't be a happy day because it was my last. I fought back tears for the rest of the day and was relieved to make it home where I could contemplate the next ten days.

I've nearly burst into tears three separate times at school this week. You might remember that one of favourite kids, Ryan, lost his dad about six months back. On Monday, I was eating lunch with a group of kids and they were talking about their families. When it came to Ryan, he told the kids that he didn't have a dad, he had only a mom. The other kids, who weren't at the school when it happened, started to argue- saying everybody had a dad. Leah, Ryan's best friend- stepped in to correct them, and shut them up before I could. Ryan turned to me and told me that his dad was in the sky. I told him that my brother was there too- maybe they were together. He looked at me and asked how my brother got there- and I told him that he was sick. Ryan nodded and asked if he had too much soju. That's how his dad got to the sky, he said- he had too much soju and his face was red and he was very sick. I started tearing up- I hadn't known that. His mother had told the school that he had died in a car accident, but we didn't know the details. The next day, Ryan came to school with a note from his mom. The note thanked Reggie & I for being good teachers to her son and said that he had come home crying the day before because he knew that I was leaving and Reggie would soon follow. As Ryan said good-bye to Kristine yesterday- a teacher that never taught him and rarely spoke to him, he burst into tears. I held him as he cried and when he calmed down, asked him if he was alright. No, he answered, and turned away. Ryan is six.

Ryan looking scary

When I arrived here in Korea, I watched Shane (the teacher I replaced) burst into tears when he hugged the kids good-bye, and I told myself that there was no way that I would get that attached to them. But I did. I have spent six hours a days with these kids, five days a week for a whole year. I've spent more time with them than many of their fathers have. Some of my kids didn't know a word of English when I arrived and now speak fairly fluently. I've seen them go through different phases of growth- and noticed it. Jennifer went through a phase for a few months where she thought she was better than everyone. Sally went through a phase where she cried everyday for no reason. Jacob went through a very long temper tantrum phase. Mary hated me for the first month I taught her- but I've become her favourite teacher. Leah went from being a pretty cool kid- to being a mini-adult as she's helped Ryan through this year. Ryan has aged years in the past six months. Ryan asked me why I was leaving and I told him I have to go see my family, my friends and Fred. He told me Fred should just come to Korea. I told him that Fred is sick and he needs to be in Canada. So Ryan told me he was going to talk to Mr Choi about moving the school to Canada. My feelings about leaving are so mixed. I'm excited to take my trip through South East Asia, looking forward to my week in Calgary and I absolutely can't wait to see Fred. But I just wish I didn't have to say good-bye. I'm not looking forward to the next ten days. Tomorrow the new teacher will move in with me and begin to take over my life here. My pictures are off the walls and my bags are half packed. On Monday he'll meet my kids and part of me feels jealous that he gets to spend a year with them. I think of how weird it is to develop such a relationship with these kids, but still be totally replaceable. It's different from being a teacher in a regular school in Canada. The school year and the days are longer. I'm the first contact these kids have had with someone who is not Korean. And they recognize how special that is. The kids love the Korean teachers because they become like second mothers. They dote on them- help them in the bathroom, fix their hair, but they love the Canadian teachers because we become their friends. Strangely enough it was Jack- four years old, who pointed this out. I still get emails from Tom, a five year boy who left in March to go to a better school. I don't want to deal with the next ten days. I just want to wake up on November 1st and be on the plane to Thailand. I don't want to say good-bye.

My baby class- Daniel, Tim, Anne & Sarah (three years old).

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.

Vacation in Korea

Simona & I in front of Korea`s biggest Buddha. You can`t see them, but there are two old Korean ladies killing themselves laughing at us...

As my high school years drew to a close, I looked forward to moving out of the house. Of having my own apartment. I often thought about how liberating it would be to walk into my apartment and throw the keys on my kitchen table. Of plopping down on my couch to read a book in absolute silence. With this in mind, I held two jobs for the last few months of high school- determined to have this dream happen as quickly as possible. On Monday, Wednesday, Friday & Saturday I worked nights as Head Hostess at Red Lobster (referred to from now on as the Lobster Pit). On Tuesday, Thursday, Saturday (morning) and Sunday, I worked at IMAX- scooping popcorn and ripping tickets. Weekdays, of course, I was at school- mostly sitting in the testing center catching up on a year's worth of exams that I'd left to the last minute. For most of April, May and June I was probably in there four or five hours a day. At night after work, I'd come home and hammer ou t any papers that I had left to the last minute. Somehow this ridiculous system worked out and I graduated high school- miracle of miracles. In August, days after my eighteenth birthday, Alex and I moved into our first apartment together. I kept up the two jobs- giving IMAX all my days, and the Lobster Pit all my nights. This lasted until October when I finally snapped. I quit the Lobster Pit and decided to stick to one job. Until HMV called me up and offere d me a Christmas position, with the promise of 50% off CDs... but that's different. Over the next few years, I often found myself with multiple jobs and I came to enjoy the chaos of multi-tasking. For those who haven't lived in Calgary, I should perhaps explain the phenomenon of employment there. One morning I woke up and thought- hmmm... I think today I'll find a new job. On a whim, I head to my folder full of cv's, and head downtown. I pass out about twenty resumes to random stores and restaurants before I get bored. I go to work at IMAX. Later that night when I arrive home, I play my voice mail messages and scrawl down the names of fifteen places that would like to interview me. I go down the list and decide which places I'll call back and which I was just playing around by dropping off a resume. Like the tanning salon I once applied at. They were ready to hire me too, until I admitted that I wouldn't fake & bake even if it was free. Finally I would accept a job and keep it for a short time, when inevitably something better would come along. Before I moved to Montreal, I decided to maximize my time by working at IMAX, La Vie en Rose and Moxie's restaurant. I thought perhaps the different jobs would keep me sane. The phone continued to ring with job offers, one restaurant offered to hire me just to work on my lunch hour from the lingerie store. Last year, I accidently stuck myself with tw o jobs and promised myself that I'll never do it again. As the Hyatt prepared for a strike, I quickly covered my ass by picking up a job at a restaurant, just in case. When the hotel didn't strike, I found myself with two jobs- one that promised me hours at low pay, and one that promised me high pay, but no hours. The days that I had to work both jobs nearly killed me. I will never do it again.

Me & Simona get closer for a better look. Song says we`re crazy. Seoraksan National Park

I asked my kids to draw a picture of their fathers a couple of weeks ago. One little girl drew her dad in front of his bed, with a cell phone in his hand and a briefcase in the other. She told me she never sees her dad, he's always at work. Korea has only recently reduced it's work week to five days, and the truth is that it's only been reduced on paper. In practice, many Koreans still work six days a week. Song rolls out of bed at 5am, to arrive at her work by 8am. It's not unusual for her to be there until 10pm, sometimes even later. If this were unusual, I'd have smacked some sense into her already, but truth is that this is standard in Korea. Arriving here, I was shocked to discover that they seem to have an inexplicable ability to work stupid hours. In Canada we benefit from having government policies that allow us to have real lives. The labour board says it is illegal to work your staff the way they do here. But here, if the boss says to stay, you stay. On Tuesdays, I finish work at 4:30 and enjoy an easy ride home on the subway. It's always empty. When I finish at 6:30, the subway is crowded but not yet to capacity. At 9, the subway is packed. I overheard a foreigner asking his Korean friend why they worked so much. The Korean replied that if they ever wanted to have a stronger economy than China, this was what had to be done. The foreigner pointed out that China has a billion people to Korea's fifty million. The Korean shrugged as though it didn't matter.

Korean safety measures

It's quite easy to make Korea sound as though it's an all work and no play kind of place. But bars are always full of business men and there seems to be unending energy to douse oneself in soju at the end of a long work day. The twenty-four saunas are a testament to that. Rather than return all the way home, many will roll into a sauna for a few hours before heading back to the office. For two glorious weeks a year, Koreans enjoy their vacation time. Altogether. The last week of July, the entire country pack their bags and head to the beaches on the East Sea and Jeju Island. There is literally no visible sand on the beaches, as tents are pitched so they can enjoy the view of the sea without risking a sun tan. In anticipation of this week, I booked my vacation to Taiwan in February, as you need to if you want to be sure to have a flight out.

Chuseok traffic. Guess which way is Seoul...

Chuseok (Korean Thanksgiving) is a time spent with family. Not like Canadian Thanksgiving which seems mostly half-assed these days (I suppose complicated by the immensity of our country). Chuseok is a week long affair which finds most people travelling to their hometowns to spend the holidays with their families. So picture this. Fifty million Koreans having their last real break until next July. Once again, trips need to be booked and details planned out far in advance if you`re to have any hope of getting out of Seoul. For Koreans, your hometown is not necessarily the place where you or your parents grew up. It can also be the place where your ancestors are buried. Chuseok is traditionally a time to thank your ancestors for watching over you by cleaning up at the burial sites and making a offering of food. There is not necessaily a cut-off with how far back you thank your ancestors, so in traditional families it can be quite an event. More modern families take to the mountains or the beaches of Jeju Island for a more laid-back vacation.

Traditional Chuseok foods on a traditional table. Fruits, vegetables, rice cakes and dried fish.

Offering to the ancestors.

A few months ago, it occured to me that this vacation would soon be upon us and I had yet to make any plans. After some difficulty and several sets of plans later, Song and I decided to head to the Seorak mountains to go camping. Now when Canadians talk of camping, we imagine hiking up to the camp site with tents and sleeping bags, your bag stuffed with enough food to last you the duration of the trip and various gadgets to make cooking a little easier. We imagine ourselves surrounded by trees, alone in the woods with our friends and a campfire. Koreans don`t have the same love of solitude and the outdoors. So it fits that Song and I had very different ideas of camping. Simona, recently arrived in Korea, was brave enough to jump on board for this Korean camping experience. We met at 8am on Thursday morning at the bus station and settled in for a long drive. Seoraksan National Park is only some two hundred kilometers from Seoul, but with the insanity of Chuseok traffic, it took us five hours to get there. In my naivete, I thought we would get off the bus and find ourselves right in the mountains. But I was wrong. We climbed into a taxi and finally pulled into the condo where we would be 'camping' for the next three days. Song picked up the key and we took the elevator to our room. I noticed that there was a swimming pool, sauna and noraebong in the basement. Excellent. We tossed our bags down in the room, taking note of the yos (traditional Korean beds- thin mattresses) piled in the closet, revealing that we would be sleeping on the floor. Perhaps that`s why the kids call this camping...

We set off in pursuit of food. I suppose this is what you could call the 'hunting' portion of the trip. We took a taxi to Seoraksan National Park and paid for our bibimbap (rice mixed with red pepper paste, vegetables and egg), kimbob (seaweed rolls with rice, ham, crab and vegetables), and omu-rice (rice and vegetables wrapped in a fried egg). We walked around and evetually came across a cable car, which we took to the top of the mountain. The view was incredible. Just off the chalet at the top, we found a path leading up the mountain. I was excited, despite the steps and guard rails along the way that were put in place to make the trail accessible to everyone. I suppressed giggles as I passed Koreans in full hiking gear- it was after all, more of a brief walk than a hike. As the path ended I looked up. The trees had cleared and we were standing on a ridge, with rock on all sides. The streams below looked like thin lines and I contemplated the drop over the cliff. The guard rails found along the path to keep you from tripping into the forest were nowhere to be found. A small sign politely asked that you not jump. Simona and I climbed here and there amongst the rocks for a better view. I ignored the fact that the hand and foot holds had been artificially hammered into place. The view was absolutely beautiful. The clouds hung low over the mountains in the distance, and the setting sun shone through the clouds. As the sun set, we made our way back to the cable car and sought out food once again.

Just me & the mountain.

I`d like to preface this next story with a couple of short, somewhat related tales. Many months ago, on the opening night of Never Swim Alone, I was craving a patch of grass. All I wanted was to stretch out in the sun on the grass and read a book before I went onstage. So I left work quite early and headed to the theatre, determined that I would find my grass before I went on. I walked and walked. Through school yards and past government buildings. Through parks and past soccer fields. There was no grass to be found. Even the kids playing soccer had dirt under their feet. Finally in a school yard next to the soccer field, I found a small patch of grass about two feet wide. I decided it would have to do. So I lay back, trying to appreciate the grass that I had found and ignoring the sign that begged students not to sit on it. In early September, I found myself craving a beach. Being that Korea is a peninsula, you can be sure that there are beaches everywhere. I looked up the closest beach to me and discovered that it was famous for its sunsets. That was good enough for me. All I wanted was to lie on the sand with a book and my music for a few hours. I packed a bag and left at 10am on a Sunday morning, carefully following the directions obtained from the Korean Tourism site (rather than my own common sense). I spent an hour and a half on the subway and arrived in Incheon, the city next to Seoul. From the station, I took a bus to the port. I scanned the signs and found Yeongjongdo, the name of the island that I was heading to. The sign was entirely in Korean, but the name of the island was there, so I paid my 14,000 won and boarded the ship. Half an hour later, I wondered why we had not yet arrived. The ferry was supposed to take only twenty minutes. The island came into view and we saw it, turned around, and went right back to the dock. I got off and starred at the booth from which I had bought the ticket. Then at the booth next to it, which also had the name of the destined island. I paid 4,000 won and boarded the ferry. Twenty minutes later, I set foot on Yeongjongdo Island. My trusty directions told me to find the bus terminal and take the bus to Eurwangni Beach. I stood at the station contemplating the map, trying to figure out where it was and what bus would take me there. An American girl, headed for the same beach, confirmed what bus and we sat and waited. And waited. The bus finally came an hour later. We boarded the bus and she consulted her Lonely Planet. The bus ride should take twenty minutes. An hour later we became concerned that we`d missed the stop. We passed the airport. Finally after an hour and a half on the bus, we arrived at the beach. The tide was low, and there was no sand. Just mud. Fish heads stuck up through the mud and we watching the fully clothed Koreans frolicking in the mud with some skepticism. After a six hour journey, the mud beach was quite a dissapointment. But we went swimming nonetheless, had dinner and I called a taxi to take me to the airport. I was fed up. This was the last straw. No, in fact I realized when we passed the airport that a brief trip out on the airport express bus would have had me at the beach in half an hour. Sure enough, I got home some five and a half hours before I would have taking the suggested route.

So the next morning, we awoke and flipped through our Seoraksan tourist guides. We decided on a hike that would take us first past some hot springs, then to some waterfalls. It was a relatively short hike, the 3km could be expected to take us about three hours, but I was excited to put time in at both the hot springs and the swimming hole at the base of the waterfall. We hopped on the bus and took it to our starting point. The hike began along a river bed, and I wondered why the water was so low. We walked along the river for most of the hike, along with a long line of Koreans headed for the same place. The trail confused me. It appeared that we were walking where there should have been water. The stagnant pools of water here and there looked as though they were aching to move, but they lacked a current. We kept walking. The trail went into the woods and I was momentarily excited- perhaps it was about to become a real hike. But the sandbag steps proved otherwise. We made it to a mountain temple and enjoyed some spring water from the fountain and took in the smell of incense before moving on. Footholds on big rocks along the way continued to annoy me a little, but I tried simply to take the unaltered route when confronted with these aids. I bypassed the log bridges in favour of jumping from rock to rock in the stream. I began to suspect that our waterfall would not be all we hoped for. There was little water in the river. Finally we rounded a corner and Simona and I stopped short. Seriously? Could this be it? In front of us stood a steep drop off with a drizzling of water falling over it. The same effect can be achieved at home, in fact. Take a simple watering can, or a bottle of water and pour it over your balcony. There you have it. A waterfall. As we contemplated the shape of the rocks and the river bed, it seemed to us that the river had probably been damned up further upstream to allow for the walking path. I tried (unsuccessfully) to suppress my frustration and disapointment. It`s very nice that there have been efforts made to make the mountains accessible to everyone, but at what cost? Broken bridges and discarded safety railings scattered about the trail to the waterfall somehow wrecked the illusion of being alone with nature. Although I guess the long line of us walking along the trail didn`t help that either. I have to remind myself that it`s hard to wow Canadians when it comes to nature. Growing up next to the Rockies has spoiled me, it seems.

The waterfall

We boarded the bus back to Sokcho city and, though we were too late to take in the sun on the beach, still went down and played in the water. The tide was high and the waves of the East Sea crashed high on the sand. A couple hundred people stood on the beach, setting off fireworks and racing each other through the waves. Song, Simona and I were completely drenched, and seemed to be quite amusing to the group of middle-aged Korean men watching this display of sillyness. We made our way back to the condo and prepared to leave the next morning.

Song and Simona head for the tent after a long drive...

As the end of my contract approaches, I seem to feel differently about it every day. Two weeks ago, I was thrilled to soon be on my way back home. Last week I was terrified, confronted with the question of what I`ll do when I arrive home is a frightening thought. This week I`m mostly sad. I`ve had alot of frustrations here, but I`ve also come to consider this home. I`ve become accustomed to encountering unique situations every day, challenging myself to learn more about the Korean culture and language. Forcing me to reflect more and more on my own country, my language and my views. I`ll miss my kids. I`ll miss Song. Some days I`ll be relieved not to stared at in the streets, but some days I`ll miss it. I wonder how many stories have been told about me around Korean dinner tables. There`s at least one for every day I`ve been here. Tales of the local blonde that I`ll never hear. Soon my life will return to normal- whatever that means- and I`ll be faced with life. The last year has been a break from life. At least life in Canada. Everything at home is on pause for awhile until I decide that it`s time to come back- and it keeps getting closer and closer...

Song & Simona drenched at Sokcho Beach

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.