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.

I Feel Fall

It seems summer comes and goes a bit faster every year. Yesterday I woke up early to make my way to the yoga studio for my weekly reception gig. I tossed on a sarong and some flip flops and left the house, only to be greeted by crisp fall air as I opened the door and stepped into the sun. This first breath of fall is always accompanied by a feeling of dread. I love the fall, but there is always the knowledge that it is about to lead into a cold, long winter. Every winter spent in Montreal makes Vancouver look a lot better.

The last few weeks have been hectic. Today I'm enjoying my first day off since Thelma's wedding. As I have trouble tolerating my position at Brother, I'm desperately seeking a way out- which seems to have led me to substitution work at a school for learning disabled kids. They've taken me on for French and English work, so I've actually gotten quite a few days from them already. If I can find another two or three schools to substitute for, it should become a full time job.


I walked into my classroom on my first day and analyzed the room. On the far wall, large windows looked out onto the playground and the basketball court. The left side was lined end to end with computers, available for use once the kids finished their work. On one wall was a blackboard, and the other was lined with the very same Houghton Mifflin Mathematics books that I remember using in grade six. I checked the publication date; 1980. With all the school board reforms, it seems they are still clinging to the set of now dilapidated books. The large windows were a great distraction to me throughout the day, as students filed by on their way to gym class. The classes are small, usually no more than twelve kids but the work is difficult. It takes a lot of patience, both with the kids and the school itself. Not having been there long, it's hard for me to really get a feel for how their system works, but apart from the small class sizes, it doesn't seem terribly different from a normal school. I wonder about the method. If students are incapable of learning in the conventional classroom, wouldn't it make sense to try other approaches? Perhaps less lectures and more hands on learning? With so many of the students describing themselves as stupid and using a missed pill as an excuse for bad behavior, I wonder what kind of titles are assigned to these kids away from the school and if being here was made to feel like a punishment for bad behavior.

Both my brothers having grown up with learning disabilities, the situation is not entirely foreign to me. But I can't say I ever remember my brothers describing themselves as stupid. I wondered how they ever got anything done in one classroom that I worked in. The chorus of 'I can'ts' was so loud that even I had trouble believing these kids were capable. If the message that you've been fed for so long is that you can't do it, how will you ever get it done? The experience made me wonder how specialized schools such as this one should exist. If even five of the twelve students in your class believe themselves incapable because of their difficulties, will this attitude not catch on with the other kids?

So many thoughts, so tired though. With substitution work, Brother and the yoga studio, I haven't had a day off in nearly a month. So tired!! Time for bed, more later!

Teaching in Canada

I was never really clear on how I managed to find myself in a supervising position at IMAX. I may have been reliable in some ways, but I know without question that mornings were not my forté. I never understood why Ingrid would schedule me on Saturdays for early morning functions. I rarely made it on a time and finally asked her to stop scheduling me on Saturday mornings, and she didn't, so I went right on being late. Miraculously once I was given a key to theatre, I only slept in once. Thankfully Brett was au courant with the various ways to break into the theatre....

Last Monday I started work at a private French school in the plateau. School has changed little since I was in Elementary, except that mornings start earlier. I start teaching at 8:30am and am expected to be here at 8am. Unfortunately this means waking up at 6am.... something that I do far from gracefully.

Aside from my shock at the complete lack of respect that these Canadian students have for themselves, each other and their teachers, it's easier than teaching in Korea. I actually have enough materials to sustain a full class, without resorting to absolutely ridiculous activities. It's difficult though, going from teaching a class of seven students to teaching twenty-seven. On the upside, they expect less individual attention because they know they aren't about to get it. On the downside, the students are less self-sufficient, less respectful and more self-centered. In the two weeks since starting, I've kicked at least four students out of my grade six class for swearing and other innapropriately language. One student told another to fuck off, another told a girl to suck his dick. He told me afterwards he didn't think it was offensive to say it to a girl because she didn't have a dick. Nice. It seems one of the things that has changed since my days is students now call their teachers by their first names. I was introduced to my classes as Mrs. Stephanie - and many of the students have dropped the Mme when talking about their homeroom teachers. I was shocked. I've also noticed that the students don't use vous when talking to their teachers, but the less respectful and more familiar tu. Of course I didn't expect the students to bow to me as they entered the school as they did in Korea, but I just didn't expect... this. It doesn't feel like that long ago that I was in Elementary school, although it has been fifteen years. Every time I yell at my classes, I can't help but feel eery flashbacks to grade four. Every time I yell, "Samuel, je veux voir les quatre pieds de la chaise à terre," I hear Mme Deschênes' voice. Every time I snap "On lève la main et on ferme la bouche," I hear Mme Jolicoeur. I don't feel old enough to have a real job... responsible for the education and growth of over two hundred students. But I am, and it's scary stuff.

After teaching in Korea, I'm not on the same page as the other teachers. At lunch one day, they discussed how it was terrible to have such long days for the students in Elementary school and they were just too tired. They talked about how their schedules were too rigid and it was too bad the system didn't allow the students more freedom. Excuse me? I nearly yelled. Eleven year old children are telling each other to suck their dicks and you think these kids need more freedom? If ever there was a doubt in my mind that I didn't want children, working in a Canadian school has made my decision. I got angry with a student for propping his feet up on the chair next to him- to which he responded, "My feet are clean." I lost it. My time of Korea made me hyper-aware of how dirt travels. At home, I had three pairs of slippers for different areas of my house so as not to transfer bathroom dirt to the kitchen, for instance. Even now I have two pairs of slippers for my Montreal apartment, and keep a seperate broom to sweep the bathroom floor. It was both the sight of dirty feet on a chair and the indignant response of the child that shocked me. I can't imagine how anyone could teach for thirty years. In fact, the idea of going back on Monday makes me mildly anxious. There are too many students in the classes and they have not been trained to think independantly or resourcefully. After explaining a presentation that I assigned my grade four class, I was bombarded by students asking me to translate various words for them. In my day we had dictionaries, which we were trained to consult. Not so today, as they hmmed and hawed about the injustice of my not doing their work for them. People love to blame the schools for not teaching children this or that, but truth be told, the responsibility to teach children respect rests squarely on the shoulders of parents and the community. And it seems we're failing all around.