No time to write today, and won't have time tonight, so am going to post something I wrote on the fly yesterday. It was in response to a letter on one of my favorite website, written by a friend of a friend of a friend, Sarah Bunting. (I talked to her once, like a year ago, when I was angsting about law school vs. writing, but we're not friends.) First time writing to an advice columnist! Unfortunately, despite my brrrrrilliant advice and comments, I didn't get printed on her site... so I'm putting it up on mine. (The raison d'etre for 99.9 percent of all opinion columns.) (Oh, and you can check out the letter that Sarah DID put up on her site -- it raised points remarkably similar to mine -- at www.tomatonation.com/vinetoday.asp.)

First comes the letter, then comes Sarah Bunting's advice, and then my response.
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The Letter
Dear Sars,

I have a problem. About 18 months ago, I moved to another country. I'm Asian and I have family there (grandparents and extended familiy), though we're not close, mostly the "meet only at Christmas and holidays" type. My mother arranged for me to have my meals at my relatives' place, for which I pay a monthly food fee. I thought the arrangement was going okay -- I would go over there, have my meals with them, sit around and relax with them, et cetera. I don't talk a lot with my grandparents due to the language barrier, and my cousins are mostly young children (under ten years), so my conversations with them have been sort of limited to gestures and my poor linguistic attempts.

I'll admit that I could have made a greater effort to be more familiar with them. I tried buying the kids some treats but got lectured by my grandparents on how it was bad for their teeth, et cetera; tried to buy some stuff for them but then got lectured for wasting money; and I pretty much gave up after the first six months or so.

Then a few nights ago, my grandfather suddenly started laying into me. From my grasp of the language, I gather that the gist of his lecture was that I didn't make enough of an effort to be like family with them, that I behaved like a stranger who just came over for meals. My grandfather told me that they would no longer provide meals for me (I don't really mind that), and that I shouldn't come over so often was strongly implied.

He also said that I didn't really treat them like family, that when I brought food over (from outside), I didn't share it with them. The problem is that I have brought food for them, for which I have sometimes been rebuked for buying stuff that's not their perferred brand, too sweet, too unhealthy, and so on. After a while of that, I gave up on buying food or anything for them.

He also mentioned that I refused to tutor to my cousin (who is about eight years old), which I did, but because I have no experience teaching at all, and no idea about what she's taught in school or what I'm supposed to do. I do want her to do well in school, but I didn't think that I was the right person to teach her. Also, my auntie and uncle consider her academic success to be very important, and I guess I just saw a can of worms that I didn't want to get involved with. My grandparents took as another example of my selfishness.

Now on to my problem -- I really want to mend fences with them. I just don't know how to do this without inadvertently offending them like I've been doing previously. I also don't want to lose touch with them because they're my family. Any ideas would be much appreciated.

Hopelessly Out Of Touch

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The Response
Dear Out,

I think you should ask to speak to your grandfather -- tell him you'd like to apologize, and that you don't want him to interrupt until you've finished. Then apologize, and tell him what you've just told me. You feel terrible if you've offended him and/or the rest of the family, and you'd like to become closer to them, but you have difficulties with the language, and you don't know what they consider "proper" all the time -- so you hope he'll give you another chance, and you also hope he'll help you with some of the cultural differences, because he assumes you know what they expect and how things are done, but you don't.

The trick is to make him see that you feel bad, but also that, as you say, you offended them inadvertently. I think your grandfather came down a little hard on you given that you barely know either him or the language, but on the other hand, I don't think he's inclined to see it that way or to change his way of dealing with you, so appeal to him as an elder and ask him to guide you a bit better in the future.
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My Comments
Hi Sars,

I read Hopelessly Out of Touch's message with much interest. I'm Korean-American and moved to Korea five months ago, so I sympathize with Touch's cultural ignorance. If I'm right that Touch is Asian-American, and that Touch is currently in the motherland, I have some comments for her (or him).

First, if Touch is still limited linguistically, talking to Grandfather is going to be difficult, considering the ideas she would want to get across. Although I agree that Touch should also address Grandfather directly, I'd also suggest that she contact her mother and ask for advice on how to make up. Older generation Asians often don't understand the straightforward, "let's talk things out" method of reconciliation so favored by Americans. The code of conduct in Asia is drastically different from the American one, and while you might not agree with it, at least you can try to understand it so that you offend people out of informed choice rather than ignorance.

Following this line of thought, Touch should ask native friends for explanations and advice. Touch mentioned that her grandparents didn't seem to like the food she brought for them or the sweets she brought for the kids. In Korea, gift recipients often don't express gratitude; more often they'll say something like, "Are you crazy? Why did you spent so much money?" So her grandparents' criticism may not indicate disapproval.

If Touch felt that her food gifts were truly not appreciated, she might have considered doing as the natives do, by noting what foods were eaten in the house and buying some of those things for the family in addition to the food Touch wanted to eat by herself. In Korea, for example, dessert doesn't usually include sweets -- it's usually fruit. Again, this is something she could ask her friends or mother.

I'm willing to lay a bet that, with the craze in Asia for learning English, Touch's grandparents probably want her to tutor her cousin in that lovely language. I doubt that her relatives would demand that she tutor her cousin in math or science or other fields that she doesn't specialize in, but even if that were the case, Touch could probably get away with claiming ignorance and stick with English. Native English-speakers are hot commodities in Asia, and are regularly asked to tutor kids; my next-door neighbor, out of the blue, asked me to tutor her daughter in English two weeks ago. Since I hate kids, there was no way I was going to do it, but in Korea, you don't say no. Seriously. Your refusal must be shown in the tone of voice, demeanor, and un-enthusiasm of your reply, which is more along the lines of: "Well, you know, I don't have much time these days, but if I do, I will call you." That's clearly a "no" to Koreans.

In essence, Touch would benefit enormously from asking natives about rules of conduct in her host country. Knowing the rules will help her: (1) figure out how to apologize and make up with her grandparents; (2) avoid making further errors; and (3) decide on an informed basis how far she wants to "do as the Romans do." The last point is very important, because Touch may not want to conform to the rules that dictate how a family member should act. In Korea, most kids stay at home until they wed; they often live at home during college; and even when married, see or talk to their parents quite frequently. A 28-year-old friend of mine lives with her parents and still has a 11 pm curfew. No one raised in America will take easily to these expectations, and Touch shouldn't feel bad about not fulfilling them if she doesn't want to. But she should also be prepared for the consequences if she doesn't, and respectfully make arrangements that cause as little offense as possible while still maintaining her principles.

Family is very, very important in Asia, and with some etiquette coaching and humility, I think Touch should be able to mend fences. I loudly applaud her desire to try.

Another Expat

Check out the Feb. 24 post for info about accessing photos I've put up on www.ofoto.com.
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Spring Courage

It's definitely warming up. Despite my dislike of the upcoming season, I am looking forward to seeing green. I arrived here in early October, so I saw dying leaves for a short while and then, when they fell off, only bare branches.

My spring break is in four weeks, and I'm psyched to go to Southeast Asia.

On Monday night, I went to the Coex Mall, the largest underground mall in Korea, and location of one of the biggest bookstores here too -- makes your average superstore B&N look like the neighborhood cubbyhole bookshop. I vacillated between the Lonely Planet's guide to Vietnam or its guide to Southeast Asia. I really want to go to Vietnam -- have for several years -- and liked the depth of coverage of the Vietnam book, but I opted for the broader guide in the end, because who knows where I'll end up going?

After buying the guide (a whopping 30 percent markup from the American price), my stomach beat its way through to my brain and steered my body into Burger King, where I had some fries. Greeeeasy and gooood.

So I sat in the Burger King at Coex Mall, and read about Vietnam and Thailand, and it occurred to me that I really haven't gone out by myself much here. Even just the simple act of going to a bookstore and then hanging out in a shop afterwards is a novelty for me. I go to school, I go to work, and I go home. On the weekends I'll go see family or get together with friends. But I don't really go out much by myself.

(Watch out, there's some navel-gazing about to come your way.)

I didn't go out much by myself in DC, either -- there was always something to do at home or someone to call up if I wanted to go out. If I couldn't find someone to go with me, I'd often just say to myself, "Oh well. Oh, hello, Little Women!" and end up reading or watching TV or something.

Why do I do that? Or rather, why don't I just go out myself and do things? I think I might lack self-confidence. I think I also might be afraid, strangely enough. And of course, I am definitely really, really lazy. I know it doesn't seem like it, but if I don't have something planned, I can just slum around the apartment all day reading books that I've already read a dozen times.

This is something I feel bad about, considering the riches to be mined by living in a vibrant city (be it DC or Seoul), but I'm trying to get over it, because I enjoy slumming around the apartment, and I don't enjoy running around all the time.

But the fear thing, that's not so good. Nor the lack of self-confidence.

Before I left, a couple friends expressed their admiration at my plans to throw my life into complete upheaval. I'm not sure they believed me when I told them that I was petrified. I thought I'd have no friends, I thought I'd be laughed at and scorned by native Koreans, I thought I wouldn't be able to find a job, I thought I'd be holed up in my room reading Harry Potter books for the 20th or 30th time. I was fully prepared to hate the first three or four months, and was determined to stick it out for at least that long, since I was bound to hate Korea during that period.

As it turns out, Seoul is far more westernized than I thought it would be, school is a veritable cornucopia of friendly people, I found a job right away, and when I do hole up in my room and read Harry Potter books for the 25th time, it's completely by choice.

Since I live with my dad, my life here is practically free of all discomforts and unease. So my pre-Korea fears look foolish from this side of things. Even so, I didn't know how comfortable it would actually be, and so I do give myself some credit for actually going through with my plans despite my fears. I guess I believed I'd land on my feet.

Now that I'm here, how do I translate that faith into something that will give me the courage to go explore on my own?

I suppose you do it by doing it, and that's what I'll have to do.

Once I get over being lazy, that is.

Check out the Feb. 24 post for info about accessing photos I've put up on www.ofoto.com.
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Bleary Eyes and -- Ooo, the Desk Looks Like A Nice Pillow

Q: Why did the student stay up until 4 am on a weeknight?

A: Because she is stooo-pid.

Periodically, I do this (stay up until 2 or 3 or 4 am) -- and for no particular reason, either. It's always on a school/work night, and it's usually because I'm reading a book (or preparing for a trip, but that doesn't count). The last couple times I stayed up were to read the second, third and fourth Harry Potter books, and to read a Nora Roberts romance novel. (I didn't feel so bad about H.P., but I am rather embarrassed about the romance.)

Last night it was the internet -- in particular a funny site at www.cockeyed.com. The author wastes what appears to be oodles and oodles of time creating elaborate parties or jokes or experiments. I loved 'em, especially the random milk providing night and the trophy distribution night. The paparazzi costume is also definitely worth a look.

The dude reminds me of the girl in high school who celebrated whatever holiday it happened to be with great enthusiasm; you know, the one who wore the green tights and shamrock pins on St. Patrick's Day, gave out heart-shaped candy for Valentine's Day, wore a costume to school for Halloween. I thought it was silly then, but now I find it sort of endearing, that kid-like innocent enthusiasm for dressing up and getting excited about special days. I treat most holidays like regular days, partly because I object to the commercialization of all of them, but mostly 'cause I'm just freakin' lazy and don't feel like going to the trouble of preparing valentines or thinking up a great costume.

The dude at cockeyed.com is not like me. Check the site out when you have the chance.

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Hair

So yesterday I was riding home with two colleagues and I had to ask them, in light of the missile launched on Monday, if they were worried about North Korea.

"No, not really," said one with a smile and blush, as if she felt that she perhaps should.

The other agreed.

I pressed further: "So do you think there will be a war?"

No, both of them said again. One explained, "If they started a war, everyone would die. They don't want to die either."

"But what about the missile?"

A bluff, my friend surmised, which was Colin Powell's take on things too, apparently.

And with that we turned to more important things, namely where and how to cut our hair.

See, I am THIS close to taking the scissors at home and chopping off my hair myself, it's that long. It's been a year and half since I cut off 10 inches to donate to Locks of Love, the organization that accepts hair of at least that length to make wigs for children who have lost their own hair. I think I may have enough to donate again, which is a testament to how truly and deeply lazy I am.

I asked my well-groomed and elegantly dressed colleague where she got her hair cut, and she recommended her hairdresser. "She's a little expensive, though," she warned. "She charges 30,000 won for a haircut and 70,000 won for a perm."

Less than US$30 for a cut! How can this be considered expensive? But it is -- you can find decent hairdressers here who charge 10,000 won (less than US$10) for a cut and 30,000 won for a perm (less than US$30).

Armed with this news, I feel I can embrace a wider range of options. Maybe I'll try a straight perm again! The last time I did it was in junior high, when I had hair about as long as it is now, and perming it straight involved pasting chunks of my hair onto pieces of red plastic and leaving it there for hours, so that I looked like ... well, there is no equivalent. Perms have evolved since then. I hope.

My colleague bought a magazine at the subway station which contained a promising-looking "Designer Hair Booklet," but we didn't like any of the hair styles; many of them looked quite nice from the front, but the backs often looked like prime real estate for birds.

Despite the lack of inspiring hair styles in the magazine, my colleague and I decided to get our hair cut near Ewha Womans College, where there are many trendy clothes stores and cheap hair salons. (The area is also noted for dressmaker shops, which get particularly busy around graduation. Why? I think it is no longer the case now, but until recently, Ewha students could not be married while attending the school. Yeah.)

A note about fashion magazines here -- they cost a little more than those in the states (about $6 or $7), but in return, they're usually paired with the gift of the month. Gifts for various magazines this month include: a canvas handbag, a box of make-up, a pashmina scarf, a tube of Stila lip gloss, and Calli (another make-up brand) whitening cream. (Yup, the whitening cream is of the ilk that inhabits Michael Jackson's vanity.)

Another magazine note: I tried buying Cine 21, a film industry rag, but was told it was sold out. I have no doubt that the reason is the cover: a sleek photo of Keanu Reeves and Carrie Ann Moss, decked out in the dom leather outfits and famed sunglasses of the first Matrix and looking beautiful in an utterly unearthly way (both of them). Cannot WAIT til May.

Check out the post for Feb. 24 for info about accessing some photos I've put up on www.ofoto.com.
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It's funny how people expect me to know everything about the U.S.

At work today I was asked which five states had the greatest concentration of liberal arts colleges. I could only come up with three -- New York, Massachusetts and California. So then I was asked to list 10 liberal arts colleges, and I did so after looking up some on the Internet. Then I was asked, "Are these in order of highest ranking?" Uhhh, NO. I don't freakin' memorize the US News and World Report rankings, people! There are hundreds if not thousands of colleges in the U.S.! I don't even believe in those stupid rankings anyway!

I did find, though, that among the self-styled "leading liberal arts colleges" in the U.S., the greatest concentrations ARE in New York, Massachusetts, California and ... Pennsylvania. I was surprised about PA. I think Ohio actually made a good show too.

Last week a friend at work who's hoping to go to grad school in the States asked me how the University of Hawaii at Manoa is viewed. Dude, I so do not know. I hopped on the Internet and found that it was ranked pretty low, but I sent that info to my friend with the caveat that its Linguistics Department could be number 1 in the country for all I knew. He then revealed that he'd done some research and that most linguistics professors in Korea who had gotten their degrees overseas had gone to the UH at Manoa. Dude. If the freakin' profs are all going there, do you think that they might POSSIBLY be a MITE more reliable than moi?

Am I being too prickly about this? I promise, I wasn't at all so when I answered these questions, but dear me, I must express myself somewhere.

As I've mentioned to a few friends, I think I'm going through that second phase of expatriotism where I hate the country I'm living in. Not all the time, of course, and I still feel very lucky to be here and to be having this experience, but nevertheless, I get the on the subway and I look around and I think: "I hate your dyed hair, and I hate your stupid cell phone toys, and I hate the stuffed dog cell phone cover you have, and I hate your kimchee breath, and I hate the way you shove past me in order to get a seat, and I hate the bows on your shoes, and I hate the way you wear flats with jeans, and I hate the obviously penciled-in eyebrows, and I hate the god-awful perms, and I hate the way you pair black tights and shoes with jean skirts, and I hate the permed hair on men, and I hate the way you all dress exactly the same, and I hate your dog too."

Well, no, I don't actually hate your dog. But I think it's horrid that you've dyed your dog's ears fluorescent green (no joke).

Like I said, it's not really so bad most of the time. It's just that the first flush of love, as it were, is gone. Before, I used to go into the subway and laugh with delight at the strange and new styles and objects. Now it's just, well, there.

I think the fact that I've gone and eaten at Burger King twice in the past seven days is definitely a sign that the honeymoon's over.

PHOTOS!!!

I've finally posted some up at www.ofoto.com. The easiest way I could figure to do this was to give you all my login and password so you can see all the photo "albums" in my account. I'll trust you not to replace my snarky captions with even snarkier ones.

Go to www.ofoto.com. Email Address: hkim100@hotmail.com; Password: hkim100

Enjoy!

A couple classmates (including this correspondent) have been feeling under the weather as of late: without appetite, slightly nauseous, fatigued. (I'm actually feeling better, though, thanks.) Today our speaking teacher explained why Koreans blame this sort of seemingly reasonless illness on spring.

Koreans believe that of the four seasons, people are more likely to be tired in spring and energetic in the fall. This is based on a zero-sum view of energy supply: there is a limited amount of energy in the world, shared between people, animals and plants, and if one needs more energy at a given time, the others will feel de-energized. In the spring, because plants need extra energy to wake up, bud, blossom, and do other sorts of bloomy things, people feel tired, because the energy portion that would usually be theirs is being used by the plants and trees.

However, humans get their revenge (mwah hah hah hah!) in the fall, when we eat the fruits of the trees and plants, and get our energy back.

I knew there was a reason why I like autumn and hate spring!

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On Friday night, my classmates from last quarter met up at Adrian's apartment to say goodbye to Harue, the kindergarten teacher who's going back to Japan this week. Adrian was in our class last quarter, but started work right after it ended.

Adrian works for the Singaporean embassy here, and is thus set up in Da House. (Or Da Apartment, if you insist on being specific.) He lives in a high-rise serviced residence in Insadong, which means he basically lives in a hotel in one of the nicest parts of town. So: spacious, three bedroom apartment, nice hardwood floors, beautiful view, in-house drycleaning, health club, sauna, pool, billiards table, and.... FOOZBALL!!!

I'm not an ardent Foozball player by ANY means, but the sight of the familiar game was strangely like seeing a friend.

Before meeting up at the apartment, we gathered at the closest metro station, and met our teacher's new boyfriend. Woo woo!

All last quarter our teacher constantly joked about the fact that she didn't have a boyfriend, so we were quite excited for her. He lived in Argentina for several years when his family moved there, and so answers to the name "Miguel" and prefers using a fork to chopsticks. They were -- get this -- introduced by a nun who attends the language school!

Apparently, because he attends Catholic University, he knows quite a few nuns and priests, and so the nuns showed him a picture of our teacher and he found her agreeable, and asked our teacher if she'd mind meeting him, and she didn't, and they've been together for a month now.

Woo woo!

While we waited for Adrian to get home, we picked up some chicken wings and other party food, which we piled into when we got to his place. We ordered pizza too, and I must say that it tastes pretty much like the Pizza Hut back home. Mmmm. Cheesy.

During the party, for some reason, Adrian's wedding album came out and toured the group. Now wedding albums are normally pretty funny, what with the posed pictures and airbrushing, but this one was freakin' hilarious. There was a really great photo of Adrian in a black suit against a red backdrop, hands in pocket, feet apart, and a shit-eating grin on his face. He looks like he was posing for a CD cover or something.

There was also one of his wife, impeccably and beautifully dressed in her wedding gown, inexplicably climbing a column.

Adrian is quite good-natured, so he didn't mind the laughter, and agreed that most of the poses were rather ridiculous. But you could see that he adores his wife.

When Father Njoroje, the priest from Kenya, was looking at the album, he unwittingly created even more hilarity, because he accidentally dropped some ice cream on a corner of a photo, and I quickly wiped it off, telling him to be careful. But the man was not content with simply turning the pages of the album -- for some reason, he felt the need to put his whole hand on the photos! So this exchange ensued:

Me: "No, you shouldn't touch photos like that, it'll damage the paper...."

Father Njoroje: "No, no, it's special photo paper, it's okay" (while rubbing his fingers over the photo to demonstrate)

Me (laughing): "That's even more reason to not touch it!"

Harue started laughing hysterically -- like, crouched on the floor, can't get up laughter -- because the more I tried to tell him that you shouldn't touch photos like that, the more he did it, first innocently and then insisting that it wouldn't be harmed if he touched it. Eventually I backed away from the good Father and the album, afraid I was going to drool on it because I was laughing so hard.

It was all awfully fun, and we all seemed to know enough Korean to have a good time for several hours, and we were very sad at the end because Harue is one of those good, sweet people who can really pull everyone together, because everyone likes her. Today she came to school to say goodbye for the last time and to give us all copies of pictures from that night.

I'm going to try and visit her in Japan if I can.

Got the deferral.

Subway fire: One reaction I felt yesterday (and continue to feel today) is that of relief. I'm glad it wasn't a political statement. I know it makes no difference to the dead, the hurt, and their families, but I'm glad it wasn't terrorism.

Graduation: This week saw graduation ceremonies at high school and colleges. I saw news coverage of a high school graduation, and was shocked to see kids in school uniforms dousing each other with bags of flour, throwing eggs and ketchup at each other, and -- in the case of boys -- even tearing off the clothes of their graduating friends. As in, ripping the uniforms to shreds, down to the tighty-whitey -- and sometimes beyond!

Apparently college graduation is even more raucous -- someone in my class who's been living here for two years and who has a Korean fiancee told me, "They're never coming back, you know? So it's a way to say good-bye."

(I amuse myself by imagining an Old Campus stampede of egg-covered, ketchup-smeared, floury graduates being chased by friends and family.)

Tuesday morning I went to class late since I was just too pooped to get up on time, and stepped out of the metro to dozens and dozens of flower vendors setting up shop on the sidewalk, all the way up to the Sogang University front gates and beyond. In the afternoon, as I descended into Daeheung station, some vendors were hawking their wares on the steps leading into the station.

But the flowers! No simple cellophane and pink ribbon held these bouquets. Stunning arrangements of roses, daisies and a variety of other flowers were swathed in colorful mesh cloth, their stems tidily wrapped in bright fabric. Perfectly tied ribbons completed the standard bouquet, which cost about $9 USD.

I hope the flowers weren't subjected to ketchup-dousing.

Datelines of some articles in U.S. papers read Seoul, but it happened in Daegu, and so I didn't know anyone who was killed or injured in the subway fire. The man who set the fire yesterday morning is an ex-taxi driver who suffered a stroke in 2001. I've heard reports that he was suicidal, but he managed to get out of the train and the station.

The arsonist set flame to a bottle of flammable liquid. The flames spread very quickly because of the flammable nature of practically everything in the train car.

A second train pulled into the station four minutes after the fire started. I heard that the driver of the train, upon seeing the flames, tried to speed up and pass the station. But the emergency system reacted at the wrong time: electricity was cut off to the trains and the station. The train doors wouldn't open. The ventilation system did not turn on. There were no lights in the station. Safety doors cut off escape routes. Toxic fumes filled the cars and the station.

One headline I was able to understand was a quote from one of the train riders, a young woman who called her mother. It read: "Mom, save me. The doors won't open."

The death toll is at 130 and rising. Many bodies were burned to the bone. Many died of smoke inhalation.

Police are guarding the arsonist's hospital room against victims' relatives.

I had one of those "simple pleasures" moments today. At 2 pm, I trudged out of the metro, totally exhausted from this weird nausea/no appetite/fatigue I've been suffering these past two days. Not to mention the thousand stairs one must climb to get out of every darntootin' metro station here.

I was headed in the direction of the office when I abruptly turned back with two words fixed in my brain: French fries.

There's a Burger King right outside of the metro station, and I headed in there and stood in front of the counter until I located the French fries. There they were: "Hu-ren-chi hu-rye-ee." (There's no "ffff" sound in Korean.)

I gave the countergirl the 1,000 won (less than $1 USD) and had to ask her to repeat herself when she asked "For here or to go" in Korean. She smiled and repeated the phrase, and I had a moment of utter gratitude that I was in Korea, where the fast food counter people are polite, because in my gee-the-floor-looks-like-it'd-be-nice-to-sleep-on state, I don't think I could have borne the usual American fast food serviceperson's resentment. Then she apologetically said that it'd be a minute before the new fries were ready, and if I could have, I'd have said, "I don't care that I have to wait! It's worth it to be smiled at!"

I walked out with my bag of small fries, and walked to work, stuffing my face with piping hot fries, remembering that Koreans don't eat on the street, then remembering that I didn't care, not when my mouth was full of grease and potato and salt. Mmmm.

Saturday night I wrote an exquisite blog entry, full of imagery and turns of phrase that at least equaled those of the great writers in history.

And then blogger lost it for me.

I know you all weep for grief.

Well, here's the skinny of what I wrote: Saturday was Dae Boreum, the first full moon of the lunar year, and I went as a guest of the Foundation to a traditional Korean arts performance at the National Center for Traditional Korean Performing Arts.

If anyone makes it out to Seoul, while I'm here or not, you should check out getting tickets for the Saturday performances, which are offered at quite a low price (about $5 USD). The show I saw included several parts. One particularly neat one was a dance enacting a fabled story of a queen escaping from enemies by crossing a river on the backs of village women, who volunteered through their loyalty to the court. The woman dancing the part of the queen, dressed in scarlet robes, actually did walk on the other dancers' backs!

Another cool part was the four women, accompanied by the full set of court instruments, singing "Bright Moonlight," which exhorts the listeners to go the mountain and greet the moon.

Traditionally, you see, Korean villagers would climb the mountain nearest their village on Dae Boreum, and greet the moon with their wishes for the year.

Because it was a cloudy night, there was no moon to be seen on Saturday night. But the NCTKPA set the lobby of the performance hall up with memo pads and pencils, so that audience members could write down their wishes for the year, and pin them up on posts in the lobby.

After the show, the audience members practically ran out, blocking the egress of some of the performers, who were exiting out the audience doors. "How rude," I thought, but then I understood when I got outside; the NCTKPA had set up all those jotted wishes for the year in a large pyre in the middle of the plaza outside the building. Some audience members were plucked out and given large torches, and set the highly flammable straw ablaze.

The fire, which roared almost immediately into life, lit the plaza and toasted our faces -- so much so that we all backed away from it. Dancers and drummers began to circle the inflagration, and soon nearly all the audience was walking around their wishes, as those scribbled notes turned into flames, and into glowing embers afloat on the heat stream, and finally into ash melting into the moonless sky.
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Another tradition of the first full moon? Eat nuts. I've heard two differing reasons for this. One is to protect your skin from diseases in the coming year. The other is that if you crack the nuts with your teeth and then toss the shells away, you're dispelling evil spirits for the year.
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I saw my listening/reading and speaking tests today (just the rights and wrongs, not a final score), and I did fine. I'm not sure about the writing test I took this moroning, though (heh - a very apt slip, considering how I felt when I took it). But done is done.

Next part of the midterm process: speaking interviews on Thursday. My partner is a lovely 42-year-old Japanese nun who charmingly admitted today that her favorite place in Seoul is Lotte World, an amusement park.
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On top of all this testing nonsense, I am tasked with revising the school's advertisement to be placed in the Korea Herald, an English-language paper here. Just when I am feeling very, very unmotivated and would like to spend a day in bed. Yarlgh.

Tired. Saturday morning should not be spent at work.

Well, okay, it's not THAT bad when you don't HAVE any work, and you can write emails and blog entries instead.

Last night had dinner with Haruway, the Japanese kindergarten teacher from my class last quarter. She saved up for a couple years so that she could spend these five months in Korea, and is going back home at the end of the month.

I wish I could capture for you her wonderful, delightful charm. She's 29 but has the self-described heart and nature of a kid. (Well, let's make that a really good-natured kid, like my second cousin Gyu-hyun.) Cheerful (but not in an overbearing way), finding something to laugh about in practically everything (but not in an inane way), hardworking, empathetic and earnest. There is a certain ... I don't know -- innocence? -- about her, and an absolute lack of cynicism or world-weariness. Every new fact is something really marvelous, and every new experience amazing.

She went to Tokyo over the holidays to spend time with her 21-year-old boyfriend (she says the age difference is fine since she's more a kid than an adult) and actually fought with him a lot, which I can scarcely imagine. Some of the things they fought about are so universal, they're funny -- he doesn't want to ask for directions when he's lost, and he's embarrassed when she wants to take pictures of things or of them.

We agreed that these things will probably improve with age.

Haruway had been to Korea 5 times before this time, but has never stayed as long as this. I asked her last night about the most important thing she learned during her stay. After thinking for a few minutes, she said that she liked staying in Korea and learning Korean, but that she realized her true love was teaching kindergarteners.

I also asked her what she thought had changed about her since she came to Korea. She replied that she came to value her family and her boyfriend more, because she was all by herself in Korea. And she realized, as her money supply dwindled, that she didn't need the materials things that she always coveted when she was in Japan.

I told her about the Dalai Lama's advice to want what you have, and how that helps you lead a happy life. I suppose it sounds rather new-agey or maybe new-therapy, but it's up there with "Good is good, but done is better" as one of the wiser sayings I've encountered.

Midterm was not that bad, encouraging me to continue my bad study habits. Mwah ha ha ha ha!

On Monday: the writing midterm.
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Today is Valentine's Day ("Bah-len-tah-een-dae-ee" in Korean). In Korea, the card and chocolate and flower companies got together and said, "Hey! What's this with just ONE extraneous, consumerist holiday for our industries? We need another holiday to exploit the peeps. Mwah ha ha ha ha!!!!"

And so White Day was born. White Day is March 14. It's the day when boys give girls presents, because Valentine's Day is when girls give boys presents. I guess it's like Sadie Hawkins day, which was, incidentally, invented by the cartoonist Andy Capp in his comic strip "Li'l Abner" (if the Internet is to be believed).

Okay, I feel a tad guilty because I didn't get my honey something for today, but to be honest, besides the stupid guilt factor if you don't observe the holiday, I have to say, "Hey! Capitalism at its best!" and give props to the Man.

I am really not prepared for this midterm tomorrow. I seem to have lost some motivation this term -- is it sophomore slump? Last semester everything was new and challenging and I had something to prove (since they'd moved me up to Level 2 after I bugged 'em and bugged 'em about it). This term I'm coming late to class every day and hardly studying at all.

A fellow gyo-po (Korean American) this morning told me that if there's a time to slack off it's now, when I'm in Level 3. Level 3 is reputed to be the easiest level. It certainly has a much lower work volume than Level 2, in which we'd speed through two chapters a week and get an entire workbook chapter to do in one night. There's no workbook in Level 3, and sometimes no homework either.

Previously I thought that the grammar in this level was pretty easy, while the vocab was killer, but one of my classmates, the basketball-lovin' Etsuko from Japan, opined today that Level 3 was actually pretty difficult, because we are now delving into the nuances of the grammar we learned before.

So, for instance, in Level 2 we learned that "-nun dae" (can't reproduce the sound in English, I'm afraid) can be used to compare two things (i.e., "She's pretty but her brother is not.") But in the past five weeks, we've learned that it can be used in at least three other situations:

1. A polite way to express an unpleasant situation in order to request an alternative (i.e., "I'm afraid I don't have the time now, shall I come again?");

2. Someone does something, and subsequently discovers something that is not a consequence of the action (i.e., "I went to school and there was no one there"); and

3. as a polite way of introducing something (i.e., "Pink is a singer who is famous").

Confused yet? So am I. I hope I freakin' pass this test.

My bloody archives keep disappearing on me, and I keep reposting 'em, but I think maybe they're shy.

Or maybe blogger hates me.
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Yesterday Fed Ex went to the apartment and, finding no one there, called me on my hand phone. Due to my limited language skills, we quickly established that I was a foreigner, and then proceeded to have the neighbor take the box for me.

On my way home, I picked up a packet of strawberries to give the neighbor as a thank you present, and we made the exchange.

Later that evening:

[Knocking]

Helen: Who is it?

Voice: The neighbor!

[Helen opens door. Neighbor and daughter (around 7?) stand outside. Neighbor holds plate of hulled strawberries.]

Neighbor (shyly): Excuse me, but I wondered... if you might be able to help my daughter with English sometimes?

Helen (wincing inwardly because she doesn't like kids and would gnaw off her left hand in order to escape if locked in with them for more than an hour): Oh!

Neighbor (rushed): I mean, if you're not busy. You must be busy.

Helen: Well, I am rather busy. In the morning I have school and in the afternoon I have a parttime job.

Neighbor: And at night...?

Helen: ... I do homework.

Neighbor: Ah.

[Neighbor's very young son zooms into apartment, barefoot, in pajamas, holding a toy bow and arrow, dancing around the living room]

Neighbor: (to boy, with no discernable effect) Come out from there! (to Helen) Your dad comes home pretty late, doesn't he?

Helen: Yes, he does.

Neighbor: Yes, it seems that way.

[Awkward second of silence]

Helen (dying inside and afraid of getting shot by a plastic arrow): Uh, are you busy on the weekends?

Neighbor: No, not much.

Helen (mentally beating herself up already): If I have time on the weekends, I'll just knock on your door, okay?

Neighbor: Okay. Here, take these! [offers plate of strawberries]

Helen: Uh, did you have some?

Neighbor: Oh yes!

Helen: Okay, thanks. [take plate of neatly hulled and piled up strawberries]

Neighbor: Come on, son!

Son: It's because I'm barefoot, isn't it? Hee hee hee hee hee!!!!!

Helen (gritting teeth and trilling excessively): Well, on the weekends, if I have time, I'll knock on your door!

Neighbor: Thank you! Good night!

Helen: Thank you! Good night!

I told my dad about this exchange when he got home, and he just about laughed his head off. He said, "Okay, find out what Korean kids are like! But have them pay you!" Uh, NO. "Okay, I'll teach them... for market price!"

In listening class today we heard another tape in which the husband spoke to the wife in ban mal (casual speech used among close friends and to children), while the wife spoke to the husband using the more elevated form of speech.

The first time we heard a tape like this, I asked why this was so. I didn't want to start a fight about cultural traditions or anything, I just wanted to hear what the teacher would say.

At that time, she said, "Yes, that is the case, isn't it? That isn't very good, is it?" Later, she or another teacher, I don't recall who(we have a writing teacher, a speaking teacher and a listening/reading teacher), said that traditionally, the husband was older than the wife, so the wife would naturally use respectful speech to the husband.

I think this is changing, but on TV dramas and such, the wife still usually uses the elevated form of speech to the husband while the husband uses casual speech to the wife, and it irritates the hell out of me.

On Sunday, at the Buddhist temple, I met Sheila, an Irish woman who is a hard-core feminist -- she's even authored a book about it. She said that on her most recent plane ride to Korea, she talked to a fellow female passenger: a woman who had four kids and who had been a scientist (I think) for the National Institutes of Health (I think) before becoming a mother. Sheila thought this was terrible -- "Why aren't men expected to stay home and mind the children?" she asked indignantly. She seemed to think it was a terrible waste of talent that this woman was no longer in the workplace.

Well, to an extent I can agree, but I also think that many, many women (most?) want to be mothers, and would want to stay home with their kids for some time. I'm not putting motherhood on a little Victorian pedestal, but hey, if that's your thing, that's your thing. I don't think strangers should be mourning your lost career opportunities if you aren't.

I'm not a hard-core feminist like Sheila. But it gets me bull-fighting mad when a casual conversation between spouses contains a built-in inequality. That is boooool sheeeet.

Just reread my last entry, and thought, "You know, rabbits are just inherently funny."

Okay, so the fuzzy little bunnies that the old lady in the subway sells on the weekends (along with puppies sometimes) aren't so funny. But cartoon bunnies seem inherently funny, especially when I imagine one furiously pounding away at rice in order to make ddok, with a mad gleam in its eye.

Or maybe this is all just in my head, and traceable back to that Warner Brothers' version of the Barber of Seville with Bugs getting on top of Elmer Fudd's head while manically massaging shampoo into his nonexistent hair. You don't get more comically genius than that.
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Went to church AND temple yesterday, so had to stay up late to do homework.

Hence, feeling droopy today.

The service I went to is the English service of the MyungSung Church, where my cousin's husband is a pastor. My uncle, who is the only Protestant in my dad's family (this may be amazing on two fronts: 1. these days, it's hard to find a Korean family with only one Christian; and 2. considering that my grandfather was a Buddhist monk, it's pretty ironic that his son converted to a religion that does not recognize the validity of any other), took me to his son-in-law's service, and very nicely sat through it all, even though his English isn't all that good.

There was a hand bell choir, which reminded me greatly of junior high, and a beautiful string quartet, and the usual church choir, of course. I liked hearing all the music.

After the service, my uncle took me to see my cousin, the beautiful Miss Korea look-alike. We walked into the room to find her sitting with two men, each of whom could have been a viable contestant for Mr. Korea. One of them spent 8 years in the States and came back to do his mandatory military service here; he's my cousin's cousin (from her mother's side) and had (at least on that day), the most amazing stand-up hair-do. Along for having a weakness for cutesy princess t-shirts (which I confessed to in the last entry), I also must admit that I admire the male preener hairstyle in which every hair is artfully slicked upward, utterly defying gravity.

A Japanese guy in my boarding house had the same hairdo, and I asked him once how long it took to create. About an hour, he said.

Wow.

The other Mr. Korea contestant moved to the States when he was 12, and so has perfect command of both languages. He's using this to his advantage in his chosen career of acting. I think I heard someone say that he's an announcer or a newscaster or something.

In the presence of all this prettiness and hair gel, I felt quite discomfited. But they were quite nice. They all had to leave pretty soon to go to choir practice, and Actor Dude asked if I were coming back the next week, from which ensued a short but uncomfortable exchange:

"So, you're going to come back next week, right?"

"Uhhhh, I'm not sure yet."

"Why not? You should come back."

"Well, I went to my friend's church last weekend and so I might go back there."

"Oh, so you're looking around? But you should come back here, you know."

"Yes, maybe."

"Why not?"

At this point, it was on the tip of my tongue to say, "Cuz I'm not Christian," but it occurred to me that if I did say so, the efforts to get me back to this church would be redoubled, so I said, "Perhaps."

"Okay, right, no pressure." (Ha!)

My uncle took me to lunch afterwards, during which I asked him why he had converted to Christianity. He said his wife was Christian, so that was the original reason, but then he also saw that a lot of good people went to church, that church was a good way to meet your friends and family members regularly, that the American president was sworn in on a Bible, etc. He mentioned grace later on (this is all an approximation of his words; I hope I got the gist right).

After my uncle dropped me off at home, I spent about an hour goofing off, then went with my dad to a Buddhist temple that held a weekly meeting in English. We arrived a little late; they were already in the midst of chanting, but we were welcomed right in.

I must say, though, that Buddhist chants transliterated into English make for complete gibberish: "namu ba ra ba ra cho sun" is a typical line. Even the Korean, I think, doesn't mean much unless you know the original Chinese characters.

After the chanting, the monk, who is from Bangledesh and went to Sri Lanka for monk school, gave a short talk on friendship and its importance in Buddhism. Then we meditated for about 10 minutes, concentrating on breathing.

Or rather, in my case, trying to concentrate on breathing while trying to banish thoughts such as:

-Man, these jeans are tight.

-Did I gain some weight? I don't remember these jeans being so tight.

-I need to stop going to the Mini-Stop at school during study break. I'm definitely gaining weight.

-Aaaagh. My joints are killing me! How old am I again?

-Owwww, my foot's falling asleep. Okay, the monk said it didn't matter if we sat lotus position as long as we held our spines straight so we could breathe properly. So I'm gonna shift position... ahhhh.

-Shoot, now I'm not sitting up straight.

-Huh. Maybe I'll just take a little peek at what's going on. That's a cool painting of a woman. No wait, that's a man.

-Wonder if this statue of Buddha qualifies as an idol (of the forbidden type) under the 10 Commandments?

After about 10 minutes or so, the monk signaled that we were done, and we recited an English translation of the four Buddhist goals. Roughly: 1. help people; 2. wipe out suffering; 3. learn the Dharma (the teachings of Buddha); 4. achieve enlightenment.

I don't know if that's the right order, but you get the idea.

At the end of this recitation, we repeated a very curious and interesting phrase: "May all living things be happy. May all living things be happy. May all living things be happy."

My dad said he's never heard this particular phrase being recited before. However, it is in line with Buddhist precepts. The Dalai Lama himself has said that the purpose of life is to be happy.

I could live with that.

After this was all concluded, the 15 or so of us sat on the floor and snacked on tangerines, ddok (made by rabbits on the moon), crackers, and a wonderfully fragrant tea.

After this too was concluded, my dad and I were walking to the car when he said, "Those people are a little... strange, right?" I laughed pretty hard at that one.

Well, yes, it was a rather motley crew: a young guy from Norway who was studying martial arts in Korea; a physicist/artist who showed us all the drawings in his little book; a girl who'd been practicing yoga for 5 years and so wanted to approach it from the spiritual side; and a 40-something Irish Canadian woman who was teaching English at Korea University, had written two books, evinced some hard-core feminism; and said that she understood how the Korean people felt during the IMF crisis of 1997, because she was Irish, and she could sympathize with the feeling of loss of control, shame, and being colonized.

I've always said that Koreans were the Irish of Asia. (She agreed.) See, Kim is an Irish name!

Church people, in contrast, were very normal. Probably the cream of the crop in young Korean society.

In class today, I mentioned that I went to both places on Sunday, and might keep going to both. The gentle, earnest Japanese nun exclaimed, "Oh, come to our congregation too!"

Heck, why not?

Administrative housekeeping item: I for some reason had my dad's cell phone number up on the left side column all this time, and found out today about it. (Sorry, Wendy!) I've just put up my real cell phone number.

I got a bunch of stuff to edit at work on Friday, which is why I didn't get around to posting that day. After work, I had dinner and coffee with my friend Tex, the missionary who lived in China as a kid for a few years when her parents were missionaries. I haven't seen her since mid-December, when our class ended; she didn't have enough money to continue the Sogang University Korean language program, so she's taking classes at a private language institution instead.

I also met up with Tex today, as she said she didn't have much to do. She went with me as I did some errands in the area around school (Shinchon) and then we walked over to the area around Ewha Woman's College, which is known for a number of shops catering to young women. While looking at some funky/ugly/cute clothes, I confessed that I had a weakness for cutesy princessy t-shirts, and she asked, well, why don't you wear them?

Good question, and I'm not sure what the answer is. I guess I just don't buy clothes much, and because those t-shirts are trendy, they tend to be expensive (for t-shirts, anyway). I should buy some regardless; I adore my Paul Frank brace-faced monkey t-shirt, which J gave me two Christmases back, and it makes me happy to wear it, so why not? One should take the small actions that bring happiness, even if they are, strictly speaking, unnecessary.

Anyhoo.

Ewha was the first college for women in Korea, and was established in 1886 by an American missionary named Mary Scranton. I feel rather connected to it because the first Korean president of Ewha, Dr. Helen Kim, was the Helen Kim I was named after!

My mother's always said that she named me Helen because she thought it sounded like a smart person's name, but just before I came to Korea in October, I found out that I actually did have a namesake. The way I found out was funny too; a few years back, the Huanger gave me a book called "Grace Sufficient: the Story of Helen Kim" because he thought it was funny. I did too -- especially the picture of Dr. Helen Kim looking very earnest and, well, very unlike me. It was one of the books I carted over here, and I showed it to my mother in L.A., intending to have a good laugh. She utterly surprised me by saying that she'd named me after Dr. Helen.

That is how I got my American name.

My Korean name, Sokran (but pronounced like Sungnahn), was given by my paternal grandfather, who also named my brother, Sokho. Korean siblings usually have one syllable of their names in common. (Most Korean first names are two syllables long while last names are one syllable long.) Sokho means stone tiger. Sokran means a flower that grows on a rock. It connotes perseverance and beauty, but I admit that I amuse myself sometimes by imagining that it refers to moss. Or lichen. Heh.
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In class this past week we talked about, for some reason, different countries' takes on the moon. Like, the American myth is that the moon is made of cheese, right? Or alternatively, that there is a man in the moon.

Well, in Korea, the myth is that there is a rabbit who lives on the moon, and makes ddok, sticky rice cakes/noodles (sorry, non-Koreans, 'svery hard to explain, best to go to your local Korean shop and ask).

Why a rabbit? Beats me. But I find it really hilarious.

A Chinese girl in my class said that in China, the story is that a daughter of celestial beings fell in love with a human on earth, but since their love could not be, she sadly went to go live on the moon. With her pet rabbit.

I have to laugh even harder at that. I mean, the Korean myth is probably derived from the Chinese, but the whole thing sends me into gales of giggles.

Well, I finally did it.

After weeks of thinking and saying that I should start exercising again, I got up at 6 this morning and went for a 50-minute brisk walk with my dad in Olympic Park.

I can tell you now from experience that at 6:30 am in Seoul in February, it is very dark. Like, night-dark. Like, streetlamps are on, and car headlights are on, and someone with bad night vision (comme moi) feels uncomfortably at a loss.

I can also tell you that it is easier than you think to get up from warm, toasty, ondol-heated bed (heating system under the floor) and go out into the crispy darkness.

It was also very nice to see the mountains at the edge of the city become silhouettes against a pinkening sky.

There were ajummas (older women) coming back from early morning exercise, couples walking or running briskly, and even a judo team from the University of Physical Education running sprints up a steep hill.

Very nice.
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Recent models of cars sold in Korea feature flexible rearview mirrors that the driver can fold back to lie flat against the side windows. A necessary precaution when the streets are narrow and the people drive as willy-nilly as they do here.

Last night (Tuesday) I watched a TV program called "English Cafe." Primetime TV show, and what are the hosts doing? Learning the difference between "See you later!" and "See you around!" and why "See you!" is sometimes truncated to "See ya!" Furthermore, the English teacher showed the Korean "students" (the hosts) the three-point method of shaking hands in America: 1. straighten up (as opposed to the customary bow in Korea); 2. smile; and 3. stick your hand out. And have a firm grip, lest people get the impression you're less than honest.

I don't think I could explain the difference between "See you around" and "See you later." But the "students" asked, "Oh, so if you worked in a broadcasting station, and you were ending a conversation with your coworker, you'd say 'See you around,' because you'll be in the same location when you meet again, but if you were parting from a friend from a cafe, you would say 'See you later.'"

Americans, I think, might just say whatever came to mind; there's not much difference between the two, if you ask me. But that's the level of subtlety that this show went into.

This country is crazy for learning English. I've often wondered what people think when they turn to stare, even if just briefly, at me or my friends who are speaking English on the subway. I thought maybe there was a certain amount of hostility born of that anti-American sentiment that is so high just now. My dad and work friend Myung-soo both said that they stare out of jealousy, because they want to speak English fluently too.

My dad's theory is that because Korea is a peninsula, historically hanging off of and between much more powerful countries, Koreans learned how to adapt quickly to whatever winds were prevailing at the time. (He was talking about the popularity of Christianity, which he thinks might become less popular over time, but this can be extrapolated to cover the desire to learn English.)

From Japanese classmates, I learned that they don't often have the chance to practice their Korean in Japan because even though many Koreans have moved to Japan and work there, the Koreans are much better at Japanese. My friend Maiko is often greeted in Japanese by store clerks in Korea (who can somehow just tell that she's Japanese); I saw this myself when we went to the Korean folk village together.

Adaptability.

Mutability.

Interesting.

Possible.

Necessary.

Koreans, man. They've got staying power. Like kimchee.
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So my Miss Korea cousin, Yoon-Gyung, is good church friends with a colleague of mine from work, and I just talked to that colleague today, and she saw Yoon-Gyung's older brother on Sunday, who asked her, "Do you know someone named Kim Sokran?" and of course she didn't, because I'm known as "Helen Kim" here at the office, but then we cleared it up today and decided it was quite a small world after all.
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Last small item: Today in class, in order to practice a grammar pattern, we asked each other's advice on things we were worried about, and so I asked a couple people whether I should go to law school.

Lewis, the New Zealand guy, suggested I flip a coin (I told him I did that already); Shyam, the Indian guy, suggested I talk to lawyers and then, when I said I'd done that, suggested I talk to an education counselor; and Gyung-li, one of the Chinese girls in my class (she was born in 1980!), said "Ah, just go."

But my teacher, a 36-year-old stunningly beautiful sprite, took my worry quite seriously, and said some very sensible things. Nothing I haven't heard before, from various people, but somehow... I don't know, maybe hearing it in a different language, from someone who grew up in a different culture, made things seem wonderfully simple and clear.

Unexpected lessons from unexpected places.

I have before me two brochures for tours of the Demilitarized Zone (DMZ).They both offer pretty much the same package, at the same price. For 54,000 won (less than US$50), you get to see Freedom Bridge, the only bridge that connects South and North Korea; Dora Observatory, from which you can see North Korea; the 3rd tunnel, through which 30,000 armed soldiers can penetrate within an hour; and Imjingak Park, built in honor of the 10 million South Koreans separated from their families in North Korea.

You also get lunch.

The DMZ, besides being the "scariest place on earth" to Clinton, is so much of a metaphor in itself, it needs no flowery similes or descriptions. It is the area within 2 km south and north from the present cease-fire line set up according to the cease-fire agreement on June 27, 1953. It is 248 km long. It is 4 km wide. For 50 years, it has been devoid of human life. Hence, it is also an incredible ecological treasure.

Grace Travel Co. bills the DMZ as "the most fortified border on Earth that only Korea can offer," which rings with a weird mix of anguish and tourist-pandering. Opening up the brochure, you are exhorted:

"Feel the sorrow of a divided country! To truly understand Korea and her people, visitors must understand the effect of the war and the chasm it left in the hearts of its victim. The only divided country on earth, Korea and symbol of division, DMZ. DMZ is the most heavily fortified border on the planet. It has been 50 years since the Korean War ended in 1953. However, the DMZ has been standing strongly dividing the waist of the Korean Peninsula. For anyone who plans to visit South Korea on business or vacation, this place must not be missed. Visitors can see a picture of Korea's division and its fragile state of peace through looking at the DMZ."

For its description of Dora Observatory, Grace Travel Co. states: "Dora observatory is located at a western front line of the DMZ. From this observation platform, you can get a view of North Korean life including propaganda village and Gaesung city. Aren't you curious about their life?"

Last night I was up late watching Castaway, the movie where Tom Hanks plays a Fed-Ex employee who gets marooned on an island for four years. I've always thought that the scene where he finally gets a fire started was hilarious, especially when J does his imitation of it, but I'll tell you whut, boy, it ain't nothing compared to hearing it dubbed in Korean.

I got my dad watching it too, which really cut into our plans to get up early and go for a brisk walk at 6 am before breakfast. I suppose he would have gone (he's got more discipline than I do), but I just could not make myself get out of a warm bed to exercise -- even lightly! -- in the still-dark morning.

I was struck this time around by the symbolism of the whale in Tom's journey off the island, who, by squirting Tom with blowhole water, wakes him up to see Wilson drift off, and also to see the ship. I thought it seemed rather God-like, actually. Am I nuts? Reading too much into it? Or is it so obvious that you are now muttering to yourself "Jeez, I thought she was, like, smart or something" as you close this window in disgust?

I suppose God was on my mind, as yesterday morning I went to church (yes, me!). I sat through the English service sermon, which was given by a guest pastor who sounded like a cross between Jimmy Carter and Prince Charles (New Zealander, maybe?). I was rather disgruntled by the end of it, as I disagreed with Mr. Pastor Man on several points: I am not against and indeed am rather in favor of sex before marriage (under the right circumstances), living together before marriage (ditto), smoking (in moderation), drinking (ditto), and lawyers ('cause you know, some of them actually do good in the world, notwithstanding Mr. Pastor Man's doubts that "if you're a lawyer, I'm not sure how you can be a good Christian").

I am SO not a good Christian.

After hearing the sermon, I was in a considerable amount of doubt that I could go through with joining the church choir, which was the whole reason I was there. During future sermons, would I be able to sit there without smirking through it all? Or worse yet, doubling up in laughter? Rather unseemly for a choir member, I would think.

However, after the sermon, I met up with choir member Soo-hyun, my work friend who encouraged me to join her choir when I expressed interest last year. She was so excited about that fact that I actually made it to a 9 am Sunday service, she positively squealed with delight, and proceeded to introduce me to the choir members and the director, who didn't say a word when Soo-hyun pulled up a chair and opened her song book to share with me.

I thought, "Hey, don't you need to audition me or something?" and looked rather nervously around me, waiting for someone to point this out. But she didn't, and instead just signaled the choir to start, and so I sang along with everyone else, listening to Soo-hyun's British-accented English coming out strong right beside me.

Oh, it was so lovely.

I haven't sung in a choir since 7th grade, and I'd forgotten how wonderful it is to be part of a wall of sound, the sopranos swooping up to those showy high notes; the tenors in the back like the cello section of an orchestra, low and smooth; the second sopranos and altos filling in the empty space between the extremes. I am the first to declare, very honestly (NOT modestly), that I don't have a very good voice; I can keep pitch but my voice cracks when I try to belt anything out and I don't remember how to control my breath anymore, but oh my, I did like singing with everyone.

Afterwards, the choir went to get something to eat, and then onto coffee, and still, the only thing the director said to me was, "What did you think of the choir?" I replied, "Oh, I liked it very much! But I don't have a very good voice, you know." She said with a soft laugh, "Oh, it doesn't matter."

I wonder if it will matter very much that I'm not Christian?

SUNDAY'S POST

For some reason blogger was not kind at all to me this weekend -- it refused to post Friday or Sunday's entries in a timely manner. So it looks a bit f-ed up here. Grr.

(However, since it's free, I can't really complain, can I? That would be a negative, Iceman.)

This weekend was really lovely. On Friday, at Maiko's suggestion, we and my dad went to a Korean folk village (see Friday entry for a rather uninspired description). On Saturday, the first day of the lunar new year, my dad and I went to a Buddhist temple that my grandfather used to attend, and paid our respects to the ancestors. Then we went to lunch at my uncle's house. And on Sunday, I went to church (!) and my grandmother's house.

By Confucian tradition, the new year is the time to remember your ancestors: parents, grandparents, great-grandparents, and great-great-grandparents. In the Buddhist temple we went to, my dad gave the monk some cash (like an offering in church) and the monk chanted a mantra as first my dad and then I bowed in front of an altar (not quite, but I don't know how else to describe it) laden with fruit and other foods.

Confucian tradition even dictates what foods go where on the table: liquor at the end furthest from the honored one, then fish and meat, then sweet rice cakes, then fruit. (Or something like that.)

The temple ladies poured six cups of water (traditionally liquor), each one of which I moved in three clockwise circles above some burning incense sticks. Then I bowed six times, one for each dead person in dad's family. There's a traditional way to bow, also; you put one hand over the other, palms down, and keep them to your forehead, arms akimbo, as you kneel and touch your head to the ground.

This is the way my cousins and I should have bowed to my oldest uncle, where my dad and I went after the temple, but he just gave us the money. I felt, as did my cousins, that we were a bit too old to be receiving money, but he wouldn't hear of us returning it. I remember that as a kid, I'd get little red envelopes of cash from my grandmother and aunt on new year's day. Traditionally too, everyone dresses in the traditional Korean clothes that day, so on Sunday I saw a bunch of kids and adults wearing brightly colored dresses and pants walking around.

At my uncle's house. I was the second oldest cousin among the cousins gathered there (5), but compared to Yoon-gyung, who's about 7 months younger than me, I felt like a huge rube. She's married to a pastor and, as my younger cousin Jung-eun pointed out, looks like Miss Korea. Seriously. I looked through her wedding album, and she looks like she should be in a wedding magazine. She looks the same (albeit slightly less airbrushed) in person. Decked out in a nice dress for the new year, make-up perfectly applied and every hair in place, she also was very gracious toward me and helped her mother put out a delicious meal and definitely made me feel like an uncouth sloppy American.

It's usually very nice to be as uncaring about fashion and makeup as I am, but there are times when I wish I had the secret key to looking fantabulous.

In spite of my self-consciousness about being an unmade-up, miserably-complected, unhelpful, blowsy-haired rube, I had a nice time. My cousins are all really, really nice. My two younger cousins there are siblings -- Jung-ho (male, 25) and Jung-eun (female, 23) -- and are graduating from college this year. (Korean men graduate college later than Korean women because they usually do their two years of mandatory military service in the middle of college.) They're the kids of my dad's second oldest brother, who died about 20 years ago from cancer.

Yoon-gyung (Miss Korea) has an older brother who was stepping out just as we arrived. He seemed really good-natured too. It's kind of crazy how nice they all are. Somehow, they all seem like "good kids." No attitude, friendly for the most part (except when the friendly is mixed up with shy), respectful and at ease with their adult relatives -- it all seems too good to be true! My other cousins (sons of my aunt), are extremely good-natured and kind as well.

I dunno, it's very weird to me.

I wished that my brother had been there, actually. Partly because it would have been nice to have another American rube there, and partly because being around family members who all got along (not just superficially but underneath as well) stirred up feelings of the choked-up, something's-got-in-my-eye variety. I feel so lucky and moved to be experiencing this side of family life. I wish bigbro could experience it too.

Then again, I'm probably missing a million subtle indicators of underlying strife.

I hope not.

FRIDAY'S POST
Holiday!

Tomorrow is lunar new year (Chinese new year) so no school and no work for the Helen today. Instead, at Maiko's suggestion, we went with my dad to a Korean folk village in Suwon, which is about an hour south of Seoul. We saw a beautiful, robust farmers' dance that involved drumming, hats with long ribbons, and a bit of acrobatics. There was a performance of women acrobats on a not-quite-traditional Korean see-saw (the traditional one is a long wooden board that women used to jump to incredible heights; these performers used a more flexible man-made material). A comedian in the guise of a tightrope walker bounded across a rope up about 12 feet in the air while sitting crossed-legged, using one leg, etc.

The village features a mish-mash of 19th century Korean houses from various regions of the country, plus artisans whom you can actually watch creating masks or pipes or hanji (mulberry paper) or whatnot. It's owned by Samsung, which must make a mint not only from the tourists, but from the rental rates to the Korean dramas set in olden times. A few times I've caught myself watching one of these shows, which is surprisingly absorbing, and what do you know -- that exact drama was shooting while we were there!

I got the feeling that they shoot there quite often, for they were very lax about tourists coming near the scenes. The actors and extras and support crew were all sort of loitering in the courtyard of one of the big houses, so after we watched the farmers' dance, we went and loitered with them. My dad took a few pictures of me and Maiko standing around trying to look nonchalant while the stars of the show discussed something right behind us. One of the principal actors is also rather pretty, and I was gratified to see that he looks just as nice in person (i.e., hee hee! cute boy!). At my dad's behest, we also took a proper photo with another one of the stars, who very courteously put out the cigarette he had just lit up in order to take a picture with us (perhaps Dad's loud, "And this is a very famous actor right here!" jollified him up).

We also had some tasty denjang jjigae (bean paste stew), curried an ass (as in, brushed a donkey), watched a wandering rooster strut around, discovered that rabbit urine is beneficial to chickens (don't ask), declined to try picking up a yoke with two buckets used to carry feces, and fed some ducks (that was my dad, who cannot resist feeding animals, both domesticated and wild).

It was quite a nice day.

My dad recently bought a digital camera, and I have pictures of many of these things that I'd like to upload, but I'm not sure if this free form of blogger.com supports images. I'm working on it, but am not very computer-savvy; if anyone has any suggestions or knowhow that they'd like to send my way, please do, and I'll buy you a big bowl of bean paste stew (redeemable in Korea).

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I saw a commercial tonight that featured a cell phone that you can use like a credit card; point it at the register, press a few buttons, and zap your way through the sale. As cell phones here can already take pictures, connect to the internet, send text messages, play music, and oh, yes, make calls, I think we're closer than ever to eliminating the need for anything except a teeny little PDA. Could be nice.