It’s been almost a decade since I moved to South Korea… The first question is almost always, “Did you learn any Korean?”
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During my first year, while at my first job here in Korea, my first students of the day noticed a second-hand Korean language book on my desk. They looked through it without my permission while I was on my designated five minute break - relieving myself, and cursing at bill collectors in the bathroom.
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I wasn't sure what I was seeing at the time, but after my first few months in South Korea a reality about life here made itself clear: Koreans like to drink. Even more, many like to get drunk. Like any and all observations based solely on one's own experience, it's biased, and I accept the fact that I may be totally wrong in this generalization. But I don't think so.
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When I first came to Korea there were a few things I noticed. Firstly, I’m strange and deserve to be gawked at. Secondly, Korean women dress half naked, at least their bottom half. Anything short of showing pubic hair is socially acceptable. Third, Korean kids are damn cute.
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A few years ago, about ten, Josely and I were wasting an hour playing video games. This happened more often then I liked, but I had a lot of free time. At twenty one I had quit college and I quit my job. While pursuing a doomed dream I decided to read some books, write a little, and think a lot about the world I lived in. In those months me and my brother had been spending a lot of time together and I was constantly asking him questions about his life.
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My summer vacation was fun enough. I went to a beach; I drank apple martinis; I spent time writing; I slept late; I got really physical with a Korean woman in a damn sauna of a place called Club Maktum down in Busan on a night where I was a good wing man to a sexually frustrated friend, but slept alone. It was fun enough, but it wasn’t what I planned.
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A few weeks after arriving in Korea I met someone. We fucked the first night we met, and it was pretty good. Neither of us were looking for anything serious. What it boiled down to was that everyone has needs, and it’s hard to get those needs met in a foreign country where men strive to look like boy-band members and women want to get married before they’re twenty-four.
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It was a totally new building with glass walls and a wonderful view of the woodsy campus behind the main school building. I sat inside this new cafeteria with six other teachers who, because of the new lunch schedule that accompanied the new building, weren't used to eating with me – the foreigner. I ate kimchi and occasionally sniffed the queer smelling chemical scents given off by the building materials.
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Me and a co-worker of mine started taking Muay Thai classes in April. His name is Mr. 김 (Kim) and since I arrived last December for my second year in Korea he's taken to the idea of being my older brother – my 형님. He knows I didn't work at a public school before, and he knows this is my first time living in Seoul, so he wants to give me advice and expose me to Korea. He reminds me that kimchi is a very popular is a traditional Korean food. "Oh okay" is all I say after living here for a year.
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Some time ago I had to give my students a speaking test. It consisted of me asking them a series of questions to test there fluency in English. These are some of the questions--and some of the more interesting answers I received.
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The class topic for today was Travel. I gave my students vocabulary like “Sightseeing,” and “Backpacking.” They learned the phrase, “The food here is exotic.” After this I asked several of them to tell me what country they would like to go to and why. This is the exchange between me and a Mr. 백. With both of us smiling pleasantly I began.
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I went to work a few weeks ago and saw a print out of my name near the front door entrance. The sheet of paper had some Korean characters on it. Not being able to read Korean I asked one of the school staff members about it: "Why is my name on this poster? Did I do something wrong?"
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Throughout most of my life I’ve kept a relatively pessimistic perspective on things. A glance at my childhood pictures show cold stares sprinkled with regret. There was never a specific reason, and though I abhor the idea of blaming it on "my nature” (whatever that is), happiness was, and is, a elusive thing to me. The things I desired didn’t desire to be around me, so I grew up always expecting very little out of the life that I counted everyday of.
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