1. Welcome, Brian
For months I prepared for the move. It never clicked in my mind, “I’m going to live in Korea.” But I would, and the date drew closer and closer and there was minor anxiety, but still, it never settled in. I ate goodbye dinners and made the final trip to leave things at Dad’s place; even to the night before my flight out, the party with my friends, the drive to the airport, the shuffle through security, the steps to my seat on the plane, I thought nothing more than, “Welp, here I go,” and I went.
Now I live in Anyang. I arrived and thought, “My God, I’m in Chinatown!” Not quite. This is Korea. These people are Korean. These streets, these buildings, the grocery store – no bigger than a convenience store – that sits on the corner one hundred feet from the step of my apartment are Korean.
It took me twenty minutes trying to figure out how to use the phone at the airport before I called work for Mr. Cho to pick me up. I stood in line for the bus that took me to Anyang (Beum-gye) bus terminal. Of all the seats on the bus, I snagged the one that reclined back on its own, so I couldn’t get comfortable. It was a constant battle to keep the seat upright. As soon as I was off the bus, Mr. Cho greeted me, grabbed my bags, told his best friend to get the car, we loaded my things, and went off to my apartment.
My apartment is one room with a bed, desk, fridge, rolling closet, and kitchen. The bathroom IS the shower, with a toilet and sink installed. THAT’S efficiency.
Mr. Cho took me by the GnB school, where I teach, to meet the other teachers and students. I met two students. One girl was so cute. She couldn’t help but giggle to herself, and turned away, bashful, into her hand covering her face. I went upstairs with Mr. Cho, met the other girls who work at the school. Jenny, Nicole, Franny, and Wendy are the native teachers. The students and teachers all have English names. I’m the only foreigner. After brief introductions, Mr. Cho took me to dinner with his wife and two sons. Before we were handed a menu, servers brought two enormous trays of food: kimchi, peppers, onions, sliced garlic. Mr. Cho asked me, “Do you like dohc?” I thought, “Am I eating dog the first night?!” And I thought of what else he might mean. “I’m sorry?” I said. “Dohc, have, uh, you eaten dohc before?” “Oh, yes. I’ve had it once. I love it.” Mr. Cho ordered duck.
His sons ran around the restaurant, which had open windows and a very large outside area, playground included. The older son Eric showed his dad the new cut on his leg, pouting about it. His leg was cut and bruised up and down, as boys’ legs tend to be.
The table face was taken up mostly by a hole where coals are placed with sweet potatoes wrapped in foil, then a grill on top, and the meat they brought was raw. We cooked it ourselves. Mr. Cho showed me how to eat. He spread a piece of kimchi (fermented cabbage) in my bowl and placed a piece of duck, a slice of garlic, onion, and a pepper on top, then rolled the cabbage. I took the piece between my two metal chopsticks and shoved the whole piece in my mouth. The duck was incredible – and there was so much. They served us the whole flock!
Mr. Cho and I shared Korean whisky, which has a nice sweetness and is not too harsh. He tought me ettiquette, which includes me serving, and accepting drink, with both hands around the cup. When he tought me, “Ol-ma-ye-yo” (“How much is this?”), he said, “Your Korean is very good.”
We finished dinner around 11.
– So began my life here in Korea.
2. School
The first few days, my eyes fluttered shut at school. “Okay,” Mr. Cho told me, “you come home now. Tonight, uh, no alcohol. You are very tired.”
The boys in class, restless, wander the room and push back and forth. The girls stay proper in their seats, answering questions. One girl finished her work and got up only to see what the others were doing – wanted something to talk about, I imagine. Two girls at the front of the class raise anxious hands and chatter, “Me! Me! Me! Me! Me! Me!” trying to be called before each other. Two boys who forgot their school books were made to do squats in the hallway for punishment. In the doorway to the teachers’ office, I looked up to see five girls staring in at me. They laughed and hurried off. During lunch, Ann opened the door and said, “Brian, they want to meet you.” She swung the door wide and stepped to the side and the boys and girls all yelled “Ooohh!” “Aaaahh!” and laughed and stared.
Except for the consistent flattery by the student’s intrigue, my first days were incredibly boring. I sat and reorganized my pencil jar.
I feel weird grading students. They’re so young and speak so well. They do better with my language than I do with theirs. I nearly got caught on the “I before E” rule by the word “receive”. It looks different when I have to teach to someone else.
3. My Life
Four days after arriving, it finally hit me: “I’m in Korea.”
This is the Land of Morning Calm. I hear no traffic in the mornings, no sirens. It’s quiet and peaceful. People stroll about the narrow roads and shops are slow to open. For breakfast, I eat grapes, bananas, trailmix, cookies, pretzels, cereal, and drink instant coffee or tea. Then I get ready for the day and head off for whatever lays ahead.
I can’t cook because I can’t read the directions. The only bad meal I’ve had was the one I made myself.
I spoke to the clerk at the grocer the other day. I said, “Como-e-yo,” (“Thank you”), which isn’t much, but he appreciated it, smiled, and, in his own tongue, said, “Yes, you’re welcome.”
A man greeted me at the intersection near my apartment. He asked “Are you a fisherman?” I said no. He said, “You need Jesus Christ. I want you come to my church on the corner.” We kept walking and stopped to go different directions. “You need Jesus Christ,” he told me. Trying to get out of the awkward conversation, I told him, “My family goes to church. I use to go with them.” I would normally divulge my philosophy, but I can’t do that to someone who won’t understand. “You come to my church,” he replied. I told him, “No, thank you.” “Okay,” he said with a smile, and we went separate ways. I went for coffee.
The girl at the coffee shop, Grazie, wore Pumas, similar to these I bought before coming here. At the coffee shop I realized, when I don’t know a word, which is (too) often, there is utter disconnect. That is, there is no point to trying to mouth words. There are no similarities between these two languages. It’s annoying how much Italian rushes back when I try to speak to the girl who wants to know if I want cream and sugar in my coffee. The back and forth, clumsy, befuddled empty air, is like ping pong with a three year old and all the two of us can do is laugh, shake our heads, and say “Sorry” in our own tongues, which still neither of us understand. So I drink black coffee.
("Does anyone speak English? I would like to learn some Korean")
I discovered the marketplace. Clothes, vegetables, fruit, meat, fish, chicken, pigs’ feet, smiling pigs’ faces lined the left, the right and the middle of a grand foyer in downtown Anyang. I tried my hand (or mouth?) at Korean here. “Cho-ge mwo-ye-yo?” (“What’s that?”) I ask. "Why’d I bother?" I ask myself as the person responds helpfully, but with lost cause, in Korean.
Boy, this ain’t Europe, where there’s hope someone around knows English. But I knew that before I came. Why SHOULD I expect someone to know English here? I’m in KOREA.
I stood staring at a tank of clams with odd appendages poking out of their shells. A man wearing a messy white apron came to me and said something I couldn’t understand, pulled a clam and squeezed the shell. Water squirt from the protruding arm. “Whoa!” I exclaimed with a laugh. “Co-map-sim-ni-da,” (“Thank you”) I told him. He put it back, walked back into his booth, and I walked on.
I discovered Anyang proper, where the streets are lined with trends and fads and hangouts. They love capitalism here. Ground level clothes, downstairs bars, upstairs restaurants and any variation of these options in every building. I found an arcade. I found a pool hall below the street. I found a basement vintage store. Girls stood outside of some sort of club wearing skirts that stopped upper-mid-thigh (but cleavage is a no-no in Korea) and I moved on. I looked left and saw shops. I looked right and saw bars. I looked ahead and saw a bus coming at me through the traffic of pedestrians.
4. Back to My Old Ways
Last night I returned to work late to help remodel. I worked until midnight. Mr. Cho told me “You may not teach English, but you are a good worker.” He was so impressed by my ability to put six classrooms worth of chairs into the tiny bathroom. I thought it was funny. I thought, “I’m an American. I’m use to fitting a lot of crap into a small space.” And the fact I just moved my entire life in a guitar case, a suitcase, a carry-on, and a backpack, this is nothing new.
On my walk home, which takes seven minutes, the green pedestrian light turned to let me cross the intersection. Two cars, two more cars, a taxi following behind went barreling through the red light, honking to let everyone know, “I’m not stopping.” I looked further down the road to make sure and saw three lanes of stopped traffic, then crossed.
I woke early this morning and returned to continue help remodel. Mr. Cho said, “You come sleep with me in the car.” He’d worked til 5. He got in the front of his best friend’s car. His best friend was already snoring. I got in the back, and there I was, working labor, sleeping in a car again…
5. So Here I Am
Things aren’t all that different here. Cars beep their horns; teachers console crying students; the girl behind the counter drops an occasional glass; straws gurgle when I slurp the last of my smoothie; it’s like home here, I just wish I could talk to somebody. But the discomfort caused by confusion at the checkout line, stares that say, “You must be lost,” the smiles from faces that pretend to understand my English, so I keep talking, but they actually have no idea; the difficulty of conversation, even with the English teachers; not knowing what there is to do here, so I wander aimlessly and discover a mall, a marketplace, the “Mockingbird Station” of Anyang, South Korea – this is why I came.
