I write from my apartment overlooking the southern Cheonju farmland. The heat from midday has subsided and there is an intermittent breeze from the east. This is the fifth evening spent at my homestay - the Choi family. Mr. Choi is an architect and Mrs. Choi works in his office. Young Jun and Young Jin - third and first year middle school boys respectively - are my new brothers. Jun and Jin, as they are called for short, are more than proficient with English and have been a great help in easing my transition.
My circumstances, from what I can gather through limited correspondence with other ETA's, are fairly fortunate. 'Apartment' might be slightly misleading: the Choi's graciously opened the entire second floor of their house to me. On my second day a refrigerator was delivered to my efficiency kitchen. I have an air-conditioned bedroom which is a blessing (the heat can be stiffling) and a sitting area with a large couch.
My bathroom would be slightly odd to Americans - there is no discernible shower area beyond a hose that extends from the faucet at the sink. After asking Jun, I realized that the entire bathroom was tiled or otherwise waterproof and the floor is ever-so-slightly graded to lead to a drain below the counter. To shower, I stand infront of the sink, turn a handle to direct the water to the handheld nozzle, and scrub-a-dub-dub in the middle of the bathroom.
The Choi's have been tremendous thus far. Each meal consists of more food than I could possibly finish. On more than one occasion I have detected the close gaze of Mrs. Choi as she tries to detect my food preferences from my reaction to the dishes put before me. On the second night we made light conversation at the table by naming all the Korean foods I could. Jin translated that his mother enjoyed beer and I agreed. No more than two hours later Mrs. Choi returned with a five-can sampling of Korean beer from the store with which to stock my refrigerator and a frozen Korean dessert for the boys and myself.
Sun Young - my co-teacher at Se Kwang Middle School - has been equally generous in this element of my new life. She has spent the better part of this week shepherding me around Cheonju as I opened a bank account, acquired a cell phone, and attempted to understand the geography of the city and how to navigate the buses. Sun Young has a car and was not familiar herself with the extensive bus network of Cheonju. We had some fun mishaps hopping on and off incorrect buses as we made our way to the center of town and back. On more than one occasion she has confided that I am the first foreigner with whom she has spoken for more than ten minutes, but I find her English to be excellent.
Our students at school, however, are a slightly different story. I have taught more than a few lessons this week in what is a summer camp of sorts before school officially starts next week. Some of my material has been met with blank stares of incomprehension and some with perfectly-constructed and complex responses - both within the same class. Of course - one might comment - that's why I am here. One foreseeable challenge that I am not relishing, however, is the behavior of my students. Within an hour of stepping foot in my school, I witnessed full-out sprinting down the hallways, playful yet violent physical encounters, and a decibel level not even the loudest school bus in the United States would reach. Sometimes I can't help but smile at what I see - I was a middle school boy once after all. One memorable trick we never thought of in the States was to fully open a door and pin a classmate behind it - tossing things on him through the opening left between the ceiling and the top of the door!
I suspect that might be a strategy for me throughout the approaching year. Not the pinning of students behind doors, but rather maintaining my sense of humor. Already I have laughed at some of the responses my questions have elicited. I'll digress for a moment - I played a game today with a blank clock on the board and called out times for the students to fill in by writing the hour and minute hand. One stumped - but resilient - student decided to snake the hour hand all over the clock face in hopes of including the correct time. Once I figure out a way to get their attention in less than three minutes and while salvaging my voice, I think there is great potential for a fun year in the classroom.
This post began by jumping right into the fun and, I suppose, somewhat expected anecdotes about life as a member of a cultural exchange. Building ties with a new host family and struggling with a language have been written about before and will be written hence as long as students look for adventure and for themselves in foreign lands.
In touching upon these somewhat cliche elements first, I neglected the final days of orientation. Perhaps I was going to save that thread for a post unto itself, but if I'm honest with myself and honest with you, I will confess that the subject is a sad one for me. I've noted is previous posts that I did not factor in orientation nearly as much as the other parts of the Fulbright before I left. I've gone on to note how much I enjoyed the program and, at it's core, my classmates. I was reminded the other day that most of my friends just parted with college and all it's tremendous perspective and people mere months prior to arriving in Korea. My withdrawal ran it's course a few years ago.
That being said, keen readers might recall my referring to orientation as a collegiate renaissance of sorts for me. And with the good comes the bad. The late night philosophical discussions and dormitory kinship accompany the late night studying and dormitory bathrooms. For me, I am now persevering through a second wave of separation anxiety. I've experienced smart fellow students, forming dear friendships, and impromptu entertaining episodes many a time, but never with such a cohesive collection as I have here. Part of this must be the happy outcome of the unique circumstances in which we all found ourselves, but I like to think - and hope - that part of this must be something special.
And so I write this in part for my friends here that are recent graduates - though a bit removed myself, I think I understand. I also write in part for myself. The shadows have stretched along the fields since I began this post - a subtle reminder of the transient nature of both my time in Korea - and life all together I suppose. How many times throughout the years, when I reached a milestone, could I have penned similar words? How many convictions, how many close companions have we let set beyond the horizon...into mere memory? I can only hope that by virtue of my maturing enough to see this perspective that therein lies something different with this experience. And while countless commencement addresses have hinged upon the idea that an end is only a beginning, for now I am content to contemplate upon the past six weeks, seeing not a conclusion, but a continuation.
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