Time continues to be a nebulous phenomenon in my life, which I find to be even more apparent as I do this one year commitment on the other side of the world. I have something written I will share that I wrote about a month and a half ago, though it dually seems like forever and not that long ago. When I find myself with an unplanned weekend day ahead of me, I enjoy researching a Korean adventure to embark upon. This particular Saturday I found the Seoul Folk Flea Market, which intrigued me with every word. I love random shit and Flea Markets are chalk full of that, so I set my sights there and set out for an adventure. It turned out to be just what I hoped; the biggest and most random flea market I have ever been to. I made it there as the sun was getting low in the sky, and was 
bowled over at all the stuff being sold: military style clothes (circa Quint’s Army/Navy), old sweaters, statues of everything you could imagine, old typewriters with Korean letters, old bikes (like a REALLY old bike with a huge front wheel and a small back one), belt buckles, cowboy boots, winter boots, seemingly real but varnished sea turtles, one crocodile of the same deal as the sea turtles in an aquarium on a bed of rocks, guitars, broken accordions, trumpets, bugles, and record players. I wanted so much stuff and I was glad I had the whole ‘how the hell would I ever get this back to America’ thing to think about otherwise I would have dropped a pretty penny.
After I shopped until I could look at no more, I went to the food court. Whenever I hear ‘food court’ I think of a mall and options of food such as burgers, fries, Chinese food, hoagies, tacos, salads, etc. This food court had none of that. There were little tent/booths set up along one wall with little coolers and portable burners in each one. I have come to realize that Koreans can cook anything, anywhere, usually whilst sitting on their haunches. I think most of the Korean words that I know deal with food, so I mustered up my courage (as there were only Koreans in this food court), approached a lady, gestured to sit down?, and asked for chigee (soup.) I wanted chamchi chigae (tuna soup, so good), but instead I got kimchi chigae, equally as good. The lady smiled at me, directed me where to sit, brought over a space heater (the flea market was in a tented-like building with no heat), and some side dishes of acorn jelly, fish cakes, dried seaweed, and a mixture of wet seaweed and cucumbers. I had bought a Time magazine to read just for this occasion, which I did in between checking out the folks around me.
I was mostly surrounded by Korean men drinking copious amounts of alcohol. At one table there were two old men with seven empty bottles of beer – those bigger bottles that hold at least three beers. Another table held seven older men drinking soju (a kind of cheap liquor) and mackolee (rice liquor.) They had many, many empty bottles and were conversing loudly in Korean, every once in a while shouting ‘adjuma!’, which was a call to one of the older female workers to bring more booze, or another snack. My soup came pretty quickly in a cast-iron like pot that goes directly onto the stove so the soup is served BOILING. Like a rolling boil. Like you’re super hungry and then your meal finally comes, but it’s so hot you have to wait at least 10 minutes before you can eat it. All of that food, the sides, the soup and the huge side of rice with it, was only 4,000 won, less than $4.00. Amazing. It was another experience that I had here that made me glad I can do things on my own, and also made me thankful that I’m here and doing all of this growing.
Speaking of which, I continue to get glimpses of what it’s like to be a grown-up; living on your own, traveling by yourself, getting a ‘real’ job out of college, paying your own bills, disposing of nose boogers in a tissue instead of flicking or wiping them somewhere you’ll forget about, or the even more grown up approach of using a tissue to pick your nose instead of your finger (come on, everyone picks their nose), getting rid of underwear with holes in them and getting new ones (even if your mom still buys them for you), buying life necessities over $100, hanging out with older people who aren’t your parents or your parents friends, learning something new and impressing your family, handling a semi-crisis on your own, and plenty other things that I’m sure are going through your head as you read this. It’s awesome to do all of these things; to gain the independence that we all craved during our adolescent years, but sometimes I miss having a big yellow bus drop me off at home, running inside, opening the bottom drawer of my dresser and putting on my favorite play clothes outfit and running out the door to meet up with my friends to play games, find frogs and shoot the shit. (Oh my God, my mom packed me the best lunch today! Billy totally gave me a candy ring when Mrs. C was playing guitar for us in class today. I hurt my ankle in gym today. I got a new pencil. Did you know that 2 X 8 is 16? In 23 days we are going on a field trip to the zoo. Do you want my Warhead candy after I suck off the sour part?...) I wonder how long these experiences will keep happening, though I’m not sure of the answer that I desire.
My mom came to visit for the week of Christmas, which was both super fun and jammed packed and began with her getting a purple streak in her hair. Our time together made me feel a bit nostalgic thinking of myself as a kid and stepping outside of myself to see how much I have grown in my life, and even in these past five plus months that I have been here. Being with my mama also made me think a lot about the future, and it’s not just because she kept asking ‘Where are you going next?? I’ll come and visit you. I like Germany, or somewhere in Europe.” I have no idea what I want to do next, but I do realize how important family and friends are to me. Part of me wants to go home and find a job, but I think there is a bigger part of me that wants to explore this big, bad ‘ol world of ours and see what more it has to offer a gal from Factoryville, Pennsylvania. I enjoy being here – teaching, exploring, learning – but I feel as though I can go somewhere else to learn more, do more, help more and fulfill my desires on a deeper level. It’s thrilling and overwhelming.
Our semester at school comes to a close on the last day of January, which is one reason why I’m thinking so much about the future. I have almost completed half of my contract here and have been asked to stay for another six months until the end of the next school year. Things have been odd at school with enrollment down, some Korean staff getting fired, less foreign teachers getting hired, other foreign teachers getting asked to do odd jobs and the like, so I am unsure of my Korean future.
I do know that I am thankful for my Korean past, especially the kids that I have been teaching. I will miss my first Kindy class immensely as they have brought me so much joy and taught me so much. They are start
ing to realize that we only have a short amount of time left together and have been even more endearing to me; I get called ‘mommy’ multiple times a day, they grab my hand to walk together in the halls (and as I only have two hands and there are nine kids some arguments ensue), I have been getting lots of pictures of myself and students with the word ‘love’ somewhere on them, impromptu ‘shoulder’ massages during Circle Time (though as they are from a seven year old they consist of a repetitive squeeze of the bones on the outer part of my shoulder), and sometimes they just come up to me and look me deep in the eyes, smile and walk away. Each of these experiences is a justification of my chosen profession and makes me tear up a little.
I’ll end this with two quick stories about teaching English in a foreign land. There are four girls in my Kindy class and I called them ‘gals’ the other day because I’m so hip I can’t stand it. Barbie (she’s not blonde and I have never met a Korean named Ken) looked confused and asked what gals were. “Oh you know, like girls, but a little cooler.” “So is it like the past tense of girl?” Or the other student I had that was really intrigued by these earrings I have that are made from Diet Rite bottle caps with a tiny fork, spoon, and knife hanging down. After she held them, pretended to cut up food and eat it, she looked at me and very seriously wanted to know why there were no chopsticks.
I hope those of you that read this are doing well. Until next time.
