"Our friends, neighbors, colleagues, family - if all the people in our inner circle resemble us, it means we are surrounded with our mirror image. It's not healthy for a human being to spend too much time staring at his own reflection. Communities of the like-minded is one of the greatest dangers of today's globalized world. We form clusters based on similarity and then we form stereotypes about other clusters."
http://www.ted.com/talks/elif_shafak_the_politics_of_fiction.html
I need to post this TED talk here so that every time I look back over this blog, I might watch it again. This woman has just rocked my world, because until now I have thought that I'm a broad-minded individual who appreciates diversity. But after listening to her speak I've realized that most of my friends are like me: we have the same views on religion, politics, and other spheres that tend to group people into divisive clusters. My friendships here in Korea haven't been quite as clusterrific as the ones in Chicago or Bloomington, but that's because they were initially formed on survivalist instincts.
I am now more grateful for my friends and family who are unlike me, and I encourage those who are reading this to ponder what I am calling "clusterphobia." Many people have claustrophobia, and can you blame them? Shouldn't we be afraid of enclosed spaces that make us feel suffocated?
It doesn't appear that "cluster" and the Latin root "claustrum" have the same etymology (although that kind of linguistic consonance would have been sweet!), but enclosing ourselves in a community of like-minded individuals can be just as scary and inhibiting, especially when we are oblivious to how it's preventing us from thinking and imagining freely. I think we should all be afraid of the damaging effects of our clusters and instead challenge ourselves to look for the aspects of our humanity that connect us. Yeah, we may disagree on what happens to us after death, but can we at least acknowledge that we all are united in searching for that answer? And we disagree on how to govern ourselves, but don't we also idolize many historical figures who had different viewpoints from our own?
These our just my thoughts, and I in no way expect you to agree with them. But please do share your own, because I now have a severe case of clusterphobia.
Saturday, July 17, 2010
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Desk Fairies
When I was a kid, I used to love it when I'd come home from school with a plastic baggy containing a tooth I had yanked out earlier that day. I loved the anticipation of going to sleep that night, because I knew that my worthless tooth would turn into a useful treat: usually a piece of chocolate or a shiny silver dollar.
Since I arrived in Korea, I have been able to re-live that experience over and over again. The only difference is, I don't need to go through the process of getting all bloody as I yank something out of my body before it's ready to come out just so I can get my dollar and go to the candy store to buy something that will make all of my teeth fall out someday. Now, all I need to do is leave my desk to go teach a class.
From the very first day at school, I noticed this strange phenomenon where I'd come back to my desk and find that someone had left a treat for me. Usually it's a rice cake or a vitamin drink or a cookie. Sometimes, it's something bigger, like a sandwich or coffee or pens with the school name on them. At first I assumed that the gifts were from one of my new friends, but I soon discovered that they come from all over.
Maybe one of the teachers had an excess of free make-up samples from the store and decided to pass them out. Or maybe the moms of the eleventh grade students wanted to show their appreciation by giving all of the teachers rice cakes at the end of a quarter. Or there simply might be bread rolls left over from the Baking Club's previous experiment. Whatever the source, I like to imagine that there's some little Korean monk with a large Santa Clause-esque sack walking up and down the rows of desks, placing the treats on the desks with tender care and a mischievous smile on his face. I always come back to my desk and say a silent thank you to the little monk man and then open my treat to enjoy it.
Today, however, I would rather not imagine that the fairy is a man. Because when I came back to my desk I found a brown paper bag... filled with PANTY LINERS. (For you men who might be unaware, these are what women use when their menstrual cycle is light)... Is a company advertising their new line of product? Is someone trying to tell me that I'm dirty because I use tampons? Or did a female teacher simply stock up on them when they were on sale and then she unexpectedly got menopause early? I could ask one of my co-teachers, but part of me doesn't want to know.
It's way more fun to just sit here and LOL as I have another blissful "Only in Korea" moment.
Since I arrived in Korea, I have been able to re-live that experience over and over again. The only difference is, I don't need to go through the process of getting all bloody as I yank something out of my body before it's ready to come out just so I can get my dollar and go to the candy store to buy something that will make all of my teeth fall out someday. Now, all I need to do is leave my desk to go teach a class.
From the very first day at school, I noticed this strange phenomenon where I'd come back to my desk and find that someone had left a treat for me. Usually it's a rice cake or a vitamin drink or a cookie. Sometimes, it's something bigger, like a sandwich or coffee or pens with the school name on them. At first I assumed that the gifts were from one of my new friends, but I soon discovered that they come from all over.
Maybe one of the teachers had an excess of free make-up samples from the store and decided to pass them out. Or maybe the moms of the eleventh grade students wanted to show their appreciation by giving all of the teachers rice cakes at the end of a quarter. Or there simply might be bread rolls left over from the Baking Club's previous experiment. Whatever the source, I like to imagine that there's some little Korean monk with a large Santa Clause-esque sack walking up and down the rows of desks, placing the treats on the desks with tender care and a mischievous smile on his face. I always come back to my desk and say a silent thank you to the little monk man and then open my treat to enjoy it.
Today, however, I would rather not imagine that the fairy is a man. Because when I came back to my desk I found a brown paper bag... filled with PANTY LINERS. (For you men who might be unaware, these are what women use when their menstrual cycle is light)... Is a company advertising their new line of product? Is someone trying to tell me that I'm dirty because I use tampons? Or did a female teacher simply stock up on them when they were on sale and then she unexpectedly got menopause early? I could ask one of my co-teachers, but part of me doesn't want to know.
It's way more fun to just sit here and LOL as I have another blissful "Only in Korea" moment.
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
1st Semester reflections
The Korean people I've met tend to not be very adventurous. Whether it's eating ethnic food or exploring different areas of the city, they tend to not bother unless someone whom they trust with their life introduces them to it. For example, my co-teachers are always surprised when I talk about what I do on my weekends. "You went where? How did you know it existed?" They don't understand how my friends and I can discover new restaurants/bars/beaches/monuments/sales on our own, without a Korean guide. I try to explain the concept of hopping on a train/bus/subway/scooter/skateboard and then spontaneously deciding to get off to explore a new area, and they're completely baffled. "Annie, you so brave!"
I think this is a result of their collectivist, Confucius-inspired society, where people always stay near their families and always do everything together, whereas Westerners are brought up learning about the history of "Go forth! Explore the frontier! You may lose your oxen forging a river, but it's better than living in the State of Abeyance!" So when I say that Koreans are not adventurous, I don't intend to sound like a snob who is looking down on them. I am simply stating my observations of how they appear to not understand the concept of searching for an unknown location on the internet, or calling several different people until they find the right authority to ask a question about school policy or the class schedule or some other unknown important piece of information. Instead, they think for a second and offer their best guess:
Me: When is summer vacation?
Co-teacher: After the exams?
Me: Immediately after the exams? July 5th?
Co-teacher: Maybe?
Me: I need to plan my vacation.
Co-teacher: Maybe somebody will tell us?
Me: Can we ask someone now?
Co-teacher: (turns to another teacher and asks in Korean) She thinks vacation is July 16th.
Me: Is it free time? I heard that we have to teach English camp?
Co-teacher: Probably a camp.
Me: How many weeks of camp?
Co-teacher: maybe somebody will tell us?
This is a very typical conversation here. Sometimes I want to pull my hair out. Other times, I feel like a mean, pushy person when I say "Let's call the person in charge, someone in the administration's office. Right now. We have some free time, let's figure out the answer to this now by calling the authorities." But that will usually bite me in the butt because the admin person might give us an answer that is simply a guess, because they didn't know how to look up the real answer.
Two other amusing Korean characteristics are that A)they always break the rules if no one is looking, and B) they don't know how to be blunt when they have a problem with someone. One example that perfectly ties these two cultural phenomena together is the weekly tradition of leaving school to eat lunch when we don't want the cafeteria food.
It started out the third week I was here when my co-teacher mentioned that we were going to a restaurant for lunch. I of course brought my purse (which is more like a large overnight bag) with me, and all of the teachers asked, "Annie why do you bring your bag?" I noticed that several of them had their billfolds, so I was confused as to why they were surprised that I would bring a purse. Maybe they were just astonished by how big my bag was? I replied, "This is my purse, I always bring it when I go out." They nodded their heads as if they didn't understand. But they didn't say anything more, so I just kept my distance in case they were afraid that my cheap nylon bag would rub off on their designer clothes.
What I didn't know at the time was that it wasn't the quality of my bag that bothered them but the size and the glaring burnt-orange color that attracted unwanted attention. They were trying to sneak out of the school without any sign that they were going to their cars instead of going to the cafeteria, and I was blowing their cover.
Why didn't they simply tell me this? Because they were worried about offending me. Koreans don't know how to ask blunt questions or say something directly to someone that could possibly offend them, so they couldn't say to me "Annie, your bag is too conspicuous. Just bring your wallet, because it's small and no one will notice it." If I had had the Korean sense known as "nunchi," the ability to pick up on the intended/hidden meaning of what someone is trying to tell you, then I would have replied, "Oh, you know what? This bag is definitely too heavy. Wait a minute, and I'll go put it down by my desk."
Some people view this behavior as passive-aggressive, like when a Korean person asks "Are you cold?" when they really want to say "Put some damn clothes on, you slut." But I think it's kind of beautiful that everyone tries to be polite in order to avoid making anyone feel uncomfortable or left out.
This was best shown during my first week in Korea when I was at orientation. We were taking Korean language lessons each night from a man who had either never been a teacher before, or who had never taught the Korean language to non-Korean people. After two lessons, we still didn't know the alphabet or how to say hello, so a few of us mentioned this to our team leaders. The next night, our teacher came in with a scarf tied around his neck, complaining of having a cold. He gave each of us a juice and said he was sorry he was too sick to teach us anymore and that we would be getting a substitute teacher for the remainder of the week. We looked around at one another with a silent question of "Is he serious? Is he actually sick? Crap, did we get him fired?" Then we just nodded our heads, and guiltily said "We're so sorry that you're sick." We felt really guilty, but going to our team leaders to tell them so would have only made them feel more uncomfortable about letting him go, so we decided that never mentioning it again was probably the best thing to do.
Another common thing in Korean culture is to bend the rules, or break them altogether, so long as the authorities aren't looking. For example, you'll never see a Korean person wearing a seat belt, because they don't think a police officer would ever find out about it. In fact, when I get into a car and put on my seat belt, someone will usually laugh and point at the person driving, saying something like "Annie thinks you are crazy driver! She doesn't feel safe!"
I couldn't understand why my co-teachers felt the need to sneak out of school for lunch instead of just letting the Vice-Principal know and asking for permission. Why risk getting reprimanded? But after many weeks of doing this, I discovered that they didn't want to ask the Vice-Principal, because he didn't want to pose the question/situation to the Principal, who didn't want to mention it to the head administrator, who didn't want to have to answer to the Pusan Office of Education if someone ever found out about it. Everybody wanted to stay under the pretense that the teachers at Puil High School are dedicated to their jobs, and they would never think of leaving the school during hours in which they are paid, and they would never dress in a way that's unprofessional and they would never let the students watch a movie in order to rest after a hectic exam week, etc. As long as everyone turns their head and doesn't have to officially acknowledge that any of these things happen, the school can continue to boast that only the most professional people work here.
Now that I better understand the system, I keep my phone and money in my pocket when I leave school for lunch, I wear the hosiery that only covers my foot when it's too hot to wear pantyhose which cover my entire leg, and I turn in a lesson plan stating that I will teach the significance of the Declaration of Independence and it's history, complete with powerpoint presentations and group discussions, when I actually plan on showing the movie National Treasure.
For the 1st semester of teaching in Korean school, the score is in:
Annie - 1 : Ridiculous Korean administrative loopholes - 0
I think this is a result of their collectivist, Confucius-inspired society, where people always stay near their families and always do everything together, whereas Westerners are brought up learning about the history of "Go forth! Explore the frontier! You may lose your oxen forging a river, but it's better than living in the State of Abeyance!" So when I say that Koreans are not adventurous, I don't intend to sound like a snob who is looking down on them. I am simply stating my observations of how they appear to not understand the concept of searching for an unknown location on the internet, or calling several different people until they find the right authority to ask a question about school policy or the class schedule or some other unknown important piece of information. Instead, they think for a second and offer their best guess:
Me: When is summer vacation?
Co-teacher: After the exams?
Me: Immediately after the exams? July 5th?
Co-teacher: Maybe?
Me: I need to plan my vacation.
Co-teacher: Maybe somebody will tell us?
Me: Can we ask someone now?
Co-teacher: (turns to another teacher and asks in Korean) She thinks vacation is July 16th.
Me: Is it free time? I heard that we have to teach English camp?
Co-teacher: Probably a camp.
Me: How many weeks of camp?
Co-teacher: maybe somebody will tell us?
This is a very typical conversation here. Sometimes I want to pull my hair out. Other times, I feel like a mean, pushy person when I say "Let's call the person in charge, someone in the administration's office. Right now. We have some free time, let's figure out the answer to this now by calling the authorities." But that will usually bite me in the butt because the admin person might give us an answer that is simply a guess, because they didn't know how to look up the real answer.
Two other amusing Korean characteristics are that A)they always break the rules if no one is looking, and B) they don't know how to be blunt when they have a problem with someone. One example that perfectly ties these two cultural phenomena together is the weekly tradition of leaving school to eat lunch when we don't want the cafeteria food.
It started out the third week I was here when my co-teacher mentioned that we were going to a restaurant for lunch. I of course brought my purse (which is more like a large overnight bag) with me, and all of the teachers asked, "Annie why do you bring your bag?" I noticed that several of them had their billfolds, so I was confused as to why they were surprised that I would bring a purse. Maybe they were just astonished by how big my bag was? I replied, "This is my purse, I always bring it when I go out." They nodded their heads as if they didn't understand. But they didn't say anything more, so I just kept my distance in case they were afraid that my cheap nylon bag would rub off on their designer clothes.
What I didn't know at the time was that it wasn't the quality of my bag that bothered them but the size and the glaring burnt-orange color that attracted unwanted attention. They were trying to sneak out of the school without any sign that they were going to their cars instead of going to the cafeteria, and I was blowing their cover.
Why didn't they simply tell me this? Because they were worried about offending me. Koreans don't know how to ask blunt questions or say something directly to someone that could possibly offend them, so they couldn't say to me "Annie, your bag is too conspicuous. Just bring your wallet, because it's small and no one will notice it." If I had had the Korean sense known as "nunchi," the ability to pick up on the intended/hidden meaning of what someone is trying to tell you, then I would have replied, "Oh, you know what? This bag is definitely too heavy. Wait a minute, and I'll go put it down by my desk."
Some people view this behavior as passive-aggressive, like when a Korean person asks "Are you cold?" when they really want to say "Put some damn clothes on, you slut." But I think it's kind of beautiful that everyone tries to be polite in order to avoid making anyone feel uncomfortable or left out.
This was best shown during my first week in Korea when I was at orientation. We were taking Korean language lessons each night from a man who had either never been a teacher before, or who had never taught the Korean language to non-Korean people. After two lessons, we still didn't know the alphabet or how to say hello, so a few of us mentioned this to our team leaders. The next night, our teacher came in with a scarf tied around his neck, complaining of having a cold. He gave each of us a juice and said he was sorry he was too sick to teach us anymore and that we would be getting a substitute teacher for the remainder of the week. We looked around at one another with a silent question of "Is he serious? Is he actually sick? Crap, did we get him fired?" Then we just nodded our heads, and guiltily said "We're so sorry that you're sick." We felt really guilty, but going to our team leaders to tell them so would have only made them feel more uncomfortable about letting him go, so we decided that never mentioning it again was probably the best thing to do.
Another common thing in Korean culture is to bend the rules, or break them altogether, so long as the authorities aren't looking. For example, you'll never see a Korean person wearing a seat belt, because they don't think a police officer would ever find out about it. In fact, when I get into a car and put on my seat belt, someone will usually laugh and point at the person driving, saying something like "Annie thinks you are crazy driver! She doesn't feel safe!"
I couldn't understand why my co-teachers felt the need to sneak out of school for lunch instead of just letting the Vice-Principal know and asking for permission. Why risk getting reprimanded? But after many weeks of doing this, I discovered that they didn't want to ask the Vice-Principal, because he didn't want to pose the question/situation to the Principal, who didn't want to mention it to the head administrator, who didn't want to have to answer to the Pusan Office of Education if someone ever found out about it. Everybody wanted to stay under the pretense that the teachers at Puil High School are dedicated to their jobs, and they would never think of leaving the school during hours in which they are paid, and they would never dress in a way that's unprofessional and they would never let the students watch a movie in order to rest after a hectic exam week, etc. As long as everyone turns their head and doesn't have to officially acknowledge that any of these things happen, the school can continue to boast that only the most professional people work here.
Now that I better understand the system, I keep my phone and money in my pocket when I leave school for lunch, I wear the hosiery that only covers my foot when it's too hot to wear pantyhose which cover my entire leg, and I turn in a lesson plan stating that I will teach the significance of the Declaration of Independence and it's history, complete with powerpoint presentations and group discussions, when I actually plan on showing the movie National Treasure.
For the 1st semester of teaching in Korean school, the score is in:
Annie - 1 : Ridiculous Korean administrative loopholes - 0
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