The Problem

The problem’s a teacher faces sometimes does not end with student’s unwillingness to learn or participate, but with how the student’s unwillingness affects the teacher’s attitude. I’ve come to realize how easily my mood can shift when a class or single student “doesn’t feel” like doing what I have planned for them. It can easily ruin my day. Consequently, my attitude toward the class begins shift toward apathy; mostly because it is very difficult to continue preaching to uninterested and bored students. Unfortunately for the children, I can’t play games every single day. Sometimes, straight book work is required to understand meanings and pronunciation of the language.

However, this is not where the main focus of my difficulties lies. I can completely understand that some days, school is not the place to be. Moreover, it is when I have to move on to the next class that I start feeling the distinction between the titles: teacher and great teacher. A teacher will let the previous class linger in their mind, effectively destroying the opportunities of any subsequent student. A great teacher can withhold their emotions of prior classes in order to give the students an optimal learning environment. I believe that this is what begins to define the characteristics of great teachers (aside from the preparation).

It is very difficult to shut out emotional responses and bottle them up for hours possibly days. I can now honestly say to all my past teachers: I feel your pain. And maybe I am a tiny bit sorry being the main source of your anguish…sometimes…maybe…

Sore Thumb

Things have certainly started to slow down a bit, here in Sangju, South Korea. Experiences that were once culturally shocking are now becoming normal everyday occurrences. Supermarket, restaurants and bars were all things that were once considered an adventure and a true test of character are now too common to be considered extraordinary. I do, however, want to make it very clear that in no way am I bored; I am getting used to my surroundings.

Unfortunately, it is still impossible for me to blend in. Rick, an Australian who has lived in Korea for 7 years and speaks Korean very, very well, explained this to me in a very basic manner. He said, “How many Westerners do you know that live in Sangju?”

I replied, “Give or take 15 people.”

Rick responded, “Of those 15 people, how many of them hang out with Koreans like we do.”

I said, “Only three people.” I was talking about Rick, Kelsey and myself.

“Right, so out of the entire population of Sangju, only 3 Westerners are seen in public. In a larger city, like Seoul, there are too many Westerners to count. They can blend in. Here, it is very easy to gain a reputation (good or bad). And when you do something, everybody is going to find out about it.”

I completely understood what he meant; and yet, I was slightly skeptical. This was until I finally had a firsthand experience to explain what he meant. I walked into a bar that Rick had taken me too only once when I first arrived. The owner/bartender immediately walked over to where Rick and I sat down and she said, “Rick, Adam, it’s good to see you again!”

I had no memory of ever meeting her. I barely remembered the interior of the bar, let alone any names or faces.

Rick turned to me and said, “See man, you just stick out. They don’t forget what the Westerners do around here.”

It was certainly some good advice from someone who knows the ropes around here. No matter what, I am going to be the center of attention...awesome!!!

Balls

“Balls.”

“Ballsh.”

“Ball’S’.”

“Ballsh.”

“ssss.”

“ssshhhh.”

“ssss.”

“sssshhh.”

This went back and forth for five minutes before I decided too much time had been spent trying to procure the ‘s’ sound from a little boy who was at the mercy of a speech impediment. I knew it wasn’t his fault that the sound the letter ‘s’ makes is sometimes too difficult for someone with a dinner plate for a tongue, but he was frustrated that all of his classmates had successful pronunciations.

“Teacher, teacher! ‘sshhhh’.”

All I could say was, “It’s getting better, keep trying.” Adding to the situation was the fact that he was trying to say the word ‘balls’. Which, being an immature person, I found funny after constant repetition. It also didn’t help that he understood he was at a disadvantage and was trying to compensate by contorting his face to try and make the sound differently. The little engine that could (or couldn’t) must have said ‘balls’ nearly a hundred times with a different hysterical face each time. He was completely aware that he looked ridiculous and laughed along with everyone else in the class. I am sure he was making some of the faces for the pleasure of his classmates, but, by and large he was trying and failing.

Poor guy. At least he wasn’t trying to say ‘nutsh’ or ‘teshticlesh’.

Dr. Fish

Time is certainly relative; I’ve been here in Korea for five weeks now. Slightly over a month has gone by and, already, I feel as though I have assimilated into the culture with ease. I’ve learned to read Hangul (the written form of Korean), I can navigate the bus and subway system with ease, I can order food and a beer, I can eat food and drink a beer, I have made a countless number of new friends and yet, everyday still is packed with new adventures.

Life in Sangju is far from what I would consider a city lifestyle. It is a little more relaxed than the fast paced life of a Seoulite, however, it still contains the necessary requirements to be fun and exciting. There are plenty of people, enough restaurants to keep a man full and a 24 hour public transportation system. Although, some things that make Korea such a cultural hotspot can only be experienced in the cities.

This particular experience occurred in a part of Incheon called the Art Center, accompanied by Steve and Ferrin. However, don’t let the name Art Center fool you; it’s as much of a city as Greenwich Village is a city. It is here a café called Dr. Fish exists. Upon entering Dr. Fish, the first appearance is of a very normal coffee shop. Some people sat at tables, others sat on couches, all sipping their vanilla lattes or lavender teas. What makes Dr. Fish different from a hometown coffee shop is the ‘fish’ in Dr. Fish. No, we did not eat fish or consume them in any form. In fact, they kind of ate us.

At the rear of the shop is a fish tank sunken into the floor. Inside, dozens of small fish, the size of my index finger, swim about looking hungry for human flesh. What we did next what quite new to me. Steve, Ferrin and I removed our shoes and, on the count of 3, placed our feet firmly at the bottom of the tank and let the fish, how shall I say, have at us. The fish began to nip at our feet with great fervor. At first, I couldn’t keep my feet in the tank for more than a few seconds or nips…whichever came first. However, after getting used to the feeling, I was able to allow up to 20 fish to simultaneously bite my feet.

I don’t want to give any wrong impressions here. The ‘bites’ or ‘nips’ tickled more than anything, but because it was such a new, interesting and extremely strange feeling, it was slightly uncomfortable. After 15 minutes of hysterical laughing and a few zen like trances, we removed our feet from the tank, replaced our shoes and left Dr. Fish. I will say, due to the 15 minutes of constant tension in our legs from the strange feeling of fish, afterwards we all felt very relaxed and mellow.

I would absolutely do it again, it was a lot of fun. The laughter from the faces made during the nip session made it all well worth the 2000 won it cost to have the experience. Plus, the Korean’s watching us seemed to love our crazy expressions and uncomfortable faces. It was total enjoyment for all.

This is a squid who has only a few more hours to live. Poor guy. You're fried.