Bon Gout*

Bon Gout*
Originally uploaded by punk_rock_baby.

Sat:
Korean Archery is watching a bird take flight.
Hiked vertically up mountain.
The closest I’ve ever been to a semi-automatic, when three Korean soldiers in full gear hiked past to their tower.
Mystery of the day, why we couldn’t take pictures over looking Seoul. And if the men in black track suits were military or secret service.
Quote of the day (when talking of trying to take pictures of Seoul): “It be great except for the fog and the guns.”
Find of the day, Café Gout. Coffee anyone?

Sun:
Masjid.
Bought Oscar Wilde Collection of Short Stories.
Good coffee and free peanut butter cookie while reading good book(All Men are Mortal).
Wandering.
Walked up hill to Leeum Museum of Art.

Lesson: In Korea, just keep walking around the hill, eventually you’ll get there.

For My Mother

Arial of Gyeongbokgung
Originally uploaded by punk_rock_baby.

The ring in this picture was given to me by my mother. She bought it in Ireland for me. Whenever I look at it I remember her. I'm afraid one day I'll lose it. I shouldn't be afraid. It's just a symbol, it isn't my mother's love, just a reminder of it. But sometimes the symbols, mean so much. One of my new songs sings, "Give me the words that tell me nothing. Oh, give me the words, give me the words that tell me everything."

My mother called me wondering if I was okay, if I was regretting times gone by. Times, when things were different. There was a time in our family when those three little words weren't said(or not said enough). It was a said time, but now they're over. Things have changed, and I am happy about that. Things needed to change. Things will hopefully continue to change.

I’ve told my mother this before, but I’ll say it again. I am proud of my mother. There are times in your life when you have to make hard choices, and she made them, she stood up for herself, she became herself. She’s changed, and I love her for that. I love her for her heart, her courage, and her willingness to start life again at forty. People say, “Wow, moving to Korea that’s a big change.” No, what happened to my family, that was a big change, this is just a change in scenery. Changing who you are, how your life is, that is the biggest change, the biggest challenge. So, I am proud of my Mom for having the courage to make those changes, to take up the challenges of living her own life. I love you Mom. I am glad we say that a lot more now. : )(I am never going to win an Oscar, so this will be my thank you Mom speech that’s gone on too long.)

For Geeks Only

It is only appropriate to post here.
For the geek in some of us.
I'm so proud.
: )

transit

There is something I love about train rides. Maybe it’s nostalgia from when Dad would take us down to Lake Forest by train. I always loved those Saturdays, where we would help out, writing signs, working next to the bakery, etc. The days when I worshiped my father. When I got older I would ride the train down to Chicago, sometimes alone, sometimes with someone. I still remember the time Molly took me down there we went to the Chicago Cultural Center and looked at the mosaic work. She bought me a silver dolphin ring, and lost Grandma’s opal ring. I still remember.

Last year when I moved to the north side of Chicago, I would love the ride in and out of the Loop on the Brown line. In the morning I would try and sit on the left side so I could see the Chicago river framed by those majestic skyscrapers gleaming in the morning sun. Riding home, on the right side, there’s a moment just past the Steppenwolf theater where all of Chicago is spread out before you from the Hancock to the Sears. I love Chicago.

On weekends, the train ride between Hwa-jeong and Gupabal is my favorite part of my trip into Seoul. Listening to whatever my mood fancied, the train travels through dark tunnels until suddenly the tunnel opens up into winding valleys. It’s not just the scenery. It’s the people. I watch as salesmen and women stream past hawking everything from walking canes to clip lights, as missionaries sing there way down the train, while seeing monks sit peaceably in grey robes, grandmother in colorful hanboks, giggling girls in pleated skirts, or old men in business suits who have perfected sleeping up right, all of whom are on their way somewhere. Last night, from Gupibal to Hwa-jeong a Korean grandmother adopted me, looking out for me. I said, “Kamsa Hamnida(Thank you).”, because it was all I could say. Maybe, what I like about train rides is traveling together. Strangers all going the same way. All going somewhere, even it it‘s not the same destination. But, ultimately, isn’t it. All going home, going out, going hiking, going to a wedding, going on an adventure. Going, going, gone.

Kate_Xee

Kate_Xee
Originally uploaded by punk_rock_baby.

How do you fit yourself in a box?
If I could mail myself in a box, what would I mail? What would or could substitue for not being there?
Nothing.

The worst thing about living half way round the world is leaving friends and family behind. There are days when I wish I could mail myself home; for birthdays, for bad days, and for good days. Where's my telaporter?

Here's a question. Think of a box. Think of someone you love. Think about what you would send that person when you couldn't send yourself. What would you send?

(old photo, circa. sophmore year)

Who are you going to call?

Ghostbusters!
Please exorcise my whinny posterior( I have family reading this). ; ) I shouldn't write post late at night after a long day.

Conversations Snips:
"Kimbap hanagul juseyo."
The man shakes his head,"Kimbap hana-julia juseyo." He said it like "julia" and began to sing," juuuliaaa." Eventually I'll be able to order kimbap.

"You know that day X(former co-teacher) was late. It was because her mother didn't wake her up. She was getting botox. Her son is a plastic surgeon. He could do it for free."

From my young ten year old girls:
"Uh, you have muscles. You a man."

Culture

Fall

I was getting ready for work when I heard a knock on the door. I answered the door. Standing timidly outside of my door was a middle aged Korean woman. She began talking to me in Korean. I did what I always do, I smile, then I say “Modaradurossoyo, Miguk saram esyo.” And as usual, she continues to speak to me in Korean, as she begins to shuffle around in her bag, finally to pull out a pamphlet in Korean. The only English proclaims, ”Have you found Jesus?” above a picture of Jesus. I tell her politely in Korean, ”Aniyo.” and close the door.

This weekend, I wandered alone navigating labyrinth shopping markets, getting purposefully lost, “eye shopping” as they call it in Korea, and physically wrestling my purse away from a very determined sales women. I could have spent it with Jasmine, my brother and sister-in-law, or one of my co-teachers, but I choose to remain solitary. It’s easier to be in denial when you’re alone. Why didn’t I want to spend it with people, because either way I feel displaced. I knew it wasn’t going to be easy, and I was right(so where a lot of other people). This weekend I was tired of feeling out of place and alone. Yet, only alone can I fade in and pretend I belong here. Only when I’m silent can I pretend the silence is by choice. With Jasmine, I am constantly learning new things, but all the while aware that no matter how long I spend here I will never be of there. With my brother, sister, or co-teachers I am more consciously aware that I am a foreigner but I appear to be a native. Standing in the subway, I feel foreigners eyes glaze over me seeing me as just another Korean, whom they can not communicate with. Koreans run me over to speak to my foreign friends, while assuming I am a native Korean who’s English is very good. In truth, if I had been alone, I never would have had my pottery adventure, because I am not a foreigner. When I say those words, ”Modaradurossoyo(I don‘t understand).” There is always a smile, but confusion. Why? Some will continue to go in Korean. Maybe they’re waiting for Korean to just pop out of me. Like there is a genetic switch which hasn’t been turned on yet and if they keep speaking I‘ll remember or know Korean like I should. No switch. I don’t understand. Neither here nor there.

So this weekend, I was tired. I was tired of telling my student, “No, I don’t understand. I don’t speak Korean.” I am tired of feeling like there is a bubble between me and the world. I am I still happy I came? Yes, it’s worth it. I like teaching. I like the kids. I am still wondering what’s next? But, that’s a constant question. I am loving all the oddities, the new discoveries, adventures, and being able to take little for granted. It’s just fall, that’s all. Time to pause, to reflect. To watch the grace of decay, the beauty of dying leaves cover mountains which will be here long after you are gone. And hope.

Wonderful Day

I started my day learning how to be a better teacher, then discussed popular culture with a fellow teacher, and ended with an homage to Space Odyssey 2001. In between, I went to Gyeongbokgung Palace wandering around taking pictures of vivid painted places with tiled roofs and intricate carvings(all of which are reconstructions do to the Japanese Invasion and wars). Then I took a train ride to Jeongbulsan to meet up with co-workers and had the best mobile waffle yet(coconut with chocolate and honey). As we were walking across the plaza under the waxing moon, a group of high school students were practicing traditional drum and cymbal dances across from La Festa. Still dressed in drab gray uniforms, they beat out the life pumping rhythms as they danced joining a new generation to an age old folk tradition. La Festa is a bastion of commercialism and neon, dominated by high end stores and international restaurants. The over grown strip mall offering everything from American Apparel to Indian food. Walking down the main street, we passed a stage of Native Americans in full traditional clothing looking bored. I stopped to take a picture of a Ghostbuster’s bar sign. Meeting up with our co-teachers, we went and watched “Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory.” And that was my wonderful day.

It’s been a long day, I am tired, so to I go bed. Maybe more tomorrow. Check out Flickr for photos(it was a gray rainy day, so the colors are a little dull).

Yes, the one eyed bunny is looking at you.

There are moments when life is wonderfully absurd. Such as when you’re standing at a rest stop ordering a caffe mocha, with our sister-in-law, the gray clad Buddist monk in line has whipped out his silver cell phone as he waits for his coffee, while you’re being told “It’s the Korean,” way as the man you meet an hour ago is insisting on paying for the coffee, before he and his wife drive you back to Seoul. Unfortunately these are the moments when you shouldn’t laugh like a child, even though you want to for sheer joy of it, the absurd wonderfulness of life .


So what does this have to do with a one eyed porcelain bunny? Everything.

Jenevieve and I went to Incheon to make pottery and do some shopping on Saturday. After taking an hour bus and a short taxi ride, we arrived in Incheon pottery village, or part of it. First on our list to do was to play with clay. At one of the stores, Jenevieve inquired where one could make pottery. We were directed to a white cast iron spiral staircase to a second story where an ajoshi(older man) and an ajumoni(older woman) were working in an open room, filled with pottery in various stages of production. Neither one spoke English, but when making pottery it’s more about touch, pressure, and feeling. The ajumoni deft experienced hands guided us through the process. After taking our bowls off of the potters wheel, we decorated our pieces and then picked a glaze. In twenty days, I’ll post pictures of our efforts.

Having finished our primary goal we moved on to our second goal, shopping. If shipping was dirt cheap you would all be getting pottery for Christmas. I couldn’t resist buying a teapot and cups, glazed dark brown with green and red highlights. Beautiful. Jenevive had a very particular thing she wanted to buy, so we walked down the hill, wandering in and out of shops looking for the best deal. After debating for a bit, we decided to go into one last store, a small one. On entering we almost bumped into a couple negotiating with the owner. Soon, the husband began to talk to us, introducing us to the man who made all the potter. He was an affable man, very social, with solid English. Soon he was asking us questions, such as where we lived, etc. When we said we lived in Seoul he offered to drive us home in half an hour. We said maybe and headed back to one of the other shops to pick up my teapot. We ended up going back to the last store. The gentleman meet us on our way back and helped negotiate a price for us. It was really quite humorous, involving boxes, sizes, phone calls for shipping estimates, amazing. At the end of the transaction something happened, the gentleman handed Jenevieve a porcelain pig, me a rabbit, and his wife a two ducks and said, “I love you” and laughed. After that it was off to Seoul, with a pit shop for coffee. And that is how we got home on Saturday. The Korean way.
And that is how I made my new friend Fu the one eyed bunny.

Welcome to Hwa-jeong

This is the view from my studio.
Love the neon? So do the Koreans.
Do you see the red spire in the background?
On the top is a cross. Doting the night sky of Korea are red neon crosses. The only thing more prevalent than neon red crosses are red public bath signs.
Christian values and hygiene rules the skies, but it's the rolling hills that I love.

It's a beautiful contrast.
The flashing neon lights, so brash, bold, even gaudy and damn proud of it. Day in and all night they yell money. While on the rolling hills doted with small temples, lush green trees cover week-end visited paths. Nature and technology. Hills and valleys. It's about having it all. It's about being the best. Kimchee. It's all about kimchee.

punk_rock_baby copy

punk_rock_baby copy
Originally uploaded by punk_rock_baby.

In the beginning . . .

I had punk rock hair,

I had monkey toes,

and I've never been cuter.

Now, almost twenty-five years later I am back, a stranger in her native land. Instead of punk rock hair, I listen to punk. I love monkeys, but no longer have intertwining toes. And just like back then, I don't speak Korean.