Buddha's Birthday (May 12)

May is a great month for holidays in Korea. May 5 is Children's Day and Buddha's Birthday (a huge celebration here like Christmas in America in that we saw decorations prior to it starting like mid-March) is celebrated according to the lunar calendar and so it varies, but this year was on May 12. Both the 5th and the 12th were Mondays, so I had two three day weekends this month, which has kept my social life busy (and apparently made me broke as I discovered in my bank account yesterday). Hence, the lack of blogging. But I'm in need of some rest now (and financially, it's pretty much required) so I should be more regular.

The first three day weekend, Kelly, Sarah, and I headed up to Seoul for the Lantern Festival in honor of Buddha's Birthday (yes, the celebration was held on the Children's Day weekend, which confused me for a bit, but thankfully this was cleared up). The festival itself featured performers and information stands about aspects of Buddhist culture--everything from a company that makes meat substitutes for vegetarians specific to Korean cuisine to a meditation practice tent led by an American female Buddhist monk who has lived, studied, and taught in her Korean monastery for 10 years.

We saw the Asian Snuffleupagus!

The street festival stretched all the way down to Jogyesa, a small temple in downtown Seoul that was completely covered with lanterns. Most of them were the traditional circular, brightly colored lanterns I've seen in temples all over Korea. Over the main courtyard, they were arranged to look like a lotus flower, which was particularly beautiful at night after the parade.

Favorite picture I took all day at Jogyesa.

Main courtyard lanterns at night.

We had dinner at a traditional Korean restaurant in Insadong (the traditional market area I went to with Se Jin in February), and then met up with Amanda and Good Man for ice cream at McDonald's and viewing the evening parade.

Lounging Bodhisattva lit float.

나비 게등들. Butterfly Lanterns.

The parade was beautiful. Mostly it was different groups carrying different styles and shapes of lanterns. There were also some performers and a few larger floats on cars or other platforms. Since it was raining (a little), nighttime in a city (with the associated light pollution from nearby shops), and crowded, getting good pictures was difficult. I sorted through over 600 I took all day and put the best 50 of them in the album below.

Buddha's Birthday/Lantern Festival at Jogyesa

Yes, I live in Asia. Just in case I needed the reminder.

A fantastic day.

Saying Hello

When I lived in America, everyday people I didn't know would smile and say hello to me. I did the same. Sometimes it wasn't a hello, sometimes it was just a quick nod or wave or (when I lived in more rural areas) a tip of the hat. A cursory acknowledgement of our shared humanity--a recognition of personhood and general friendly goodwill. A greeting. Not an invitation to talk, but pleasant, comfortable, and familiar.

In Korea, everyday people also say, "Hello!" to me (yes, notice it's in quotes with an exclamation point this time). But here, it's jarring. It's a foreign language for the locals. It's often shouted at me from a block and a half away or accompanied by a fit of giggles and mutters in Korean about the "foreigner" until one of the middle school children decides she is "brave" enough to say it. Sometimes it's accompanied by other English words... "How are you?" "Beautiful!" and "Hey yo man!" seem to be popular choices. If I respond, they laugh or gape--sometimes they grab my hand and shake it vigorously saying "Nice to meet you!" without any invitation to do such or intention to get to know me. If I don't respond, they also laugh or gape. I generally get the best responses if I reply in Korean. But it grates.

Because here "Hello!" is not comfortable or polite. It's rarely accompanied by a warm smile (although if it is, I always try to respond as warmly as I can, even if I feel like shit). It dehumanizes where such a friendly greeting should radiate humanity. It is a label. It marks me foreign. As much as my wild hair and height and pale skin... It's a shout. Sometimes it sounds like a curse word.

Waking up this morning, I realized how much I miss the friendliness of Americans. There are lots of bad things to be said about my home country and its citizens (and certainly I've said and believe most of them), but there is a certain genuine openness and amiable atmosphere in most places that aren't downtown Manhattan I find comforting.

On Friday, a friend of a friend I met for the first time hugged me in greeting. On Saturday a white guy walking his dog smiled at me when I passed him.

***

Realization (from a few days ago): I point out the obvious and over explain things. I think this is part of my American-ness. Americans believe in being genuine above all else--to be called a hypocrite is one of the worst insults you can bestow. It seems to get worse when I am most homesick.

And I wonder (remembering now the curious, unfriendly glares I got when I was with my sister) that if I wasn't white, would I still feel like this...?

Best Week. 신기했어요...

I am terribly sorry for keeping you all in the dark, but I have been crazy busy this last week, but it has been AMAZING!!!

First of all, I got my black belt Friday. It has my name on it. 아싸!



The weekend before last, I went to Busan with William and Tristan. He details the events in his blog, so if you wish to know what happened, I won't repeat it here. I had a fantastic, relaxing time, but I was sunburned very badly on my legs. I had to miss taekwondo Tuesday and Wednesday last week. Not as bad as the sun poisoning I got at Martha's Vineyard a few years ago, but bad.

Me, at the beach, pre-burn (photo courtesy William)

I've been doing a bunch of swing dancing. Our club has decided to meet on Tuesday nights for the summer and do some dancing in a park. The first night got rained out, so we ended up at a club nearby. Fun, but I'm looking forward to this week and some outdoor swinging! Then, Saturday night was a big party at the other Daegu swing club, DNA, so a bunch of the people I'd met from Busan and Seoul and other places came out. It was a lot of fun. I had the best dance of my life with a silly man nicknamed Dungi to Queen's "Crazy Little Thing Called Love."

Friday night, I pulled a typical Diana boneheaded move and lost my wallet on the subway. Now, if I'd been in the US, I would just have figured I'd never see it again and begun taking steps to minimize the damage, but Korea is a much less crime-oriented country. So I ran around Singi station trying to find it. No luck.

The English-speaking station manager was very kind as he took the report and then Gwen (wonderful woman that she is) loaned me some money, but meanwhile a man had found my wallet and found Samson's business card inside and called him. I got his number to make arrangements to meet and get my wallet back (thank god I learned some Korean, right???) and so it all worked out alright in the end.

Saturday morning I played hooky from Korean class and went hiking at Apsan with Min Gi, a new friend I met about a month ago.

The weather was fantastic, but as you can see behind Min Gi, not conducive to picture taking.

Obscured Daegu, from the mountain.

Fading blooms.

Funny thing was, after hiking, Min Gi agreed to come to swing dance with me (haha... I'm recruiting!), so in between we went to meet the guy who found my wallet at Singi station (신기역), and it turned out to be a friend of Min Gi's! That's when I learned the word 신기하다, which literally translated means to be wondrous or magical, but is used to express surprise at strange coincidences like this one. I love this language...

Uncertainty

Today I have more questions than answers, but I'm happy and hopeful about it.

Lots of stuff has been happening I want to blog about--training in taekwondo, a trip to Seoul with pretty pictures, visiting my Korean family the Kwons, a renewed interest and excitement for studying Korean, figuring out (finally) how to do a basic Lindy circle halfway decently--but I'm not going to yet.

I have been holding myself back from blogging because many things about my life are uncertain and open to change in relatively dramatic ways (what I will do after my contract ends? does my dating life have a chance of success in this country? when will I know the results of my black belt test?). This uncertainty makes me uncomfortable with putting anything permanent down, such as publishing it in a blog.

This has happened before and I always react in the same way. I worry constantly. I make new life plans every ten minutes (I'm not kidding--detailed, well planned out life goals that I completely revise to a brand new one moments later) because I feel better with a plan, even if I know it's going to change. I spend lots of time doing things that don't matter and avoiding the things that need to get done--I end up with perfectly organized earring drawers and no clean dishes.

In honor of the worrying about things that matter the least first, let's talk taekwondo. I'm freaking out about the results from my black belt test. Everybody is very reassuring and kind (and let me be clear that I do appreciate your kind words of support), but it will be the most humiliating thing I have experienced in a long time if I don't pass. That scares the crap out of me. The weird thing is, I think I'm due for karmic failure. Things have been going well lately. Perhaps too well. Usually around this time something bad has happened relationship wise (the last bad thing was more than a year and a half ago), but since I'm not in a relationship, the world has to find some other way to smack down my growing self esteem and this seems like an all too tempting opportunity for fate. (Yes, in my own head, I do live in a post-modern black comedy).

More than that, though, I don't want to let people down. My friends and family back home who have cheered me on for the last eight months; my friends here who cheered me on as I went home early the night before, who showed up to watch and take pictures, who texted me that morning to wish me luck, or who took me out to my favorite wine bar and a romantic comedy after the whole mess was over; my studio--Sa Beom Nim, his family and students; and myself. I'd pull out some line right now about how the journey itself has been enough of an achievement and blah blah blah and that's true... I don't think Sa Beom Nim is going to stop teaching me the Koryeo form (the one for second degree belt testing) just because I "failed" this round and I don't think I'll quit or anything that dramatic because it's too much fun... but it would really be a huge blow to my self confidence that's been growing by participating in such a challenging sport.

Today Sa Beom Nim said he'd text me when he got the results. That made me feel a little better. (As for the romantic and job fronts... well maybe I'm not going to be as brave in this post as I wanted to be... better just to publish this one and save more for later since it's been more than a week.)

Life, to be continued...

심사 끝났어요 (Test Finished)

8:15 Sunday morning I meet Samantha to walk over to the taekwondo gym for warm ups and running through the poomsae one last time. Noah, a university student, is already there and Kevin, a sixth grader I used to teach who is Samantha's student now, walks in right behind us. They are both testing for the third level--Noah for dan and Kevin for poom (the equivalent of black belt for children under age 14).

Samantha and I change. About a million worries are running through my head. I don't want to let Sa Beom Nim down. I didn't get enough sleep. I wish my family could see me. I don't want anyone to see me fail. I wonder what I'm going to do when my contract finishes in August...

I try to focus as the other boys arrive. Another uni student at Daegu Catholic who says he's majoring in English Education, but can't speak in English (Noah and I keep translating for him when he and Samantha try to speak--god I hope it was nerves) is testing for third dan also. Ian is there, Samantha's first grade student now nicknamed Moli Apa (머리 아파, meaning "Headache"), who is testing for first poom. Three little ones who I worked out with in January during intensives are testing for second poom.

Three studiomates, about to become second poom, with all their abundant energy.

Sa Beom Nim is all spiffed up for the occasion

During warm ups, I keep messing up my forms. My head is not in this. I need to focus, but I have a hard time doing so. I catch my focus by the end and land the eighth poomsae two or three times. I feel better. And the boys are making me laugh. In the van they ask Samantha and I hundreds of questions, some of which I understand and some I don't. I give them my American dollar to play with.

At the Elementary School, I'm overwhelmed. There are so many people testing. Most are young children testing for pooms. Samantha and I go into the auditorium for announcements. Noah and English run off to chat with friends they know from other studios. The boys take Samantha and I under their protection. We're the only foreigners there, so we need it--with all the shouting "Hi" "How are you?" "What's your name?" sometimes encouraged by their sabeomnims and kwangjangnims who, as adults, should really know better.

The adults testing for dan have to wait until all the children are finished. It's a long wait. Gwen and Samson arrive. I give them my camera. We see some students from Oedae with other studios. Samson talks to their parents and some of his taekwondo friends.

Finally, Noah and English get a text message from Sa Beom Nim telling us to go get in line, so they walk us over to the others waiting for first dan. Samantha and I are number 25 and 26, so we know we'll end up sparring each other, which is good because we've practiced together and know what we're doing. Samantha is especially relieved. Number 27 turns out to be an extremely nervous 20 year old college student majoring in Physical Education, but whose English was remarkably good. He carried on a long conversation, mostly with Samantha, and entirely in English. Apparently his focus is soccer, but he needs to do taekwondo too as part of his studies, so he really needs to pass.

There are also three women who help Samantha fix her dobok from 어머니 태권도, which means "Mother Taekwondo." Apparently it is a studio out near Palgongsan that caters primarily to housewives. These women were really kind and very sweet and tried to hook me up with their (rather hot) sabeomnim (thanks, ladies).

Anyhow... even after getting in line, the wait is really long.

Waiting

In fact, when we get up to actually do the test, it doesn't even register in my brain until we have finished the second poomsae (there are two--8장 and a random form which for us turned out to be 2장) and are prepping for the spar. In some ways this is good, because I didn't overthink it, so I didn't make any major mistakes. But my head wasn't in it, I wasn't focus. I can look at the pictures Gwen took and see how my leg isn't straight enough or I'm looking a little off to the side. I just hope it's good enough, since I know I can do a lot better than I did.

Sparring

It's all over so fast. It felt like less than two minutes, though it was more like five or ten.

Sa Beom Nim's friend from the ski trip, the one who called me an ajumma, came over right after to tell me how awful I did. Ha ha. I love that third grade boy humor where they tease you in a way that borders on cruel considering I was feeling really uncertain of how I did. But then he said we did well. And Gwen and Samson come down to congratulate us. And Sa Beom Nim said we did fine.

But officially we won't know for 15 days after the test. Waiting is hard and nerve-wracking. But I do feel like a pressure that was with me for the last few weeks has lifted. To see some more of the photos Gwen took from our test (and a few I snapped of my studio brothers), check out the album:

Taekwondo Black Belt Test (태권도 1단 심사)

Tomorrow.

Just finished the last practice before my black belt test tomorrow. Forms look good. I think I'll be ok on sparring. I'll be fine. I can do this.

I have been stressed and worried and sore this week.

And I'm pushing all that aside. Tonight I'm going out with my friends at swing for a bit and then turning in early because I have to be at my gym tomorrow morning at 8:30. I just want to relax tonight and have a good time. Not to think about poomsae or kicking or anything like that.

I'm trying to think of the test like opening night of a play--the first "real" performance after months of rehearsal--to get the same kind of adrenaline rushed high that comes with it. Yeah, sure there is anxiety, but the good kind that spurs you toward victory, not the kind that makes you want to crawl in a hole and die.

For Mom...

Mom has asked me to get more pictures of me, so I've been handing my camera off to people lately when I go swing dancing, but not everyone is great at using my camera--especially trying to capture something with lots of movement in low lighting. But I found this one from a couple weeks ago that I just adore. I think Lena took it, but it might have been Leah or Joey.


Nothing is really in focus, but you can see what a good time I'm having, that I'm wearing crazy colors to match the crazy lighting in Azurajang and that Joe and I are actually in step (yes I can dance a little now... hee hee).

Herb Hillz

Herb Hillz is a children's folk-themed playland/petting zoo in Daegu with all kinds of strange and interesting things to gawk at--and of course, photograph. Se Jin and I went here one Saturday afternoon in spring. The blossoming flowers enhanced the surreally chintzy cuteness of the place. Really... I couldn't help but smile at all the cuteness, but as Se Jin pointed out, the "real thing" in Yeongchon is much better.

Welcome to Herb Hillz.
As I admitted freely to a friend who distracted me by waving a Hello, Kitty in my face, I've succumbed to Asia's unique all-consuming brand of CUTE. The girls, the music, the boys, the clothing, the candy, the edible animals, seriously, EVERYTHING here is abysmally, distressingly, overwhelmingly adorable. You in the U.S. of A full of your ironic distance and cool, cynical exteriors cannot fathom the lengths to which Asian countries pursue cute. It is almost an art form.

This seems to have two effects on confused expats who witness layers upon layers of bubble-gum pink clothing on a woman of 35. One is to reject and mock it--to become almost emo in an attempt to distance oneself from the couple-tees and the infantalized sexuality of the pop bands. The other is to embrace and revel in it--to laugh endlessly as you and your friend fight over the last Princess Cat notebook in the stationery store or to find yourself referring to the slender boy with the man-purse in pink and a sparkly tie to match "hot" to the intense befuddlement of your friends fresh off the boat or back home (I swear if you look past the unfortunate fashion sense, he's a great catch). Most of the time I find myself in the latter category. But Herb Hillz is a place so disgusting in its adorability that even I almost developed diabetes of the eyes from the intensity of the sugar-frosted insanity. This place I cannot sufficiently describe for you in words, so pictures will have to manage to speak for me.

Everybody loves a robot. Especially male "anatomically correct" ones (check out the full album for a side view).
More cock. Of course.
Sad monkey.
Cute pigs. How can you be afraid of them? But, alas, Se Jin was...
There were some flowers that were just beautiful--not freakishly cute. But they were hard to notice, surrounded as they were by sugary ridiculousness.
Of course, there was a belly dancing show.
And an animal show. With aliens and faeries. Too bad the lighting was so unfortunate--most of my pictures sucked
For extra insanity (and some beautiful flowers), check out the full album:

Herb Hillz

Mr. Creel.

A letter I'm not sure I'll send:

Dear Marty Creel,

Do you remember me? I went to Eastern Middle School in 1994-1995 when you taught eighth grade Social Studies. You called me Ekelperson, the political correction to my last name, and I hated it so much that I worked my ass off in your class just to piss you off. All the other eighth grade girls had a crush on you--thought you looked like Brad Pitt on a motorcycle. I hated you for it.

But I loved your class. I've never worked harder on a school assignment in my life than I did on my hypercard stack about the Incas (including my almost-finished master's thesis about teaching English to Advanced Placement students). I still remember crying at Jeremy Irons and The Mission (though again, I hated you for playing it the day before spring break and depressing me for most of my vacation). When you gave me the award for "Passionate Inquiry" at the end of the year, I was as shocked as I was angry. I wanted an award in English. I wanted to be a writer.

I remember hating you mostly because everyone loved you. It was the mid-nineties and grunge attitudes ruled. Whatever was "popular" must, of necessity, suck. However, the truth is, that you are one of the best teachers I have ever had; and having attended magnet schools between 4th and 12th grades, an honors college, and a prestigious writing master's program with educators such as Hepsie Roskelly (former head reader of the AP Language and Composition exam) and Nancy Johnson (who has sat on the Newberry Committee), that's pretty impressive. Sorry I hated you.

I am a teacher now, and sometimes I'm hated by the students I push hard to go beyond their current capabilities. For three years I taught English at Eleanor Roosevelt High School--all levels, from Special Education students in integrated classrooms who never did quite manage to complete the year after their court case or the birth of their child to Advanced Placement Language and Composition students currently attending Harvard and will one day rule the world--seriously. I often think about your pedagogical choices with new insight--and admiration.

But teaching in the U.S. was hard if you cared about the education of the young minds entrusted to you. Too hard for me, sadly. I was a good teacher. Possibly, a great teacher. But Saturday nights spent at a jazz bar grading a stack of essays as tall as the glass of cabernet savignon I was sipping led me to look for some other outlet. I had no time for my other passions (besides teaching) like writing and travel. So last year, I quit, took a position teaching English as a foreign language in South Korea and spend my days doing taekwondo and teaching children who are nearly identical compared to the endless diversity in the DC area I am used to, and my nights swing dancing and learning Korean from my dance partners. It's wonderful. But I do miss teaching in the U.S.

What I don't miss is hearing about knuckle-headed initiatives from hard-assed administrators who have forgotten the day-to-day "in the trenches" stuff of teaching that cuts funding to programs that actually use their funds effectively to educate and enrich the lives of the young people who engage in them. When I meet people who didn't go to the Montgomery Blair High School magnet program, all of their friends from high school are drug addicts or having their fifth babies or some other such stereotype from a bad after school special. My friends (hell, my casual acquaintances) are working on residencies at Yale, Ph.Ds in Math or Economics from Cornell and University of Chicago, working pro bono as lawyers for AIDS nonprofits, travelling the world and making it a better place.

Teachers being forced to retire from these budget cuts, such as Mr. Bunday and Ms. Dyas, may have ostensibly taught subjects like Physics and Calculus, but just like when you were once as an eighth grade social studies teacher, they taught so much more. They empowered us to figure out our passions and to pursue them. They encouraged us to think in a world that would rather tell young people not to, because it is afraid of their ideas.

(Why are we, American society I mean, afraid of teens anyhow? Most of the ones I've ever known are pretty damned amazing. They care about life in a way that those of us "wiser" and "more mature" can't remember... and hell if we could, we wouldn't want to because it was also a horrible, chaotic, mixed-up time where those same friends of mine so successful now endured eating disorders, suicide attempts, severe depressions, heartbreak, and abuse to name a few... How the hell did we make it out of there in one piece??? Oh yes, because Blair provided a refuge. A safe harbor where we could think about the fourth dimension and the environmental causes of pfsteria instead of our daily teen angst.)

I know being an administrator is not easy. I considered it, thinking I could do some good, but realizing it's a position I would never want. You have to balance all of these impossibilities--budgets, programs, students, teachers--and it's hard to know the bottom line.

But, Mr. Creel, and I can't believe I am talking so casually and honestly to you, this odd and imposing figure in my memories still telling me how to compose a successful five paragraph essay, if I may be frank-- no good can come of cutting funds in so damaging a manner to the Blair magnet program. It is a program that works. The electives are open to all students at Blair, and many of the non-magnet students took Marine Biology and Thermodynamics right along with me and benefited from the exceptional talents of the teachers who were the backbone of the program's success. Diffusing these students and these teachers won't really benefit the county as a whole because it will isolate them. They will each have to become islands and rocks fighting alone in a sea of mediocrity and oppression without their safe harbor. And many won't make it.

I'm not sure I would have. I'm really not.

Please, sir. Please reconsider.

With love,
Diana Ekelman--former student, current teacher, concerned citizen.

A Broad Dating Abroad.

Should I ever get around to publishing my dating self-help book, that may end up being the title of it. And it would contain excerpts like this one:

He's cute. Nice body--of course, I noticed that two weeks ago when I first met him. Good smile. A little shy initially, but he seems to be warming up. He dances well, and it turns out he speaks English well (you never really know at first).

I was responding to another person's question, but he overhears.

"That's not a good sign," I say.

"What's not a good sign?"

I smile. This is one of those conversations where flirting helps. "For my friend's relationship. He loves dancing, but his girlfriend got jealous that he was dancing with other girls and made him go home."

"Why is that a bad sign?"

"Well... dancing is his passion. Ben can't live without it. He just... wouldn't be Ben. He needs a girlfriend who understands he's gonna dance with other women at swing club."

"But can't she learn how to dance?"

"Well, she is. But it takes time. And Ben has been dancing for much longer than he's known this girl. She needs to understand that it makes him happy."

"If I had a girlfriend, and she really hated that I went dancing... well if I loved her, I'd give it up."

"Really? Even if it was your passion?"

"Well..." He smiles at me. "Yeah. I would."

"I think I just figured out why my dating in this country has failed."

"Why's that?"

"See... if I had a boyfriend who got jealous when I went dancing but wouldn't go with me, I'd find another boyfriend. One who loved that I have interests like dancing and taekwondo, even if they mean I sometimes touch other men."

He starts laughing.

"No, really," I protest. "I think it's a whole other approach to love. I believe it's important to find someone who fits with you as you are and as you grow. Not someone who you have to change yourself for just to hold on to."

"Interesting."

I smile. "I think so."