My fancy-pants new laptop allows me to make awkwardly filmed movies! Now you can see, in all its glory, my apartment:
Today was stressful. I had to begin planning the umpteen classes I'll be teaching tomorrow. It's a little scary and a little frustrating. I've only seen a few of the many classes I'll be teaching and since I've only been in country three days it's a little overwhelming. I did see one of the classes I am taking over and that was dominated by the misbehavior of two boys and climaxed with totally inappropriate vocabulary (theirs, not mine).
As for observations specific to my Korean experience thus far: questions that are considered rude in America about personal things are the norm here. On the ride from the airport Sunday night the guy driving me asked 1) "Are you married?" and 2) "How old are you?". I was expecting him to go for a hattrick and ask if I believe in God or how much I weigh but he veered into politics. Do I like President Bush? No. That's a fairly safe answer most places outside the United States. I do wonder how I would be received if I espoused how lucky the rest of the planet is that Bush is dishing whoopass and Democracy to all and sundry.
Today, I was introduced to various classes and got to field questions. What did I get to field? Teacher, are you married? Teacher, how old are you? Do you have a boyfriend? Do you have a girlfriend?
Whoah! Yea, that last one surprised me. The second time I had to own up to being single I asked the student if she was going to help me out in that department. The boy who asked me if I had a boy- or girlfriend asked me if I was lonely. Oh. My. God. I'm just waiting to come in one day and have innocent seven-year-old faces inquire what I'm doing with my life or if I'm worried that my ovaries (and today's inappropriate vocabulary lesson makes their knowledge of this word entirely possible) are going to turn to dust before I ever trick a man into marrying me. Good thing the kids are learning plural nouns - we can talk about the many cats I'll be living with.
As I type there is water on the boil for what I intend to be a spaghetti dinner. It's just past nine at night and I have spent the last six hours observing various teachers of various classes and being exposed to numerous snuffling youths. Children are vectors of disease and I fear a future of perpetual runny noses and clouded thoughts. Yesterday at lunch I was informed nigh-cheerfully that I will be sick much of the time. Oh boy.
I haven't consumed Lucky Charms cereal since early in my college days but suddenly I almost want them. I hate to admit it but my palate is not cut out for most Asian food as it is found here. I can't read the labels to determine animal content and dread a number of flavors particular to the region, chief among them "fishy". What my time in Japan taught me is that one should never assume that a food, regardless of its resemblance to familiar Western fare, will taste as you expect it. Thus, although the jar of sauce I bought depicts tomatoes and mushrooms and contains a thick, red liquid, I cannot safely assume that what I am about to consume will taste anything like spaghetti.
Observing the classes was interesting. I was assured it would be a struggle to maintain consciousness through six boring hours but the real challenge was fatigue from jetlag. In fact, generously, I was not signed up to observe a solid six hours but found no point in mooching around in the teachers' lounge during the breaks provided and chose to follow whoever was headed purposefully to a class to continue my education. Tomorrow is a full day of observation but I think I will manage much better given that I will likely sleep normally tonight.
Several of the instructors are married with both spouses working at our hagwon. They seem to have gotten married directly after college. I am attempting to get a fix on what kind of person chooses to take this type of job. I am tempted to say some form of desperation plays a role (either for money or to get out of whatever dodge you happen to be in[1]). One instructor indicated that he had no interest in working an entry level job given the bad pay and my response, partially vocalized, was that you don't get to expect a whole lot when all you have in the world is a BA in English.
I have now been gripped with the sudden fear that even the innocuously packaged spaghetti noodles I purchased might be secretly infused with fish sauce....
....I am saved! It tastes almost like spaghetti.
[1] Myself included. "Dodge" could be simply dissatisfaction with whatever you were doing before you came here.
