It’s more than Kimchi – considering writing about my time in Korea

Before I moved to Korea in June, 2011, I did everything I could to prepare myself for the adjustment to that culture. This preparation included reading a couple of memoir-type mini-books written by former ex-pats who had taught English in Korea. The thing I loved about them was that they were informative…but the thing I hated about them was that they were informative.

Here’s the thing. These books were written specifically for those who – like myself – were considering moving to Korea. They talked about how to find a place to work, what to pack in your suitcases, what Korean food would be like, how much things would cost, what the Korean work environment was like. It was useful information…in a very very strictly practical way.

But these narratives were for the most part unemotional. They talked about how it was “sad to leave family and friends” or “exciting to meet people from another country.” They even mentioned how some Americans couldn’t handle the shift from our culture to that one. But that was it. It was all stated like that very matter-of-factly.

The narratives all tended to have the word “kimchi” in the title, too. As if the only thing that distinguishes that country from others is their spicy, fermented cabbage side dish.

Ahem. Untrue.

I have for some time been considering writing about Korea and what living there meant to me. Here’s the problem, though. I wonder if there’s any sort of market for these types of books. I couldn’t ever find any that didn’t have a practical edge to them. Are there any?

I don’t want to write about how you should pack cold medicine and fitted sheets because those things are hard to come by in Korea. I don’t want to talk about how to negotiate a contract with your school. For the love of all things good I certainly don’t want to talk about how smelly kimchi is the first time you try it.

I want to write about how being overseas helps you become the person you always suspected you could be – this adventurous, open excited person. I’d want to talk about what it’s like to be stared at constantly, objectified by the men there. What it’s like to get your heart broken overseas.

But the question arises – who would want to read this? Would anyone care?

I might start to write a bit about this – while still working on my other book – but my goal is this. I want it to be something that anyone can read – even someone who doesn’t give a crap about Korea. (like people who asked me whether I was moving to North or South Korea back in 2011. I mean…really?) I want it to be a story of how I lived in Korea, rather than a Korea how-to guide.

Oh. And the title won’t have the word “Kimchi” in it.

Stories of panic and being apparently quite gigantic.

I have had a few times in my life where I have experienced what I like to refer as “crappy yet defining moments.” You know those moments – where you think, “Why the hell is this happening to me? What did I do to deserve this?” You want to shake your fists at the heavens and demand an answer from a higher power. Those times when you feel so horrid that you are – in that moment – absolutely positive that nobody on God’s green earth has ever felt as horrible as you do right then. You know those moments?

When I look back on my 24 years, two of those moments smack me in the face with cringe-worthy memories. I will now share those two moments and the perspective I have gained from them.

I can’t exactly classify the first moment as a moment…as it lasted for approximately ten years of my life. From age 11 to age 20, I had quite bad anxiety and panic attacks. Most have experienced anxiety at some point or another – something I didn’t realize in the throws the turmoil that was my teenage years. However, most don’t get a panic attack several times an hour and become convinced that something is seriously physically and/or mentally wrong with them several times a day.

Ah…the memories.

I don’t have memories of middle school and high school that aren’t accompanied by my panic and anxiety. I built my world around things that I could do that didn’t cause me to panic. Of course…the majority of the panicking happened at school. I couldn’t get out of school. I tried. Pretending to be sick, crying in the morning, but my mom booted my teenage butt out of the car. [I know that it was hard for her to do, by the way, and I am grateful that she didn’t coddle me.]

I had trouble sitting through a class without pretty much hyperventilating. These episodes weren’t evident to anyone else when they were happening. Outwardly, it was nothing more than my fingers tapping the desk or slightly faster breathing. But it my head it was a cacophony of “I’m going crazy. Why is my heart beating so fast? Am I going to faint?” [Intense fear of fainting…even though I have never fainted…though perhaps that’s why I’m so scared of it?]

Then, during my second year of college, I decided I’d had enough. I began devising strategies to keep myself from having an anxiety attack. If I felt one was about to happen, I would begin evasive maneuvers immediately. I’d take a few deep breaths, focus on a spot on the floor, wait for my vision to uncloud. I began exercising to lower my anxiety level. I ate healthier food. I did a complete 180. It took a few months, but I was almost panic and anxiety free.

So you’d think things would be better, right?

Oh…if only …

When I became less of a slave to my panic attacks, I suddenly able to do anything I wanted without leaving the house with an escape plan – i.e. excuses for why I had to get up frequently during classes or leave a party early. But, I was left with very few close friends because…when they called me to go somewhere I said no. I was left with hobbies that meant I was cooped up inside my room alone – writing, reading. I didn’t know how to date or have a relationship. I was, socially, way far behind.

I had friends, don’t get me wrong. I think I’m quite a pleasant person to befriend. However, beyond talking at school, I didn’t speak to most of them. Only a select few. I was so closed off.

During this time, I remember how leaving my dorm to go anywhere and not having to worry about panic attacks made me kind of…angry.

“Why? Why couldn’t the past ten years have been this way? I have barely done anything with my life. This is pathetic. I am absurd. I am so mad at myself. Were all my friends living like this the entire time I was afraid to do anything? That is completely unfair. I’m mad at everyone but it doesn’t begin to approach the level of anger I feel for my ridiculous self.”

However, it has been about…let’s see…four years since I had to worry about panic attacks. For a while – I mean at least two of those four years – I was dumbfounded. I didn’t understand why my life was “so terrible.” [I’m dramatic.]

But I realized recently that…had it not been for my panic attack years…there’s so much that I’ve done recently that I wouldn’t have ever dreamed of doing. Travel to Korea? Heck no. That’s ridiculous. Get a job teaching? Speak at meetings? Make friends with people from all over the world – friends who feel as close as family.

I hadn’t ever had friends who felt like family until I went to Korea. I wouldn’t have gone to Korea had I not gotten panic attacks all those years. My biggest motivation for going to Korea was not wanting another second of my life to resemble what those ten years had been. It worked. I changed.

I also find that I am much more empathetic than I would have ever been had I not experienced all that. I care about people – the clients I work with on a daily basis these days, the students I taught in Korea, the friends from Korea who are my language partners. Even people I don’t know well. I know I have an interesting story and I like to figure most everyone does. I don’t know who else could be going through a crappy yet defining moment, so I try to withhold judgment.

—–

Okay, readers, are you with me so far? I am about to take this in the direction of my second and most recent crappy defining moment. It is so recent that it’s difficult to write about…yet I am me, which means I can also see the humor in it. Are you ready?

Here goes.

When I was living in Korea, I had a serious boyfriend. Remember that thing I said about having no serious relationships in high school and college. Well, that changed in Korea. I met a guy and fell for him and was head over heels. He was funny and cute and interesting to talk to. I hadn’t ever met someone I could talk to for hours a day that way.

When we had been together around three months, he told me he loved me. I was ecstatic. I loved him, too. However, on the same day, he told me, “Yeah, it’s funny…because when we met I was just curious about what it’d be like to…you know…sleep with an American. But I guess at some point I started to care about you.”

That should have been a red flag, right? Well, I’m an idiot, so I looked at it more like, “Aww I won him over with my awesomeness.”

Ohh…silly Amber.

After we’d been together for about…I think eight months, it was August of last year. 2012. Oh yes, the memories are fresh. He decided to have me meet his parents. This was when it all began to fall apart – no, not during those other moments that it should have fallen apart. Like…when he told me to lose weight and grabbed my stomach like I weighed 5 million pounds. Or…like…that time he told me I couldn’t hang out with certain male friends because they seemed to like me. Or…like…when he would get mad at me for not speaking to him in a cute voice and hang up the phone and ignore me for a day or two.

Nah. It fell apart when I met his parents.

I heard from him that his parents had differing views about me, but the common theme in the views was that they didn’t like me.

Oh, excuse me. Wait.

They thought I was smart and pretty and cared about him. They thought I had a wonderful personality and understanding of Korean culture. But, dating their son? Oh…that won’t work.

His dad thought it laughable. Literally laughed at me during the meeting at one point and said his son should just focus on practicing English with me since he was going to study in America. My ex’s proclamation of “she’s not my teacher” elicited more laughter.

His mother thought…oh…if only that girl were smaller and possibly Korean. People would laugh at us, she said, or stare at us. I was taller than him, and I wasn’t thin. That was unheard of in Korea. The girls should be smaller.

I cried about this. I was distraught. I ended up deciding to go back to America earlier than planned for other reasons but…if I’m being honest, the situation with him was a contributing factor. He agreed with his mother when he discussed it with me. “I mean…the girl IS supposed to be smaller.” We began to grow apart.

We ended things for good a month after I moved back to America. Meaning…we ended things five months ago. During the first month I was back, I had intense reverse culture shock…crying all the time, feeling disoriented. I reached out to him for support and got very half-hearted responses. He ignored me, he was mad that I left. He said horrible things to me.

Despite all this, I had in my head that he was coming to America in January and perhaps I would go to the state he was moving to and live with him. I proposed this. He rejected it. He said that since there were other Koreans on the campus who knew his father, he couldn’t have me there. People would talk.

So, after having him treat me like I was an embarrassment to him – someone he will gladly share a bed with but refuse to stand up for in front of family and friends – I guess you could say I’m a tad bit…damaged. It’s still a difficult thing for me to discuss. I was so hurt by the way he treated me that I think a part of me will always look back on it and wonder why I let it go on for so long.

However, with each passing month…I am gaining perspective. I am almost…grateful for what happened?

Firstly…there’s something about people outright insulting me that makes me 100% more secure in who I am and what I look like. I realized that I’m the only one who can make me feel good about me. You know what? I’m not disgusting looking. I’m not gigantic. I’m not these things because I don’t think I am these things. I look in the mirror and like the way I look. I dare someone else to tell me I’m “too big” or “too tall.” It’s laughable. Why should I care?

I have also realized that I am much more comfortable and confident talking to men since having that relationship. I am certainly not eager to jump into another situation like that, so I don’t view every man I meet as a potential date. I’m going to be much more careful that I was before. I am having fun meeting and getting to know men every so often. But there isn’t any pressure. I’m not obsessing over things that cute guy said or what that cute guy texted.

I also am able to view the situation as…comical? I don’t know if that’s the right word. But I’m amused by it. I occasionally have moments where thinking about it makes me sad…and maybe it takes a while for that to go away completely.  But I think it’s kind of funny that the situation with him seemed like such a huge deal at the time. It has made me so much tougher and so much more relaxed and so much less likely to tolerate crap from people in all situations.

In the past six months, I have gone from rock bottom to working at a wonderful job that pays me well. I have my own place. I have new friends. I still talk daily with my friends living in Korea. I know that the chain of crappy events that led to where I am were all for the better. The next time I’m depressed about something, all I have to do is remember that I don’t get panic attacks these days and then glance in a mirror and remind myself that I think I look pretty darn good.

Enough was enough

You can be told a million times that nothing will change until you change your attitude and start believing in yourself. It’s wonderful and true advice, but when you’re in the middle of something awful…it’s hard advice to take. You want the opposite to happen – for your situation to change so you can have a better attitude as a result. That might happen to some extent, but a change in circumstance without an initial change in attitude won’t allow for as much happiness or appreciation.

I say all of this because I have been living this way. I got back from Korea almost six months ago after being there for almost a year and a half. Getting back meant feeling like I went back in time. I had changed and grown so much …but everything here was the same. I began to slip back into my old ways.

Prior to moving to Korea, I was stuck. I went to school, went home, wrote, talked to my family, and that was pretty much it. I was terribly shy. I was also unwilling to get to know anyone and make close friends other than ones I had from high school. I knew I had to change something. I decided to go to Korea. I changed.

I made amazing friends who were as dear to me as family. I had a boyfriend for whom I cared so deeply. I became this vibrant, outgoing, caring person that I didn’t know I could be. I am sure my family knew that about me but few other people did. I put up major walls.

Then I came home.

I was alone. My friends were so far away. My boyfriend and I broke up. I was depressed. I found myself staying in bed too long. I spent Christmas night alone in my room crying over the break up and how alone I always felt.

I was pretty depressed from November to February. That’s when it all began to change. I got a great job. I had purpose again. I had to get up early and I had responsibilities. My circumstances had changed before my attitude had.

Was I happy? I don’t think so. I was happier but I wasn’t happy.

I don’t mean to write this as a religious post – but I am a Christian, and being a Christian to me means living a life that others can look at and respect. I had one evening that was so horrible about three weeks ago. I had been having a great time at work. I was working hard and getting praised. Despite all that – even though my situation was wonderful – I found myself crying one evening. I was home alone and didn’t know who to turn to…so I prayed.

I really didn’t say much. I remember saying “I’m broken. My heart is broken and I can’t do this by myself anymore. I don’t know what to do.”

The following morning was Palm Sunday. I went to church and found that the sermon was all about how God heals the broken-hearted. Literally that was what our pastor said. I couldn’t believe it. I remember sort of looking up and thinking, “So you really heard me yesterday, huh?” The message of the sermon was that once God heals us…we can help others.

It was interesting how…from that moment I found that people were cropping up in my life who were just great people. Interesting, fun, kind. I felt less inhibited by my recent past and all of the heartache that I had endured. I stopped going right home after work and going to my room. I read and wrote at a coffee shop or bookstore. I stayed later to chat with colleagues who were fast becoming friends. I started to meet two Korean girls from my university to show them around the city and help them get acclimated. I spent time with my parents watching TV or movies or just joking around. (I have great parents. Have I mentioned that?)

I started to remember why I had been so outgoing in Korea. It was because of my attitude. I had to have a good attitude because I was in such a foreign place. Having a bad attitude meant you’d spiral really quickly. I saw it happen to other ex-pats. I realized I had to apply those principles to being home. I had to allow myself to be happy in the face of adversity.

These past several weeks have been a complete turn around. I realized there isn’t anything stopping me from being happy. I even realized that part of what I had to do to be myself was live on my own again. This past weekend I thought, “Hey, what’s stopping me?” I left home Saturday morning, found an apartment, put a hold deposit on it, and the application was approved this week. I move in a week and a half.

For a while, I felt going to Korea was the wrong choice. I was certain during those difficult past few months that it had done more harm than good. But I know now that it equipped me with the tools I required. I just had to remember how to use them.

On being an adult…sort of?

I know people who talk about their high school and college days fondly. They talk about those crazy parties and those wild times and being hungover in class and dating as if those were the good times and being an adult is all responsibility and monotony.

I’m not one of those people.

Listen, I didn’t hate college. I did a lot of growing and learning…however I wasn’t outgoing enough to have the college experience we see in movies. I studied and wrote papers and talked to people in class sometimes…and that was it. Once I switched my major from music to English I got great grades. I felt like college was a pitstop on the way to something better.

But this is my problem. I have always felt like what I was doing at any given time was a precursor to something else. I can’t honestly say that I ever took the time to be thankful for where I was in my life at any given time. There was always something better to look forward to.

When I finished school, it was Korea – the bigger and better thing. I moved there, I loved it, but I knew it was temporary.

Korea was a weird thing. It was the first time in my life that I let myself appreciate what I was doing…but it felt…shallow? I don’t know if that’s the right word for it. I guess it was almost fake. It wasn’t my real life. It was like… the Korean currency was like monopoly money. My bills were magically taken from my account every month and I didn’t care. I drank and smoked cigarettes – gross habit that I don’t have anymore – and I dated. I had a serious relationship – the first I had ever had.

Korea was different from other stages of my life though. I wasn’t watching the calendar and counting the days until something better happened. I was trying to have as much fun as possible before I had to go back to the States and be an adult…which to me seemed like the absolute worst thing ever.

In my mind, adults were people who had it all together. They were people with marriages and mortgages and organized plans for everything. They had steady – albeit mind-numbing – occupations and talked about the weather and budgets and whatever was going on in the Middle East.

I can’t go back and be an adult, I thought to myself on many an occasion. I don’t have it all together yet. I’m emotional and anxious and insecure. I still like wearing headbands with cute bows. I like my Hello Kitty wearing sunglasses t-shirt. I’m not married. I’m so disorganized. And I never know what’s going on with the war on terror so however will I converse with anyone. If I happen to find myself in a waiting room of some sort and my reading material choices are limited to newspapers…you had better believe I’m going to read the arts and leisure section. Politics? I don’t think so. What a drag.

But as circumstances would have it, I found myself back in America trying to find a full-time job and feeling too much like a child. Where would I fit in? I had had a full-time job in Korea, sure, but that was Korea where I was away from reality. I hadn’t given the work I was doing much thought. I showed up, taught English, then got drunk 4-5 days a week with friends or coworkers.

So…I get this job I have now…by the grace of God…and the first few weeks were surreal. I wore my professional clothes and talked with adults and had meetings and taught classes to people two and three times my age. I did this all while thinking I was a child compared to everyone. How would they take me seriously…?

Then…the turning point. I was in a meeting with my team – the three of us trainers – and my supervisor asked what concerns we had since we were both new to the training world. I brought up that, “When I’m teaching adults, I feel like I can’t be the authority.”

My supervisor said, “You say ‘adults’ like you’re not one.”

And then my coworker, who is a good 6-7 years older than me, said, “Oh yeah, I feel the same way. You just have to fake it until you believe it.”

Wait a minute. My coworker was an adult…and she still felt this way…? That made absolutely no sense to me. She was supposed to have it all together, right?

Then, through this time I have been teaching, I have talked with my students candidly about their lives. One conversation I had with a woman who is a mother and grandmother has stayed with me.

“Sweetheart,” she told me. “I wish I had it together as much as I did when I was in my twenties. I had all my stuff together. I don’t know how I kept so organized with my kids and working and going to school. I had it all together. I can’t do that anymore.”

So… do any of us feel like we have it all together?

These first few months at this job have been some of the most meaningful and rewarding in my life. For the first time, I don’t feel like I’m waiting for something better. I want to do the absolute best that I can to teach my students. I have met so many people traveling to different locations in this city and it has made me much more outgoing. I am happy. I’m not wondering what I can do after this because I’m too busy having fun.

This, I have decided, is what being an adult is for me. I’m still as emotional and eccentric as I was when I was a teenager. My laundry still sits in a basket until I decide to put it away…maybe two or three weeks after. I don’t feel like I have everything together …and if you bring up politics I’m probably going to awkwardly excuse myself from the conversation. I don’t quite know what’s going on in the Middle East, but I did watch Argo so that counts for something, right?

Being an adult is much more fun than I had anticipated. All it took was being happy with where I am at this time.

FT Island…Culture Shock Cure

I miss Korea. But it doesn’t mean I can’t stay connected.

I have decided to be a conversation partner for students from my university. I might have two Korean friends soon.

Staying connected to Korea = best reverse culture shock cure yet.

What I Miss

The people I was close to. The things we did on the weekends. Going to parks, shopping, festivals. I still keep connected with them, but it’s not the same as living there with them. 😦

The Post-Korea Effect – what you might not know about how your brain will operate when you get to America

1. You will be obsessed with age.

I haven’t ever cared about who is older than me, who is the youngest at work, who should be addressed with a degree of respect. But I became obsessed with age in Korea because…well…Koreans are obsessed with age… I was the youngest teacher at work, and there were expectations. I had to be respectful. I had to be cute.

At bars or parties, Koreans always asked how old I am. You can ask anyone…it’s really not rude. Older folks might jokingly not answer you, but they don’t get offended that you asked.

Here in the states, though…nobody cares! I forgot about that. My boss hired me and another trainer around the same time so we all kinda work as a team. The first time I met the other trainer, I was like “I think we’re around the same age! How old are you?”

Realizing that was blunt, I said, “Oh, sorry, it doesn’t really matter how old you are!” and my boss said, “There’s that Korea showing!” because she knows, obviously, all about my working in Korea. By the way, my coworker is way cool, so she didn’t mind telling me her age. She answered me like it was no big deal. But still, I’m gonna get myself into trouble if I keep asking people how old they are!

2. You will get sick from having too many sweets.

This might be untrue for people who don’t really try to immerse themselves in the culture. I had foreign friends who managed to have most foreign – i.e. Western – food while they were in Korea. I, however, am OBSESSED – OBSESSED, YOU GUYS – with Korean food. I love it more than American food. I still keep 고추장 [hot pepper paste] at home to make mixed rice dishes. I also usually have 김치 [kimchi] and other side dishes.

I didn’t realize, though, that Koreans aren’t much for sweets. When I was there, I stopped drinking milk-based coffee drinks, because they just didn’t make them very well. I had iced americanos every day. I didn’t add milk or much sweetner. Usually I didn’t have any desserts aside from 팥빙수 – a shaved-ice dessert with fruit and rice cake. Compared to American sweets…it just isn’t sweet.

So, I got back to America a few weeks before Thanksgiving and my family brought all these glorious pies and desserts. I tried a cookie and …maybe half a piece of pie? And I thought I was going to barf.

Ick.

3. You will miss hearing Korean.

If you’ve lived in Korea, you will get so used to hearing Korean that you will actually start to enjoy it. Maybe? I don’t know about everyone, but this was my experience. The language is totally cool and the inflections and the way people speak is fun to observe.

I got so used to saying thank you in Korean at all public places that I was still kinda saying it in America for the first month or so. The barista would hand me my iced coffee – with a weird expression because I ask for one pump of sweetner in a giant coffee and don’t want milk – and I’d go, “Kam-sa….I mean thank you.” and walk away awkwardly.

4. Bowing makes more sense than shaking hands.

Korean people definitely do shake hands in business settings and stuff – after bowing of course – but bowing is more common. In social gatherings when friends introduce each other, you say hello in Korean and bow.

Let me tell you all something… I. Miss. Bowing.

It makes so much more sense. I am definitely not a touchy-feely person so I – being the weirdo I am – would much rather bow than shake someone’s hand. I am also worried that I will shake too weakly in business settings and the boss or whoever will think I’m pathetic and unprofessional. That isn’t a concern in Korea, though. I can handle a bow.

Most Americans are baffled – at least at first – by the way Koreans interact with each other. It kinda seems cold and distant. But I prefer it. I think it’s more genuine. I didn’t have to act like I was close to someone I didn’t care about or didn’t know well. I didn’t have to make small talk. I didn’t have to shake hands.

But if you’re close to a Korean…that’s a different story. They are incredible friends and would do anything for you. And if you’re not close…sorry, but they’re not going to act like you are. It makes perfect sense to this girl.

5. Americans will look slobbish.

I didn’t realize how little regard the average American has for his or her appearance until I saw how beautiful men and women are in Korea. They’re fashionable and thin and gorgeous. Going back to the States was like going from Manhattan to a back-woods swamp village. People are in ratty jeans and sweatshirts at the supermarket or coffee shop.

I don’t totally disapprove of this. I know it is partially because I am in the south rather than some big metropolitan …and I realize that it is good to not care too much about your appearance and it’s the person’s personality that counts…blah blah blah. But. BUT. I also see the value in taking pride in your appearance and trying to look your best. I miss seeing cool fashions and men that looked like they stepped off a runway and onto the street. Korea is a beautiful place.

I still dress as I did in Korea. Currently, I am at a coffee shop writing this wearing designer jeans, wedge heels, a long black shirt, cardigan, and matching fashion scarf. I am also wearing makeup and jewelry. I am going to continue this even though my friends show up and ask why I look “so fancy.”

See how great everyone dresses?

That is my list for the time being, but I am sure I will think of other things to add.

What I Miss

The people I met randomly. Here I am with a bunch of guys who had just finished military service. They were Korean marines, and my friend – the one with longer hair – was in the marines, so we bought them celebratory food and alcohol when we ran into them on the street.

They referred to me as “noona” which is the Korean word for “older sister.” They were cute as can be.

“Oh my gosh, your nose is bleeding!”

Let me talk a little bit about my new trainer job and how it compares to my only other professional experience as a teacher in Korea.

I graduated from college and knew that I wanted to see the world before getting a “real job,” but of course, in order to do so, I had to have a job. I chose Korea, as frequent readers of this blog know by now, and started a job as an adult ESL instructor there. This was June 2011. I was a fresh-faced 22-year-old, completely oblivious to the ways of the working world.

Standing with my Chinese Zodiac animal about one month after arriving in Korea.

I was thrown into working almost immediately. I was told I’d have a week of training, but that didn’t happen. I got there, I was still jetlagged, I had no travel experience unless you count that one time we flew to Florida when I lived there in high school, and I was overwhelmed. I worked insane hours. 7AM-11AM, then back again at 5 to work until 9PM. I was tired all the time.

With my bosses. Yep, I’m quite tall. 5’11″ish. I looked tall in Korea.

The thing about working in Korea is that…it is apparently very unlike working in America. My bosses weren’t intimidating women. You can probably tell from the picture that they were sweet and liked me. But they were bosses. There is a big disconnect between boss and employee in Korea. Allow me to explain.

In Korea, the employee is in absolutely no way encouraged to give input. On more than one occasion, I or my coworkers would have an idea about how to improve something or other, and we’d share it, but nothing would change. Our bosses even got a bit…agitated? …if we tried to act like we had a good idea. They didn’t want to hear it.

Creativity? Ha. Creativity is not encouraged in Korea. It isn’t encouraged from a young age as it is here in the US. This means that everyone is very smart – meaning they know a lot of things – but they can’t innovate. It’s odd for a person such as myself who is so creative. We could suggest things and try to innovate or improve the place, but we were so rarely listened to. Only the most persistent among us could change the way things were done. [Hi, Stetson, if you read this. I am referencing those electronic evaluations, sir!]

Bosses can pretty much say whatever they want to employees. HR? …did we have an HR department? I have no idea. But I doubt it. My bosses told me to lose weight, wear makeup, that older male students would like me because I was cute. If I got upset about something, they’d tell me I couldn’t act angry because I was a young woman and had to maintain my “cute” image.

This “say anything” mentality continued when I was sick. I got severe tonsillitis and wasn’t allowed to take a single hour off of work. I, actually, got more classes than ever that week and was dealing with moving to a new apartment. The only time my bosses spoke to me was to tell me that I couldn’t take a day off and to say I could go to the hospital when I had a break so I could get a painkiller injection in order to speak. I was in so much pain and so dehydrated that I went home during each break and when work was finished in the evenings and bawled like a crazy person. But they needed to make money, and as long as I was there teaching, it didn’t matter what kind of shape I was in. The students were paying, so I was going to be there.

Proof that some of my students were sweethearts. See 3. haha!

Don’t get me wrong, I had some amazing students and really value that experience. But, the one weird thing it did was give me unrealistic expectations about working life. I got back to the US kind of…scarred? I took a month to recoup and then decided to start looking for work, but it was almost like I had PTSD. I had been so overworked that thought of working again sent me into a complete psycho panic. I kept thinking, “What if I get sick again and I have to drive all the way to work and feel sick and be sick and it will be horrible?” “What if I have bad hours and my boss is mean and everything is horrible again?!” “Will I have to sign a contract? Will they steal money from me like the Korean company did?!” [another story for another time.]

My mother kept assuring me that this wasn’t the case at all. One month unemployed was enough for me, though, despite my fears of the working world, and I signed up with a temp agency that is actually run through the company I work for currently.

I worked at a car auction for a week and then I was placed at my office. I worked with the facilities department, which was a great experience. I was just a temp, but everyone I met was kind and welcoming. I thought it was because this was my mother’s office, but apparently that wasn’t true. Everyone chatted with me, said good morning to me, et c. My supervisor didn’t hover. She gave me assignments and allowed me to accomplish the work at my own pace and with my own methods.

I got the opportunity, after working there for about two months, to work as a trainer at one of the company’s other locations. I was fortunate because the supervisor that hired me for that knew my history as a teacher. I wound up being offered that trainer job when I applied for a different job with the same supervisor. I was so excited, even though I didn’t actually get the job I applied for. I was thrilled to get to be a teacher again.

Working in the US…what a difference. I mentioned when I wrote about my temping that people were welcoming and my supervisor was not one to hover and micromanage and not encourage creativity. But there’s more differences.

My supervisor hired me because of my creativity. She wants me to work with the other member of our team to revamp the curriculum I teach and encourages innovation. I am constantly shocked to have my input valued. I think my boss is very approachable. I know that if I have a problem, she won’t mind my asking for help. We are also given a great deal more freedom than I had in Korea. I have trudged through torrential downpours and fallen on ice on the sidewalk in Korea, but when we had a snowstorm here this week, I was allowed to cancel my class and work from home. My boss trusts us to make judgment calls.

I don’t feel stressed about getting sick. After the tonsillitis thing, I was so scarred. I know, though, that my boss would let me work from home and get someone to teach my classes if I were so ill.

But, the habits from Korea live on… I am not accustomed to this working environment yet. I expect to be scolded and demeaned and I’m not. I often offer my opinions and creative input, but I get self conscious about it, almost as if I am expecting a bad reaction from my boss – though I don’t get a bad reaction ever.

And as far as getting sick…

I think from stress and/or allergies and/or dryness of where I teach, I got a nosebleed a couple weeks ago. A pretty bad one. I could have gone to the bathroom, taken care of it, and my students wouldn’t have minded. But I shocked them when I grabbed a tissue, shoved it up my nose and continued teaching as if nothing had happened at all.

I guess I would have to say that, while I value the experience I had working in Korea, it was two-sided. I wish I’d had a professional job here before going there, because I would have known what to expect with the one I have currently. But had that been the case, I might have had a hard time adjusting to working in Korea. I don’t know. Korea was a strange thing. I appreciate it so much, but it’s left me a different and somewhat odd person. I feel like I don’t quite fit here and I didn’t quite fit there.

I didn’t expect this post to be so extensive, but I hope it gave some insight into the Korean working world. I suppose some might think that’s interesting?

Why travel? – a writer’s perspective on seeing the world.

My neighborhood in Korea.

I cannot possibly stress enough what a difference traveling made for me as a writer. I have mentioned here before that it taught me compassion for others and taught me to be more independent…but it was so much beyond that.

Traveling abroad to a country as homogenous as Korea gives you the rare opportunity to bond with people you feel a sort of kinship toward – meaning other foreigners. It’s an interesting friendship, because I found myself becoming closer to the people I met there than I had ever been to most of my friends back home. I think it’s because you’re all going through the same thing and sort of have the same mindset. You all wanted to leave America for one reason or another and find yourself in this strange place where you get stared at and observed like animals in a zoo. There was something about the friendships I formed there that will stay with me forever. I don’t think it’s possible to form friendships like that here where I am American and so is everyone else.

I find this making it’s way to my writing and it’s fantastic. I think the relationships between my characters are much more real than they used to be. My current novel is about people with special abilities to see another realm that exists on Earth. They have superhuman abilities. Thus, I see their relationships with each other as very similar to my relationships with Americans in Korea. You bond because you have this common thing that the people around you don’t understand.

Interestingly enough, often you meet other Americans in Korea and judge them more harshly than you would back home. Maybe it’s that nerdy guy who you know is only there to get a Korean woman, or that girl who drinks and parties at the club every weekend because drunk in public isn’t against the law there. I met so many Americans there that I couldn’t stand. They kinda made a bad name for us, and it was frustrating.

This has made it into my novel as well. I have bad characters that should be good. The more people you meet, the more realistic your characters. It’s interesting, because I used to read extreme characters in novels and think, “That’s absurd. There aren’t really people like that anywhere in the world.” Then I went to Korea and met all kinds of people and realized that …I was wrong.

This was taken at my goodbye party the day before I left Korea. These were my closest friends and coworkers. Strange to think I’d have never met these amazing people had I not gone to Korea.

I think the most important thing traveling did for my writing though was to remind me that there’s something else beyond what I know. I often had these moments on the way to work walking past a bunch of people or on the subway where I’d look around and think, “These people have been over here living their lives and I never gave them a passing thought. I was practically ignorant to their existence.” It reminds you that everyone has their own story. I think this is vitally important to writing.

The smallest character needs to have his or her own story, whether your readers end up being ignorant to it or not. I think each character has motives and back stories and all of the things that make up a real person.

The thing is, I was told all of this in writing classes, but until I experienced it, it didn’t really make any sense to me. I got it in theory but not in actuality.

Thinking about all the people in all the countries around the world with their own hopes, dreams, and stories makes me feel so connected to everyone. It’s fascinating to think about, and I’m glad I got the chance to travel and experience it.

Travel.

Make yourself a part of those stories even if you’re just that American they passed on the street earlier today. See how other people are living. Gain understanding and perspective.

[Here I am making kimchi – a traditional Korean dish – with some awesome Korean grandmas…all of whom were born in North Korea. They went to South Korea during the war.]