Woke up this morning with a stuffy nose and a sinus full o'cotton. I dragged my body into the bathroom and flicked the light switch.
POP!
darkness.
Uh oh...the bathroom blew a fuse. And my effeciency size bathroom doesn't have any windows. I could leave the door open, but then the bathroom would freeze. I quickly reviewed my options: 1) skip shower. Risk students calling me stinky. scratch that. 2) shower in the dark. slip on soap, hit head on the shower drain, die. hmm...not so much. 3) figure something else out.
A candle! I remembered that I have a tiny yellow tea light in a round holder - a leftover from the previous teacher. I grabbed it, light it, and carried it into the bathroom. It was utterly dark, despite the small warm glow of candlelight. I managed to brush my teeth with the candle on the sink, then moved into the shower.
The bathroom was warm from the running shower. In the beams of light weakly thrown from the candle, I could see waves of steam riding up towards the vent. In the absence of light, I was much more aware of other things: the sound of water showering the bathroom tiles; the feel of the tiles, cool and smooth under my feet; the texture of my wash cloth, the warm air swirling in the small space.
It was quite romantic, considering that it was simply an improvisation of my normal morning routine.
Still...I changed the lightbulbs right after school.
3.18.2011
3.17.2011
More proof that I am in fact, a sucker
I had my first teacher's class of the semester, an ordeal that I look forward to about as much as having the stomach flu. I am irrationally resentful of having to teach my colleagues, having it be awkward, having them be bad students, etc.
So, I planned a SUPER had, intimidating first class. With a "English Ability" test, and grammrar. You know, a sock-to-them kind of class that would have them screaming and running out the door, never to return. And freeing up my Tuesday and Thursday afternoons.
But I got there, and the new faces around the table were so hopeful. They passed me tea, and participated in nicely in the introductions.
Gosh darn it, I liked them.
So I scrapped my lesson plan, and we played simple warm up games instead. Getting to know each other, laughing, sipping. General shooting the breeze.
They loved it. And they'll be back. And I'm kind of happy about it.
Double darn it! I was really looking forward to those afternoons...
So, I planned a SUPER had, intimidating first class. With a "English Ability" test, and grammrar. You know, a sock-to-them kind of class that would have them screaming and running out the door, never to return. And freeing up my Tuesday and Thursday afternoons.
But I got there, and the new faces around the table were so hopeful. They passed me tea, and participated in nicely in the introductions.
Gosh darn it, I liked them.
So I scrapped my lesson plan, and we played simple warm up games instead. Getting to know each other, laughing, sipping. General shooting the breeze.
They loved it. And they'll be back. And I'm kind of happy about it.
Double darn it! I was really looking forward to those afternoons...
3.16.2011
3.15.2011
3.14.2011
Litter, piss and spit
Sidewalks in Korea are covered with the effluvium of human disregard. It doesn't matter what you do - throw your coffee cups on the group, lift your child's skirt so she can cop a squat, or spit so that you can releave the tickle in your throat from too many menthol cigarettes - some old man or woman, bent at the waist by years of government employ, will bowleggedly meander down the street at 5am and sweep up all the mess.
The most noticable of these sidewalk habits is the spitting. Every day, every few feet someone is hackey a logey, passionately ejecting spit or letting it dribble, neglected, from pursed lips. There is no use in trying to get around it, because its everywhere. The men just spit all over the place! In doors, outdoors, doesn't matter.
I thought this habit was exclusive to men in Korea, until I saw a lump of mucusy spit in the women's bathroom this weekend. I guess spitting in public is gender neutral.
Fascinated by people and want to discover a career where you can help
them? Check out social work degrees online.
The most noticable of these sidewalk habits is the spitting. Every day, every few feet someone is hackey a logey, passionately ejecting spit or letting it dribble, neglected, from pursed lips. There is no use in trying to get around it, because its everywhere. The men just spit all over the place! In doors, outdoors, doesn't matter.
I thought this habit was exclusive to men in Korea, until I saw a lump of mucusy spit in the women's bathroom this weekend. I guess spitting in public is gender neutral.
Fascinated by people and want to discover a career where you can help
them? Check out social work degrees online.
3.10.2011
The Moments
In Korea, the school year starts in March, so I have said goodbye to the naughty 6th graders, and welcomed the newly minted 3rd graders. The best thing about teaching the 3rd grade is definitely their enthusiasm. As one of my friends put it, "they get excited about learning, even when the material doesn't deserve it."
The first thing we did was a TPR (total physical response) exercise. Basically, I give a command, they do it.
I led them through slowly at first, probing their vocabulary. "What does...stand up mean?" I asked. They gingerly, shyly, stood. "And...sit down?" They sat, utterly obedient. And puzzled. "Open your books?" They flipped the books open, looking around at each other, trying to figure out the page. "Good, good." I said. "And...close your books?" They did.
Then, things got speedy. I fired bulleted commands at them. "Everybody stand UP! Everybody sit down. Open your books! Close your books. Clap 2 times. Stand up! Jump 3 times! Count to 5!" Faster and faster until they were squealing with laughter, having too much fun to realize they were actually learning something.
I wished, not for the first time, that I could capture the moment. I want to show you their chubby faces, cheeks and eyes round with laughter. I want to remember their voices, babyish and wobbly, saying Good Morning, counting to 5, asking questions.
The kids are awesome.
Unless I let them ask me questions.
Question time on the first day included these gems: Where are you from? Japan? China? How old are you? Are you married? What do your parents do? What's your favorite color? Who's your favorite Korean movie star? Do you have a boyfriend? Do you have boyfriends? (yes, as in plural.) Do you kiss your boyfriend? Have you had your first kiss, kiss, KISS??
After the first section, I didn't make the mistake of opening up the floor for questions again.
The first thing we did was a TPR (total physical response) exercise. Basically, I give a command, they do it.
I led them through slowly at first, probing their vocabulary. "What does...stand up mean?" I asked. They gingerly, shyly, stood. "And...sit down?" They sat, utterly obedient. And puzzled. "Open your books?" They flipped the books open, looking around at each other, trying to figure out the page. "Good, good." I said. "And...close your books?" They did.
Then, things got speedy. I fired bulleted commands at them. "Everybody stand UP! Everybody sit down. Open your books! Close your books. Clap 2 times. Stand up! Jump 3 times! Count to 5!" Faster and faster until they were squealing with laughter, having too much fun to realize they were actually learning something.
I wished, not for the first time, that I could capture the moment. I want to show you their chubby faces, cheeks and eyes round with laughter. I want to remember their voices, babyish and wobbly, saying Good Morning, counting to 5, asking questions.
The kids are awesome.
Unless I let them ask me questions.
Question time on the first day included these gems: Where are you from? Japan? China? How old are you? Are you married? What do your parents do? What's your favorite color? Who's your favorite Korean movie star? Do you have a boyfriend? Do you have boyfriends? (yes, as in plural.) Do you kiss your boyfriend? Have you had your first kiss, kiss, KISS??
After the first section, I didn't make the mistake of opening up the floor for questions again.
3.09.2011
The Suwon Rodeo
This weekend, I went with Virginia on a day trip to Suwon. We visited the Hwaseong Fortress, took pictures in a Buddhist temple, and enjoyed the warm weather. Once we finished, we decided to go find a Galbi restaurant on Rodeo Street. According to the guide book, Suwon is famous for Galbi (a dish you can get almost anywhere in Korea) and Rodeo Street is a good place to look for a restuarant.
We hailed down a cab, asked the driver if he knew Rodeo street, and hoped in. It wasn't until we turned down a small back alley that we began to wonder exactly where the heck we were going. The cabbie pulled to a slow stop. We looked at each other, than looked around for street signs.
"This isn't right..." I muttered.
"This is Heungman Street." Virginia said to the driver.
"Yes, I know." He nodded.
Uh....
"We wanted Rodeo Street, sir. RODEO street."
He blanked out. Seriously, there is no other way to describe it. The expression, the vitality simply melted out of his face and he stopped moving. It was like someone pulled his plug. Its an expression I'm used to seeing on my students faces when they don't know the answer to a question in class. Its an expression that is significanly more disturbing when you're in a city you're unfamiliar with, starving, and sitting in a cramped alley.
We shifty-eyed each other, then looked back at him. He still wasn't moving.
I looked around, and saw the we were parked in front of decent looking restaurant.
"Let's just get out here" I whispered. "We can eat or catch another cab."
I tried to pay him, but he shooed my money away. We got out.
After stuffing our faces with Suwon-style Galbi (which was actually different and more delicious than the Galbi I've had in Bucheon), we went across the street to a coffee shop to hang out. Virginia ordered Fruit Tea and knit. I slurped down a vanilla milkshake, and scribbled in my journal.
Of course, scribbling got boring, so I began people watching while I avoided the unsolicited gobs of chocolate syrup in my shake. I looked up at a Karaoke room across the street and my mouth fell open.
"Look!" I said, licking ice cream off of my lips "Rodeo! Rodeo Norae-bang!"
(Norae-bang is what they call Karoake in Korean)
Suddenly the cabbie and his weirdness made sense. He did know Rodeo. Just not Rodeo Street. Although, why he would know one and not the other (Rodeo is a major avenue in Suwon), I don't know.
But it worked out. We rolled our eyes, and settled back into the couch cushions.
We hailed down a cab, asked the driver if he knew Rodeo street, and hoped in. It wasn't until we turned down a small back alley that we began to wonder exactly where the heck we were going. The cabbie pulled to a slow stop. We looked at each other, than looked around for street signs.
"This isn't right..." I muttered.
"This is Heungman Street." Virginia said to the driver.
"Yes, I know." He nodded.
Uh....
"We wanted Rodeo Street, sir. RODEO street."
He blanked out. Seriously, there is no other way to describe it. The expression, the vitality simply melted out of his face and he stopped moving. It was like someone pulled his plug. Its an expression I'm used to seeing on my students faces when they don't know the answer to a question in class. Its an expression that is significanly more disturbing when you're in a city you're unfamiliar with, starving, and sitting in a cramped alley.
We shifty-eyed each other, then looked back at him. He still wasn't moving.
I looked around, and saw the we were parked in front of decent looking restaurant.
"Let's just get out here" I whispered. "We can eat or catch another cab."
I tried to pay him, but he shooed my money away. We got out.
After stuffing our faces with Suwon-style Galbi (which was actually different and more delicious than the Galbi I've had in Bucheon), we went across the street to a coffee shop to hang out. Virginia ordered Fruit Tea and knit. I slurped down a vanilla milkshake, and scribbled in my journal.
Of course, scribbling got boring, so I began people watching while I avoided the unsolicited gobs of chocolate syrup in my shake. I looked up at a Karaoke room across the street and my mouth fell open.
"Look!" I said, licking ice cream off of my lips "Rodeo! Rodeo Norae-bang!"
(Norae-bang is what they call Karoake in Korean)
Suddenly the cabbie and his weirdness made sense. He did know Rodeo. Just not Rodeo Street. Although, why he would know one and not the other (Rodeo is a major avenue in Suwon), I don't know.
But it worked out. We rolled our eyes, and settled back into the couch cushions.
3.08.2011
Unbelievable
For some reason, I am having a hard time getting my hands on the materials for this semester. I have been given the copies of the student books and cds, but the teacher's guide? Not so much...
I am very curious what I am supposed to do with the students books...
I am very curious what I am supposed to do with the students books...
3.07.2011
Vlog Episode 1: Shopping In Diagon Alley
During Harry Potter Winter Camp, I created a role-play activity called "Shopping in Diagon Alley", where the kids had to go to Ollivander's and buy wands. Because the camp was movie-themed, I thought it only fair that I record these little sessions on video. The kids vehemently protested, but I'm older and taller. I win.
I played around and mashed it all together in this little vlog. I hope you enjoy my kids performances as much as I do!
I played around and mashed it all together in this little vlog. I hope you enjoy my kids performances as much as I do!
3.04.2011
a confirmation
My mother says that you always get what you expect, so you should try to only expect good things. When bad things happen, I always wonder, fleetingly, if I have invited Karma to slap my glib face, so it cocks it arm and pops me a good one.
Like today, in class with Susan.
So yeah, maybe's its my fault. I expected her to be useless. I expected her to misunderstand, to hedge, to be afraid, to be lazy. And yet somehow, I wasn't expecting what happened.
Yesterday, I asked Susan to prepare two small things for today's lesson. First task: an introduction. She's never met the 6th graders, so I asked her to prepare to say a little something about herself so that she wouldn't have to awkwardly stand, silent, through my first class and then make a backhanded introduction later.
We chatted about it until I had made myself clear, so imagine my underwhelming surprise when I asked her to speak up and say hello to the class, and she shook her head no, waved awkwardly and backed away. In front of the students, who were watching her, completely puzzled.
I feel you, kiddies. I'm confused too.
"What do you mean, 'no'? Are you a adult or not? Introduce yourself and stop being such a creep!"
I didn't say that.
moving on.
Task two: a game. The teacher's guidebook is full of lots of information that I can never use because its written korean. You might think that it wouldn't be too much to ask for an English Teacher's Guide to be written in English.
You'd be wrong.
Because I can't understand most of it, I asked Susan to help.
"I would like you to play this game with the students." I said.
She blinked at the textbook. "What do you mean?"
I blinked at the textbook. "It's right here, in Korean. Just follow the instructions."
She blinked. I stifled a grimace.
"I want the students to play this game, but I don't know all of the instructions. I think it's a good game, but I can't explain it to them. I would like you to follow the instructions written here, and play this game."
She blinked.
"Here..." I pointed, "It's written in Korean."
"You mean" she said, "the students normally need me to tell them the game instructions...in Korean?"
If she had ever, EVER paid attention in my class, she would know the answer to that one already. Then again, because I know she flakes out and didn't pay attention, her classes never got instructions in Korean. Like I said, listening problem.
I shook my head. "I want you to do this. Just like it says in the book. I want you to do this game with the students."
"Aaah," she nodded, "ok, I will do."
Just to be sure that she got it, I searched through the 6th grade CD-ROM and left the instructions loaded and plainly visible on her desktop screen. Then I messaged her: "these are the instructions for the game! hope they're helpful! :)"
She wrote back "Thanks! :)"
We were totally all set. Except...
When I asked her to play the game in class, she gave me the doe-eyes and was all "wait...what do you want me to do?"
I know, I know. I put it out there. I made the crack about EPIC DISASTER being imminent. And yet, with some small corner of my soul, I had hope that she would prove me wrong. That Karma would help her hear, understand, and follow through.
"Should I speak to the students in...Korean?"
grlglpltz. phpwztt. AAAA!!
Like today, in class with Susan.
So yeah, maybe's its my fault. I expected her to be useless. I expected her to misunderstand, to hedge, to be afraid, to be lazy. And yet somehow, I wasn't expecting what happened.
Yesterday, I asked Susan to prepare two small things for today's lesson. First task: an introduction. She's never met the 6th graders, so I asked her to prepare to say a little something about herself so that she wouldn't have to awkwardly stand, silent, through my first class and then make a backhanded introduction later.
We chatted about it until I had made myself clear, so imagine my underwhelming surprise when I asked her to speak up and say hello to the class, and she shook her head no, waved awkwardly and backed away. In front of the students, who were watching her, completely puzzled.
I feel you, kiddies. I'm confused too.
"What do you mean, 'no'? Are you a adult or not? Introduce yourself and stop being such a creep!"
I didn't say that.
moving on.
Task two: a game. The teacher's guidebook is full of lots of information that I can never use because its written korean. You might think that it wouldn't be too much to ask for an English Teacher's Guide to be written in English.
You'd be wrong.
Because I can't understand most of it, I asked Susan to help.
"I would like you to play this game with the students." I said.
She blinked at the textbook. "What do you mean?"
I blinked at the textbook. "It's right here, in Korean. Just follow the instructions."
She blinked. I stifled a grimace.
"I want the students to play this game, but I don't know all of the instructions. I think it's a good game, but I can't explain it to them. I would like you to follow the instructions written here, and play this game."
She blinked.
"Here..." I pointed, "It's written in Korean."
"You mean" she said, "the students normally need me to tell them the game instructions...in Korean?"
If she had ever, EVER paid attention in my class, she would know the answer to that one already. Then again, because I know she flakes out and didn't pay attention, her classes never got instructions in Korean. Like I said, listening problem.
I shook my head. "I want you to do this. Just like it says in the book. I want you to do this game with the students."
"Aaah," she nodded, "ok, I will do."
Just to be sure that she got it, I searched through the 6th grade CD-ROM and left the instructions loaded and plainly visible on her desktop screen. Then I messaged her: "these are the instructions for the game! hope they're helpful! :)"
She wrote back "Thanks! :)"
We were totally all set. Except...
When I asked her to play the game in class, she gave me the doe-eyes and was all "wait...what do you want me to do?"
I know, I know. I put it out there. I made the crack about EPIC DISASTER being imminent. And yet, with some small corner of my soul, I had hope that she would prove me wrong. That Karma would help her hear, understand, and follow through.
"Should I speak to the students in...Korean?"
grlglpltz. phpwztt. AAAA!!
3.03.2011
A little more about Susan...
I already told you that she's nervous about teaching the 6th graders. Considering our past teaching experiences, I have gone beyond nervous into a blank state of numbness.
Co-teaching the 6th grade with her is a comedy of errors, waiting to happen.
First issue: she doesn't speak English well. Out of the three Korean teachers, her English level is the worst. She speaks the instructions printed out in the teacher's guide, but every sentence that she tries to make by herself is a mangled mismash of sounds that have about a 50% correlation with the English language. To put it plainly: the students speak better English then she does.
This is even more of a problem because her students are 6th graders. Tiny homo sapiens, flirting with the beginning stages of puberty, swollen with confidence in their status as the oldest, the biggest, and the best. I love these kids, but the stage of life they are about to enter is best described as jackassery. Add in the fact that most of these kids are pretty bright, they're going to notice her inability right away.
Smart assery + jackassery - respect for teacher = EPIC disaster is imminent.
Second issue: Susan has a listening problem. Mainly, when we're teaching together, she blanks out. In theory, her job is collaborate with me, and provide discipline, or translation, or backup, or whatever. In practice, she puts on her "teacher face" and goes on a mental holiday in 40 minute chunks. I discovered this first semester, when I asked her to translate the rules of game for the students, in case they didn't understand.
She came up and whispered, "I'm sorry...I wasn't listening."
I managed to swallow the WTF expression before it surfaced, but only just barely.
"Could you explain it to me again, quickly, and then I will translate?" She asked.
I ignored her, and just played the game. If I had to explain her a second time in front of the students, it would have been obvious to them that she wasn't listening. And if she's not listening, why the heck should they?
Her utter lack of concentration was not really a problem when she was teaching the 3rd and 4th grade. I mean, they're tiny. If they are naughty, I can throw them out the window.
Just kidding, I don't do that.
But I am a lot bigger then them, and they are easily intimidated by my presence.
6th grade...not so much.
For the 6th grade, you really need a strong disciplinarian. And someone who's not going undo all of your teaching by filling the students heads with incorrect grammar and konglishy pronunciation every time your back is turned.
Third issue: Susan is afraid of the students. She keeps coming to me, chattering nervously.
"I'm scared" she says. "I'm afraid to meet the students."
Better buckle-up Susie. Could be in for a rough ride.
Co-teaching the 6th grade with her is a comedy of errors, waiting to happen.
First issue: she doesn't speak English well. Out of the three Korean teachers, her English level is the worst. She speaks the instructions printed out in the teacher's guide, but every sentence that she tries to make by herself is a mangled mismash of sounds that have about a 50% correlation with the English language. To put it plainly: the students speak better English then she does.
This is even more of a problem because her students are 6th graders. Tiny homo sapiens, flirting with the beginning stages of puberty, swollen with confidence in their status as the oldest, the biggest, and the best. I love these kids, but the stage of life they are about to enter is best described as jackassery. Add in the fact that most of these kids are pretty bright, they're going to notice her inability right away.
Smart assery + jackassery - respect for teacher = EPIC disaster is imminent.
Second issue: Susan has a listening problem. Mainly, when we're teaching together, she blanks out. In theory, her job is collaborate with me, and provide discipline, or translation, or backup, or whatever. In practice, she puts on her "teacher face" and goes on a mental holiday in 40 minute chunks. I discovered this first semester, when I asked her to translate the rules of game for the students, in case they didn't understand.
She came up and whispered, "I'm sorry...I wasn't listening."
I managed to swallow the WTF expression before it surfaced, but only just barely.
"Could you explain it to me again, quickly, and then I will translate?" She asked.
I ignored her, and just played the game. If I had to explain her a second time in front of the students, it would have been obvious to them that she wasn't listening. And if she's not listening, why the heck should they?
Her utter lack of concentration was not really a problem when she was teaching the 3rd and 4th grade. I mean, they're tiny. If they are naughty, I can throw them out the window.
Just kidding, I don't do that.
But I am a lot bigger then them, and they are easily intimidated by my presence.
6th grade...not so much.
For the 6th grade, you really need a strong disciplinarian. And someone who's not going undo all of your teaching by filling the students heads with incorrect grammar and konglishy pronunciation every time your back is turned.
Third issue: Susan is afraid of the students. She keeps coming to me, chattering nervously.
"I'm scared" she says. "I'm afraid to meet the students."
Better buckle-up Susie. Could be in for a rough ride.
3.02.2011
It's not possible
In Korean culture, its considered rude to be too abrupt with a negative answer. "No" is softened into "Maybe not", "I don't want to" is "let me think about it" and "I don't know"/"OMG it's a FOREIGNER"/"Please go away and stop talking to me!" is boiled down to "Sorry, it's not possible".
No one is going to flip you the bird, tell you to shove off, or admit to ignorance. Those things just aren't done.
I have learned that there is no intrinsic value to the word "possible". If someone pouts this phrase in my direction, I thank them as politely as my frame of mind will allow, and ask someone else for a second opinion. This trick has not occurred to my co-teacher, Susan.
Susan has been shunted the crap job that all the other English teachers want to avoid: teaching the 6th grade. Last semester, she taught 3rd and 4th graders, who are cute, enthusiastic and sweet. Last semester, the 6th grade class was a bunch of bebe's kids who ended up the year the hallway, kneeling in shame almost every period. They terrorized their homeroom teachers and their subject teachers, and we were all too happy to say "Anyong" (goodbye) at graduation.
When it came time to re-distribute the workload, the other two English teachers vindictively gave her the entire 6th grade class. A task that previously, they had split between the two of them.
"We're tired" they told her, "last semester, you had it easy."
In other words, Susan could suck it.
She's nervous about the switch, and keeps asking me questions about 6th graders. We were in her classroom, preparing for lesson one when I looked up and realized she still had all of the short desks. Considering how big some to the students are, I immediately started giggling.
"What are you going to do about these desks?" I asked her.
"I asked Ghey about that," she said, "but apparently, it's not possible to get new ones."
Now, wait just a tootin' fla-loutin' second.
Why is it that Susan, who now teaches the 6th grade exclusively, cannot simply switch desks with Ghey, who will now teach mainly 4th graders? How does it make any kind of sense for her to hog all of the big desks, when her half-pint sized students will be swinging their legs in their too-tall chairs. If I were Susan, I would have asked this. But when I looked into her brown, guileless eyes, I could see that such a thought had never sparked across her placid brain.
I should have just smiled reassuringly. Or gave a noncommittal nod. Or acted equally puzzled. Any sort gesture of confused solidarity would have been sufficient.
But instead, I looked around the classroom again, and imagined the lanky, the chubby, the awkward 6th graders, who will only get bigger as the year goes on, trying to shove their non-cooperative limbs into those tiny desks.
"Well..." I said, "should be interesting..."
No one is going to flip you the bird, tell you to shove off, or admit to ignorance. Those things just aren't done.
I have learned that there is no intrinsic value to the word "possible". If someone pouts this phrase in my direction, I thank them as politely as my frame of mind will allow, and ask someone else for a second opinion. This trick has not occurred to my co-teacher, Susan.
Susan has been shunted the crap job that all the other English teachers want to avoid: teaching the 6th grade. Last semester, she taught 3rd and 4th graders, who are cute, enthusiastic and sweet. Last semester, the 6th grade class was a bunch of bebe's kids who ended up the year the hallway, kneeling in shame almost every period. They terrorized their homeroom teachers and their subject teachers, and we were all too happy to say "Anyong" (goodbye) at graduation.
When it came time to re-distribute the workload, the other two English teachers vindictively gave her the entire 6th grade class. A task that previously, they had split between the two of them.
"We're tired" they told her, "last semester, you had it easy."
In other words, Susan could suck it.
She's nervous about the switch, and keeps asking me questions about 6th graders. We were in her classroom, preparing for lesson one when I looked up and realized she still had all of the short desks. Considering how big some to the students are, I immediately started giggling.
"What are you going to do about these desks?" I asked her.
"I asked Ghey about that," she said, "but apparently, it's not possible to get new ones."
Now, wait just a tootin' fla-loutin' second.
Why is it that Susan, who now teaches the 6th grade exclusively, cannot simply switch desks with Ghey, who will now teach mainly 4th graders? How does it make any kind of sense for her to hog all of the big desks, when her half-pint sized students will be swinging their legs in their too-tall chairs. If I were Susan, I would have asked this. But when I looked into her brown, guileless eyes, I could see that such a thought had never sparked across her placid brain.
I should have just smiled reassuringly. Or gave a noncommittal nod. Or acted equally puzzled. Any sort gesture of confused solidarity would have been sufficient.
But instead, I looked around the classroom again, and imagined the lanky, the chubby, the awkward 6th graders, who will only get bigger as the year goes on, trying to shove their non-cooperative limbs into those tiny desks.
"Well..." I said, "should be interesting..."
3.01.2011
Irked: the 6th month mark
I am sad to say it, but the honeymoon period is officially over. I have reached the point in my adventure when I would like nothing more than to escape from it! The food is covered in spicy pepper sauce. My students excel in blank faces. Its cold. Elevators, restaurants, public spaces, whatever, they're all crowded. There is never any toilet paper.
I'm over it all.
In order to twist myself out of this quagmire, I am turning my focus to cheap travel possibilities. Time to get out of Gyeonggi province, or at least get out of the Seoul metropolitan area, a little more regularly.
I'm over it all.
In order to twist myself out of this quagmire, I am turning my focus to cheap travel possibilities. Time to get out of Gyeonggi province, or at least get out of the Seoul metropolitan area, a little more regularly.
New Semester
I am still alive an kicking over here. Not much has been happening, lately. February was a bit of wash, considering that I only taught about 4 days. Today is a national holiday, and tomorrow is back to the grind! Should be interesting...
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