Thursday, October 22, 2009

How My Life is Different

For the past three days, I have been in a bit of a fog. Though it may be due to jetlag, it seems to be something else. I feel as though I'm not really "in" a foreign country, like I'm really still in San Antonio and all I have to do is go back to sleep and I'll be back home. At the risk of sounding overdone, it feels so surreal. I catch myself thinking, "Can this really be happening? Is this actually what I think it is? Am I really in a foreign country?" As I conduct my classes, I think, "Am I really teaching English as a Second Language?" I do the same thing as I walk down the street observing the sights. "Is this actually Korea?" I think to myself. I have wanted to do this for so long that now, as I'm finally in the middle of it, I approach my new life situation with a sense of disbelief. In a sense, I feel like this really can't be happening. As I commented about these thoughts to my two ex-pat friends, Andy remarked, "You'll have that for about a week. Then you'll wake up one morning and think, 'Wow. I'm in a foreign country.' " I feel as if that happened yesterday for me. Wednesday morning, I said to myself as I looked in the mirror, "I'm in South Korea. Oh my gosh!" I almost wanted to ask myself how I got here. That's when things started to change for me.

Before then, I stayed inside. The guys have to be at work at 11:30 or 12:30 every day, but since the administration wants me to fully transition into the new culture, I don't have to be there until 2:30. If I wake up at 8 or 8:30, that gives me almost 6 hours to myself. I usually wake up by then; the latest I've slept in this week, even Monday morning when I went to bed at 1:30, was 8:45! Until yesterday, I just kept to myself in my apartment. If I stay there, I can pretend that I'm still in the States--especially when I turn on music. It doesn't feel any different, except for feeling like it's a new place in San Antonio than where I have lived before. Once I understood the weight of what living in a foreign country meant, however--and what it meant not to be able to "go home" for a while--I began to open up to possibilities. Yesterday, I walked myself to the PC bang (pronounced "bong") to do some blogging; I did the same today. I thought about venturing out more, but the guys haven't shown me how to get to any other place but here yet. Maybe I should rephrase that: They've taken me to E-Mart, Family Mart (a convenience store), and to various restaurants, but I don't remember how to get anywhere else.

I feel like my life has been turned upside down, like the opposite of a tragedy. What I have done is essentially a major life change and, like a tragedy, takes an enormous amount of energy to adjust. Things are so much different that I find my mind reeling. My old roommate Liz made a comment once when I first moved in with her that comforts me: The three of us moved into a house in the northeast side of San Antonio last November; she and Rachel (my other old roommate) had been living together on the northwest side, which is about a 30-minute drive without traffic. A few weeks after moving in, we were all three riding in the car together when Liz sighed suddenly, "We're over here now." Then she smiled peacefully. There was no adjusting for Liz; she just accepted the new place and new side of town with expectancy. That's what I should do. I'm over here in Korea now; this is my new life. What does God have in store for this new season?

Here are some ways that my life is different: For one, I have no car. I don't mind not having one, either. There's really no room for one, nor is there a need. Transportation is provided to the school; if I need to go somewhere like the hospital, one of my Korean friends like Lauren will pick me up. If I want to get anywhere by myself, I walk. The shopping district (downtown Chungju) is less than a five-minute walk from my apartment building. As Brandon commented, "It's a great location." If I want to go to somewhere like Lotte-Mart (pronounced "Low-tay," like Wal-mart), I take a taxi (which I haven't done yet). I haven't been brave enough to come anywhere by myself other than the PC bang, but Andy assures me that all is safe. "There's really no crime in Korea," he said. "Nothing's going to happen to you." Though I don't mind walking by myself, it's nice to have friends like the guys to be with me. Not only do they know more of the city, but I don't feel so alone.

Another thing that's different about my life here so far is a noticable lack of girlfriends. Lauren, Pam, and I are the only adult women at the school besides our students. As of yet, I haven't "hung out with" either of them. In San Antonio, my friend Heidi and I would hang out a lot. She'd call me in the morning and ask, "Hey, what are you doing today? Do you want to go with me?" The Friday before I left, I drove to her house and had breakfast with her and her son. I saw her almost every week and talked to her as frequently. She'd call me whenever she had a few minutes to spare. We seemed to be always talking and sharing our lives together. Another girlfriend of mine, Mary-Ellen would get to hang out with me about every one or two months. I had a chance to see her last Thursday as I drove back from Houston. She lives in Seguin, attending school at my alma mater, and I don't get to see her very often. We managed to talk as often as we could, though. I don't really have that here. I have to give myself some credit because I've only been here four days and it takes time to develop the friendships that I had with both of those remarkable women. Still, it is an aspect of my life that so far I miss.

The people I do hang out with, however, are the "guys," Andy and Brandon. I went to dinner with both of them Monday and Tuesday and with just Andy Wednesday night. I hope to continue to hang out with them. They've been showing me around town a bit, introducing me to the PC bang and to other Korean cultural quirks. Since they've been here two months longer than myself, I often lean on their knowledge of the city and their sense of direction. I find myself in disbelief about this aspect of life in Chungju as well. In San Antonio, I didn't have many guy friends. The teachers that I knew at Believers Academy were 90% women and the men were considerably older. When I worked at Bass Pro Shop over the summer, that statistic was flipped and most of the people I knew were my age or slightly older. But even at Bass Pro, surrounded by guys as I was, I made friends with women. It's hard to believe that my "peeps" here so far are guys. They promise to introduce me to other teachers that they know come Friday. Though they don't remind me of my brothers, per se, it does feel as though I'm hanging out with my brothers again.

Even though this all takes some adjusting, I don't feel too under-prepared for this new adventure. Growing up, I tagged along with my brothers and their friends as often as I could. Occasionally, I went off and played by myself. But most of the time, in an effort not to be alone, I tried to be with them. I suspect that my social life will look much like that here in Korea, tagging along with Andy and Brandon as often as they will let me and only occasionally going by myself. It's not a new concept for me to be the only girl. For two years when my mom was out of the house, I was the only girl then, too. It feels like my previous life experiences with my brothers, Jason and Chris, helped me to be better able to adjust to this new phase of life.

I also feel prepared for this adventure through my Spanish classes in high school and college. I may have not quite understood the simplistic nature of teaching a foreign language when I got here; my head was full of thoughts about the English-for-native-speakers classes that I tought in the States, like my 19th-century survey of American literature. Something like that would be way over their heads. My classes here are a lot easier and deal with basic concepts of the English language. Paragraphs for some are difficult to master. Listening to someone speaking quickly is also another difficult task. I know I am drawing from my experiences in Spanish--in the classroom as well as in real life along the San Antonio Riverwalk--as I stand in front of my classroom. I have to remember that, just like me in Spanish all those years ago, they may not be able to fully understand what I say to them. It requires so much more patience than teaching a native speaker.

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