Last Tuesday night, I was asked to substitute in a conversational English class at a local high school for my director, who has been out of the country since my arrival in Korea. The class as a whole that night was disasterous because of the disrespect I saw coming from the students; one of them walked in twenty-five minutes late because, according to him, he was getting a haircut. I had to stop the class in the middle of everything and sternly put my foot down because of the disrupting conversations in Korean that I had to shout above. Because of their lack of engagement, I assumed that I might have given them a task beneath their abilities. Perhaps the outbursts were really a way to cry out for challenge.
There were some good moments that night, on the whole. I had asked the students to write about why they would leave Korea and live in another country. One girl said that she would leave because of Korea's strict educational expectations. She mentioned a lack of freedom in the school system and that other countries might have it different. In that moment, I felt a connection with the class and with the student. There was not much discussion about it, presumably because the students were either not interested or because they already knew most of what there was to say about the topic, yet I felt satisfied at the result of such a deep admittance.
It was here that I met two delightlful young women, Asheely (she says she spells it this way) and Liz. A few of the students at the front, including these two, seemed to be paying attention the whole time; I had no discipline problems with them. At the end of class, these asked me if I would like to learn how to say things in Korean, like "hello" or "goodbye." One girl even used her paper to write down phrases for me. They taught me how to say "an-yang-ha-se-yo," hello, "an-yang-ca-se-yo," goodbye, and "com-sap-mi-da," which is thank-you. They tried teaching me other things like how to dismiss the class, but by then class was over. Afterwards, some of these girls asked me if I had an IM or a Yahoo Messenger. "I have an email address," I said, and they copied it down. They seemed to be very sweet. One of them, Liz, an energetic, eager student, asked if I could cook her American food. I hesitated for a moment. Then I mentioned something about tea and she piped up again.
"Tea? You want tea? I have some upstairs!" She would have run off to get it, too, had I not stopped her.
"I'm waiting for a friend," I calmed her. I bid them goodbye and said I would see them on Thursday. Thursday's class went much smoother and at the end, Liz asked again about American food.
"Teacher," she asked exhuberantly, "When are you free?"
"Um, Saturday?" We set a date for Liz and Asheely to come to my apartment on Saturday afternoon at 12:30.
I substitute at Jungsan all this week as well, though by next week my director will most likely take over the class again. I feel releaved and also a bit reluctant to give the class back to its teacher: releaved because I didn't feel I had authority enough to correct my students or to run the class as I expressly saw fit and because I am unsure how to fully engage them; reluctant because I don't know how else I will see my friends, Liz and Asheely. Last night, Liz tried to invite me to a "mountain club" that she's involved in. I told her I would like that and she said that she would email me. If the LORD wills, I will surely see them again.
There were some good moments that night, on the whole. I had asked the students to write about why they would leave Korea and live in another country. One girl said that she would leave because of Korea's strict educational expectations. She mentioned a lack of freedom in the school system and that other countries might have it different. In that moment, I felt a connection with the class and with the student. There was not much discussion about it, presumably because the students were either not interested or because they already knew most of what there was to say about the topic, yet I felt satisfied at the result of such a deep admittance.
It was here that I met two delightlful young women, Asheely (she says she spells it this way) and Liz. A few of the students at the front, including these two, seemed to be paying attention the whole time; I had no discipline problems with them. At the end of class, these asked me if I would like to learn how to say things in Korean, like "hello" or "goodbye." One girl even used her paper to write down phrases for me. They taught me how to say "an-yang-ha-se-yo," hello, "an-yang-ca-se-yo," goodbye, and "com-sap-mi-da," which is thank-you. They tried teaching me other things like how to dismiss the class, but by then class was over. Afterwards, some of these girls asked me if I had an IM or a Yahoo Messenger. "I have an email address," I said, and they copied it down. They seemed to be very sweet. One of them, Liz, an energetic, eager student, asked if I could cook her American food. I hesitated for a moment. Then I mentioned something about tea and she piped up again.
"Tea? You want tea? I have some upstairs!" She would have run off to get it, too, had I not stopped her.
"I'm waiting for a friend," I calmed her. I bid them goodbye and said I would see them on Thursday. Thursday's class went much smoother and at the end, Liz asked again about American food.
"Teacher," she asked exhuberantly, "When are you free?"
"Um, Saturday?" We set a date for Liz and Asheely to come to my apartment on Saturday afternoon at 12:30.
I substitute at Jungsan all this week as well, though by next week my director will most likely take over the class again. I feel releaved and also a bit reluctant to give the class back to its teacher: releaved because I didn't feel I had authority enough to correct my students or to run the class as I expressly saw fit and because I am unsure how to fully engage them; reluctant because I don't know how else I will see my friends, Liz and Asheely. Last night, Liz tried to invite me to a "mountain club" that she's involved in. I told her I would like that and she said that she would email me. If the LORD wills, I will surely see them again.
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