the truth of the matter

Time for some Internet honesty. 

This comes after some good long thought about my life in Korea and many conversations with friends that have become a bit too cynical.  I’ve been trying to embrace a mantra of only putting good energy into the world, but I have been finding that Korea is making that rather difficult.  I’ll explain.

I came to Korea with all the naïveté and enthusiasm I could muster.  Another adventure!  A new country!  A new continent!  So many places to explore!  Quite frankly, I like this energy.  I like the endless possibilities it provides.  Arriving without specific expectations allows me to really experience whatever is thrown my way.  Don’t get me wrong, I do my homework before arriving and know more or less what I am coming into, but then I throw that out the window and try to approach it all with a clean slate.

That being said, I wouldn’t have come to Korea if I didn’t think it was going to be awesome.  Everyone I knew who had lived in Korea said it was marvelous, the best thing they had ever done, they would do it again in a heartbeat.  That all sounded pretty good to me!  Combined with standardized working hours, decent pay, and the ability to travel Asia during vacations, it seemed like a really good deal.  And it is, on paper.

But my reality has not lived up to the non-expectations that I had. 

Korea itself is an interesting and sometimes beautiful place.  There are magnificent mountains and stunning stretches of rice paddies.  But, with hundreds and thousands and millions of people living on top of each other, the cities become clogged, smoggy, dirty, littered.  At all hours, people scream from windows, cats dig through garbage bins, and pedestrians are nearly taken out by the numerous automobiles that careen through red lights.  Men spit on the ground continuously and everyone talks with their mouths full and slurps their soup.  The sewers ooze stench that somehow overpowers that of the garbage bags that rot for days on the side of the road.  In the city, there is not a love of space and place like there is in the country.  Stillness is foreign and quiet elusive.

In South Africa, I found solace in my relative anonymity, that is, until I opened my mouth.  When I spoke, I was often bombarded with questions: Where are you from? No, I know you are from America, where?  Here, my mere image is enough to send people into various fits.  These range across the full spectrum: from angry stares to delighted giggles, from running up to touch me to hysterical tears of horror.  At first, I was amused.  Now, I am irritated.  We are not so different, you and I.  Please stop treating me as such.  I live here.  Get over it.

This waygook effect goes both ways, though.  Because we are foreign, we sometimes get special treatment.  People will help us.  Our ignorance grants us certain freedoms that Koreans cannot have.  For example, I don’t have to wear socks with my school shoes, whereas the Koreans do.  Despite these moments of seeming grace, the majority of my day is spent with a false grin attempting to hide the fact that I am aware of the discrimination against me.

Korean culture is not very direct, so these moments of, dare I say, discrimination are disguised and very passive aggressive.  For example, websites will often list different airfares in English and in Korean.  If you are Korean (or at least read Korean), you receive a hefty discount.  I have been physically removed from shops; taken by the shoulders and thrown out, having done nothing but browsed the racks while chatting with a friend.  A recent news program aired on national television addressed the “foreigner problem” in Korea; how we come in, steal their women, rape them, bring HIV/AIDS into the country, and otherwise bring ruin to a sterling civilization.  I know that not all Koreans feel this way, but some do, and their stares seem to say, “Get out.  Get out now.”

This inequality is also built into the fabric of the school system and EPIK program.  Native English teachers are tested for drugs and sexually transmitted diseases, whereas Korean teachers are not.  Native English teachers are evaluated by students, parents, and co-workers, whereas, to my knowledge, Korean teachers are not.  To add insult to injury, I am not allowed to evaluate students’ progress in the classroom: I have no say in tests or any assessments.  I also am not able to evaluate my co-teachers or school in any way.  I cannot work to make my school a better place, but they can judge me and then not let me see their evaluation forms so that I can make myself better.

I feel judged on a daily basis by my co-teachers.  I am consistently treated as a second rate teacher, in fact, I am more specifically not treated as a teacher at all.  They rarely let me plan anything for lessons and delegate the “listen and speak” sections of the textbook for me to teach in class.  This effectively reduces me to an English-speaking parrot that leads call and response exercises with students.  When I am able to lead a game or an activity, my co-teachers lurk on the outskirts of the classroom, staring at me, and rarely helping with classroom management.  This is particularly devastating because I don’t speak Korean.  As a result, I am not able to manage the classroom effectively on my own.  My usual tricks (which work brilliantly, by the way) are useless, because my students cannot understand the simplest command.  But, even if I wanted to train the students to my teaching and classroom style, I could not.  The classes I teach are not mine; they are distinctly my co-teachers’ and I am a mere tool to be used when deemed appropriate.  To my co-teachers, I am a way to lighten the load of monotonous teaching a bit.  To my students, I am the foreign plaything.  Neither of these are roles that I enjoy.

Because of the hierarchy present in Korean schools, I have to gently humble myself and beg for the things that I want and need.  First I must address my main co-teacher (who introduced herself to me on the first day as, “I’m (name).  I’m very hot-headed.”).  After negotiating with her, she may or may not concede to talk to the Vice-Principal on my behalf (herself begging).  It is a long and strenuous process that makes me feel continually guilty for asking for what I desire:  You want me to teach 2 hours per week outside of my contracted hours, but you cannot pay me?  Then you must give me another form of compensation: extra vacation.  Oh, gosh, um, maybe I can talk to the Principal for you.  Are you sure you want to do this?  (Moment of self-doubt.  Do I allow myself to be taken advantage of? )  Yes.  Yes I am sure.  I need compensation for my work.  Well, I talked to the Principal and he said that maybe he can give you one extra day, but you cannot tell anyone, ok?  And be careful about asking for things, it is not good to do that…

I suppose I am lucky in that my vacation requests have, for the most part, and after a rather nasty summer vacation situation, come out favorably.  But the mental and emotional turmoil of asking for the specifics of something guaranteed in my contract is really unnecessary.

In sum, I feel, well, parrot-like.  I do not enjoy this work.  I am an object.  I am a plaything.  I am that foreigner that has been thrust upon the school by the Korean government.  My presence is not a choice for the school or my co-teachers; I am an unwanted necessity.  No one on the school level is trained in how to work with foreigners, no one has any cultural sensitivity training, no one knows about methods of co-teaching or how to best use me as a resource.  I, on the other hand, had to take a 100+ hour TEFL course, an online EPIK (English Program in Korea) course, attend a 9 day long training intensive before beginning work at the school, attend a second week-long training by the Daejeon Department of Education, and complete a second online training course.  But, because I am at the bottom of the totem pole, my suggestions and ideas are not heeded.  I am the foreigner, a know-it-all, and something we all have to deal with.

All this being said, if I liked teaching English as a Second Language I could at least find happiness in my interactions with the students.  But I don’t.  I’ve learned rather quickly that I am not cut out to be an ESL teacher for little ones.  I cannot speak to them, or rather, I can, but they cannot understand a word that I say.  They cannot speak to me.  I am unable to form relationships.  I cannot make connections.  Perhaps they are slowly growing and, to be fair, there are some students who I enjoy.  But, these relationships and conversations pale in comparison to those that I had made after one week at Durban Girls High School.  I know it is not a good idea to compare jobs, but I am finding it difficult not to when I had such a perfect job before!

And so, I struggle. 

I have never been this unhappy in a job.  Sure, working at bars and hotels wasn’t the greatest, but I least I had human interaction.  Real human interaction.  Here, no one speaks to me.  I sit in silence in the office all day.  Students speak at me, but cannot speak with me.  They can do the “hello” bit, but when I ask, “how are you” they freeze, unable to speak and usually run away.

It is a lonely business, this living in Korea.  I try not to take out my unhappiness on others, but sometimes that is hard not to do.  They always say you hurt the ones you love most, right?  I have a hard time being the best version of myself when I am unhappy.  This is why I am trying to only put positive energy into the world.  I am learning to grin and bear it and then to let it go. 

Most days, I feel as though my days in Korea are numbered.  I am counting down the days until my summer vacation (1 month from today) and may soon start a countdown to the end of my contract (but the number of days is too depressingly large now).  However, I think that if I were able to secure a really good university job, I could happily stay in Korea.  In addition to having older students with real language ability, university jobs give an obscene amount of vacation time (4-6 weeks in summer, and 4-6 weeks in winter, or more).  Korea’s location provides the ability to travel throughout Asia, which I am so excited for doing.  Universities also pay more than public schools; and I’ve already saved $4000 in four months, so I am excited about the nest egg that I am building for myself here.

Or maybe I’ll duck out.  I’ll leave this place and find somewhere else.  Southeast Asia does call me.  I have started looking for International Schools in Indonesia, Malaysia, Thailand, Singapore, Cambodia, Vietnam.  Maybe I could teach drama again?  I would really love that.

My job does “get me down” as they say.  I look forward to weekends and evenings with a distinct fervor.  I have little adventures on weeknights, yoga, aerobics, running, reading (I am absorbed by books at the moment and loving every page), dinners, sometimes drinks, a hike here and there.  Weekends are spent unwinding, travelling sometimes to visit friends, running long distances (I am due for a 9-10 miler on Saturday), and otherwise trying to enjoy this time. 

It is a blessing to be here and a joy to be able to travel and see the world.  I just didn’t expect it to be this tricky.

I am making the best of this.  It is good.  I will put positive energy into the world and it will come back to me.  Even here.  Even in Korea.  There will be positivity and light in this place.  I just may not be here for much longer, and that is okay too.