still the foreigner

Readjusting to life in Canada can only be described in one word: weird. Weird because I feel like a stranger in a place I lived for something like fifteen years.

I can’t remember anyone’s phone number anymore.

Receiving directions, I can’t remember where any of the roads are.  (It probably doesn’t help that directions in Korea never included road names—only landmarks—and I’m having to relearn the entire concept of street names.)

My first visit to Tim Horton’s was embarrassing because I couldn’t pay the $3.27—I forgot they didn’t accept debit cards, didn’t know they don’t take Visa (only Mastercard, they said, and for $3.27, who wants to pay with credit cards anyway?), and am still carrying around Korean won instead of Canadian dollars.

I’m still living out of my suitcases because I don’t have a bedroom yet.

And this morning I had to call my mom at work because I couldn’t find the frying pan.

It’s weird that I was more comfortable living in a city where I didn’t speak the language very well than here right now. How long is this adjustment period going to last? Having been through this before doesn’t make it any easier, but it does make it so I know I can get through it—which doesn’t help me find missing frying pans, but hey, knowing it will pass is good too.

when to go

On my flight home, I read this poem in my Korea Air in-flight magazine. As someone who knew it was time to leave Korea, even though my heart wanted me to stay, this poem really moved me.

When To Go
by Chung Dong-muk

The green so glorious|
For two seasons,
Knows when to leave,
When it’s time to go.
But you, old tree,
With your sturdy roots,
You know for sure,
You are in the right place,
And I in mine.
No one knows what tomorrow may bring.
Everyone in their place.

“is it finished?”

In the days leading up to my last night in Korea, when people asked me if I was excited to go home, I had to be honest and say no. I wasn’t excited. I don’t know why. It’s not like I wasn’t happy to see my family or friends here, but I sure wasn’t excited to be leaving Korea. I had an ever-expanding group of amazing friends, a wonderful job, a great apartment—who would be excited to leave that?

But I knew, somewhere deep in my gut, it was time to go. My heart said stay, but my gut, with its unknown reasons or unexplained logic, said it was time to move back to Canada and begin another adventure.

I was out for dinner with a couple of friends on my last night. Both Yonsei university students, I met them in Sinchon after their class was finished. Dinner was quiet; I had a lot going on in my head. Some last minute details were bothering me and I was trying to decide how to organize my time. We were trying to figure out our after-dinner plans—I needed to drop some things off to a friend way over in Jamsil, he had planned to meet with another friend, she wanted to hang out with the both of us—and I felt myself getting overwhelmed.  I didn’t want to be doing this. I didn’t want to be going through last-minute things. I didn’t want to be making all the decisions.

They kept asking me what I wanted to do. “It’s your last night,” they said. “We’ll do whatever you want.” He said he didn’t need to meet his friend today; they could meet another time, no problem. If I wanted him to, he said, he would even take care of some last minute things I was stressed about doing. She would hang out with me and do whatever I wanted to do. “It’s you last night,” they repeated. “It’s up to you.”

It’s my last night. It’s my last night.

I’m leaving and I’m not coming back.

I couldn’t think anymore. All I could do was put my head down, cover my face, and try to hold my tears in. My friends let me have my minute. She rubbed my shoulder a little, and he asked if I wanted to talk about it. When I said no, they didn’t say another word. We headed back to his apartment—the apartment I was staying at since I had to move out of my apartment a couple weeks earlier—and hung out. Another friend came to sleepover, too, and he talked to me about leaving Korea and beginning another adventure.

“You’ve got an adventurous spirit,” he said. “You know you can’t stay in one place too long because there’s too many other places you want to go. It’s time to move on to the next one.”

At the airport, passing through the immigration counter, I handed over my alien registration card for the last time. He looked at the dates at the back of the card and looked up at me. “Is it finished?” he asked.

I nodded. Yes it is—this adventure is, anyway, but another one is just beginning.

subway girl: line 4

subway girl: line 3

subway girl: line 2

subway girl: line 1

I’ve become known as “Subway Girl” among my friends due to my unusually high enjoyment with Seoul’s subway system. I wrote for a local expat magazine, Eloquence, about the subway, in which I detailed the attractions on each subway line. I only made it to Line 4 before the magazine folded, but I decided to keep going with my research anyways.

seoul sonnet

How do I love Seoul? Let me count the ways.
I love the smell, the sight, the touch, the sound,
Of subways and shopping malls kept underground;
A fun way to spend time during commute delays.

Up above ground, under a clear blue sky,
I love the city parks in which to play,
Where Seoulites can relax and spend the day
In nature, away from traffic nearby.

A love the combination of old and new,
Aged palaces and temples sharing space
With modern high rises in the same place.
And I love the Han River flowing though.

I love the parties in the streets of Seoul,
The many festivals and fun celebrations
That unite people from different nations.
It’s these occasions that make a city whole.

There’s so much more that can’t be counted in lists,
Like the joy in finding new places to explore,
Or the change in oneself that can’t be ignored.
Bur perhaps what’s most important is this:
No matter what I do or where I roam,
I love how this city always feels like home.

my thoughts on 10 asian stereotypes

After living and travelling around Asia for two years, I have a few things to say about East Asian stereotypes. But before I begin, I need to say that this is meant to be a funny portrait of the wonderful Asian people I’ve met and the diverse Asian culture I’ve experienced. I’m fully aware of the sweeping generalizations I’m about to make, and for every one of those generalizations I can think of exceptions. Generalizations, which I believe are a necessary part of the human experience, become stereotypes if they’re hold too intently—and can get one in a lot of trouble. Why am I writing about it when I know it’s a dangerous topic that could get me into trouble? Because it’s a learning experience. I came to Korea knowing nothing Asian culture and am leaving with a greater knowledge and admiration of the people I’ve met and places I’ve seen.

1. All Asians are skinny.
   This is a personal stereotype I held before I came. I don’t think I had ever seen a fat Asian before I moved here, which probably says more about my hometown (two Asian-looking kids went to my high school, brothers of Korean heritage who were so not Korean that they didn’t know how to say hello in Korean) and lack of exposure to Asian culture than Asians themselves. I wish I could say it’s true, but it’s not. Asians, like everyone else, have the ability to get fat—I just don’t know where the bigger girls shop, since most clothes here are free size (one size fits all).
2. Asians are super stylish.
   Another personal stereotype, one that held for about the first week I was here. I remember watching Sook-Yin Lee on MuchMusic when I was younger and being impressed with her fashion sense; she was able to mix and match things I never would have dreamed about putting together in one outfit. But something’s changed: either Korean women aren’t as stylish as I imagined Asian women to be, or I don’t have the same fashion sense I did when I was growing up in the 90’s. The final straw came when my co-teacher (whom I adore) came to school wearing an oversized yellow-and-black plaid shirt, brown vest, and navy blue sparkly leggings. Sigh.
3. Asians are bad drivers.
   No—not unless you consider consistently running red lights, passing buses in intersections, ignoring emergency vehicles, and switching lanes and turning without signalling to be “bad driving.” To be fair, I wouldn’t say the same thing about all Asians (the Japanese, I noticed, actually do know how to follow the rules of the road), it’s just certainly true about Koreans.
4. Asian men are effeminate and have small, well, “little guys,” and Asian women are submissive.
   Effeminate men? Yes. Evidence: thinner body shapes, lack of body hair, and “pretty” fashion choices (think hot pink cardigans, tight-fitting shirts and pants, and “man purses”). Add to that some cutesy behaviour when in a relationship, like wearing matching “couple wear” and carrying his woman’s purse as if it were his own, and yes, I’d say men here are pretty feminine. This is not a judgment call; obviously some women out there love it. Would this country be so overrun with couples if it wasn’t a good thing? As for the…other thing about Asian males, I’ll just say my research sample size isn’t large enough for any conclusive results.
   I haven’t dated any Asian women to get any first-hand stories about their submissiveness, but from what I’ve heard from my guy friends, it might even be the other way around. After all, purses don’t carry themselves, and it’s rarely the woman who carries it herself either. And if a guy wants to go on a date with a Korean woman, he should make sure his bank account is ready to take a hit. In all seriousness, though, submissiveness is a trait of Korean culture, where elders are to be respected at all times, no matter what.
5. Asians are hard workers.
   I’ve written about this a lot, but here’s my belief: Koreans are inefficient workers, appearing to be harder-working than they are. Or maybe, Koreans are hard workers in an inefficient system. Either way, something’s not working.
6. All Asians look alike.
   Yes, there’s the whole everyone-has-black-hair-and-black-eyes thing. But no, it doesn’t mean that everyone looks the same. Sure, I joke that everyone in Super Junior—that 13-member Korean boy band—looks the same, but that’s because I actually haven’t taken a look at their faces. When I see them, it’s more of a blob of singing and dancing black-haired boys than individuals. When it comes to real people in real life, there are luckily infinite differences, even without a variety of hair and eye colours.
7. Asians are good at math, playing musical instruments, and playing computer games.
   I don’t teach math (that’s for the benefit of all students everywhere) and I joke that math is not allowed in my classroom whenever I catch students finishing their math homework in my class. What I will say is that Koreans are good at memorizing and terrible at creative thinking, thanks to their education system, and math is one of those subjects that plays to their strengths. I don’t know what to say about music and video games, though I would agree both, like in North America, are popular after-school activities.
8. All Asians can do martial arts.
   Taekwondo is to Korea as what gymnastics is to North America: it’s a popular sport for children. That’s it.
9. Asians can’t pose for photos without the peace sign.
   No. Koreans have an array of poses to choose from, of which the V-sign is just the most popular. There’s also hearts, horns, tears, fists, and other options. Or, if it’s a professional photo, say for school or work, there’s also the popular angry stare. Take your pick!
10. Asians eat cats.
    Wrong. I don’t know where this comes from, but I’m pretty sure it’s a Chinese stereotype. My old university roomies like to ask me, “So have you eaten cat yet?” to which I always reply, “No, come on, they don’t eat cat here…Koreans eat dogs.” Okay, that’s not true either. Dogs are available to be eaten, though many, many Koreans won’t eat them, either. And if restaurants do have dog on the menu, it’s hidden from foreigners since everyone is well aware about how foreigners view that practice. I, however, think it’s fine. It’s meat: cat, dog, chicken, beef, fish, duck, pork, pigeon—it’s all good. Except for that last one. Too boney.

what’s in a name?

A pregnant co-worker of mine just told me that she’s expecting a daughter. After some enthusiastic congratulations were offered, I asked if she and her husband had any names in mind. “No,” she said. “We don’t think about that until after the baby is born.”

Koreans like to consult fortune tellers for major events, of which having a baby is just one. The fortune teller, armed with the baby’s birthdate and parental information (and I’m sure blood type), will come up with some choices for the lucky parents, who then choose their favourite name.

Almost all Korean names are three syllables: the first is the family name and the last two make up the given name. There’s no “middle name” like in Western names. Tradition states that given names are rooted in Chinese characters (like family names) and the meanings are very important, more so than names in Western countries, where names are usually chosen for their sound. One of my friend’s name, for example, means “big success” and another means “honour and virtue.”

There are other naming traditions, too. Siblings usually share one of the two syllables in his or her name. As my friend already has a child, I expect that her second daughter will share one half of her name with her sister. Not only do siblings (or even cousins) share a syllable, but it’s always in the same position. So if the eldest daughter’s name is Eun Kyung (grace and honour), her sister might be Eun Mi (grace and beauty) or Eun Ae (grace and love). Also, kids take their father’s family name, even though mothers keeps their family names.

Like other traditions, things are changing in Korea. For the past couple decades, families have been naming their kids pure Korean names, as in, names that can’t be written in Chinese characters. My Korean name, which was given to me by my students, is a pure Korean name. It’s Miso, which means “smile.” Many families don’t follow the generational shared name tradition, either. And, when I asked another Korean friend about naming a baby with a fortune teller’s recommendations, the response was a huge, “What? Why would they do that? That’s so dumb!”—which leads me to believe that tradition’s on its way out, too.

Name are considered to be very important in Korea. So important, in fact, that it’s considered rude to actually call someone by their name. I don’t even know some of my elders’ names because I’ve always called them by their titles. It’s awkward (for me, at least), but that’s the way it is.

What’s in a name? In Korea, a lot.