In praise of spring and books and life.

Spring has injected new life into my veins.  My outlook is brighter with the flowers that seem to multiply whenever I blink.

I've been thinking about the direction my life has taken over the past several years.  Three years ago, I was crossing the finish line to earn my Bachelor's degree and looking forward to traveling and teaching in Eastern Europe over the summer.  Two years ago, I was in the thick of my application for EPIK, desperately trying to break free from my post-graduate existential crisis and underemployment.  Last year, I'd begun to feel at home in my newly-forged Korean life but I was emphatically greenhorn.

Lately, I'm experiencing something of an expat second honeymoon.  I've grown increasingly excited to be in Korea.  This land and its people fascinate me.  There's so much here in the way of history, architecture, pop culture, cuisine, religion, landscapes.  I've found myself wanting to learn about everything: watch the latest serial drama that my students are raving about, visit temples off the beaten path, and connect with more people in the community.  It feels so good to just be, here and now.

That being said, teaching is not always rosy and I can't pretend that I'm never disappointed, discouraged, or unsatisfied.  Even in my extracurricular Book Reading class, a few students regularly leave me wondering why they bother to show up.  Yet, what I've learned is that attitude is the defining component of most experiences.  I may be assailed with apathetic eye-rolls from one corner, but that doesn't dim the joy I experience when I work with those teenaged humans who have been entrusted to me in that classroom.  I have four second-grade girls who eagerly and enthusiastically volunteer to read for the class.  I have a handful of quieter students who soak in the lesson; even if they rarely speak, I notice that they listen.  I have one boy whose English level is too low to comprehend most of the books, but whose sense of humor and charisma regularly make me laugh.

The Korean Cinderella by Shirley Climo

Furthermore, I was pleasantly surprised with the recognition my co-teachers have given my extracurricular class.  They're so impressed with my efforts they've created a budget for me to buy more picture books for the students!  My co-teachers were surprised by how easily I compiled a list of beautifully illustrated books and asked me how I know so many titles: simply put, it's because of my parents.  My parents, who are both elementary school teachers, read to my five siblings and me all the time growing up.  We made regular trips to the public library.  My favorite part of elementary school was story time.  And--all of my siblings can attest to this--my memory has an annoying knack for detail.  Literature has probably defined more of my life than I'm capable of noticing, so the assignment to teach a Book Reading class feels like kismet.

Books are a medium for growth, whether it's inside or outside of the classroom.  Earlier this month, I had the privilege of visiting The House of Sharing outside of Seoul, a museum and residence related to the victims of Imperial Japan's systematic sexual slavery during World War II.  I'd known a little about the "comfort women," (a euphemistic term the Halmeoni or Grandmothers, as they prefer to be called, resent) before moving to Korea, but the atrocities of Imperial Japan are not common knowledge in the West.  What I learned at The House of Sharing sickened and angered me, but ultimately inspired me.  In spite of heavy stigma, insulting backlash, flagrant denial and, now, old age, survivors of sexual slavery are demanding recognition and pushing for reparation and education in Asia.  The strongest message I took away from The House of Sharing was that these stories need to be shared.  I bought the English version of a children's book about the Halmeoni and have since read it with my students.  While it is a painful and uncomfortable topic, my students reacted were eager to broach the subject.

Dace fish swimming upstream in the Taehwa River

I love teaching because it allows me to share life.  To me, books mean life.  Spring means life.  Korea means life.  This spring, the life that I've built seems more abundant than ever.  This weekend I'm going with a handful of other women to a retreat in the mountains.  I'll happily share about that experience in a future entry.  Peace to you, my beloved readers.

In which Korea magically transforms into heaven.

Winter is no longer in Ulsan.  Spring has most definitely sprung, and I couldn't be more thrilled about it.

Kitchen Window

This year, I'm teaching two sections of after-school "Book Reading Class" twice a week.  As the holder of a degree in Literature, I'm ecstatic at the prospect of introducing my students to treasures of the written word.  When it comes to after-school clubs, I have free reign about what and how to teach, so long as it fulfills the promise of "book reading."  I thought back to what I had read as a middle school student and recalled Ray Bradbury's short story "All Summer in a Day."  Unfortunately, it was too advanced and difficult to comprehend for even my most advanced students.  Taking that into consideration, I went further back to other stories I remember from elementary school.  The second week of class, I opted to use picture books with simpler words alongside vivid illustrations.  This method succeeded in piquing the curiosity of most of the class, so I've adopted it indefinitely.

During the harsh winter, when the days dragged on relentlessly, teaching felt like a chore.  Students affect teachers more than they probably realize, when it comes to attitude; I wasn't excited to go to work and looked at the clock more than I care to admit.  However, the spring and the new school year have burst in with energy and passion.  I'm remembering what I love about this job and I'm more than happy to put in more work and effort to give my students the best lessons I have to offer.

Yeh-Shen by Ai-Ling Louie and Ed Young

When it comes to picture books, the content available online is limited.  I got lucky and found some titles formatted for PowerPoint, but it didn't take long to exhaust those resources.  Thankfully, Korea's English-language bookstore has just about everything I could ask for, so on Friday I put together a lesson using Yeh-Shen: A Cinderella Story from China.  I realized that the language in the text was a little archaic; I simplified the text for easier reading aloud, photographed each page and compiled it into a PowerPoint so we could read it together.  (I might be bragging, but I'm proud of my efforts!).

Anyway, my after-school kids responded well to Yeh-Shen; even the few who emanate apathy most of the time showed a little interest in the illustrations.  To my surprise, though, the class best enjoyed If You Give a Moose a Muffin.  I'd initially thought that that book would be too childish for the teenagers in my Friday class, but even two of the girls who usually ignore what I'm saying and text under their desks when they think I can't see them volunteered to read a few pages!  

A Chair for My Mother by Vera B. Williams

This is what I love about teaching.  I love when my students surprise me.  I love when my students ask questions or answer questions or react to something we're reading.  I love to hear their voices in English.  I love to see their faces light up with comprehension or interest.  One of my favorite things about teaching in Korea is Korean paralanguage; when I explain something and it clicks, and the students say, in unison and with enthusiasm: "Aaahh!"  (And this isn't just students.  My colleagues, the ajummani in my dance class, even Jun; everyone does it).

This renewed passion I feel for teaching is accompanied by more energy and enthusiasm for other aspects of my life.  The most immediate and obvious example I can offer is this blog post.  I can't remember the last time I felt like blogging without having guilt about how much I had neglected to write and a sense of urgency to "catch up."  That mindset sucked the joy out of blogging for me--yet, now I find myself excited to share the good things that are happening right now in a blog entry, and that sense of obligation is happily absent.  I hope this feeling bleeds over into my other writing.  I've missed the satisfaction of writing poetry and mapping out stories for the sheer fun of it.

It's hard not to love being alive when there's so much beauty everywhere.  I love my neighborhood: the cherry blossom and magnolia trees, the Taehwa River, the walking trails.  I love running into my students and their parents and the people whose faces I recognize.  I love that my church is a five minute walk away from me, and that the cafe I frequent has the best chocolate in Ulsan and that the owner who knows me by name and gave me a piece of cake on my birthday.  I love that Jun and I can sit up on the roof of my building and stare at the sky.  I love that buses and public transportation are safe, frequent, and inexpensive.  I realize that, like the spring, this part of my life won't always exist in this way, but I love that I have what I have right now.