Inappropriate BBQ

It was 4 p.m. until I had to be anywhere, and I had fallen asleep before nine the night before, so at 7 a.m. on a Friday I was left wondering what to do.  Being so delusionally tired the night before I only vaguely remembered a soccer field full of people, bright lights flashing all sorts of things I didn't understand, and loud crowds making their way around outdoor restaurants and make-shift food stands.  When I stepped out of my motel, it was as though the city were abandoned.  The only movement I could see were the many tanks filled with crabs, clams, fish, squid, octupus, and some kind of snake-things that were placed in aquariums outside of every other building. 
All I had been eating were health bars I had packed, and I was craving some real food.  Immediately I realized the problem--even if I could read the menu (which I couldn't), I wouldn't know what anything was (which I didn't).  The only recognizable thing was the fast food and the numerous amounts of french pastry shops.  Begrudgingly, I bought something from Paris Baguette, a popular chain in South Korea. Later I would have McDonald's french fries.

My first day of training went well, and the teachers all assured me yes, I would feel this overwhelmed, lost, and crazy for about a month.  Not only are there a million books for each class, they are all different, with their own set of rules, along with different homework and vocabulary protocol.  Not to mention I have a finite amount of time to memorize student names that don't stick in mind all that easily, figure out how to teach in general, send out report cards (?!), and goodness knows what else.  All I can do is give it time, but for now the children I teach are old enough and smart enough to have conversations with, and they really are very sweet.

After school ended at 9:05 p.m., all the teachers, my manager, the school director, and the head boss of everyone went out to dinner to celebrate Elena, the girl I was replacing's departure and my arrival.  We walked back in the direction of my motel (where the street had inexplicably come back to life), up a flight of stairs, took off our shoes at sat on the floor at a very long, very low table.  We were having Gogigui, Korean BBQ.  Immediately seven bottles of beer, five bottles of Soju (a mild liquor that tastses somewhat like sake) and a bottle of coke was set down at the table.  Different sides of vegtables were already surrounding the pit of hot coals inset into the table.  Tentatively I looked around, and chopsticks were already in hands and picking out different pieces of spicy food.  My director poured my glass, then politely reminded me to next time hold it with both hands.  I asked for one teacher to pass the beer, and he told me he would pour it--you're not allowed to pour your own.  Just when I was cursing myself for forgetting every single piece of cultural research I had done, the server handed me cooking utensils.  The meat was thrown onto the grill.  My seat was ideal for cooking dinner, another important aspect of Korean culture I had forgot about.  I hadn't eaten meat in three years but, well, cheers: here's to a new culture.

The man in charge of the entire school, I noticed, had asked Elena to stand up twice to make a speech.  Already not someone comfortable with the attention of an entire room on her, she was now desperately but politely trying to ward off a third appeal.  I was just thinking how lucky I was when I realized I was being told to stand myself.  He was trying to get me to make a speech but ironically, as a man who runs an English-teaching school, he knows literally no English at all.  I feigned confusion for as long as I could, but suddenly two hands were under my arms pulling me up from the floor.  I was on my feet, and my wasted boss was now massaging my arms saying a lot of words I didn't understand. 
"He says you look Korean," said one of the Korean teachers.
We laughed and I tried to gain some distance, but then he said a lot of other things in Korean, during which he never let go of me, and at one point he even moved my hair off of my shoulder.  I looked into the one person's eyes who could translate, the only one who could help me out of this situation.  Loudly and in perfect English--because she knew he wouldn't understand--she said, "He's not actually saying any words any more.  There is nothing to translate."

Finally, after he was done rambling I was allowed to sit back down.  I imagine my face was as red as the raw meat I was supposed to have been cooking.  Thank god for Soju.

Besides the fact that so many different levels of co-workers were drinking (fairly heavily) together, and despite the fact that what had happened with my new boss would not be okay in any way back home, I was more intruiged by a different aspect of the night--the respect this man had even as a wasted mess.  No one was allowed to send him home.  Everyone laughed when they thought they were supposed to laugh.  No one made a sound during his "speech", of which no one (English or Korean) understood a word.  No one ate when he was talking.  They made leaving sound like his idea, then we all pretended to go home so as not to insult him.  In Korea, the faults that are displayed are either ignored or accepted as human nature, but nothing transends the inherent societal hierarchy that has been embedded--whether it stems from gender, class, work policy, or tradition it is still too soon to tell.  I will say, though, that I noticed I did not put up much of a fight, and even laughed at his Korean jokes when it was my cue.

The Graduate's Dilemma

Throughout college, I waited impatiently for the end of college. 

Last June, I saw all my friends graduate and have that moment of panic: that "what do I do now?" moment.  I decided that couldn't possibly happen to me.  I've been working outside of school; my life is more outside of school than in it.  I'll be fine.  Then I graduated this December, and all that was shattered.  I was out in the world, free to do whatever I wanted: meanwhile I've stayed at my old job, continued serving tables, and continued living in New York City.  It seems that there are so many things I want to do, so many opportunities, that I've actually done nothing.  It feels like I'm trying to move to the left, right, front and back all at the same time...which leaves me right where I am. 
Even this blog--even this post--is going in so many directions and I can't even pretend to control it. All I know, as of very recently, is that I am moving to South Korea to become a teacher.  The paperwork is in progress. 


I guess, like characters in a play, there are the people in my life that represent all of these things:
First of all there are my parents.  Neither of them have ever left the country, and don't plan on doing so.  When I was twelve, the whole family went to Niagra Falls, and we stayed on the U.S. side the entire time. My parents are in many ways creatures of habit.  For ten years, we went to the same place for vacation: Orlando. All seven family members drove the eighteen hours there, went to the same amusement parks, on the same rides, went to the same resort, and drove the eighteen hours back.  While they are taking the fact that I want to move to what is technically a war zone fairly well, my mother is also doing very well at assuring me that there is plenty to do here in America on a regular basis.



Then there are the two most inspirational people in my life: my boss and my co-worker at NYPR.  My boss is sort of my unofficial mentor.  She has taught me so much about myself inadvertently--we are kind of the same person, twenty years apart.  Over wine last week, I told her about my plans, and she was genuinely excited for me.  After she graduated, she moved abroad for a year, and she said it became her first empowering moment.  One of my biggest concerns in life is not fitting in all I want to do, but knowing this woman has made me realize that there is an incredibly long amount of time to everything and anything.  From Executive Producer, to college professor, to professional dancer, to living in South America, to moving to Ethiopia for two years, to becoming a mother--life can be all you want from it, and having her is a constant reminder to not be afraid to commit to things.  My co-worker is my age, and her resolution last year was to follow through and do what she said she was going to do.  It sounds simple, but in that time she's said some interesting things out loud: from "I'm moving to Cambodia for three months" to "I'm going to compete in a triathlon".  And so far, she's done them all.  Without her, I don't know if I would have the courage to do what I say out loud.  So, one opens my mind to all the opportunities that will come across in my life, and the other gives me the courage to grab hold of them and do so.  Having them as constant reminders of this has been truly moving and I'm so thankful to know both.


Then there is this guy I just met. This may sound strange, but it's weird that he's already got me thinking so much--I've known him for maybe a week.  Yet, he is completely open to everything in life in a way I had sort of have forgotten how to do.  I met him in my pajamas for goodness sakes, hungover in a big way, and still he somehow listened to our conversation with interest and still asked me out for some reason.  He keeps his heart and mind open in a way I can't help but admire.  When we first spoke, he mentioned "Sleep No More".  When my friend mentioned it to me an hour later I decided I had to go see it.  That, however, was committing to a Wednesday night show. I mentioned I was moving to Seoul, and his friend two days later told him he got a job there...so this guy decided he should move to South Korea too. Of course, who knows what will actually happen when life gets in the way.  The point is to appreciate everything that comes into your life, and accept that it is happening for a reason.



Then, as the oldest of five children, there are my siblings.  I'm honestly not sure how they feel.  I guess, with my being the odd one in the family, they aren't really surprised...they expect this kind of stuff from me.  My brother actually said, in an honest, straight-forward way that is foreign to my family's sarcastic tendencies, that he would miss me.  My youngest sister, Sammy Jo, misses me even from New Jersey now.  One of my favorite things in the world is coming home to her running to the door for a huge hug, then seeing her a moment later prancing around the house in my shoes.  The older sister is just turning twenty-one, and my other brother will be graduating high school...it would feel strange, missing all these milestones.  No one in my family has ever left for anywhere.  So far, the oldest three have all gone to college in the tri-state area.  Leaving would be heart-breaking...but I guess it's better to have it hurt because you love something so much.  In the end, I have to keep reminding myself that part of being the oldest is showing the younger ones what they are capable of.  I can't take full credit, but being the first to move out, to get a job, to follow my crazy career path, etc....I hope it helped make it a little less scary for my brothers and sisters than it was for me.


Making this list of people in my life, I've realized there is no one--not even my parents--that are telling me not to go.  Something about it is just so freeing, and so fleeting, everyone has either felt that rush and wants it for me or regrets ever having it (except, I think, my parents).  Who knows what will happen in the future, what might make me stay here or in another city, or if I'll ever have the opportunity to just pick up and leave again.


This, as I expected, has been a crazy first post.  I hope no one finds this blog until it actually has a point.