The Mountains Were Bound to Lead to Reflection

I'm not sure what to write about. I have about ten places in my head at any given moment, and my delight in recounting events is overshadowed by the compusion to be honest. I am drifting, moving a little farther along some unknown path every day, searching for God between the pages of the Bible and the kind gestures of the people I know. I don't have an anchor in my heart. I think there is a difference between traveling and wandering. The traveler is always going, and the wanderer is always leaving. We're usually dissatisfied with the time in between. Contentment is what we're all looking for. You can't go anywhere to find it. It's within arms' reach.

I left the US. I would have gone anywhere: Africa, Italy, Canada. . . it didn't matter. I just wanted to leave. (Always the wanderer). I was too familiar, too attached, becoming too content with jobs that paid cash and the tan I worked for so hard all summer and American Christianity that offered truths I only felt like I was discussing. I loved my friends but felt like I wasn't changing, so how could I help them.

There was a day last year when I sat in my car in the Harris Teeter parking lot, my panty-hosed leg propped up on the open door, crying on the phone to my mom about how I could never work in an American public school system. I felt like I was lying to the kids all day. We melted sugar in science and made up animal stories to understand fractions but I watched them all falling apart and couldn't help them reach their deepest needs. I couldn't teach them what I really loved- Jesus and art and music and forgiveness. It's as ridiculous as it sounds, I now realize that was short-sighted.

I graduated wearing a nose-ring and 5-inch turqoise- colored high heels. I wasn't a very "appropriate" education major. I felt stifled by the continual scenarios of suburban classrooms we discussed and the engagement rings that reminded me I couldn't be that close to my classmates. I would come home from teaching and tear off my blazer and slacks to throw on some skinny jeans, a wife beater, and a scarf. What's the relevance in recounting this? There isn't really any. It's just that I never imagined I would be teaching the richest of the rich in a highly developed country, praying for the eyes to see their needs and for the compassion to reach them.

I fall more in love with my kids every day. These are some of the truest relationships I have here, I think. Today I watched ten bored, tired 11-year olds sit up and stare as I described my great-grandma's abandoned house in the woods. They all have only lived in apartments their entire lives, and labels on products here say things like, "since 1997" and "since 2001." I witnessed the mental strain of 15-year old girls trying to imagine people who would want to have darker skin. I saw pure excitement when I told them that in America, tan skin is beautiful. Here, they sell cream to lighten your skin. The complexion I've detested all of my life (except for June, July, and August) is revered. Bizarre. One of my newest, quietest students spoke up to tell me her favorite burgers were made out of shrimp. I watched one of my shyest boys stand up in front of everyone and lead a game of 20 questions, in English. I gave the student of the month his certificate and then told every other student why I wanted to give it to them. I've never seen them so attentive. They have a hard time understanding English, but I know they understood exactly what I was saying.

The children here work so hard. They go to school all day and then go to lessons and academies and tutors until usually 10 at night. They have school every other Saturday. In every grade you take a huge test that determines what kind of school you'll be in the next year. A lot of families move to a different city if their child doesn't perform well enough. I have kids who come in with more than the 5 pages of homework I give them (and only because the parents complained they didn't have enough), because their parents are having them do more at home. Sometimes I'm irritated that they're wealthy and they have everything handed to them. And sometimes I realize that all they want to do is please someone, and it is so, so hard to do here.

This weekend I went with some friends to Saraksan, the tallest mountain in Korea. It was five hours away. I felt like I had jet lag all weekend! We got up at 5 am on Sunday, a little after I usually go to sleep! I was AMAZED at how Koreans climb. We came up to the steepest peak I have ever seen. One side was a cliff with almost a 45 degree climb. I watched mothers, old men, and 4 year olds clamber up it like it was nothing. After initial fear, I decided ok what the heck I'll do that! As I searched for a crevice to smash my chucks into, I realized it wasn't happening. I would not be taking my life into my hands with my flat-bottomed shoes. I was proud of all my friends, BECAUSE THEY DID IT. Growing up in the Appalachian mountains and trekking in the Himalayas didn't make me brave enough for that. After Saturday I respected my girlfriends way, way more.

The red and gold leaves were beautiful, the temples and statues were ornate, and the park was jam-packed with Koreans. I feel like there are so many people stuffed in this little country.

We found a beach the next day and hung out there for a while. As is typical of any group I enjoy hanging out with, we got lost in the city and made the last bus with less than a minute to spare. We thought we could walk to the bus station, and then realized we were on the opposite side of the city and had 10 minutes to get to the bus we had already paid over $20 for. After frantically hailing a taxi we sat on the edge of our seats, quietly moaning and holding our breath until TWO MINUTES before our bus was to leave our taxi driver finally heeded our begging to stop and pulled over. We hurled ourselves out of the taxi, and ran into the terminal shouting "Ansan Ansan!" Luckily the bus was blocked by a taxi and we ran aboard. The drivers were even nice enough to wait for Michelle and Erin to go to the bathroom. They were so panicked that they jumped on the wrong bus and then realized it wasn't ours.

We finally made it home. I have not been so exhausted since I've been here. But it was worth it. I'll put some pictures up instead of talking about it. It's silly to talk about mountains, you really should just see them.

I think I might make some apple pancakes. Or maybe chocolate chip pancakes. Kuna (I work with her) made me fried rice and it was some of the best food I've had since I've been here. Pork, chicken, tofu, egg, cabbage, onions, peppers, eggplant, sesame seeds... AHHH it was so good. She's an incredible cook. I wish I could say that I was learning to cook Asian food but old habits die hard. I'm still making penne alfredo and grilled cheese. Either in a few months or when I get somewhere else I'm sure I'll start cooking Asian food. I get passionate about the wrong things too late. For example, I have a French dictionary and extensive verb conjugation book in my purse. I read Obama's The Audacity of Hope. I'm partway through The First Days of School. I entertained the thought of perusing through foodnetwork.com, and then decided it would be entirely depressing. I don't have an oven or a microwave, and ingredients like fresh herbs and real cheese don't exist at reasonable prices in Korea.

I'm a chameleon, always, always adapting, my colors clinging to the previous background, stubborn and slow to transform....