INFUSION

the korea fulbright

volume 6 . 2013

CONTENTS
Staff Page 00 - 01 Letters 02 - 03 Executive Director Jai Ok Shim & Ambassador Sung Y. Kim Foreward 04 - 05 Jenna Gibson What I Know to Be True 06 - 07 Jenna Gibson The Dream of Mrs. Moon Relief in Yeomju 10 - 12 14 - 16 Case Nafziger Colleen Mayo

A Birthday in Pyongyang 20 - 22 Anthony Cho Broken Language 26 - 27 Kathy Hill The Chaebols & the City 28 - 32 Justin Stern Old Downtown 36 Anne McGovern Andrea Sohn & Jin Hyuk Yoon

To My Students, To my Teachers 39 - 41

Recuerdos de Corea 45 - 46 Nic Ramos Flores Spinning out of Control 50 - 52 Christiana Bay The Naked Truth 54 - 55 Sarah Carey Waiting in Place 58 - 60 Gem Chema The (Comfortable) Closet 64 - 66 Jake Owens Of Roads and Rice 70 - 71 Katelyn Hemmeke

STAFF
PUBLISHING ADVISER Jai Ok Shim EDITOR-IN-CHIEF Jenna Gibson MANAGING EDITORS John Burgman Colleen Mayo DESIGN EDITOR Meredith Howard ASSISTANT DESIGN EDITOR Ashley Park PHOTO EDITORS Elaine Townsend Tyler Van Arsdale MONITORS Meredith Howard David Allen HEAD COPY EDITOR Andrea Sohn COPY EDITORS Kristen Bialik Frank Cernik Connor Dearing Christina Galardi Katelyn Hemmeke Sonia Kim Anne McGovern Ekaterina Mozhaeva Hector Ramos Flores COVER PHOTO Sunset upon Halla Mountain . Tyler Van Arsdale (ETA 2012 2013) . Jeju Island
Korean-American Educational Commission TELEPHONE // FAX E-MAIL INFUSION WEB FULBRIGHT WEB 82 . 2 . 3275 . 4000 // 82 . 2 . 3275 . 4028 fulbright.infusion@gmail.com http://infusion.fulbright.or.kr http://www.fulbright.or.kr

The Korea Fulbright Infusion is published by the Korean-American Educational Commission.

A Subway Situation . Neal Singleton (ETA 2012 - 2013) . Seoul

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Jai Ok Shim . KAEC Executive Director

Dear Readers, It is my distinct honor to present the sixth volume of The Korea Fulbright Infusion. For the first time, we opened up the staff to both English Teaching Assistants and Junior Research grantees. I would like to extend my thanks to all the grantees and alumni who have contributed to Infusion this year, for it could not have happened without their contributions. Each year, Infusion reaches new depths and climbs to new heights. As the artistic and academic outlet for both current and past grantees, it has only grown in reputation and prestige over the past six years. I am continually impressed with the sharp intellect and exquisite writing captured in the pages of Infusion. The stories each piece shares, whether through words or a images, are diverse and engaging symbols of the Fulbright Korea experience. Each piece offers a glimpse into the life of Fulbright Korea, into our continuing work as cultural ambassadors. With over 5,000 grantees to date, Fulbright Korea is a testament to the history and friendship of Korea and the United States. We have been around since the earliest days, and have truly made a difference in the Koreas path. Each one of our grantees has contributed in some way to the ties that bond our two nations together, and with each year, that bind grows stronger. Our accomplishments are echoed between the covers of Infusion, a testament to the legacy we all leave behind. Sincerely,

Letter from the EXECUTIVE DIRECTOR

Jai Ok Shim Executive Director Korean-American Educational Commission

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Letter from the AMBASSADOR

Congratulations on the sixth edition of The Korea Fulbright Infusion, a publication which reflects the energy and passion of Fulbright Koreas participants both past and present. Fulbright Koreas contributions go well beyond language and academic exchange, and have helped to shape the special partnership and shared prosperity between the United States and Korea. This is especially gratifying as the United States and Korea celebrate our hwangap, the 60th anniversary of our alliance. Fulbright programs continue to develop new initiatives to enhance U.S.-Korea cultural ties and bilateral relations. The Fulbright English Teaching Assistant (ETA) program has expanded to include 126 grantees, with over 50 ETA grantees involved in the North Korean Defector Program in various centers nationwide. I

Sung Kim . U.S. Ambassador to the

Republic of Korea
am also excited about Fulbright Koreas new U.S.-ROK Alliance Studies Program and the Graduate Studies program. Fulbright Korea continues to be a model for cultural diplomacy, promoting essential people to people ties that form the bedrock of our bilateral relations. You should all feel extremely proud of the work that you are doing in schools and communities across Korea as cultural ambassadors of the United States. Sincerely,

Sung Y. Kim U.S. Ambassador to the Republic of Korea

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Painting Mureung Valley . Tyler Van Arsdale (ETA 2012 2013) . Mureung Valley Daejeon Afternoon . Katelyn Hemmeke (ETA 2012 - 2013) . Daejeon

04

Foreword
Jenna Gibson . Editor-in-Chief
Last years edition of The Korea Fulbright Infusion explored various facets of han and jeong, two uniquely Korean emotions that Fulbright Junior Research grantees and English Teaching Assistants experience as they attempt to understand the country where they live and work. This year we gathered stories, poems, moments, and let them coalesce into this years theme: identity. During the six-week orientation program at the beginning of their Korean lives, the ETAs are reminded countless times of their dual roles as teachers and cultural ambassadors. They were brought to Korea to teach English to Korean students. They should find novel ways to explain nouns and punctuation and slang. They should edit school newspapers and correct pronunciation. They should infuse our students with confidence in their English abilities. But the other half of their job is more ambiguous. They are told to watch their actions, to interpret their decisions from the perspective of their Korean hosts in order to provide a positive example of Americans and American culture. For ETAs this means being aware during interactions with their students and host families, and for researchers it means being conscious of colleagues and research subjects. And, for everyone, this role as cultural ambassador even extends to every day moments like taking the subway or stopping at a convenience store on the way home. Its a noble goal, to be sure, but one that can in turn make internal struggles of identity even harder to unravel. This edition of Infusion follows Fulbrighters through their sometimes messy process of understanding who they are, while simultaneously adjusting to the assumptions placed upon them as outsiders in Korean society. Nic Ramos Flores struggles to explain his dual identities as a Puerto Rican-American. Andrea Sohn and her student, Jin Hyuk Yoon, discuss expectations and work toward mutual understanding. At the same time, Case Nafziger turns his focus to his host mother, exploring her identity from the perspective of a newly initiated member of the family, while Sarah Carey struggles with body expectations in her first visit to a public bath. And in the end we are left with Katelyn Hemmekes unanswerable question: what if? I also have to mention the stunning photography that youll find both within these pages and on the Infusion website. This year, Infusion received more than 400 photo submissions, eclipsing last years number and leaving our photo editors with the unenviable task of whittling the number down to a few dozen. You can be sure that the ones that did make it into this years magazine, and even many that didnt, are truly the best of the best. Please enjoy.

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What I Know to Be True

Jenna Gibson
What is the first thing that comes to mind when you hear the word Korea? I knew what I expected to hear when I sent this question to my friends and family back home in the States. After all, when I decided to teach in Korea, one aunt nearly begged me not to go, noting that if Kim Jong Il woke up in a bad mood one day, I would be on the front lines of global nuclear war. Acquaintances thought themselves hilarious by asking, North or South? Because thats what Korea means to many Americansa strange place far away where we once fought a war and where communism and tyranny still reign. Ill admit I started my little experiment with an ulterior motive. I wanted to find evidence of ignorance and write out my anger in a scathing indictment of the American media and its failure to properly keep the public informed about international issues. And, indeed, I got some of the answers I expected. A few uncles mentioned the Korean War, while my friends went immediately to North Korea and Gangnam Style. One simply said, Bulgogi. Its delicious. But the overwhelming majority of people came up with the exact same answer. When I asked them to tell me what Korea means to them, they said the same thing again and again. Jenna. For many people across the United States, Korea means... me. I have become, for them, the representation of an entire country. Talk about pressure. I no longer wanted to write about the media and how it fails to properly represent Korea, because I suddenly understood the incredible responsibility of being the bearer of information. I guess I already knew that I was a primary source about life in Korea. Along with regular Skype sessions with people back home, I obsessively chronicle my life on my blog, which (not to brag) Im told is quite well read among my family. My grandmother even goes so far as to print out all of my blog entries every few weeks and send them to my great aunt who doesnt know how to use a computer. (I didnt know about this at first, or I wouldnt have posted quite so many frivolous pictures of funny Konglish signs and cute latte art.) But now I am painfully aware that every word, every nuance, is actually absorbed by my family back home. And they use that information to form an opinion of Korea without the luxury of an accurate historical and cultural context. My words are all they get. So I have become paranoid, checking and rechecking every subtlety before I hit the post button, careful not to give my readers any false impressions of a place they will most likely never see for themselves. At the same time, my journalist heart rebels against this self-censorship. I have always firmly believed in the principles of the First Amendment, that the cure for ignorance and misconception is always more speech, not silence. Nearly every day I find myself torn between that core belief in openness and a now instinctive need to protect this place, to keep my depictions of Korea positive so people back home can, in

06

some small way, love this country like I do. But Korea does have flaws. Life here isnt perfect and it goes against everything I believe in to hide those things. When I slip on ice (again) on my way to school because for some reason this country doesnt believe in salting sidewalks, why shouldnt I point out how frustrating and dangerous that is? When an old man, clearly drunk even though its only 4 p.m., swears at my friends and I on a subway platform, telling us to get out of his country, should I turn to my parents on Skype and assure them that anti-American sentiment here is a thing of the past? I do my best to explain any of my observations, especially the potentially controversial ones, to make it a point of giving the background and exceptions (even though it makes some blog entries a lot longer than they have to be). After a post about the Seoul metros wallto-wall advertisements for plastic surgery, I found myself talking with my mom about Koreas beauty obsession. Despite my own problems with the phenomenon, I found myself reluctant to agree with her exclamations of its so sad! and why would they do that to themselves? Instead, I explained. I explained that here its accepted, even expected, for girls and women to enhance their natural looks a little. I explained that in Korea, you submit a photograph with your resume, so job applicants feel the pressure to fit what potential bosses are looking for. I explained that Koreas plastic surgery services are so cheap and so well-respected that patients come from all over Asia (and, in fact, all over the world) to get a quick procedure done. I felt an immediate obligation to tell her everything I knew about plastic surgery in Korea, so she could make an informed

opinion rather than relying on assumptions. She probably still feels the same way, but at least she knows a bit more about the trend. Its the same struggle I face every day in my classroom as I stand in front of 40 pairs of brown eyes as the living embodiment of America. I teach them about wishes and zodiac signs and prom. I teach them about Fourth of July and snow days and not to call their friends black person when they come back from summer vacation with a bit of a tan. I teach them that Whats up? means ? and that Hey! is not an appropriate way to get their teachers attention. But I cant teach them everything, not even close. I can only tell them what I know to be true, what I have absorbed from my Minnesota upbringing and Nebraska college life. To tell the truth, I dont really know a lot about what Americans think and do and say. Despite that fact, I still have to write something on the black board every day, hoping to bring a little more clarity despite the language barrier. In the end, just as Im not able to represent America, I cannot really represent Korea. I would be foolish for me to think that I could, as an outsider with a depressingly small Korean vocabulary. But I am learning about Korea every day, and I want to give that knowledge to people who wouldnt get it otherwise. I cant control everything people do with my words. All I can do is keep speaking, and hope that people are listening.

Jenna Gibson is a 2011 - 2013 ETA at Cheonan Ohsung Middle School in Cheonan.

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Clockwise from right (all photos by Neal Singleton . ETA 2012 - 2013) Jonathan at the Grill . Goesan Crushed Cans in a Strange Country . Namiseom Island, Gapyeong A Benchs Point of View . Baekwolsan, Hongseong Christina the Adventurer . Mt. Dutasan, near Donghae

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09

The Dream of Mrs. Moon

Case Nafziger

A young Mrs. Moon, then only Ms. Moon, was stocking items on the shelves of the grocery store where she worked part-time when two foreigners approached with a question. Excuse me, they said. Could you point us to the flour? Ms. Moon stared up at the tall, light-haired boys, and racked her mind for an appropriate response in English. Shed never spoken directly to a foreigner before, much less two college-aged boys. Shed just graduated from high school. Oh, I am afraid We have no flowers, she finally replied. No flour? they asked. This is a grocery store? I am sorry. We do not sell flowers, Ms. Moon responded, remaining straight-faced despite this confusing query. Did Western grocery stores have a section for plant life? The wide-eyed boys glanced at each other, frustrated with Ms. Moons inability to give them what they needed, and Ms. Moon felt helpless. She scurried through the aisles in search of her manager, whose English was better than hers, at least when it came to grocery items.

Several minutes later, Ms. Moon stood behind her manager, face flushed as he handed the boys a sack of flour. That was the day, Mrs. Moon recalls twenty years later, when I said to myself: I must learn English. So Ms. Moon sought out an English study group, where, as fate would have it, she met the man who would eventually make her Mrs. Moon. Ms. Moon had grand dreams of mastering English and living abroad someday. She saw herself sipping coffee in Europe while reading an English newspaper, watching people from all over the world walk across the cobbled streets. Mrs. Moon still has those dreams. Today Mrs. Moon works at a community center in Jeju City. She signs up for every opportunity to interact with English-speaking tourists on the island, to translate and interpret. When a coworker told her about the opportunity to host a young teacher from America, she saw it as the perfect chance to test her English on a native ear. Despite living in a cramped, two-bedroom apartment with two children and a busy husband, she

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n
Odd One Out Neal Singleton (ETA 2012 - 2013) . Seongwangsa, Seosan

eagerly embraced the young man as a new member of her family. Call me (older sister), she said on his first night in the apartment. But in public, I am Mrs. Moon. Mrs. Moon leaves home at 8:00 each morning and returns around 8:00 each night. She starts every day cooking breakfast and listening to the first of the 2012 American Election debates on her smartphone. Always the first. Perhaps she recognizes the near flawlessness in Barack Obamas rhetoric, the nuances in his pronunciation of the English language. Indeed, every few minutes she picks out an unfamiliar phrase and recites it, over and over, until it flows seamlessly off her tongue. Not a recipe for job growth. Not a recipe for job growth. Thats not a recipe for job growth! Eliminate. Eliminate. Eliminate tax breaks for corporate jets. Abraham Lincoln said, lets help to finance the Transcontinental Railroad. Abraham Lincoln said thats not a recipe for job growth! As she washes dishes after dinner, its the first chapter of Anne of Green Gables.

Mrs. Rachel Lynde lived just where the Avonlea main road dipped down into a little hollow A dedicated mother, Mrs. Moon attends free lectures on parenting, on helping children succeed in Koreas rigorous education system when after school institutes are not affordable, and she implements as many tips as she can. In between work and dinner and Anne of Avonlea, she makes time to brush her daughters hair, to translate conversations between the eight-yearold girl and her new American brother, or to read English picture books with her twelve-year-old son, pronouncing each word with him and hoping to inspire in him the drive to make English his own. Mrs. Moon embraces her working mother status. She is in tune with the level of stress in her life, her intense desire for rest and the need for outside pursuits. She takes courage from the words of strong female writers. A recent favorite is Please Look After Mom by Shin Kyung

That was the day, Mrs. Moon recalls twenty years later, when I said to myself: I must learn English.
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continued...

The Dream of Mrs. Moon

Sook, which she buys in English and hands to her host son just two days after meeting him so he can also find some inspiration. Books are like a vitamin for my health as a working mother in Korea, she claims. It is a difficult job, but I am strong. Despite being forty years old and firmly rooted in her island community, Mrs. Moon still dreams of seeing the world. She researches scholarships and grants that will allow her to work abroad someday, to take her husband and children to a new country and learn about a different culture. She applies for as many of these programs as possible, and even after falling short of the language scores required to take part, she perseveres. Because it is my dream, she says. I dont think you give up on a dream. Its 9 p.m. on a Wednesday, and Mrs. Moon and her son kneel on the floor of her host sons lime green bedroom, reading slowly through the pages of Chicken Little. The American

son sits on top of flowery sheets, listening to and critiquing their pronunciation. Chicken Riddle? Mrs. Moon asks yet again, cocking her head as both sons emit audible sighs and glance at one another in mock frustration. No, (Mom), Chicken Little. L, not R. Little! the twelve-year-old laughs. Mrs. Moon is happy, because while she still cant distinguish many of the nuances of the English language, her son has mastered them. She simply shrugs her shoulders, tousles his hair, and grins beneath tired eyes.

Case Nafziger is a 2012 - 2013 ETA at Jeju Jungang Girls High School in Jeju City.

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Sunset at Sunrise Peak . Neal Singleton (ETA 2011- 2013) . Seongsan Ilchulbong, Jeju Island Sunrise . Liza Engstrom (ETA 2011- 2013) . Sinyang Beach, Jeju Island

13

Relief in Yeomju
A Race to the Heated Seat
Colleen Mayo
Yeomju Elementary Schools children are pintsized, but the building itself could rival a castle. We have a 16-person (teachers office) on every floor, two gymnasiums and three dumpster landings to collect 1,200 students trash. A giant would comfortably break bread in our cafeteria. Yet among the 30 girls restrooms, there sits but one heated toilet seat. A cold bowl in December is the worst, I tell you. The absolute worst. Really, its a race come late November. It is warmer inside Yeomjus castle walls than in the mountainous air outside our windows. I reason that the slight difference stems from the boiling green tea we all sip every ten minutes. At Yeomju, we synch our tea-drinking tighter than Big Ben. Even without tea, though, I always have to go by the end of a lesson. I, like all the other teachers, have ten minutes before Im standing in front of my next class, and we all need to be fully leaked, dried and poised to orchestrate another forty minutes. Ten minutes should be long enough. But break time inevitably morphs from a two-minute corridor stroll to a seven-minute march through crazy town. Some of us stuff our coat pockets with tissue paper to save time. The bell rings. We dismiss our students. They bound out of their homerooms. Now its a sprint to the heated bowl. We simultaneously power walk from our respective classrooms to Yeomjus third floor, where the lone warm seat waits. Students are oblivious to Yeomjus arctic interior. They holler and chase each other down the hallways, choosing to enjoy their ten minutes of freedom rather than be cold. Or pee. I round my way up to the third floor. Kids shoot past me. Whats up, Coco! most shout. Some are more creative. Give me the money, says my favorite troublemaker, Tae Han. Tae Hans best friend chases after him. Sex on the beach, he chants. As I bustle through the hallway, my left coat-pocket bounces with foil-wrapped chocolate kisses. Su Yeon, the fourth grade English teacher, gave me the chocolate. She used to offer every teacher in the office a single kiss every day after lunch. It was our ritual and it felt absolutely sacred as I peeled off the foil and slipped the treat in my mouth. Su Yeon still performs her afternoon ceremony, but shes been giving me special treatment since the cold weather started. Rather than pluck just one chocolate kiss out of her bag, she jangles the it upside down over me as kisses rain out from a small hole cut in the corner. Warm Coco. Christmas Coco, Christmas Coco, she sings every day. Stay warm in Christmas. Plastic sliding windows separate classroom (or-

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der) from hallway (chaos). In chaos the students stampede back and forth as if reenacting Jumanji. Their language is not fully Korean or Englishthey howl in both. They take off their rubber indoor slippers and chuck the shoes at one another (and consequently at me). They reclaim confiscated materialsbouncy balls, comic books, airplanes and stuffed animals appear from nowhere. The students screech, waving this loot in my face as I pass. Stand in the hallway too long and you might just may lose your mind. However, to never breach it risks forgetting that the studious, wellpostured bodies warming your classroom belong to fifth graders. And any fifth graderfrom any countrywill explode with primordial joy when finally released to exercise the natural itch for free and joyful destruction. But not all the classrooms are free just yet. The hardcore teachers remain oblivious to both break and bladder; they continue class. Our ethics teacher, Mr. Mun, is the oldest man in the building. He looks like he wrote the original code of ethics. A

degree bow. Mun sees me through the windows, nods his head like a king and the students are dismissed. They swarm out of his classroom. Hi, Coco! Hurry hurry, he says in English and gives me a thumbs-up. Some students freeze when they hear his English; Mr Muns general presence suggests penning Hangeul together with King Sejong. Like a champion marathoner, I return his thumbs up and continue through the hall. Hurry, for the happy pee, he calls after me. My fifth graders yell for my attention and, although my gut is approaching rupture point faster than I can score the heated seat, I wave back. They know Ive memorized almost every face but they still love to rename themselves. Im Iron Man, says Do Bin. Its nice to meet you. I know you, Do Bin, I say. How are you? Im POOP thanks, and you,? Do Bin answers, straight-faced. Goodbye, Do Bin. I feel like Im inside a video game. I am one of seven female teachers, striving for the heated seat. We must navigate through the troves of children. Carry the necessary paper. Ball it discreetly

definite wisdom has taken hold and it enfolds him. I slow down as I pass by his class to drop a ninety-

Plastic sliding windows separate classroom (order) from hallway (chaos). In chaos the students stampede back and forth as if reenacting Jumanji. Their language is not fully Korean or Englishthey howl in both.
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continued...

Relief in Yeomju

in our winter pockets. And hurryhurryto our destination with a teachers demeanor, with swift steps and administrative poise. Su Yeon and I simultaneously arrive on the third floor, see each other and trade poise for a giggle explosion. Then a third winner arrives: Yu Ri, who teaches Home Economics. Our game is finished; like most good games, we played it more for the act than the win. Good manners take over. Yu Ri insists that I enjoy the heated seat because I travelled the furthest. I demand she use it because she supplied the toilet paper in my right pocket. Yu Ri sits next to me in the office. She houses four rolls of toilet paper in her desk alongside an English slang book. Every morning before we head to class, she hands me my daily supply and tries out new terms. For my G, she said today. Keep it real. Yuris favorite English slang phrases are accurate yet outdated: most were probably used by N Sync members or the cast of The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air. Dont josh me, she likes to tease when I refuse to let her set me up on a blind date. Im your homie.

Next periods bell rings before anyone takes the heated seat. We shriek again. Third floor is sixth grade territory and a circle of moody girls raise their eyebrows at us. Classy time, Yu Ri calls to them in English. Its time to party. They filter into their rooms while Su Yeon does a potty dance for me in the hallway. WTF? Yu Ri mouths, then joins the dance. We walk downstairs together. Chaos over. I tell them Mr. Mun spoke English to me again. Oooh, mysterious, says Yu Ri. Like Bigfoot and Santa. Like an angry American bear, says Su Yeon. WTF? Yu Ri says, interlocking each of her arms with one of ours. Girl, you whack. Yeah, I dont know what you mean, I admit. Su Yeon just shrugs and reaches into my pocket. She pulls out a chocolate kiss. I dont know either, she says. But it makes a lot of sense.

Colleen (Coco) Mayo is a 2011 - 2013 ETA at Yeomju Elementary School in Gwangju.

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 (Little Monks) . Andrew Arnold (Junior Researcher 2012 - 2013) . Busan The Little Drummer Girl . Andrew Cheng (ETA 2012- 2013) . Seoul

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Bulguksa, Curves . Neal Singleton (ETA 2012 - 2013) . Bulguksa, Gyeong ju Bulguksa, Beats . Neal Singleton (ETA 2012 - 2013) . Bulguksa, Gyeong ju

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Fall Leaves at Nejang Mountain . Tyler Van Arsdale (ETA 2012 - 2013) . Nejang Mountain, north of Gwangju Strong, Powerful, but Peaceful . Neal Singleton (ETA 2012 - 2013) . Minsok Hanok Village, Asan

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A Birthday in Pyongyang
Anthony Cho
We were in the freezing cold, dressed in our Sunday best and waiting to pay our respects to the Dear Leader, a man so revered by his people that he is enshrined in one of the most ornate mausoleums in the modern world. With its massive marble columns, pristine chandeliers, and decadent murals, this self-anointed King of North Korea had indeed constructed a home worthy of its name, Kumsusan Palace of the Sun. As we entered, a strict moving walkway confined our path while the passing walls recounted the undying glories of the Kim dynastythe Great Father, Kim Il Sung, on one side and his Dear Son on the other. Mourners continuously paid tribute; men with impeccable posture and women in traditional black (hanbok) held vigil. This wasnt just any other day; it was the 72 anniversary of the day the Dear Leader, Kim
nd

Kim Jong Ils stone likeness didnt reflect his diminutive 5-foot, 3-inch frame. Rather he soared above us, over 20 feet into the air, his determined eyes facing forward. To the (Joseon)1 people, his strong gaze might have reassured them of his commitment to the future and prosperity of his country. To me, he seemed unwilling to meet the eyes of those beneath him. However, both the Joseon people and I would agree on the statues message, reiterated throughout my time in North Korea: He will always be with us. With this message seared into our minds, we left the room and continued deeper into the mausoleum. Suddenly, the line slowed down, security tightened, and strains of classical violin crept out from an eerily lit room. As if actually experiencing a Kubrick thriller, I grew uneasy. We had reached our final destination. In high school, I never would have imagined that one day I would be bowing to the embalmed corpse of Kim Jong Il, the tyrant I had vilified and berated in debate tournaments. With his penchant for causing diplomatic turmoil while bartering for foreign aid, Kim Jong Il was, to me, the spoiled child of the international stage. Yet

Jong Il, entered this world. The moving pathway came to an end and we were led to the greeting chamber, home to colossal marble statues of both father and son. Under the watchful eyes of surveillance cameras, we were mechanically filed in, four to a row, and instructed to bow and show our respect.

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Footnotes

1. North Korea refers to itself as Joseon (), much like South Korea refers to itself as Hanguk ().

here I was on a tour of North Korea, standing with eight other Americans only 20 feet away from the very same man. He was sealed off in a glass sarcophagus, impervious to any thoughts or words that I had for him. Unable to speak, I made a short, half-hearted bow. Tears. The next thing I noticed were the tears of the mourners, including two of our own guides. For some reason, I thought that our guides were above the indoctrination; they were well-educated, had traveled abroad and even read The Economist. I forgot that, first and foremost, they too were Joseon. Previous notions I had about artificial or coerced mourning were shattered. It was real. Overwhelmed with new questions, the only thing I knew for certain was that I actually knew nothing. Only five hours later, our group was skating among the locals in a Pyongyang ice rink. After the perfectly constructed presentation at Kumsusan, I thought these citizens were specifically selected by the government to come and skate on this national holiday, showing foreign tourists an idyllic vision of life in Pyongyang. My initial thoughts were quickly dispelled when a drunk

man stumbled onto the rink while a machine was cleaning the ice. While the other skaters exited the rink in an orderly fashion, this older man seemed to think that the rink had been cleared for him. He had to be escorted off the ice. This felt less manufactured, more genuine. My eyes suddenly took in the details. Mothers stood worrying along the side walls, halfheartedly encouraging their children while hoping they didnt get hurt. Soldiers melted their guard, smiling widely and allowing people to break the rules on the rink. Teenage girls sped by each other, cheeks red from the cold, or maybe from the boys looking on from the other side of the rink. To all these people, today was nothing more than a day off. We returned our borrowed skates and went out into the afternoon sun to observe a mass dance at the Pyongyang Peoples Square. Hundreds of dancers lined up, men in trendy suits and women in bright, colorful hanbok. We saw college students smiling as they danced, texting on their cell phones and letting their provocative gazes do all the talking. Our guides explained that students learn these synchronized dances

This wasnt just any other day; it was the 72nd anniversary of the day the Dear Leader, Kim Jong Il, entered this world.
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A Birthday in Pyongyang
continued...

in school but later use them as an opportunity to meetand flirt withstudents of the opposite sex. In fact, we were encouraged to step in and make fools of ourselves as we tried to keep up with the Joseon dancers. All the sanctity I had felt in the morning was shattered, revealing more questions. It seemed as though people didnt care that today was Kim Jong Ils birthday. Where was the indoctrination now? Where were the tears? How could both of these realms, the solemn mourning and the refreshing afternoon, coexist? Better yet, what was real? After our one week trip came to a close, I was back at the Pyongyang International Airport, browsing through its tiny duty-free shop. I went through the security checks with ease and walked outside to board my plane. My seat was next to two high school soccer players who could barely contain their excitement. It was obvious that this was their first experience flying and traveling abroad. After they settled down from excitedly looking out the window, taking pictures of the Russians in front of us, and prematurely fastening their seat belts, they turned to me. Me: Where are you going?

Them (nervously searching for an answer): Were going to play soccer in Vietnam. Where are you going? Me (without thinking):To Seoul, but I am from America. Them (not missing a beat): Really? I heard America is very big. Me (surprised): Yeah, its really big. Between the rhetoric of those in power and the everyday reactions of North Koreans citizens, I still struggle to find the realities. What is life really like in North Korea? What was shown to me? What was kept from me? How can Joseon and Hanguk be so different from one another, yet still be one Korea? I am more curious than ever to find where the truth lies. After only a week in the other side, I know I must go back for more.

Anthony Cho is the ETA Program Coordinator for the 2012 - 2013 grant year.

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Wires and Wishes . Katelyn Hemmeke (ETA 2012 - 2013) . Imjingak (DMZ)

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Clockwise from left (all Neal Singleton . ETA 2012 - 2013) Transfer Times . Seoul A Tight Squeeze . Hanoi, Vietnam Jason the Great . The Bus, Somewhere in Korea Little Lady in a Rowboat . Halong Bay, Vietnam

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Broken Language
Kathy Hill
I have only heard my mothers voice once since I arrived in Korea, when my sister Skyped with me at Christmas. Im not avoiding my mother. She is the type of mother you cant easily ignore. My mother doesnt own a phone. Once, I bought her a pay-as-you-go phone, so I could easily reach her at any time, and she took it back to the store the next day. She said she didnt need a phone. Who Im going to talk to? Me, I said. Me. My mother thinks that if she has a phone, my sisters and I will use it as a reason to visit her less often. Calling my mother persistent would be an understatement. Since Ive been in Korea, my mother sends me at least four emails a day. Sometimes its daily advice: Today is cold. stay worm; you should go this one for study break, music take dust away, and feel rich. And when I think Im too busy to reply to her, she asks via email: Are you live? My Korean host mother says I am good at understanding and explaining things, even when I dont know all the right words in Korean. But I guess you could say that I have experience navigating broken language. My mother and I grew up learning English together after we moved to the United States from Japan. I was four years old; my mother, 30. I assimilated quickly and soon forgot my Japanese. But my mother struggled. I grew up getting free drinks and hamburgers every time we ordered fast food at the drivethru because the drive-thru window workers misunderstood my mothers English. At parentteacher conferences, I would look away in embarrassment and eventually clarify my mothers unsuccessful attempt to ask why I had gotten Excellent instead of Outstanding on my report card. Speed Quiz without the excitement was an everyday activity, and my sisters and I became translators for my mothers English. Yet I still fail to interpret my mothers most complex feelings and actions because she simply doesnt know the vocabulary to explain things like her divorce from my father. As a stay-at-home mom of four without perfect English, my mother cant get a decent job. Instead she spends all day every day at the library so she can become fluent. She reads along with audio books: The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, Norwegian Wood, The Seven Habits of Highly Effective People. When she sees something that inspires her or relates to her life, she copies it down in an email and sends it to me. She uses paragraphs from books to better explain what she wants to say. The quotes are enlightening, and every day I am more impressed by

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the expansion of my mothers vocabulary, but I welcome the raw emails with misspelled words and grammar mistakes, the ones in which I can hear her voice. Once, in the fall, I wrote her to tell her I missed the comforts of home and she wrote back, you mean miss your fantacy? you will come back to real world. To me, no excerpt could better express the intonation and articulation of my mothers voice or reveal the compassionate intent of her blunt commentary. But broken language can be a source of shame. Sudden stops and mispronounced words can sound clumsy and frustrating. Teacher, toilet . . . go. . . Many of my students struggle to push foreign words out of their mouths and throw their hands up after a few stuttered syllables. Class 2-7 is noted as no energy on my teaching schedule. Its unlikely that I can get more than a quarter of the class to participate in my lessons. But I dont necessarily think less of them for it. These are the same students who will scream Teacher! Teacher! and flag me down when they see me downtown just to say between exasperated giggles, Teacher! No English! when I ask what they are doing. Class 2-7 refuses to speak English and my mother communicates with book excerpts for the same reason: Theyre scared to lose face by

It is from my mother that I learned a students language ability can never define their intent, passion, rhythms of speech, or nature of thoughts.

not speaking perfectly. It is from my mother that I learned a students language ability can never define their intent, passion, rhythms of speech, mothers thoughts everyday.

or nature of thoughts, and I learn to translate my

i am proud of you!! you chose hard road to go koria for 1 year, wow!! erent then visit and live

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its not like 3 month of summer break, its defyou will be big open mind, deproping charactor, you dont know it enjoy your lest of time, dont force yourself or dont be codependent too we all need know how to loved, not just love we grow, we learn every time, you have to believe yourself, even outsider dont want to hey, that is not their business, but my business!! take care yourself, we trust you have fun!! smile - Mom

Kathy Hill is a 2012 - 2013 ETA at Ocheon High School in Pohang.

The Chaebols & the City

Corporate Conglomerates as Agents of Urban Transformation
Justin Stern
Anyone who has visited Korea after the 1970s is familiar with the uniform concrete housing blocks that repeat themselves ad infinitum across the countrys landscape. From major cities, such as Seoul and Busan, to the industrial towns of Pohang and Ulsan and even across the countryside in otherwise bucolic villages, apartment towers punctuate Korean cityscapes with a ceaseless regularity, their concrete facades displaying the insignias of the countrys most recognizable corporate conglomerates: Samsung, Hyundai, SK, LG, Lotte, GS and so on. As a Fulbright junior researcher, I came to Korea to examine some of the elements that have enabled Korea to transform, during a very short period, from a largely rural nation into one of the most urban countries in the world. What has surprised me the most about urbanization in Korea is the role of chaebols (a type of large-scale, diversified and family-owned corporate conglomerate unique to South Korea) in helping to determine the physical form and regional planning of the countrys vast urban network. Although much of the debate on South Koreas rapid economic growth has centered on the chaebols, such a framework of analysis is largely absent from the discourse on urban development. To this affect, I ask: How have the chaebols influenced the spatial dynamics of Koreas cities, ranging from Seouls rapid expansion south of the Han River to the predominance of particular architectural typoloBbali Bbali Urbanization In the aftermath of the Korean War, roughly one-half of Seouls urban landscape was rendered either heavily damaged or completely razed to the ground. At the same time a substantial number of repatriates to the Korean Peninsula and refugees from North Korea adopted South Korean citizenship, many of them choosing to reside in the overburdened capital. In a bid to accelerate development, the dictatorial regime of President Park Chung Hee (1961-1979) diverted domestic and foreign investment and expertise almost exclusively to industrial development, heavy infrastructure and defense. As early as the 1970s, these homegrown policies manifested themselves spatially in the form of sprawling manufacturing centers, vast networks of industrial infrastructure and entirely new cities dominated by factories and apartment towers. In many regards, the contemporary urban form of Koreas major cities is representative of this severe, production-oriented approach to development; it is also very much linked to the chaebolspowerful companies such as Samsung and Hyundai, typified by a relatively consistent set of characteristics, including: numerous independently operated firms under a single holding structure, concurrent branding, a business stratgies like those large-scale concrete apartment blocks, within the capital region and beyond?

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egy of extensive diversification into unrelated industries and a dynastic management structure overseen by the head of the family. The bbali bbali (loosely translated as quickly quickly or double quick) expansion of the Korean economy and the governments interventionist role in regional development trickled down to restructure the physical shape of the countrys major cities and reposition the role, global positioning and design of the Seoul Metropolitan Region. Chaebol Territories The privileged relationship between the chaebols and the state, along with their sheer economic diversification, has enabled the largest conglomerates to effectively compress the construction period of major urban projects and, in many cases, single handedly reimagined entire neighborhoods. Perhaps nowhere is the territorial domination of a single chaebol more pronounced than in Lottes takeover of Jamsil-dong in southeastern Seoul. First established in Japan by Shin Kyuk Ho, a Japanese citizen of Korean descent, Lotte Corporation (Lotte) has grown in less than 50 years from a small manufacturer of chewing gum to Koreas fifth-largest chaebol and one of the largest property developers in the country. Since opening as a hotel just days before the 1988 Seoul Summer Olympics, what is today known as Lotte World has expanded into a dense and interconnected cluster of retail stores, residential towers, entertainment complexes, museums, office space and a hotel. Today, Lotte

continues to reshape the neighborhood with the construction of Lotte World Tower, a 123-floor, 1,824-foot skyscraper, which will be the second tallest building in the world upon completion and will include a Lotte Department Store, Lotte Hotel, Lotte residences, Lotte offices and, at the towers pinnacle, the personal art collection of Lotte Chairman and Founder Shin Kyuk Ho. What sets the Jamsil project apart from urban development in other cities, both in Asia and beyond, is the ability of a single company to take a master builder approach in which virtually every aspect of project development, from construction to financing and operation, is an inhouse affair. Chaebols also play a principle role in spatial planning outside of the Seoul Metropolitan Area. This phenomena is most pronounced in Ulsan, where Hyundai and SK Group, the second and third largest chaebols respectively, established many of their production-related operations as early as 1962. A rural fishing village until the 1960s, today Ulsan boasts the highest GDP per capita in Korea. The city is home to the worlds largest assembly plant and shipyard, operated by Hyundai Motor Company and Hyundai Heavy Industries, along with the worlds largest oil refinery, operated by SK Energy. Hyundai alone operates five independent manufacturing facilities with roughly 34,000 employees spread across 1,215 acres. Beyond manufacturing, Hyundai has established a hotel, hospital, department store, community center, art gallery and two

In the aftermath of the Korean War, roughly onehalf of Seouls urban landscape was rendered either heavily damaged or razed to the ground.
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The Chaebols & the City

continued...

30

31

continued...

The Chaebols & the City

professional football teams in Ulsan, all of which bear the companys iconic brand insignia. Far more than just a company, Hyundai has emerged as a determining factor in the social services, urban form and quality of life in Ulsan. Chaebols Today Although the Korean government has actively sought foreign direct investment in real estate over the past decade, chaebols continue to play a decisive role in urban development. Beyond Lotte World Tower, examples include Samsungs role in the redevelopment of Gangnam District, including the construction of three separate skyscrapers, each of which houses the corporate headquarters of one of the chaebols largest subsidiaries: Samsung Electronics, Samsung C&T, and Samsung Life Insurance. The company is also planning the 133-story Seoul Lite tower at Seoul Digital Media City in Sangnam-dong, which, if completed, will house the corporate headquarters of LG Construction & LG Telecom; and proposals for a 110-story automobile themed supertower near Seoul Forest to house the corporate headquarters and flagship showroom for Hyundai-Kia Automotive Group. In other examples, such as the Doosan Bears baseball team, the centrally located and architecturally iconic corporate headquarters of Hyundai Development, or in the Leeum Samsung Museum of Art or Lotte World Amusement Park, the chaebols continue to infiltrate Koreas vast

urban network and treat the city as a stage on which to construct and reconstruct brand value over time. This timeline begins to unpack the complex relationship between the city, urban form and the chaebols themselvesa reciprocal interrelation which continues to play a determining role in the shape and quality of urban life in Koreas cities. The top section of the timeline (page 30 - 31) indicates the top 10 chaebols over time, shedding light on the competition among the largest conglomerates for market dominance, as well as the bankruptcies, acquisitions and restructurings of various companies. The middle section of the timeline includes images of some of the most significant urban interventions undertaken between 1960 and 2010, as well as a chart documenting the rate of population growth in the Seoul Metropolitan Area during the same period. The bottom portion outlines the urban footprint of Seoul over the years. Although chaebols have not been independently responsible for all of the projects highlighted, they have participated in their development through construction, project financing and political posturing.

Justin D. Stern is a 2012 - 2013 Junior Researcher and a Ph.D. student in Architecture and Urban Planning at Harvard University.

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Seoul Soup . Neal Singleton (ETA 2012 - 2013) . Seoul Looking Out in Tokyo . Sam Izumi Han (ETA 2011 - 2013) . Tokyo, Japan

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INSTA-STORY
A year in Instagram

Photographers from left to right (this page): Susie Lee, Ariel Guimarelli, David Allen, Nhu Phan, Brian Heise, Payal Patel, Sonia Kim, Nhu Phan, Tyler Van Arsdale, Susie Lee, Tyler Van Arsdale

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The following pictures are Instagram snapshots of the everyday lives of Fulbright Scholars in South Korea. Fulbright has created an unexpected community of Instagram photo bloggers who share with each other the diversity of their cherished experiences. This photo sharing phenomenon allows Fulbrighters and their respective communities to vicariously experience moments like a walk home or an adventure with their host family. Infusion welcomes you to enjoy filtered perspectives of the places, things and people Fulbrighters love. To view more of their Instagram photos, visit http://infusion.fulbright.or.kr.

Photographers from left to right (this page): David Allen, Ariel Guimarelli, Katelyn Hemmeke, Bridget Cho, Elaine Townshend, Elaine Townshend, Hilary Bauer, Ginger Whitesell, Elaine Townshend, Joanne Cho, Jessica Zucker

35

Old Downtown
Anne McGovern

I cant hear the haul of iron from the bus stop, but I know its there, folded into the wind that blasts along the murky water behind the bench. I can smell it, though, the iron mixed with mud-flat egg, mackerel and sweet bean bread pulled fresh from the oven. You know youve entered old downtown when the mountains across the bay are blocked by the skeletons of Mokpos ship-building brigade. A jingle across the road and the stop fills with school boys in ironed pants and rolled up shirtsleeves. They are starched,

The wind almost covers his voice, and I curl my toes on the curb as the bus approaches, my foot in the door before it even breathes. In the now dark a woman stoops in the grime beyond the window, shoulder-bag empty, and as the new city tunnel swallows me, and the flats wheel by with their iron beached whales, their graves of ten thousand octopi, I realize what the man had said: Sit down, please. Rest.

and heres the time to watch the latest girl groups from Seoul, Anne McGovern is a 2012 - 2013 ETA at Jeongmyeong a rumor of a city, attainable only after the final bell sounds and sinks into the mud. Someday, they think, and flock onto bus 15, leaving only me and an old shipbuilder, waiting at the last bus stop in old downtown. The bus is late. Yudal mountains peak dissolves into Mokpo dusk, while car tires screech: Go home! Go home! and the shipbuilder stirs in his layers of coats and sweaters, his hands and face emerge from the folds, with folds in himself like a crumpled blanket shoved under the bed, a hundred years of salt and rust and chain-links banging on eardrums, sometimes an echo even when he sleeps. Anjeuseyo. Shwisaeyo, he says.
Girls High School in Mokpo.

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Usan Shopping . Neal Singleton (ETA 2012 - 2013) . Namdaemun, Seoul (Hotteok) . Andrew Cheng (ETA 2012 - 2013) . Seoul Seosans Happy Taxis . Neal Singleton (ETA 2012 - 2013) . Seosan Bus Terminal, Seosan

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Braving Typhoon Bolaven . Tyler Van Arsdale (ETA 2012 - 2013) . Naju

To My Students
Andrea Sohn
To my students, past and present: Once you asked me what I wanted from you: , ? The language barrier made the question particularly hard to understand. What did I, an adult, want from you, a teenager? What did I, an American, want from you, a Korean? With enough body language and mixtures of words, I finally got it: What did I, your teacher, want from you, my students? When I first entered your classroom, I was instantly paralyzed. It was something about the sea of forty-or-so tired faces, topped off with indistinguishable plastic frames and military buzz cuts. You laughed because I was shorter than you and because my voice was more high-pitched than anything you had heard before. You made a racket over my native English pronunciation and proceeded to imitate my style of speaking. You asked me where I was from, how old I was and if I had a boyfriend. The longer I was with you, the more I realized how precious your spare time was. Before meeting you, I had decided that I could finally put my expensive American post-secondary education to good use and teach you both English grammar and vocabulary in nontraditional ways you had never seen before. But, especially without graded assessments, those of you with no desire to go to Seoul for college and those of you who had already declared your math and science majors began to nod off and lose interest. I recognized that you were tired because you had stayed at school until 10 p.m. the night before; I understood that your energy had to be directed toward gaining admisYour teacher, Andrea Sohn sion into the colleges of your choice. If I felt frustrated by the rules of your education, how frustrated must you have been? You told me you were tired of memorizing and repeating seemingly useless facts. I didnt want you to merely say that things could be better; I wanted you to explain what, exactly, could improve.You told me that you wanted everything from school hours to college admissions requirements to change. But I wanted you to fight your own skepticism, and I wanted you to envision yourselves at the forefront of any necessary change. You told me, as if I were the luckiest person you had ever met, that any American education must be superior to its Korean counterpart. But I wanted you to understand that different doesnt always mean better. But recently, I just want to talk to you. I want to tell you about myself, about where I came from, about what I hope for the future. I want to tell you about the things I studied and the places I traveled and the collection of people I met along the way. I can either stubbornly resolve to revolutionize the way you think about Englishor I can try to offer you another outlet. I want to remind you that it isnt the end of high school that you should be looking toward. Instead, its the beginning of the rest of your lifeand the rest of the worldthat you should always keep in mind. Students, this is what I want from you. I want you to think big. Think big thoughts.

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To My Teachers
To my teachers, past and present: When you came to Korea and started to teach Korean students, how did you feel? I really wonder about that because I had no chance to get out of the Korean education system. When you see Korean students, what do you think about them? Do they look like theyre trying their best in a system different from Americas, or do they look like theyre just doing the same thing repeatedly, like a machine? In Korea, studying has a really special meaning. This country only has 1 percent of the land of America but there are 50 million people and there are no special resources. Maybe all we can have is manpower. As a result, most Korean students started to study quite early. Or, maybe, they are forced to study quite early. As Korean students go to high school, they are forced to stay almost 14 hours per day except during weekends (but students are deprived of even that weekend when they begin third grade. They should study in almost the same pattern as weekdays.) Students take classes from seven to ten hours and self study two to three hours per day. In the case of my school, we have only two hours of P.E. class and learn art only when we are in first grade. Under this kind of tight schedule, students even hate each other to get better grades. But what if all these things that weve learned are useless when we become adults? If students hate their friends because they must compete for better grades, can this be considered a right education?

Jin Hyuk Yoon

I dont want to learn or study in this way. There are so many obstacles and restrictions at school. For example, we have to learn English not for communication, but for tests. So we spend lots of time learning grammar in our English class and its really boring because we have learned it from elementary school repeatedly (and Im pretty sure that it isnt practical usage of English.) In addition, most teachers dont encourage learning things that are more difficult than curriculum level or things not quite related to the curriculum just because they think it hardly helps with entering university. So even though I want to learn more about English, teachers sometimes dont want me to learn these things. But more than anything, endless competition with my friends is the hardest part to endure. I became exhausted. And as I became exhausted, the time that I didnt read or take notes increased and I couldnt concentrate like before. I couldnt find any reason why I should learn in this kind of system. But one day, I changed my mind after my mothers phone call. She was just cheering me on but also she told me that all of my family members were undergoing hardship. She said my grandfather had sold his own house to help my fathers business. Maybe the only thing that my father could do for my grandfather, who had sold his own memories with my grandmother for his son and grandson, was just shedding his tears. I felt guilty

40

and sorry that I didnt do my best while my family was undergoing really hard times. I thought again. Why do I have to study? What is my dream? Even though I wanted to make a difference, I didnt do anything. I just complained and let time pass. And I realized that maybe my dream was too small and that all I wanted to achieve in high school was entering a good university, just like others. I realized how immature I was. From that time, my dream changed. I wanted to be a great person so I could change this system in a better way. As my goal changed, I started to change, too. I changed my attitude and started to concentrate on my own school schedule again. But at the same time, I started to find other ways to study English by myself. When I found words that I didnt know while studying, I searched for more meanings that could be applied to other contexts. And since I liked to write in English, I also started to write an English diary. Even now, others keep saying that its useless. But I dont care about them too much because I have wanted to learn this way and this is something that I can learn happily. But the most important part of the change would be my attitude towards my friends. I tried to accept my friends as friends, not competitors. If there are friends who study much better than me, I tried to understand them and learn good parts from them, trying not to be overwhelmed or discouraged by their abilities. And even if there are others who

are not good at studying, I tried to be their friend because I realized that all of them are really special and precious parts of my life. As I had changed my view in this way, I could start to study and enjoy my school life much more than before. Now, I want to ask you a question. Why did you come to Korea, and why are you teaching Korean students? Maybe there are many reasons. But no matter what those reasons are, I hope you can change my friends dreams to much higher and greater things. Because even though many students already know that studying can be a tool to achieve their dreams, those dreams are too small. They just dream about entering good universities because their schedules are not flexible right now and because they cant experience anything special. Maybe I cant change my friends since my own experiences are not the same as theirs. But Im sure you can because youre a teacher who experienced a different education and dreamed much bigger things. And I believe if you make these efforts for us, they could change one students life, and, further, could change Koreas future. Your student, Jin Hyuk Yoon

Andrea Sohn is a 2011 - 2013 ETA at Cheongju High School in Cheongju. Jin Hyuk Yoon is a student at Cheongju High School.

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From a Hoi An Stroll . Neal Singleton (ETA 2012 - 2013) . Hoi An, Vietnam

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Tiny Buddha, Dongsa . Neal Singleton (ETA 2012 - 2013) . Mt. Dobisan, Seosan

Recuerdos de Corea
Nic Ramos Flores
The first night I met my host family, we sat down, all seven of us, to a table packed with a feast fit for a king. There must have been 20 different little dishes all perfectly plated, and love just permeated from the food. The twins were arguing about something and my host parents were chatting as we waited for my host grandma to come back to the table. After we said grace, I dove into one of the dishes that looked like something from home. What was most surprising was that it actually tasted like home. The meat, which was meticulously cut and mixed with peppers and other seasonings, was delicious, just like mami used to make. My host mother (or , as I liked to call her), thinking that I would not like the food, actually made me some fried chicken, which I ignored. My host mom, with a half-excited and half-perplexed face, asked, Do Americans eat tripe? After a short pause, all I could say was, I dont know, but Puerto Ricans do and we eat tons of rice, too. Not too long after, I went to dinner at a friends house to visit her host family. After rushing to the building, I finally made it, panting and sweating since it was still quite warm for October. It was only then that I realized that I needed to bring something, so I made a mad dash to the closest Paris Baguette looking for a cake, something sweet to show my appreciation for this familys hospitality. I could hear my grandma say, No seas maleducadodont be rude. I chose the prettiest chocolate cake with little bears on it. When I went up and presented the bear cake to the family, their gleaming faces showed me that I had done right. Looks like Fulbrights six weeks of training taught you well about Korean culture, my friend said. But all I could think was that it was my abuela who had taught me how not to be rude. As I travel through Korea, confusion strikes the people I meet. They dont seem to understand that I am neither completely American nor completely Puerto Rican, but both at the same time. Maybe it has to do with the muddled political status of Puerto Rico, or maybe it has to do with the fact that Koreans are not used to massive migration like we are back in the United States. I am a contradiction, a fusion of two worlds that are both far away and poorly understood. So, they always end up asking, What are you? Where are you from? Where are you from? asked the store owner in a stationary shop. The shop was already crammed with shelves of shiny paper and snacks and stickers; it did not have room for us or the weighty question hanging in the air. There were three of us staring back at the old man flanked by a kaleidoscopic wall of pens. Min Ho answered with , (Im from

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Recuerdos de Corea

continued...
Seoul) in her annoyingly perfect Korean accent, while Hunters fair skin and blue eyes caused the cashier to nod rather knowingly when he responded with, Im from America. Then it was my turn, and I grappled with my answer. Do I say Puerto Rico, the place where I was born and where countless generations of my family lived, worked, loved and died? Do I say my adopted home, America, where I grew up, learned English, had my first date and would jam out to both Chris Brown and Calle 13? I just blurted out Florida in an attempt to make the mixture of guilt and resentment stop. But, to my indignation, the stationary man said I couldnt be from the United States. He insisted that I must be Pakistani or Saudi Arabian because a short, kind-of-tan, green-eyed, kinky-haired young man simply couldnt be American. But I simply am American, although theres really nothing simple about it. Im a mutt by all accounts: culturally, ethnically and linguistically. Even a Skype call back home is not only a collection of various faces on the other end but an attempt to connect with the binary culture I have come to admire. The computer gets passed from person to person, covering generations of my family, and a hum of English and Spanglish and Spanish cascades from my 13-inch laptop. One of my host twins, the one who loves socHector Nicolas Ramos Flores is a 2012 - 2013 ETA at Gumi Boys High School in Gumi.

cer, came up to me after one such call back home. Was that Spanish? Because you said Ronaldo like they do on TV. Excitedly I said, Yes, yes it was. I began to explain to him that Im American but Im not the type of American you see on TV. I am Puerto Rican American, and I love caf con leche as much as he loves kimchi. The reason I can stomach so much rice is because my mother would make rice every single day when I was growing up. I celebrate Thanksgiving with turkey, arroz con gandules and pltanos. My native language is Spanish but I studied English on a formal level first. And Im a little dark with green eyes because of 400 years of Spanish colonial rule that brought with it Spaniards and Africans and a little bit of meddling from the Tanos. When I finished this barrage of an answer, all my host brother said after my long monologue was, Oh. And with that, he walked away, a blank expression on his face indicating that he had not grasped or cared to learn about who I was. This is what I will remember about Korea: Never being American enough, but always eager to show them how Puerto Rican American I love being.

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Peace of (Yellow) . Neal Singleton (ETA 2012 - 2013) . Cheonan

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Seeing Green . Jenna Gibson (ETA 2011 - 2013) . Jeju Island

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Spinning out of Control

Christiana Bay
So, what exactly is spinning? My childhood friend takes a long sip of her strong, completely black Iced Americano. We meet on my last day of vacation in America before I head back to Korea. The stories spill out. Ever since we were kids weve never had trouble leaping from one subject to the next. Never had any awkward silences. Never had any communication breakdowns. I had nonchalantly mentioned my exercise routine the previous night, an aside within the comfortable flow of stories. But Im suddenly at a loss for words, struggling to find a way to even begin describing spinning. If Spinning were a person, shed probably have severe ADHD. She would use Xanax recreationally, she would own roller skates instead of a car and she would have become a member of the Mile High Club before the age of eighteen. Shed stumble when she walked, and never be able to sit still. Shed stutter. She might even twitch occasionally. Shed be a jittery, wired, hot mess. Spinning is Bicyclings drugged up, ecstasy pill-popping second cousin. It is Rowings ex and man, did they have one messy breakup. Its Leisurely Walkings greatest enemy. It thinks Jogging is a joke. Weight Lifting is a wuss. And Jump Ropings a poor excuse for a workout. So, what exactly is spinning? It was a Tuesday afternoon. Successfully kept high school boys on topic? Check. Successfully pick-pocketed all girl students mirrors? Check. Feeling good on that six-floor elevator ride up to the gym? Check. And after stretching and a quick warm-up on the treadmill, I sit at a table with some middle-aged women, my new ajummas friends. They smile at me and we try to carry on a conversation in minimal English and fast-paced Korean. I do my best to catch words and form responses, but I am distracted by the girlprobably in her late thirtieswho joins us. She has a diamond sparkled clip in her black kinked hair and bright lime green biker gloves cover her hands. She is wearing green plaid and tan booty shorts. Her top is made out of a faux satin material. Her halter straps tie like shoelaces across her back and she wears a nude colored Spanx undergarment that smoothens out any loose skin around her midsection. She even has on bubble gum lipstick and eye shadow. Kinked Hair came to play. A trainer, who I like to call a roadie, turns on the lights as we all jump up and wait at the door to Spinnings room despite the fact that class wont start for 30 more minutes. Spinning is that popular. Spinning is that coveted. You have to wait before Spinning lets you through her apartment door. The big sign on top of the doorframe before walk into the room is in large bubble letters with a jagged red underline. I should have been more prepared. I should have been Kinked Hair prepared.

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The roadie opens Spinnings door like a bouncer, and we all rush in, piling on top of each other for a spot. I choose my bike my fate Left? Right? Up? Down? I get stuck on the right side. Mostly because the veterans pushed the rookie into the corner. Being 172 cm, I need to adjust my seat. And I, of course, seem to get the only defective bike in the room. The seat is somehow stuck in its position, and it aint budging. No worries, one of my ajumma friends offers to switch and while giving me a toothless smile. I wouldnt be surprised if years of Spinning had knocked those teeth out; because, after all, Spinning would have a killer uppercut. Im on the left side now. The walls glow with lightening bolt, half moon, star and explosion stickers. Theres a stage at the front with a lone bike. Red, blue, and green lights bounce off the walls. The roadie leaves the room. Kinked Hair takes a seat near the mirror, maybe so she can watch herself sweat off her mascara. I take a swig of my vitamin water and watch as our Spinning director enters the room, goes to the stage and dims the lights. Here we go. We start off doing what I can only depict as yoga on bikes. We loosen up our arms and necks, and hold the handlebars of our bikes and bend our backs. Downward dogs on wheels. Our male Spinning instructor asks the group something in Korean. The ajummas shout their ap-

Spinning is Bicyclings drugged up, ecstasy pillpopping second cousin. It is Rowings exand man, did they have one messy break-up.
proval and he presses the power button on the stereo next to him. A strobe light comes on. Serene Spinning becomes Hypomanic Spinning. It becomes an epileptics worst nightmare. Im at a rave. Im sweating. Lactic Acid burns my legs. The ajummas are screaming. K-Pop, electronic beats and dance remixes stream out of the stereo and send our group into a psychedelic, funky high. It is mania. I imagine Spinning head banging in the middle of a night clubs floor. Shed worship Lady Gaga. Shed wear sparkly nail polish. She and Kesha would be besties. Theyd go out in their ripped all up the sides stockings; theyd wear their matching friendship Jesus necklaces together. Theyd throw glitter on each other and then have an amiable mud wrestle in front of alcoholics in their fifties. Kesha would snort cocaine while Spinning snorted Pixie Sticks. Im in a loopy, kaleidoscopic daze. Our Spinning director is high-fiving the air. Hes punching, hes wiggling, hes shaking. Hed have the Energizer Bunny running for its money. Hed have Lance Armstrong doing a double take as he rode by, throwing sequins in Lances face. This Korean man never stops. He demonstrates K-Pop dances with his arms as his legs do 3,000 revolutions per minute. He shouts at us to keep pushing, just like the P90X trainer on my DVD. But unlike the P90X guywho I just want to punch in his smug face and scream a long string

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continued...

Spinning out of Control

of obscenities atthe Spinning instructor just makes me want to party every weekend with him. He drinks euphoria instead of water. He breathes out enthusiasm instead of air. He perspires excitement instead of sweat. This dude knows all of Spinnings moves. He knows all of Spinnings dirty secrets, and he is one of the only people on the planet who might be able to control Spinning. He is a Spinning deity. We civilians below his throne take water breaks in between each song, but his legs never stop pumping. Halfway through the class a plump ajumma enters the room and stands by a bike that was deserted after fifteen minutes (some of us just cant handle Spinning) and spends the next thirty minuteswhile I torture my body swaying to the music. I dont mean dancing, I mean swaying. Just a casual, relaxed, rocking of her hips, really. I glare at her enviously and try to keep pace with the Spinning Lord. Spinning morphs you into a Behemoth. And I mean, a huge, colossal, swimming monster. You drip like you just stepped out of the shower. You feel your skin become slick and slippery. Your mouth opens three times wider than normal to suck in oxygen. You are a slimy, fanged creature amongst colored, flickering lights. And then, it stops.

An hour is over and you havent even looked at the clock. Spinnings acid trip wears off and the lights come back up. The real textures and colors of the room become visible. Spinnings high starts to wear off. She starts to sober up. And with Ke$ha passed out on the floor in her apartment, Spinning starts her cool down routine: hoola-hooping in front of her pet iguana. We get off our speed demons and stretch out again. Exhausted, we bow to the instructor; thanking him for his time. Its like Spinnings effects had never happened. Its like it was a dream. Spinning winks, pivots around, and skips away. I look at my friend, finally answering her question, Spinning is blacking out, having a dream about watching a Color Visualizer screen on your iTunes as you listen to symphonic music, waking up in your own sweat, and then walking home like everything is fine. Ah, she nods, So, are you gonna do it again? I already promised my ajumma friends Id be there Friday.

Christiana Bay is a 2011 - 2013 ETA at Cheonan Ssangyong High School in Cheonan.

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A Subway Distraction . Neal Singleton (ETA 2012 - 2013) . Seoul All of the Lights . Ryan Schmidt (ETA 2012 - 2013) . Jinju

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The Naked Truth

Sarah Carey
I had just accepted the opportunity of a lifetime, but I was gnawed to the core with a sense of dread. One might expect anxiety at leaving my family and community behind to live in Korea for a year, or apprehension of teaching English to a classroom of foreign students. But my deepest fear was neither of these. I was afraid of my size. I was a college graduate who refused to watch shallow television shows that focused on fashion, dieting, and competitive weight loss. I was an expert at turning up my nose at the supermarket magazine racks as I purchased snack cakes. But in spite of my grocery store purchases, I secretly harbored a belief that I should have no bumps, no excess fat. In my mind, thinner women were the near-perfect, pretty paragons that others should strive to be. My weight has been an ongoing struggle for years. In college, I tried to lose weight, but with little success. Knowing that I was unable to fit the perfect mold in the United States was hard, but in a foreign country with a penchant for plastic surgery and straightforward opinions? I was terrified of standing out like a nearly six-foot, 200-plus pound thumb. After a month in Korea, I moved into my homestay. My host mother was petite, barely five feet tall in heels and I was an inch taller than my host father. Likewise, I noticed that my new siblings were bony and thin without a sign of excess fat. Upon walking into their home, I felt like I was taking up residence in a dollhouse, only I wasnt doll-sized. This fact was most evident at the family dinner table where my legs were not easily accommodated in the cramped space, and I often accidentally brushed someone with my elbow as we ate. With each bite of bulgogi, I felt sure my host family was comparing my portion sizes to their own and wondering when I would finish. The embarrassment I felt did not end at the dinner table. Even the simple act of doing laundry felt like my shame was on public display. I worried about what my host mother thought as she hung my underwear and jeans out to dry. Next to my host sisters thin, ribbon-like tights, my clothing must have looked like the sails on a Viking ship as they swayed in the island breeze. However, no one had made a single comment about my size or weight. In fact, both of my host parents remarked that I was very pretty. But I was still uncomfortable in my own skin. My fear heightened when my host mother began insisting that I participate in a trademark Korean practice: visiting the sauna or jjimjilbang. Its a public bath, Teacher. No clothes in front of everybody. Is that okay? my host sister asked. Visions of perfectly toned and fit women filled my mind, as did my various bumps and imperfections, but I was determined not to let my fears drive me away from quality time with my host mother and host sister. Eventually, the evening came for our fateful outing to the jjimjilbang. I climbed into the family car, thinking of the looming commit-

54

ment I had just made. My stomach churned as I sat in the front passenger seat, watching the lights go by my window like an anxious blur. I wondered if it was too late to back out, even as we pulled into the parking lot. After paying the fee to shower and bathe, we arrived at the dreaded dressing room. Women were peeling off their clothes as if it were perfectly natural to be naked in public. A few women even casually chatted in their bare bodies, seemingly unaware of the rampant nudity taking place around them. My family was no exception. My host mother and sister nonchalantly undressed and folded their clothes into neat piles before putting everything in their lockers. They had done this before. I took a bit longer. I had no way of knowing if I was doing this whole thing right. Maybe public showering meant please keep some of your clothes on when translated from Korean to English, but it didnt. With nothing but my toenails on, I walked quickly into the shower room, where dozens of other women were soaking and showering. Dont make eye contact, I thought to myself as I quietly tiptoed to one of the open spigots. Maybe no one will notice you. To my dismay, a woman lounging quietly in the small, blue pool nearby immediately noticed

for a reaction, a judgmental stare. Instead, the woman immediately turned and asked my host mother who I was. My host mother sat up straight in the pool and proudly responded as if I were her own daughter. She announced that I was an English teacher from the United States, Kentucky to be exact, who was living with them for a year. The woman then flashed me an approving smile before continuing lighthearted conversation with my host mother. I felt a weight lifted, my anxiety washing down the drain below my feet. As I surveyed the room, I realized that all of the other women were busy swimming, viciously destroying dead skin cells with exfoliating pads or keeping their small children from splashing around in the relaxation pools. There were no comments like, Hey, look at that rather large foreigner in our shower, or awkward staring. It was just me alongside my host mother and host sister, and 30 other women going about their public bath routine. And, to my surprise, every woman that night, large and small, had bumps, folds and creases on her body. I was not alone in possessing what I once believed to be an imperfect body.

Sarah Carey is a 2012 - 2013 ETA at Seogwipo Girls Middle School in Seogwipo, Jeju Island.

me. The spotlight of the jjimjilbang was now on me, burning with nervous intensity. I waited

Knowing that I was unable to fit the perfect mold in the United States was hard, but in a foreign country with a penchant for plastic surgery and straightforward opinions?
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The Bamboo Walk . Neal Singleton (ETA 2012 - 2013) . Near Gayason, Yesan

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Fortress Flags . Neal Singleton (ETA 2012 - 2013) . Haemi Fortress, Seosan

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Waiting in Place
Gem Chema
Its March 2nd, 2013. After driving three hours from Gwangju, we finally arrive at the 17th Combat Air Force Base Camp in Cheongju. My boyfriends father catches my wandering eyes through the rear-view mirror; we laugh with shared anticipation. The base entrance is heavily guarded by armed men. The cement wall is layered with blankets of barbed wire. After 15 minutes, I hear his voice call my name. Hes clad in his navy blue uniform, with a signature cap sitting on top of his freshly cut hairwearing a huge smile across his face. You cant do much as a soldiers guest. Security confines you to one area. You can only sit across a table from a man who is otherwise absent from your daily life. Fortunately, I came with my boyfriends father and sister, so we are able to drive around the base camp rather freely. We drive down a long road enclosed by two lines of equidistant trees, thick mascara brushes shooting up towards the sky. For a base camp I found the buildings quite cute, just like I find almost everything in Korea. In many ways, it is much like a closedoff male university campus. Except the students are soldiers, teachers are armed, frats are squadrons, classrooms are roof aircrafts and dorms are bedlessly built for eight. We have a picnic in one of the gazebos scattered alongside the lake. Ive been in Korea for 20 months and it still amazes me how nothing can stop a Korean barbecue, not even hostile winter winds. We grill tasty beef, garlic and onions, wrap them in greens smothered with ssamjang. We devour boneless spicy fried chicken his mother and I cooked together the night before. Our high spirits and laughter keep us warm. The four of us snap pictures by a model aircraft, get Americanos and ice cream and hold on tightly to each passing hour. In such a distinct environment, I am more keenly aware of others. As I walk with my boyfriends arm in one hand and his fathers arm in my other, his sister closely leading the way, I notice many looks of confusion: Some trying to figure our relationship out, others just surprised by our shared intimacy. As Ive heard many times before, its rare for Korean parents to be so accepting of a foreigner girlfriend and embrace her as part of the family. Having been together for nearly a year, he and I stopped noticing strangers who stare at us like a spectacle, in straight-up awe of a Korean-foreigner couple. It took time to get used to. It also prompted quite a few arguments. Hed question why Id ask to wear his cap only when walking down the more conservative streets of our city. I just

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hate the sun in my face, Id reason. But he knew I was melting more so under the critical gaze of our elders. He also wasnt immune to it. Id catch him nervously fumble with his Korean, naturally giving the impression he too was a foreigner. Wed subconsciously developed methods to subdue judgmental burns. It was too much in our heads and, luckily, just a phase. Inspired by his parents open embrace our unique bond, we realized our differences should be celebrated rather than concealed. This all never would have happened if Jake Owens, my lifeblood in Gwangju, didnt refuse to hang out with me on a Wednesday evening in May 2012. Thanks to midterms, I had no work the following day. Jake, Jake, lets play! Im stir-crazy, I begged. But Jake declined, and I decided to go on a blind date. In my mind, it was a casual meeting with no intentions. Just some soju and (pork bone soup). I was pretty exhausted from being a foreigner in Korean dating culture. I felt I was going through the motions meeting people yet struggling to connectI wanted more. His name is Seongwook Kim. We met in the rain. I stepped out of the cab and he waited for me under a black umbrella. Arent you cold? He asked. Within minutes, I was surprised and impressed by

his manners, humor and English. Somehow dinner and drinks turned into a two-hour two-person singing party in a (karaoke bar). In the taxi home, I thought, hell be a good friend to have. A really good friend. Months drifted by with ease. We took walks, talked for hours at coffee shops and sat at parks until the mosquitoes drank all the blood we had to offer. It didnt matter; we were enamored. We traveled to the countryside to picnic, sightsee and visit friends in other cities. I didnt realize how much of Korea I hadnt experienced. One month in, he took me to his mothers restaurant. The obvious apprehensions raced through my mind: I was nervous to meet his parents, who dont speak English. Is my Korean good enough? Isnt it too soon? Are they displeased Im a foreigner? I had no reason to worry. His family is kindhearted, open-minded, playful and understanding. They immediately opened their arms to me. I was shocked when his parents proudly introduced me to his extended family at his cousins wedding. On Buddhas birthday, I was invited to their family temple in Boseong. The monk welcomed us into her home. We gathered together in a circle on the floor and spoke intimately over fresh fruit and warm rice cakes. Suddenly his parents were

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continued...

Waiting in Place

and (Dad and Mom), and theyd be surprised if I didnt sleep over after spending the day at their home. They even threw me a barbecue party in their living room for my 1-year anniversary in Korea. I was honored. It was all very natural. My first spring with him had come with a complete transformation in my Fulbright Korea experience. I finally carved out a life outside of my elementary school and outside my role as a teacher. I was reminded that teaching was only one aspect of my life here; this country had always been a unique place for self-discoveries, cultural exchange, epic nights, disastrous mornings, giving, taking, friendships, love and travel. I was no longer looking into an intangible bubble of Korean culture, but was experiencing it side by side with people who truly love me. Its my second and last March in Korea. Seongwook is six months into his mandatory two-year military service in the Korean Air Force with 18 months to go. This was always his dream. Breaking up for his service was never even an option. Even with him gone, I spend a lot of time with his family. When my room-

mate is away, when Im scared of the dark, catch a cold, or just miss their son, I know I always have a place to retreat. As a foreign girlfriend who feels not-so-foreign anymore, Im grateful to his parents who have offered me warmth, love and a home away from home. And so just like our year together, as we sat hand-in-hand at Cheongju Air Force Base Camp, five hours flew by relentlessly. All the leaving, all the being left, it doesnt get easier. See you next time should become clockwork, second nature, but each goodbye still aches and lingers. I climb back into his fathers car and immediately pop my head out of the backseat window. My boyfriend waves us off, neatly adjusting the cuffs of his uniform. He takes his turn and walks back into the guarded gates, ready for duty.

Gem Chema is a 2011 - 2013 ETA at Bullo Elementary School in Gwangju.

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The Midnight Blues . Tracey Lam (ETA 2012 - 2013) . Seoul Lantern Festival, Cheongyecheon, Seoul

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Mekong Canoes . Neal Singleton (ETA 2012 - 2013) . Mekong Delta, Vietnam

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All in a Days Work . Neal Singleton (ETA 2012 - 2013) . Halong Bay, Vietnam

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The (Comfortable) Closet

Jake Owens
I had expected to be nervous or at least wary. This is not Itaewon. This is not even Seoul. This is Jeonju. I turn to my friend in the seat next to me and ask for some popcorn. Do they think he is my boyfriend? An unplanned homage to our American urban cultural heritage accidentally put us in near couple-outfit status (we were both wearing blue and white plaid shirts, tight jeans and may or may not have had bandanas in our pockets or around or necks). I glance around for a quick demographical surveya surprisingly diverse audience for Korea with everyone from groups of professionally attired s (literally older sister, but can be used to refer to a female friend) to ostensibly rural elderly couples. The movie, (White Night), begins. The lights dim. A dispirited song whispers from the speakers while snow falls lightly upon Seouls night cityscape on the screen in front of us. Within twenty minutes, the audience witnesses two (very attractive) men kiss. No gasps or remarks fall from the lips of those around me. The Internet and ETA Orientation both warned me of how slow Korea is to changeat least when it comes to social issues. They were preparing me for the trials ahead as a gay man in Korea. I delved into my life here with their words on my mind. They were both wrong. Or, at least, not completely right. As a foreigner here I am not subject to the hardships of my Korean peers. I have only known an accepting family and the thought of marriageto a man is something my Jewish mother has already started planning. At home, I keep childhood memories and ill-fitting clothes, not my personhood, in my closet. I am not Korean. I dont have to live in a harshly enforced yet often imperceptible state of secrecy. My sexual preference probably wont get me fired from my job (a hypothesis I am not quite willing to test) and I have the security of carrying an American passport. For many of my Korean friends it is a different story. They must constantly field demands of marriage, avoid interrogations on their lack of girlfriends and live in perpetual fear that a coworker may find out. I know it weighs heavily upon them, though they rarely let it show. They must all be miserable. Or at least that is what I used to think. No while this is the case for many it is not universal. Couples are carving out livable spaces and lives around the country. It is hard, sure, but it is happening nonetheless. No longer silently confined to the streets of Seouls Jongno 5-ga and Itaewon neighborhoods, gay characters have

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made their way into dramas set in Jeju1 or Busan2 and into the celebrated music videos of K.Will and Nell .
4 3

Despite the gross banality of his soul-searching, I am drawn to the character. He struggles to find his place as a gay Korean. His return is marked by turbulence, beauty and a revival of sorts. He is unsure of himself and his hopes. It is hard to be a gay Korean. Yesterday was harder though. Tomorrow might be a little easier. Many of my friends still dream of leaving Korea and hunting for their piece of paradise in New York City or London. Clichs abound. But they are nevertheless cautiously puzzling out their existence here. They are doing the unheard of in Korea forging a new (gay) path in life. When I suggest that Korea is growing more tolerant, using Hoyas tortured high school crush and the pleading voice of K.Will as glorious evidence (seriously readers, catch up on your Korean pop culture, or read the footnotes at the very least), I am quickly met with a mixture of obvious appeasement and outright frustration by my friends. Most concede that it is better now than it was a few decades ago, but it is still terrible. They knowingly remind me of how it would be better somewhere else. Glees popular extravagance, Brokeback Mountains universal accolades and Macklemore5 himself all attest to how wonderful the gay life is in the Westat least to many Korean eyes. Turning those eyes to the situation here, one cannot help but compare. Yes, the queer community is marginalized, but I persist with my argument. It was not always so. I try to explain Stonewall, but usually just end up

This fall I saw a marriage proposal unfolding between two men in the crowded streets of Hongdaeknee on the ground and all. Cheers and applause from the gathered crowd met the groom-to-bes affirmative. A few bewildered faces, but no anger or hate. Of course, this was in the hipstered streets of Hongdae, a known art and university party district, but it was a victory nonetheless. While Korea is far from being an America, Holland or Sweden, the economic growth and rise in global cultural exchange has begun tearing away at some of the locks on the closet doors. Life outside the closet is at least imaginable. Though many of my friends might not come out to their parents in the foreseeable future, they probably wont find themselves in sham marriagesunless with a lesbian. Increasingly, their close groups of friends are even in the know. These days stability no longer demands absolute secrecy. The film continues. The scenes all seem familiar to me. Admittedly, this is perhaps because of the repetitive silent panoramas the director favors in lieu of actual dialogue, rather than some some greater emotional or metaphorical connection. Characters develop. One of the men in this film had found a way to leave Korea but still somehow cannot manage to move on from his past here.

Footnotes
1. Groundbreaking at its time, Life is Beautiful, or , was a popular 2010 Korean drama set in Jeju that featured the first LBGT storyline in Korean television. The show showed a stable gay marriage, an accepting but struggling family, coming out and the difficulty of being gay in Korea. 2. Okay, everyone likes 1997, right? I can forgive you for not watching Life is Beautiful, but there is no excuse for avoiding this one. As a subplot, Answer Me 1997 shows the unrequited love of a high school student, played by Infinites Hoya, for his best friend and main character, played by Super Star K winner and general heartthrob Seo In Guk. Now go watch it. And then watch it again. 3. As your temporary guide of Korean pop culture, your next assignment is to watch K.Wills Please Dont music video. One of this years most popular songs (which should be no surprise as Seo In Guk stars in the MV), it is worth watching until the end for the gay plot twist. 4. Nell, often dubbed the Coldplay of Korea, tackles not only suicide in his music video, The Day Before, but also implies that the struggle of being gay in Korea was one of the driving factors. 5. Macklemore is a Seattle based indie rapper who recently has taken the United States by storm, sweeping charts and rankings. His song and video, Same Love, is a powerful testament in support of gay rights, criticizing the homophobia often found in hip hop and American culture.

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The (Comfortable) Closet

continued...
showing the music video for Please Dont again (no complaints yet on this method yet). On occasion I am reminded that it is not my life. I am here temporarily, merely looking into their closet through a glass door. I am not inside it. I know that I will return home to an open life that my friends here regard with envy. Battles for rights have been foughtand are still being fought, in the United States. Korea will probably see similar movements. I wonder if my friends will participate. I sometimes fear for them. If they dared show more, share more, they might find a lonely life of condemnation or excommunication. Yet, upon reflection, I know Korea will eventually be ready to embrace them. The closeted life here is changing. At home I often find myself watching a certain Korean drama and think to myself that having Seo In Guk on our side certainly doesnt hurt.6 The movie concludes, I gather my things feeling both satisfied but unsure of the message. There were only two true characters in the movie, but it hinted at themes much larger. Leaving
Jacob Owens is the Executive Assistant at Fulbright Korea and a former 2011 - 2013 ETA at Dongun Elementary School in Gwangju.

the theater I look around again. Any faces of condemnation or indifference? Not to my eye. I pause and listen in on the conversations around me as the credits roll and people shuffle out. Faces show interest, if not outright approval. A gay couple holding hands receives stares but nothing else as they walk in front of the seats. Before they exit, they part hands. Baby steps. A group of thirty-somethings audibly let out some s (cute!) and s (look!), exchanging smiles. Maybe my friends will find that they have more support than they think.

Footnotes
6. See notes 2 and 3. Then do yourself a favor and watch the drama already. Thank me later.

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Keep Your Head Up, Kid . Neal Singleton (ETA 2012 - 2013) . Express Bus Terminal, Seoul

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Mr . Cha, the Floutist, makes Cha . Tyler Van Arsdale (ETA 2012 - 2013) . Near Naju Teacher versus Students . Neal Singleton (ETA 2012 - 2013) . Sudeoksa, Deoksan

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Of Roads and Rice

Katelyn Hemmeke
My father, the oldest of five boys, born and raised in a tiny Midwestern town, grew up under the stern eyes of a thrifty farmer father and a stay-at-home mother. On Sundays, after the evening church service, my grandmother would dish up a simple meal for the six hungry men at her tableblue-box macaroni and cheese with chunks of Spam or hot dogs, casserole made with knockoff cream of mushroom soup and meat from the rabbits my grandfather raised. White rice topped with butter and a few good spoonfuls of brown sugar. When I was a little kid, my father would sometimes heap a plate with that same buttery rice-and-sugar concoction and set it in front of me. Id nibble at the sugariest bits and then turn up my nose. Finish your rice, my dad would say. Id shake my pigtails and pout. I dont wanna. If you were still in Korea, all you would have to eat is a tiny bowl of rice like this, my dad would say, cupping his hand as if cradling a small orange. Plain white rice, with no butter or sugar on it. The thought always horrified me. It was bad enough having brown sugar rice that just didnt have any more sugary parts left. Imagine eating rice that never had any sugar to begin with. Years later, living in my birth country for the first time since infancy, I feel lost without a small bowl of plain white rice in front of me at mealtimes. But its never just a small bowl of rice. My host mother sets the table with dish after dish kimchi, bean sprouts, quail eggs, spicy soups, bubbling-hot stewand refuses to be convinced that I simply cannot eat it all. Eat more, she insists without fail at every single meal. Im full, I reply. I learned these Korean phrases very quickly. Eat just a little more, she begs, indicating a small ladleful of stew. Wellokay. She takes my bowl and fills it to the brim, smiling as she sets it back in front of me. Eat a lot, she says cheerfully. I feel like I got a chance to see the road not taken, a Fulbright alumna and Korean adoptee wrote to me in an email a few days before I left America. The road not taken, the rice not eaten. Do you know your (Korean mother)? my host mother asked me one night, without prelude or warning. No Why not? she pressed. Dont you want to meet her? Dont you miss her? Miss her? Miss someone Ive never met, someone whose face, whose name I dont even know? Do you know your Korean name? my host mother continued. Yes Then its easy, my host mother said. All you have to do is put your Korean name on TV. People do this all the time. Your will be watching the news and shell see your name, and shell cry and cry and cry, and then she will find you and you can meet her. Dont you want to? Then, without waiting for a reaction: What is your Korean name?

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Umits The name is clumsy and unfamiliar on my tongue. The name not taken, the family not known or loved. To see the road not taken: Dont you want to? Youre adopted? From Korea? a middleaged shopkeeper in Gwangjang Market asked me, all thoughts of selling me a cardigan forgotten. Ohhhhh! She yanked me close in an earnest embrace, her expression so soft and watery that I thought she actually might cry. Whats your name? Your Korean name? I said as my American friends looked on with interest. They hadnt known about my Korean name, because I dont tell people my Korean name. In America, at least in rural west Michigan, no one ever asks. , the shopkeeper murmured. . , (Minji. Im sorry, Minji). Sorry? Why are you sorry, dear stranger? Sorry that my Korean motherfor selfish reasons, for selfless reasons, for reasons Ill probably never knowgave me up? Sorry that I was raised in a small town in America, where the only other Korean person in my town was my own brother, who was also adopted? Sorry that I didnt taste kimchi until I was 21 years old and that my father doused my rice in butter and sugar? Yes, she might say, I am sorry. Sorry that you were given up, thrown away, shipped across an ocean before you could even sit up on your own, because maybe you think it wasnt just your mother who did so; maybe you think a whole family, a whole country pushed you away, because thats how it works here. Its not just you or

just me; its us, its we, its . But its not like that, I would reply. Theres no reason to be sorry. I have a wonderful family who loves me. I rode with my father in tractors and on snowmobiles around a huge rambling farm where I could safely roam and wander as I grew up. I have an older brother who heckles me and tries to boss me around, but he also wins me stuffed animals at the fair and secretly brags to his friends about his smart little sister. My mother brings me to the airport for every trip I take and cries every time I walk through the gate. And my whole family came to watch and cheer as I graduated at the top of my high school and university classes. Ive had so many chances to do so many things, and here I am, back in Korea with yet another chance. But standing there in a sea of old sweaters, our words were swallowed by cultural differences, by a language barrier thicker than wool, by the untouched soil of a road not taken, leaving only an apology: , . Rice with butter and sugar, plain white rice. , (American, Korean). Katelyn, . I feel like I got a chance to see the road not taken. But what do you do with a road that you didnt choose not to take?

Katelyn Hemmeke is a 2012 - 2013 ETA at Wonkwang Girls High School in Iksan.

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This photo: Temple Lanters . Sara Caudill (ETA 2012 - 2013) . Near Donghae For more content, please visit http://infusion.fulbright.or.kr. For more on Fulbright Korea, please visit http://fulbright.or.kr. If you wish to contact Fulbright Korea, please email executive.assistant@fulbright.or.kr. The Fulbright Program aims to increase mutual understanding between the people of the United States and other countries through cultural and educational exchange. The Korean-American Educational Commission in Seoul, widely known as the Korea Fulbright Commission, is governed by a Board consisting of equal numbers of Koreans and Americans representing governmental, educational and private sectors. The board makes decisions on overall policies of the Fulbright Program in Korea. The Fulbright Commission is not responsible for opinions expressed in The Fulbright Korea Infusion by individual contributors nor do these in any way reflect official Fulbright Commission policy. The contents of this publication may not be reproduced in whole or in part without permission from the contributor and from the Korea Fulbright Commission.

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