14 in 1

I was observing a colleague’s class this morning when I became so excited I was actually perched on the edge of my seat. A strong teaching aptitude is a hard skill to hone and I marvelled at what I saw. I was watching this man’s class as if I was a dog and you’d thrown me a bone. I want to be able to teach that way, too!

I’m certainly competent when it comes to schooling or I wouldn’t be asked to do what I do: every month, part of my time is spent observing 14 teachers (one at a time). I take notes, I meet with them to provide feedback, and then write-up evaluation forms. Although time consuming, this is the part of my job that I like best. It gets me very excited. I sit alone in a bleak, grey observation room that looks more like a detective’s dismal interrogation quarters and I watch classes through a small TV screen. I listen to my colleagues speak through irritating crackling noises. Still, I am fascinated. I smile, I frown, I cheer…I sometimes even get up from my seat in frustration…but, mostly, I applaud greatness. These 14 teachers come from so many different backgrounds. Some are younger. Some are older. Some have been teaching for a few years. Some are brand new, never having put themselves through this gruelling process before.

They are all incredible, and, lucky me, I get to learn from all of them.

Found in Translation

I love the way some things get translated from Korean to English. For instance, I recently acquired a new pen from the supply cabinet at school. It’s a very thrifty pen, all sleek and black, with shiny silver lettering stating MACH pen, in italics. It’s a strong pen. It has character. It also states Tank System. Liquid Ink. Perfect! The latest technologies, all combined in one, all in my pen! I will get tons of work done with this baby! And...as an after-thought, who would want dry or solid ink, anyway?

Regardless. It also states:

superior image and its value


Just like that, all alone and in lowercase letters.

And that makes me giggle. Although it’s true, I think. I do look cool with my sleek, new pen.

For the Sake of a Little Bit of Culture

So, my friend Andrew and I are taking Korean classes. I was quite excited, at first, because the books we bought seemed well suited to our learning styles. We purchased a text book, a practice book, and something that could pass as Cole’s notes for Korean class. I use the word was, as in was excited, even though tonight was only, technically, our second class. It went like this:

-실례합니다, 앤드류씨가 여기 있어요? (sillyehamnida, Andrewsiga, yogi isseoyo?)

This is said really, really fast, and really could mean just about anything…I’m thinking This is just a joke, Korean can’t be that incomprehensible. Yogi. Yogi, yogi, yogi. That reminds me of my youth, when the four of us used to gather around the TV screen late on a Saturday night! Should I admit that I do, in fact, enjoy Star Wars? Yogi Jedis are so handsome! but I am made to understand that, in reality, it means : “Excuse me, is Andrew here?”)

Andrew is sitting right in front of me. I don’t say it, but I clearly indicate it with a not so subtle movement of my eyes.

-아니요, 없어요. (Anio, opseoyo -This is Korean speak for « No, he isn’t. ») I am forced to repeat this veeeeeeeeeeeeeery slowly by Jay, my very determined Hanguka teacher…

-어디에 있어요? (Oedie issoyo – “ Where is he?” ) , she says. Again, I indicate with my eyes that, clearly, he is sitting right there, straight in front of me. I can tell she doesn’t think I’m funny, so I peek in my book and state:

-극장에 있어요. (Keuktchangè isseoyo – "He is at the movie theater.")

Then I wipe off the sweat from my brow and turn the page. I don't look up when she says: "Next". I have a dreary gut feeling that she is staring straight at me.

Gwanaksan

I had only been back at work for one week but my mind was struggling with the thought that I’d made a commitment to be here for one more year. I love my job… even though I struggle daily with it. I am constantly facing up to new challenges, tough decisions, short deadlines, long hours, and people, people, and more people. Mostly, I thrive on it. Occasionally, I long to be a…hermit, alone with a book, my thoughts, myself.

Again, I am amazed at how well things always fall together for me. Ask, my friend, and you shall receive. My buddy Abbey suggested we sign up for an overnight climb on Gwanaksan, one of the highest mountains surrounding Seoul. We were to meet up with a group of about 40 other climbers, and start our trek around midnight.

It was just what I needed. We climbed, stopping sporadically, until about 3:30 a.m., when we stopped on a ledge. Seoul was superb, brightly lit and glowing far below. Never mind that it was a hot, humid, windless night. Yes, I was covered in sweat and drenched in oily, thick mosquito repellent. Still, my discomfort disappeared as I could only stare in awe. We decided to let the other climbers go on to the final destination – our ledge provided us with what we wanted and needed.

It got quite calm once the others left but we weren’t even scared. I’ve camped out every year throughout my life and I still get the heebie jeebies and think of Jason from Friday the 13th movies every time I need to use the outhouse at night. But – I wasn’t afraid. I was sitting on a rocky ledge, miles outside, and high on top, of a city of twenty million people, and I was at peace. I used the bushes at leisure. We joked about throwing water at whatever came rushing at us when we would hear rustling or howling (ok, there was no howling) but then we lay back on the rock, forming our bodies into its nooks and crannies, rested our heads on our backpacks as pillows, and chatted under the illuminated sky.

I was reminded of a quote that I’d read not too long ago:

Keep your sense of proportion by regularly, preferably daily,visiting the natural world. - Catlin Matthews

Souvenirs de Québec

Lettre à Myriam

Chère Myriam,

J’ai voulu t’écrire un mot puisque je ne te verrai pas avant une autre année. Ce soir, je suis arrivée chez moi, je me suis versée un verre de vin (du Pinot grigio – un jour, je t’en ferai goûter) et j’ai ouvert un courriel que ta maman m’a envoyé. C’est là que j’ai aperçu ta jolie petite binette pour la première fois.

Mon Dieu que tu es belle! Tu es si mignonne, endormie et emmitouflée dans ton pyjama. Je trouve que ton nom te va à merveille – si on en recherche l’étymologie, on apprend que Myriam est le nom d’une enjôleuse, attendrissante avec des yeux de biche, pour qui l’amour sera la grande affaire de sa vie. Il paraît que tu seras charmante, attrayante et éminemment féminine. Ce que tu rechercheras par-dessus tout, ce sera d’être appréciée, aimée et protégée. Va. Tu es bien partie pour y arriver!

Le fait que tu sois parmis nous est en soit une énorme preuve d’amour! Il n’y a pas si longtemps, tu n’étais qu’un principe sur lequel on avait mis une croix. Trop dangereux, trop demandant, trop inquiétant. Puis, le temps, prenant son temps, a fait son chemin. L’amour de ta maman, pour ton papa, pour ton frère, pour toi, aussi, petite graine d’idée que tu étais, a pris le dessus. Et, te voilà! Elle ne pense pas souvent à elle en premier, ta maman, mais c’est une de ses qualités...

Je connais ta maman depuis des années. Elle est beaucoup plus sérieuse, maintenant (eh oui, c’est une maman, que veux-tu? Tu sais qu’elle m’a chicané il n’y a pas longtemps parce que j’ai essayé de faire faire des mauvais coups à ton frère? Il a fallu que je m’y prenne en cachette! Moi, je ne suis pas encore maman! Et maintenant, ton frère lance des balles, parle aux extra-terrestres et a peur de se faire pincer les pieds par des écrevisses lorsqu’il va à la piscine!) Un jour, malgré ta maman, je t’en conterai des histoires, à toi aussi... promis!

Quand tu seras un peu plus grande, je pourrai te raconter plein de choses à son sujet. Elle n’a pas toujours été sage même si elle veut t’en montrer l’image! Oh non! Ta maman, c’est une personne pleine d’entrain, créative, rebelle et fonceuse. Elle s’est assagie, c’est certain, mais je l’entend encore me convaincre de refuser de porter l’uniforme réservé au filles lors d’un spectacle musical au secondaire. Nous n’étions que deux filles en pantalons, ce jour-là. Notre prof, s’il l’avait pu, nous aurait mises dehors en deux mouvements.

Ta maman, c’est une non-conventionelle! Elle grille des guimauves au-dessus d’une chandelle lorsque la pluie lui refuse un feu de camp, elle peut chanter du Passe-Partout pendant des heures pour passer le temps, et elle cuisine des petits plats tellement tentants.

Il n’y aura jamais d’araignées dans ta maison, Myriam... Ta mère a pour elles un radar supersonique. Tu n’as rien à craindre. Et puis, tu ne t’ennuieras jamais puisqu’elle est si créative. Elle te fera sûrement des livres dans lesquels tu te retrouveras héroïne, te composera certainement de jolies chansonnettes, et te feras sans doute fabriquer toutes sortes de babioles à partir de tout et de rien.

Amuse-toi, Myriam! Tu seras choyée et bien élevée, cela ne fait aucun doute! Sûrement trop, même, et nous devrons te corrompre en cachette. Au fait, je ne me tracasse pas tant que ça – j’allais oublier ta grand-mère!

Tu es bien entourée, petite fille. Soit la bienvenue au monde. Je lève mon verre à ta santé!

Mélanie

N.B. (Je dois en profiter pour m’excuser. J’ai dit à ta mère, il n’y a pas si longtemps, que Myriam était un nom, non pas banal mais, qui, enfin...ne me plaisait pas tant que ça. J’en ai maintenant une toute autre opinion. Je trouve qu’il te sied comme un gant).

Myriam, qui a à peine quelques jours

South Korea VS America

I was observing a new teacher as part of her training process today and she was attempting to explain the use of the word "MY!" to her students. She was in the process of using it in different sentences to make its meaning clear (as in "My! I feel under the weather today!") when her 6 year-old student piped up:

"Oh, teacher! That's an idiom!

Kimchi Field Museum

A word on kimchi, from Wikipedia:

Kimchi (pronounced /ˈkɪmtʃɪ/, Korean pronunciation: [kimtɕʰi]), also spelled gimchi, kimchee, or kim chee, is any one of numerous traditional Korean pickled dishes made of vegetables with varied seasonings. Its most common manifestation is the spicy baechu (cabbage) variety. Kimchi is the most common banchan, or side dish. Kimchi is also a common ingredient and combined with other ingredients to make dishes such as kimchi stew (kimchi jjigae) and kimchi fried rice (kimchi bokkeumbap). Kimchi is so ubiquitous that the Korea Aerospace Research Institute (KARI) developed space kimchi to accompany the first Korean astronaut to the Russian-manned space ship Soyuz.[1] (Huh! How about that!)

That being said, you can imagine how excited my friend Abbey and I were when we found out that we could, amongst many other things, do the following at the Kimchi Field Museum:

#5 - You can touch and smell the five ingredients of Cabbage Kimchi.
This, by the way, is what one of over 80 different kinds of kimchi can look like:

#8 - You can take your photograph in the company of a lady wearing a beautiful traditional Korean costume while you are posing with a radish kimchi model.
(Pose with a radish?! Totally rad!)

Source: Pulmuone Kimchi Field Museum Pamphlet

You could also, should you feel so inclined, sit down at an interactive table and, following the light show of moving hands, pretend to be eating kimchi yourself. The talented Abbey demonstrates:

We wondered about the raw symbolism of the ceiling, featuring hanging threads of paper napkins.

We admired the Kimchi art. Who knew kimchi could stir such devotion, could be the source of so much inspiration! These were my favorites:

Please note, if I may, the birth of Kimchi Man (in the last picture) as he slowly unfurls from the Kimchi Leaf. Touching. Beautiful! I couldn’t read the caption by the frame but I imagined him to be a type of all-encompassing deity, to whom you should send prayers of never going hungry. I imagined he looks after us all, from his cozy throne of Cabbage Kimchi. I felt peaceful. Anne Geddes becomes so... passé, once you've witnessed the serenity of this painting.

We did, however, completely miss #11, or the Tasting Room. I am sad to say we never even saw it.

Of Tacos and Pacos

My friend Abbey & I went to the Kimchi Museum today. Um hum! Ya-a! There is, truly, such a place, and it is dedicated only to pickled cabbage and its health benefits. How very exciting!

But, even though we couldn’t contain ourselves for much longer, we decided to stop on the way to wolf down some very yummy Mexican food at a place called On the Border. (Mexican food is a rarity in Seoul, and we were passing right in front of it).

While we were perusing the menus, the waitress brought taco chips. Big ones. Still hot! I reached for the basket…and a thought came immediately to mind. Sooo. About Paco…

“Wow. Really?”, I thought. “You want to bring this up now?”

Mind over matter, it turns out, is quite easy for me. My mind won. I spaced out on Abbey…I think I still managed to churn out some convincing um hum sounds while continuing to scan the menu.

But my mind was relentless. You see, Paco & I meant something to each other once, not too long ago. We loved each other intensely for a short (ok, very short) while. We would laugh. We would sing. We would dance. We would eat. In fact, we did a lot of all of those. We would have the best of times just waiting in line somewhere together. It was just him, and just me. We talked about moving in together. But then it was maybe just a little bit too much of him, and maybe just slightly not enough of me, and we both went our separate ways.

It was a sad time. It was an angry time. It was a lonely time, for me. But time does, in fact, h-e-a-l. I’ve dated two amazing men since, one of whom I know will be in my life for years to come.

I met Paco once over my one-month vacation. Somehow, he’d heard I was in town and rang me up. He suggested we meet for lunch.

I went. We had fun! We can still talk, and we still laugh the same way at the same things. We entertained each other, and bounced witty comments off of each other.

I had a bbq to go to, so we got up to leave. He gave me a ride to the local LCBO in his jag (Or was it a ferrari? He always did love fast cars. I, on the other hand, prefer anything with a big trunk. The bigger, the better!) We parted ways. I don’t know where he went. Perhaps back to his parents’ basement, where he’s been living ever since?

Let it remain a mystery. I purchased some wine, and rushed outside to meet my ride and off we went to our evening party.

I didn’t even think twice about it. Until then, that is, as I was sitting in a restaurant, perusing a menu, and reaching for a taco. Which, incidentally, rhymes with Paco.

And so the world doth go on.

About Pinot

I told one lie in my lifetime. And, as you know it, what goes around, comes around, and this one came back to hurt me.

You know how the universe conspires to help you? And that, if you really want something, it will somehow rein in all its mighty powers and, within minutes, days, months…or sometimes even years, helps you get it? Well, I wanted a rabbit once. Really badly. Been wanting one for years, to be honest. And Mrs. Universe just couldn’t be bothered to help me out. Then I read The Alchemist, by Paulo Coelho, and it hit me. Just like that, one day, I heard it talk to me. The Universe needed my help to set things in motion. You see, it wanted me to have a rabbit, but I was like the person that wishes to win the lottery without ever buying a ticket. It made perfect sense. What the Universe told me, that day, was “Go BUY one.” Universes, it turns out, are pretty straight shooters.

“Yeah!" I thought. “This is simple, but tricky.” I was still living at my parents’ place. Mom didn't want me to buy a rabbit. She’d made that pretty clear. Many, many times. Dad couldn’t care less and knew my mom cared even less about his opinion. So, for a while, the status quo sat. I presented this dilemma to my new acquaintance, Mrs. Universe. She told me what I had to do.

What do you want me to say? When the wheels are set in motion, there is no turning back.

The Universe made me do it. I flung out a…LIE: I told my mom that a friend at work had a cute little bunny but was allergic. She had to get rid of it but didn’t want the hassle of looking for a new home. If no one took it soon, she would have it put to sleep.

That was the clincher. My mom knows of my anxiety when I swat bugs (see previous blog, Bugger) and totally understood my sorrow at the possibility of this (well… that, and the fact that I asked, and asked, and ASKED if we could just please, please, P-L-E-A-S-E save that poor little doomed thing’s life. Over, and over. So she finally said, quite graciously “Oh, just do what you want!”

So, I did. I bought a cage. And a bunny. I set-up the cage at my friend Caroline’s house. Then I brought both home. Mom met Cocotte. We coldly discussed how my colleague was a sans-coeur, and it was kismet.

Or, rather, serendipity. My mom must have wished some things too, and wouldn’t you know it, the Universe started conspiring FOR HER. Cocotte was one mean bunny. She hated to be petted. She tried to bite. Her teeth started growing in crookedly and she would drool a lot, which caused her neck to itch. So she started scratching, and, oh God, c-h-e-w-i-n-g at her own skin to stop the perpetual discomfort. I felt responsible, and brought her to the vet. He kindly said that she would need to be put to sleep every two to three months, and have her teeth shaved (shaven?). All for the meek price of $180 (each time). The only glitch was, rabbits are very nervous animals, and may not survive being put to sleep. The stress makes their heartbeats accelerate, and they sometimes die from a heart attack. The vet kindly told me it was a tad cruel, and not really worth it but…my anguished tears told him otherwise. So, Cocotte had her first operation. I felt horrible, having to put her through all that. That, and, I didn’t really have the budget to pay for all I was putting her through. I was working to finance my way through university at the time.

Cocotte had a second operation. The vet told me she probably wouldn’t survive the next. So, I made the decision to have her put down. I left her there, because I couldn’t bear the fact that I was the master of her execution. I had bought her, promising to take care of her and to provide her with shelter for years to come. I had also told an elaborate lie, to someone I love very much, in order to get her. Yet, that day, I was abandoning her on a stone-cold grey counter.

I still get nightmares about that. I get an ugly feeling in my stomach, every time I think of her. My throat constricts, my face tingles and my eyes start to water. In fact, I had to pause and get a tissue just now.

I learned my lesson.

And, um, now, may I introduce you to Pinot. A teacher from school bought him, only to soon realize she was allergic to him. For real, this time. She would show up at work, all puffy-eyed and wheezing. (Or so I like to imagine). With Cocotte in mind, I tried for a little redemption. I offered to take him in. It was…Kismet! The Universe was once again on my side, easing my burden of long carried grief just a little bit. This fellah is cuddly, curious, and prone to random, comical bursts of energy. True, he can look possessed, when he shakes his head, but I just turn a blind eye. I’ll take what I can.

However, I have to get rid of him, too. My landlord, it seems, doesn’t allow pets in her building. (I don’t mind, really, because he is a bit of a pain to feed on weekends when I want to travel). Still, let it be known, I pledge my darnedest to find this one a good home.

Fuck la mode

J’ai pris cette photo dans une ruelle du vieux Québec mais, après une semaine en quarantaine, c’est à peu près devenu mon discours, aussi. Je pense avoir fait peur à la caissière, au dépanneur, avec mes lulus, mon t-shirt froissé, mon jeans troué et mes vieilles sandales effilochées.

I took this picture in Quebec City but it’s just about become my motto, after having spent a week at home, under quarantine. I think I stunned the corner store’s cashier by showing up in pigtails, with a wrinkled shirt, ripped jeans, and old sandals. Translation: Fuck Fashion!

Ainsi va la vie

Ce qui est intéressant, lorsque l’on vieillit, c’est de se rendre compte de l’importance que l’on accorde à différentes choses dans nos vies. Je n’ai pas beaucoup de choses à mon nom. À peine de quoi remplir une ou deux valises, puisque j’habite à l’autre bout du monde. Mais la vie suit son cours, et je mûris. Il y a 3 ans, je n’aurais même pas bronché devant ce qui m’est arrivé aujourd’hui. J’aurais laissé l’électricien entrer, j’aurais baillé…et je serais probablement retournée à mon roman en attendant qu’il ait terminé son travail. Aujourd’hui, par contre, j’ai fait une petite danse, je lui ai sauté au cou, et je suis sortie acheter une bouteille de vin pour célébrer plus tard avec des amis.

Mesdames et messieurs…mon nouveau FOUR!

Parti, le réchaud dégueulasse à 2 places!

Sunflower Suprise

This cutie is my Godchild. I say this with much pride, albeit just a bit of shame, too. I won’t get into the details of it here but I don’t know that I believe in God. I do, though, have morals, and values… a strong sense of duty, and an undeniable enthusiasm for life. I have also promised to guide this child on his path of existence (in what I view is my slightly altered definition of Godmother). I am not this child’s mother (or father, even) but I consider myself a loving third party that will look over him forever. This is a picture of us feeding ducks at the cottage (I was not in my underwear, thank…God!? That time is slightly passé, for me).

Well, I’m slightly out of frame. But I was there. I taught Mathéo to be still, and to extend his hand so the ducks would walk right up to him. He laughed, and sat still, and proceeded to stone the ducklings with sunflower seeds in his excitement. I will cherish times like these forever.

Note: The next day, the duck came back without any ducklings. I spent an excruciating moment wondering if maybe the unshelled sunflower seeds were the culprits, having somehow been the demise of the cute duckies’ frail intestines. THAT would have been classic. But it turned out that no…they showed up moments later (even in Duckland, showing up with mom is not cool) and, in true teenager fashion, proceeded to let me know, in no unsure way, that, unshelled or not, sunflower seeds are NOT daunting to tiny intestines.

The Many States of Zeb

Gardening 101

I have a friend with a flower name that recently wilted. You see, her gardener, usually quite generous in his care & devoted attention to fostering this blossom to full bloom, recently opted for a cheaper fertilizer. The flower, so accustomed to a tender touch & faithful devotion, drooped & withered almost instantaneously. But, this flower is strong, & I know she can stand on her own. I’m just happy to hear that the gardener has avidly enrolled in Gardening 101, with hopes of better tending his garden. Stand firm, little flower.

My Dad & I

Everybody that knows my dad & I well... knows we have a love/hate relationship going on. Mostly love now… mostly hate through my various stages of growing up (interspersed with the occasional bouts of LIKE). You see, we are so much ALIKE, in so many ways, and so very DIFFERENT, in so many other ways, that we can go from laughing in close camaraderie together one minute to wanting to pull each other’s nasty hair out the next. Still, I LOVE my Dad. It’s just that… please, please, PLEASE… tell me I get my looks from my mom!

Author’s Note: This is not really my dad. In reality, my dad looks quite distinguished. Everybody knows that. This is just what my dad would look like, if, say, he was building a deck at the cottage on a very wet, humid day. This is what my dad would look like if he was insanely happy about said deck. Hypothetically.

Ok! Now...Hop on!

I recently just got back to Seoul. I am under quarantine, which I might have to write about a little later. It has to do with a deep-rooted Korean fear of disease and the fact that I might have contracted swine flu on the 26-hour flight back. I am currently diligently working from home but was going through my vacation pictures just now. I came across one that I wanted to share, as it always makes me chuckle when I see it. To me, it embodies the true Korean spirit. You see, Koreans appear quite conservative at first but, the more you stay here, the more you get to witness an innate sense of playfulness.

It happened to me on July 1st. I hadn’t even left the country yet. I’d just stepped off the Airport Limousine. It had been a long ride to Incheon Airport through the city’s busy morning traffic. The driver had spotted my blond-haired, white-skinned, English teacher look, and made it a point of asking me to translate sentences for him throughout the trip. He even pronounced his little speeches in Korean AND in English, although I was, QUITE obviously, the only foreigner there. When I stepped off the bus, he rushed to get my suitcases himself, and asked the valet (yes - of course, Airport Limousines have baggage valets) if he could take a picture of us. We took a traditional picture, smiling at the camera, standing side-by-side. Then, he turned around and said… “Ok! Now…Hop on!” I looked left. I looked right. Yup. The sidewalk WAS full of Koreans and tourists of all nationalities. This would NOT go unnoticed. But still, really, what else could I do?

Bugger

I can never squash bugs. I am not sure if this phenomenon evolved from basic girlish squeamishness or is simply a reflection of the freakishly generous depths of my soul, but the truth of the matter is, I CANNOT bring myself to S-Q-U-A-S-H. Today, I saved a wasp. I noticed it suddenly, roaming around on the inside of my window. I was kick-started to action and put on a hooded sweater, gloves, pants, and running shoes. I tied a scarf around my face. I then caught it, with the help of a trusty Tupperware container and a piece of paper. I took off the scarf, gloves, hood, and running shoes before I ran downstairs to let the thing free.

Yesterday, I rescued an Asian centipede from being killed by the floods of my morning shower. The grateful thing, having recovered from near-death and in high spirits, now holds court on the wall by the entrance door to my building. I know this because I saw it there with members of its harem on my way back from buying milk at the corner store. I think it waved hello.

Sigh. I wonder about this deeply rooted need to SAVE things…I’ve been know to trap and release cockroaches, for crying out loud. Even worse, my 2nd grade classmates used to bring me their broken pencil leads all the time because I collected them (the truth is, I felt bad for them. I felt you shouldn’t chuck something out just because you thought it no longer served a purpose). I also went through a phase where I couldn’t ERASE anything in my school workbooks. You know it: it wasn’t the LETTER’s fault I hadn’t drawn it correctly! THAT was N-U-T-S-O. It’s irrational, I know. But it took me a while to get over it. I should probably talk to someone about it…but everybody speaks Korean here, so it will have to wait. Until another bug comes around. In the meantime, I should put a sign up stating Happy Bugs Asylum on my apartment door. I wonder what my neighbours would think. They’re not ALL Koreans.