Sunday, November 20, 2005
Wanderings, Part One
My typical workday starts off with my cellphone going off at six in the morning, blaring a kickass Disco theme that never fails to lift my spirits. Sitting up, I'm struck with a pain on the left side of my neck--my bed is as hard as the floor, although I'm usually too strung out from twelve hours in the office to suffer from any cases of insomnia thus far.
After a small breakfast of cereal and milk, I head for the shower. Until recently most Koreans didn't use shower curtains--they just mopped up the water afterwards. Thus I have to sit down while I wash, because at that time in the morning I don't feel like cleaning up after myself. I throw on my new, dowdy teacher clothes, apply makeup until my face appears totally flawless, knock on my roommate's door to wake her up and head out the door by 7:50 a.m.
I pick up a half-cup of coffee from a vending machine near my apartment for thirty cents, pull on my gloves and begin my short trek to the office. When I'm feeling generous I duck into the Parisian-inspired bakery, where I pick up snacks for my coworkers. The Korean teachers at my school make half of what make, and they're far more qualified than I am when it comes to teaching. However, they've gone out of their way to make me and my New Zealand roommate feel welcomed and appreciated. One has taken us to Seoul for shopping, another has taken us to an Italian restaurant. So I love getting them gifts, although my presents aren't that impressive--muffins, chocolates, etc.
I actually prefer to eat the Korean food, rather than anything European, American or Mexican, because the Korean's take on foreign meals is rather uninspired. (I have only been to a few restaurants, though, and I have heard of really good foreign restaurants in the larger cities.) My favorite thing to do in South Korea is eating, by far--I love it when a large, black bowl is slid in my direction, the steam rising, melting my frozen face. It's so spicy (the soups are freckled an orangish red) that I often break into tears and a runny nose, and since the food is still cooking on its plate, it's amusing to see the vegetables withering about. I sort of became a vegetarian before my flight to Seoul, but the beef is too good to avoid.
Anyway, back to my walk to the office. My apartment is very close to the school--the only reason why it takes ten minutes to get there instead of five is because there is a shortage of crosslights on the streets. During my first few days, I felt anxiety when it came to crossing, because the cars only seemed to speed up when they saw you on the roads. But after watching five-year-olds walk carefree and on their own, I built up my own confidence.
I get into the office around 8 a.m., almost two hours before my workday begins. I spend my first thirty minutes checking my email before preparing for my first two hours of work. The kindergarten classes (ages 5 to 7) are easy to plot out, but they're easily distracted and extremely difficult to control. So I'll usually schedule a quick review of yesterday's class, an introduction to new words, and a short activity, and then pray for the best. Ninety percent of the time I'll only carry out the first two-thirds of my lesson.
Lunch is provided by the school, and I eat with my second kindergarten class. They're still rowdy, so I usually have to pull kids out of arguments--sometimes fights. Every kid approaches me before leaving to get more food or wash their plate. "Pia Teacher--" they'll say, as they rub their belly, an indication of feeling hungry or full. I'll pretend to feel concerned as I advise them to eat two more bites or give them permission to get more food. There are a few girls who cry at the drop of a hat, but once I kiss bloody fingers and rub bruised shins they skip back to their seats, oblivious to any of the former, faint pains.
After they brush their teeth--the school is stern when it comes to hygiene--they head downstairs, leaving a milk-and-rice coated table in their wake. I mop and sweep up the mess, sit down with my green tea and rest for five minutes. Then I go into the office to schedule six more hours of work.
The elementary students are more respectful, but still loud and prone to their own distractions, like their experiments from science class (which is clearly the most popular class, my kindergarten kids love their science classes with a mad passion). I feel more comfortable giving them games and activities related to the classes' lessons, because they're less likely to go off on their own tangents or fight over the jumprope or spinner. "Pia Teacher, game today?" one student will usually ask in each class. And I'll break out with a gameboard and marker caps I've turned into game pieces--I don't have much time to be creative, and the school is low on funds so I can't make anything more impressive than darts or flashcards.
Fridays are tests, which aren't taken too seriously by the school but always work the kids into a anxiety-ridden frenzy, because one-third of them won't do their homework. I'll have one or two brilliant students who will have no difficulties whatsoever, four who get confused but feel the need to complete assignments (most of the time incorrectly), and two who do no work whatsoever and are around just to chat in Korean and smile awkwardly when I ask them questions. The worst students are usually the youngest--why Korean parents insist on spending the money to send their five-year-old into a difficult English program is beyond me. Personally, I would advise most to start their kids at age seven, when they'll appreciate the lessons more and have more of a mental capacity to take in a new language. But hey, they bring in more money for the school, right?
Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays I'll finish my classes at around 6:15--Tuesdays and Thursdays at 7:30 p.m. Most of the time I'll stay for an hour to check homework, check my email or plan the next day's assignments. After leaving the office, I'll go back to the Parisian bakery--I've developed a little crush on one particular baker, not unlike the infatuations I developed on Starbucks baristas back in the States--and pick up a delicious ham and cheese croissant for less than a dollar.
On my way home, I'll duck into a Tae Kwon Do studio--classes are cheap compared to the U.S., but I'd like to look around and see how my budget works out before I commit--and watch for a few minutes. My chest aches whenever I see one of my students in a TKD or Kendo uniform, but everyone is on the lookout for a good school for me. I'll get home, sip more green tea, plan a few lessons for the next day, watch some American programs on the television for an hour, and dive into bed at around ten.
I'll detail my weekend trips later.
After a small breakfast of cereal and milk, I head for the shower. Until recently most Koreans didn't use shower curtains--they just mopped up the water afterwards. Thus I have to sit down while I wash, because at that time in the morning I don't feel like cleaning up after myself. I throw on my new, dowdy teacher clothes, apply makeup until my face appears totally flawless, knock on my roommate's door to wake her up and head out the door by 7:50 a.m.
I pick up a half-cup of coffee from a vending machine near my apartment for thirty cents, pull on my gloves and begin my short trek to the office. When I'm feeling generous I duck into the Parisian-inspired bakery, where I pick up snacks for my coworkers. The Korean teachers at my school make half of what make, and they're far more qualified than I am when it comes to teaching. However, they've gone out of their way to make me and my New Zealand roommate feel welcomed and appreciated. One has taken us to Seoul for shopping, another has taken us to an Italian restaurant. So I love getting them gifts, although my presents aren't that impressive--muffins, chocolates, etc.
I actually prefer to eat the Korean food, rather than anything European, American or Mexican, because the Korean's take on foreign meals is rather uninspired. (I have only been to a few restaurants, though, and I have heard of really good foreign restaurants in the larger cities.) My favorite thing to do in South Korea is eating, by far--I love it when a large, black bowl is slid in my direction, the steam rising, melting my frozen face. It's so spicy (the soups are freckled an orangish red) that I often break into tears and a runny nose, and since the food is still cooking on its plate, it's amusing to see the vegetables withering about. I sort of became a vegetarian before my flight to Seoul, but the beef is too good to avoid.
Anyway, back to my walk to the office. My apartment is very close to the school--the only reason why it takes ten minutes to get there instead of five is because there is a shortage of crosslights on the streets. During my first few days, I felt anxiety when it came to crossing, because the cars only seemed to speed up when they saw you on the roads. But after watching five-year-olds walk carefree and on their own, I built up my own confidence.
I get into the office around 8 a.m., almost two hours before my workday begins. I spend my first thirty minutes checking my email before preparing for my first two hours of work. The kindergarten classes (ages 5 to 7) are easy to plot out, but they're easily distracted and extremely difficult to control. So I'll usually schedule a quick review of yesterday's class, an introduction to new words, and a short activity, and then pray for the best. Ninety percent of the time I'll only carry out the first two-thirds of my lesson.
Lunch is provided by the school, and I eat with my second kindergarten class. They're still rowdy, so I usually have to pull kids out of arguments--sometimes fights. Every kid approaches me before leaving to get more food or wash their plate. "Pia Teacher--" they'll say, as they rub their belly, an indication of feeling hungry or full. I'll pretend to feel concerned as I advise them to eat two more bites or give them permission to get more food. There are a few girls who cry at the drop of a hat, but once I kiss bloody fingers and rub bruised shins they skip back to their seats, oblivious to any of the former, faint pains.
After they brush their teeth--the school is stern when it comes to hygiene--they head downstairs, leaving a milk-and-rice coated table in their wake. I mop and sweep up the mess, sit down with my green tea and rest for five minutes. Then I go into the office to schedule six more hours of work.
The elementary students are more respectful, but still loud and prone to their own distractions, like their experiments from science class (which is clearly the most popular class, my kindergarten kids love their science classes with a mad passion). I feel more comfortable giving them games and activities related to the classes' lessons, because they're less likely to go off on their own tangents or fight over the jumprope or spinner. "Pia Teacher, game today?" one student will usually ask in each class. And I'll break out with a gameboard and marker caps I've turned into game pieces--I don't have much time to be creative, and the school is low on funds so I can't make anything more impressive than darts or flashcards.
Fridays are tests, which aren't taken too seriously by the school but always work the kids into a anxiety-ridden frenzy, because one-third of them won't do their homework. I'll have one or two brilliant students who will have no difficulties whatsoever, four who get confused but feel the need to complete assignments (most of the time incorrectly), and two who do no work whatsoever and are around just to chat in Korean and smile awkwardly when I ask them questions. The worst students are usually the youngest--why Korean parents insist on spending the money to send their five-year-old into a difficult English program is beyond me. Personally, I would advise most to start their kids at age seven, when they'll appreciate the lessons more and have more of a mental capacity to take in a new language. But hey, they bring in more money for the school, right?
Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays I'll finish my classes at around 6:15--Tuesdays and Thursdays at 7:30 p.m. Most of the time I'll stay for an hour to check homework, check my email or plan the next day's assignments. After leaving the office, I'll go back to the Parisian bakery--I've developed a little crush on one particular baker, not unlike the infatuations I developed on Starbucks baristas back in the States--and pick up a delicious ham and cheese croissant for less than a dollar.
On my way home, I'll duck into a Tae Kwon Do studio--classes are cheap compared to the U.S., but I'd like to look around and see how my budget works out before I commit--and watch for a few minutes. My chest aches whenever I see one of my students in a TKD or Kendo uniform, but everyone is on the lookout for a good school for me. I'll get home, sip more green tea, plan a few lessons for the next day, watch some American programs on the television for an hour, and dive into bed at around ten.
I'll detail my weekend trips later.
Pia at 12:14 PM
