I had a breaking point last week that I didn't share about on my blog. (I don't to weigh my readers down with complaints.) After weeks of failed negotiations with my host family, I came to my wit's end when Hyunsuk brought a giant plate of crabs to the table for dinner.
She had asked me if I liked lobster at lunch time, and I said I did...remembering one time I tried a bit of my friend's mom's lobster when I was twelve and eating with her family at Red Lobster. Not only was the plate far different in appearance from what I remembered, a strange flood of mixed emotions plagued me during the dinner. I felt excited to give them a try, nervous because I didn't know how, and ticked off at the thought that my gigantic food fee was going to pay for a family-sized serving of a delicacy that's not much cheaper in Korea than in the U.S. I hated myself for thinking it. It seemed like an unfair thought.
"We only eat this once per year," Moxanim said, "because it's so expensive."
Throughout the meal, I couldn't help but react outwardly to what I was about to do. "Omigosh!" I kept saying. Hyunsuk swooned at the golden organ inside that she translated as the crab's eggs. My Korean family did not react or even flinch by any of it.
You see: Americans like to forget that their food was ever alive. We fry it, dress it up, add a garnish or two, and do whatever we can to make our meat look like a meal rather than an animal. But Koreans don't mind recognizing and even celebrating the once-alive factor of food. Restaurants advertise their specialties with cartoon images of cows, chickens, or octopus giving customers a thumbs-up! The crab on my plate was undisguised.
It dawned on me that the fancy meal might have been intended to win me over--to dissolve my displeasure with the food arrangement. This interpretation seemed to make sense. I noticed the curry rice and potbingsu dessert--two of my favorites. I hated myself for always pondering their intentions, for always wondering what they said to each other in Korean at the dinner table. If my interpretation was true, then I felt manipulated. The incident nursed my already bitter heart.
By Friday, I decided I should move out. I started to dream of having a place of my own, about cooking for myself again, and having a place to invite people to, in case I made some friends in Jilyang. Called my boss' wife and told her I should move out. Spent my weekend in Jeju, where my friend's encouraged me. But when Monday came, Jean called me back and offered to help me with the cost of food, confirming that I wouldn't be moving out because "it's not in my contract." Or at least she wouldn't be helping me. I was furious.
Then, I found myself in a situation with a Korean where, for the first time, I spoke my mind. I pitched the rules of indirectness and spoke from my heart. I told this person that I was angry. I told the truth. It was such a relief that I wondered what might happen if I sat down with my host family and talked it out.
Finally, Hyunsuk and I, with the help of Jihey's translation, talked about the food issue face-to-face for the first time on Wednesday night. I explained the hospitality rule differences that I wrote about earlier. I told her that while I liked Korean food, I want to have the freedom to cook for myself sometimes. I told her that I felt hurt that she didn't want me in her kitchen because I felt she didn't trust me. She told me my food fee had been prayed over for two weeks after I arrived. She said that I, too, had done things that hurt her without knowing it. Like old friends discussing first impressions, we confessed our cultural interpretations and misinterpretations of one another throughout the past few weeks. After laying down a few kitchen rules, she consented to me cooking in the kitchen.
I need to remember these are good-willed folks, who have the same Father. They're not out to rip me off. I'm a little ashamed of myself for thinking as such.
New bag of tricks
My care package from Kaio has become a new bag of tricks for me to test on my students. Dum-dums are the newest carrots to be given away during class. I feel better about giving away the small, cheap, fruity suckers than the chocolate I'd been giving away from my package from Nick. (Started to feel greedy about the Hershey's Extra-Creamy-Milk-Chocolate-with-Toffee-and-Almonds Nuggets. Too delicious to give to a nine-year-old that did their homework.)
Also, I'd forgotten how motivated children can be by stickers! Korean girls flipped through the little booklet of wow's, thumbs-up's, stars and animals and exclaimed, "Yepuda!" Beautiful! A few students, when given the choice, even picked a sticker over a dum-dum. Others started asking, "Teacher, sticker please!" just as they had asked for candy before. This is great news! It's a good idea to diversify my reward systems a bit.
We read Amelia Bedelia in four different classes this week. I stopped after each chore on Amelia's list and asked the students two questions: 1. What did Mrs. Roger's mean by "change the towels?" (for example,) and 2. What did Amelia think it meant? The book required more explanation of idioms than I anticipated. I guess phrases like "dress the chicken" and "draw the drapes" can't be found in any practical English language textbooks. But Amelia Bedelia has great pictures, and many of the students chuckled at the challenge of pronouncing her name--Amelia Bedelia!
Though I didn't know what to do with the mega pack of play-doh, this trick quickly found became an important part of classroom fun. I had the students mold animals, foods and other objects out of the colorful clay for team members to guess...in English, of course. The game fostered a lot of laughter, creativity and competition. Like the stickers, I'd forgotten how fun, and messy I might add, play-doh can be.
Personal treats highlighted my week as well. I surprised myself by reaching first to the box of pop tarts--something I rarely ate in the states. Made a significant dent in the Triscuits. Saving the Oreos for later this month.
My new booklight helped me finish A Thousand Splendid Suns, which wasn't quite as good as The Kite Runner in my opinion, but still an excellent read. I couldn't read it before bed because it made me feel righteous anger toward the lewdness and cruelty of men in a seemingly chaste Muslim society. I had to read Love and Respect to help restore my faith in male integrity.
I was trying to decide what to read next in my free time, but I'm thinking I might spend my extra time trying to learn some Korean. Maybe I'll get hooked to a Korean drama with English subtitles.
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