Hospitality

Some of my readers, if I can call you that, may remember that I've been trying to work out a different food arrangement with my host family. I wanted to renegotiate an arrangement that would give me more freedom to budget my food money as I please. I wanted to do more of the shopping, cooking, and eating. At the heart of the matter was a cry for independence. My boss has been negotiating for me, so every complaint I have has kind of gone through his discerning filter. On Friday, I asked my boss for an update on the situation. He told me the suggestion of a new food plan had not gone over well with my host mom.

"In Korea, we usually provide everything for our guests," he explained. My host mom wanted to do the same. It's hard for me to understand why they would refuse the new offer, which would require less work and effort, not more.

Ugh! I've started to miss simple things like sandwiches and peanut butter toast. (Woke up one morning from a dream about peanut butter toast.) Plus, I'm starting to lose my will to eat foods that don't look appealing to me such as soups with walleye eggs or pumpkin-black bean stews for lunch.

My friends from Dongshin Church hosted a women's international potluck in place of our Bible study last weekend. The event gave me a prime opportunity to practice my cooking skills and exercise my independence in the ways I've hungered to exercise it. Potluck attendees were supposed to bring a traditional something from our home country or any country of our choice.

I wanted to bring an Italian appetizer--Italian, because it's the proudest part of my heritage, and appetizer because I didn't want to haul a giant pot or pan on the bus or the subway. Bruschetta seemed like a pretty good, low maintenance option until I discovered that my host mom hadn't heard of basil, and that the spice was rare and expensive in Korea. So I settled on a curried tuna dip--not Italian, but all of the ingredients were available at a local market.

I purchased the ingredients Saturday morning and whipped it together after my afternoon class. While I worked, I thought of all the cultural implications of a potluck. I mentally juxtaposed the Korean hospitality next to American hospitality and noticed stark contrasts.

In America, we have a "mi casa es su casa" kind of hospitality. I know we don't all speak Spanish, but perhaps, we've been influenced by South America in this regard. We like to tell guests to "make yourself at home." This phrase recognizes the attitude a guest might have about being a guest. As Americans, we like to have space, and we assume that our guests feel the same. We assume the guest feels more comfortable rummaging through the kitchen for a bite to eat than waiting for service that might be inconvenient, overwhelming or less than what they had in mind. The host doesn't refuse to provide for the guest out of laziness or a lack of concern, but often times, out of respect for the guest. (I admit I used to scoff at the American need for independence, and now, I understand and appreciate it.) We let our guests do their own chores because we think they prefer it that way. And often times, they do.

In Korea, concern is a love language. People comment about your zits and your weight because they're concerned for your well-being. They want to feed you themselves because they're concerned that you won't get fed otherwise. They take over the laundry, the chores, and the food.

Potlucks are a microcosm of American hospitality. When I worked at the university, we always introduced it to international students as an American, but I didn't realize just how American it is until recently. In America, we don't want one person to bear the burden of feeding a crowd by themselves, so we make it lighter on host by proclaiming a potluck. If everyone does just a little bit of the work, we figure, then everyone will bear the burden, and everyone will be satisfied. It makes perfect sense! Potlucks encourage everyone to do their part.

In Korea, feeding a crowd is not a burden. A few women at Moxanim's church feed the congregation every Sunday after service. Hyunsuk quietly discourages me from doing my part by helping with the dishes.

I remember how TJ told me that I would like Korea. "The people are really hospitable," he said. Don't know why that stuck with me, but it did.

There's no doubt in my mind that the Korean people want to make sure that I have a good time here...

With these thoughts bubbling in my mind, I packed up for the weekend potluck. I couldn't help but laugh when the "low maintenance" curried tuna dip appetizer included two boxes of crackers, a plastic bag full of chopped red, yellow and green peppers, and the featured dip, which had to be kept cool by ice cubes in a larger plastic container. The dipping items went in a backpack on my back, my purse went around my shoulder and the dip with it's makeshift cooler in my bare hands. I looked silly walking to the bus stop and even sillier trying to squeeze past an old Korean lady on the bus.

The "harmoni," a respectful term for older women in Korea, didn't speak much English, but she looked curiously at me and my dip. I opened the outer concentric tupperware to reveal a potent aroma. Not having said much of anything, she reached into her grocery sack and handed me two orange-colored persimmons.

"For me?" I asked. She nodded. I wished I could speak Korean, so that I could make conversation with her for the rest of the ride. But I don't think that's why she gave me the persimmons in the first place. As a Korean, I think she was simply wishing me a happy time in her home country. She didn't have to speak. She didn't have to understand. She just wanted to send her good fortune through a simple gift to a foreign stranger.

The potluck was a blast! My curried tuna dip went on a Korean-style coffee table in the middle of the living room, accompanied by a giant pot of spaghetti, a seven-layer Mexican dip with tortilla chips, two generous bowls of chop-che and duck-booki (Korean specialties), a potato salad, a tropical cocktail beverage and milk tart, a traditional dessert prepared by my friend from South Africa. It was delicious! The dip went over pretty well, which reminds me of another reason I think we like potlucks in America: A chance to test our culinary charms on hungry crowds.

(This is me with some of my "Dongshin buddies" at my birthday party last weekend. The puppy, Noona, belongs to Tharene, Elise, and Eli. Cute, isn't she?)

Packages and precious moments

My birthday package from my parents arrived on Tuesday by lunch time. My schedule on Tuesday includes 6 classes in a row, starting at 2 p.m., the first three of which are phonics classes with small children. Tuesday shocks me out of my weekend orientation, forcing me shift gears from easy living to lesson planning. During the past few weeks, Wednesday became a day to rebound from Tuesday's classroom failures. Assuming this week would be the same, I decided to hold off until after my classes to open the package--a sort of pity token to ease away the quagmires of the day. Fortunately, my classes went well on Tuesday, and instead, I unwrapped it as a reward for a day of modest victories.

Inside the brown box, I found three neatly-wrapped presents and a pink envelope with a singing "Hello Kitty" card. I surmise the cartoon puss was chosen because of it's popularity in Korea rather than any known interest I've ever had in Hello Kitty. (Good one, Dad.) Behind the pink wrapping paper, I uncovered "A Thousand Splendid Suns," Khaled Hosseini's sequel to "The Kite Runner," a nifty book light and a bag of candy corn. I've already started reading the novel, and I'm really enjoying it so far. It's helping me to learn about Afghan culture as well as to incorporate words like "surmise" and "quagmire" into my vocabulary . Thanks, Mom and Dad!

Today, I used the candy corn as carrots to motivate my students to volunteer for reading or sharing their homework aloud. I explained that the candy is popular during the fall and especially around Halloween time in the United States. Many of the students noticed my jar of mysterious orange and yellow triangles and seemed eager to try them. Wide-eyed with curiosity, they held out their hands for a colorful piece of "corn" and then gingerly placed it on their tongue, biting down with equal carefulness. Some of them made suspicious faces. Some thought the taste resembled caramel. Some didn't like it. But most of them responded with "Mashisoyo!" Delicious! And then asked for more.

One cute girl named You Rim asked, "Teacher's mother make?"

"No, no," I explained. "She just bought it."

I'm happy to report that I think I love my job now. There are too many priceless moments to dislike it for any huge length of time. Last night during a vocabulary drill, a few girl students couldn't stop laughing at me as I asked them to repeat after me, "culture...culture." Finally, I asked them why they cracking up, and through much sign language and spotted English, told me that the word culture in English sounds a lot like the word for booger in Korean.

I've been able to recover a lot of the exercises and teaching tools used in my language arts classes when I was in grade school. For two of my conversation classes, I wrote a mad lib and arranged the paragraph so that, when students filled in the blanks with adjectives, verbs and nouns, they were telling a humorous story about their own morning routine. One of the students pushed the snooze button "700" times! Another student "slept" when she looked at herself in the mirror because she looked so "smart."

Yesterday, in another class, I used the Venn diagram (you know, those two overlapping circles) to have students compare themselves to a deaf, Mexican character in one of the stories. I wanted the exercise to demonstrate that although they are different from Rosina in several ways, they are also alike in many ways. After assigning it as homework, I offered a chocolate reward for the student with the highest number of points on their diagram. We listed all of the points from their work on the white board today, and those giant circles were so full of ideas that I had to write more outside the lines. I was so proud of them!

Justin asked me the other day how I get the students to be interested in learning. He said it seems like a lot them are having a really good time in class. I was baffled by the question. Me? Is this the same me that half-hated my job a few weeks ago and managed a zoo-like classroom on most days?

Yet, I have a lot to learn. Justin wants me to teach a research project for some of the reading classes, and I'm really not sure how that will go. Also, it's difficult to balance vocabulary lists, graded homework, online resources and report cards and all of that teacher stuff that teachers do. Heck, I'm trying to get the Korean names straight in two of my classes. But I think loving my work is a good step in the right direction. I'm starting to feel more like a teacher every day.

A Happy Birthday

I was highly distracted during my last several classes on Friday evening. The week had passed surprisingly fast. But I couldn't decide if I should make the hour-long trek to downtown Daegu for a midnight Bible study or if I should start my birthday weekend with some rest. In the end, I decided that being alone was not what I wanted for my birthday. I've had plenty of alone time in Korea.

By bus and subway, I journeyed out to the Friday-night Bible study, which refreshing rather than exhausting. Again, it's just refreshing to be in the company of people who care for each other and speak English fluently. I stayed the night with my friends and woke up early and naturally on Saturday morning. I helped myself to cereal and juice, trying not to disturb their new, not-yet-house-broken puppy, Noona, and found my way back to the subway station and eventually, back to Jilyang.

When I walked in the front door, a big brown box with the familiar handwriting of my fiance greeted me and wished me a happy birthday. I grabbed the box and ran up the stairs to my room where I saw the face of it's sender and opened the package in his "presence" on Skype. Four boxes of crackers, three bags of chocolate candy, a "Camera Obscura" cd, a movie titled "Bella," and a mini flashlight for reading purposes. An entertainment box of sorts, filled with warm wishes from the man on the screen in front of me. I felt loved.

I brought a birthday cake to my Saturday class, and we sang happy birthday to me and MiRae, a student whose birthday is next Friday. My high school class is pretty shy most of the time, so it was a little bit cute to hear one of them softly protest when I proceeded to cut the cake without candles.

"Song." she said. "We need the song." We sang the birthday song in English as was fitting for the class, and in Korean fashion, clapped on the down beats. (Still getting used to that one.)

On Saturday evening, I attended a one-year-old party for my friends, Andy and HyunJin, and their daughter Sienna. Andy, a native of St. Louis, is the pastor of the English service I attend. When Andy and Hyun-Jin first started dating, she spoke very little English, and he spoke very little Korean, but they somehow got to know each other.

Once upon a time, Korea had a really high infant mortality rate, so people began to really celebrate one-year birthdays. The small ballroom in New Youngnam Hotel resembled a wedding reception or a ritzy restaurant. Hyun-Jin and Sienna were wearing matching princess dresses--white with pink sashes. A display of purple balloons, candles, and fruit baskets brought our attention to the front of the room where we participated in games and traditional one-year customs.

In the back, a buffet table snaked around the edges of the room with trays of sushi meat, fruit, and hoersdevours as well as pots of interesting soups I'd never seen. It's kind of fun to be at someone else's party on your birthday, especially a glitzy one with delicious food.

One-year birthdays, in case you can't tell from my description, are a big deal in Korea. After we ate, Sienna had the opportunity to foreshadow her future by reaching for certain items on a tray. A cup of rice represented a life without hunger. A long piece of yarn represented a long life. A pencil marked the life of an intellect, and 10,000 won bill marked a life of wealth. (Andy earned the bill by selling rice cakes to the crowd of guests in between games.) Then, there was a plastic stethoscope to denote a future doctor, a plastic microphone for a musician or actress, and a computer mouse for a future computer genius. The female emcee, who seemed to work for the hotel and spoke in Korean, waved each of the items in front of Sienna initially as a trial run to make us all hypothesize which item she would choose. Then the baby's father hoisted her above the tray, giving her just enough room to reach out and grab any of the items.

We watched intently as Sienna reached out, and after skimming over a few possible picks, settled on the plastic microphone. Our applause broke the silent anticipation as she grasped the cylinder with her baby hands.

"I thought she might pick that one," said the guy next to me. "I saw her playing with it earlier."

Having witnessed child development stages through other babies, I concluded later that the baby's choice probably had a lot more to do with the size, color, and tangibility of the microphone than some inner pop star destiny. Obvious, maybe, but we were all on the edge of our seats anyway. What a fun custom!

After the baby birthday party, my new friends at Dongshin church hosted a small birthday party for me at their apartment. We enjoyed soju and birthday cake while playing wii baseball as well as one of my all-time favorite group games: signs!

I stayed the night at Eli, Tharene and Elise's apartment and went home after church the next day. The trip home seemed longer than usual despite the fact that I left earlier, skipping out on the afternoon activities. The sun's warmth shone in my bus window making me feel even more sleepy. I counted the landmarks approaching my stop in Jilyang.

My host mom fixed a long-anticipated meal of sushi, watermelon, and potbingsu. We sang Sang-il chukha habnida (the birthday-congratulations song,) and I opened a few small gifts from my host siblings. It was surprisingly serene and anti-climactic, but I was okay with that. I wiped out at 8 o'clock and woke up this morning at seven, feeling well-rested and ready for the week.

A tribute to Millie

After a chilly night, Hyunsuk changed my light pink bed spread with cartoon girls and trendy English to a light pink comforter with Peter Rabbit characters. I couldn't help but feel a bit childish at first, but it's without a doubt the cutest, fluffiest, little-girl-comforter I've ever seen. Peter Rabbit paraphernalia is popular in Korea. And rabbits are a popular pet.

News of animal trauma came to me from both my American and my Korean family at about the same time. Three of the four rabbits living in the rabbit cage outside were massacred when a neighborhood dog bit through the fence and attacked. Moxanim confronted the owner of the dog he suspected, who denied that it was his dog. He just recently got new rabbits. I suppose he didn't want the leftover, and probably shell-shocked, rabbit to be lonely.

A day or two before the incident, my mom told me that our family pet, Millie, had a tumor in her nose and was going to die. The tumor was treatable for a human-sized price, but my parents decided to just let her be. Just like a human, Millie had a "few months to live."

In the midst of Millie's few months, my grandparents' dog, Bootsie, came to live with my family. I totally understand why this move was necessary, and don't worry, Grandma and Grandpa Hester, we'll take good care of her, but I feel bad that Millie spent the last few weeks of her life trying to fight her territorial tendencies. I worried about her. But Mom said they got along ok minus a few dog food skirmishes. Millie doesn't like to share her family and her home with other dogs. It's not that she's unfriendly. She's just a jealous dog. She gets cranky. Worries that she won't get fed.

Millie was also a great dog. And I don't think coming home...in six and a half months...will be the same without Millie. I like Bootsie, but I don't think she will replace Millie. It may take me some time to warm up to Bootsie in the same way.

A tribute to Millie!

Here's to the many walks she took. Here's to the many times she perked up at the sound of "walk," "balk," "chalk," and many other rhyming words.

Here's to the time she tried to play the piano. Here's to the

times she barked protectively when an ex-boyfriend tried to hug me. And to the way she sat peacefully when my fiance held me, and even jumped to protect him if I got an itch to tickle him.

Here's to the day when she was too small to master a basketball in the backyard, to her prime, when she ran to and fro along the fence with her other dog friends, and to her older days--she kept chugging even when a nasty tumor clogged her air passages.

Here's to the way she chased milk cartons across the kitchen floor or ran after slippery grapes and eventually enjoy their sweet juices.

To the way you would bring pieces of dog food into the family room, just so you could snack with us while we watched a flick!

To the family reunions she endured with Lola, Brian and Sarah's great dane, and Bootsie, around. We never meant to threaten your position as top dog, Millie. Here's to the bout of shame you felt when you started to lose control of your bladder and peed on the carpet. We never meant to hurt you when we scolded you.

There are dogs in Korea, Millie, but none with your character and personality!

You were a good dog. You were a great dog. And I,...we,...will miss you dearly. Goodbye, Mill-dog!

If you were close with Millie or were touched by her in some way and have something you'd like to say, then feel free to leave a comment.

Lazy days and small victories

Shortly after I arrived in Korea, I promised Jimin that I would go with her to Oobang Towerland, an amusement park in Daegu, on September 12th. She circled the date on the small flip-calendar the rests on the Kim family kitchen table. It's been a while since I've been on a roller coaster or eaten a funnel cake, so I'd been looking forward to it. But my Saturday course pushed our departure time to 4 p.m., and ultimately, Moxanim and Hyunsuk decided it would be better for us to reschedule because they didn't want us traveling back at night. Now, we circled October 2nd--a national Korean holiday called Chusak--as the Oobang Towerland day. I wasn't terribly disappointed to wake up on Saturday morning to an unplanned and uneventful day.

The weekend became a chance for me to recover from my insomnia. (My biorhythms are back to normal.) I taught a short conversation class, wrote a letter to my future mother-in-law, visited Su Jong's apartment, read a few chapters of "Love and Respect," played badminton in the kitchen with Minwoo (surprisingly, we didn't get into trouble for that one, maybe because the birdie is light and harmless when it hits the low ceiling) and in the front yard with several mysterious neighborhood kids, and for the most part, I kind of just went with the flow.

I skipped the Friday evening Bible study in anticipation of Oobang Towerland plans, and then I skipped a party on Saturday night in anticipation of meeting Nick on Skype and getting a good night of sleep. The party was a major conversation topic at church the next day, and I momentarily regretted my laziness. But I think resting was a good idea.

Despite my recent bouts of homesickness, there are small victories keep me going, keep me wanting to be here. A successful bus trip home from Dongshin service, without the help of a bus driver or passenger, was a small victory with great joy. For weeks, I've needed minor assistance getting around, particularly in knowing where to get off the bus in Jilyang. Finally, I've established some landmarks for myself. I've figured out that the bus drivers don't automatically stop at every bus stop, especially if there's no one to pick up, unless you alert them by pushing one of the red circular buttons on the side of the bus, which makes a buzzing noise and cues the driver to pull over. Like a child on a diaper commercial, I feel like a big kid now, rejoicing in all-by-myself, everyday tasks.

Small victories come from unexpectedly successful lesson plans. I don't care for teaching phonics, but today, I taught the "ch" sound to three elementary-aged students. To help them practice the "ch" sound, I had them repeat after me: "Chuga, chuga! Chuga, chuga! Choo! Choo!" I moved my arms to create the image of a train, chugging and chooing. They ate it up! I heard them chanting to themselves and dancing as they packed their things to go! "Chuga, chuga! Chuga, chuga! Choo! Choo!"

At the health center, I successfully recited Korean numbers one through ten to count my repetitions with the barbells. I'm not sure why it's taken me so long to master the numbers, but I've finally got it. Small but sure victory!

On Sunday, Su Jung and I met for a Bible study for the first time. Every time I meet with a nonbeliever to read, I have a new and different experience from the time before. We're reading Mark, and she seems to know a bit more about Christianity than I expected. Probably because Christianity is more popular in Korea than in Japan or China, for example. In fact, it may be more popular in Korea than in the U.S. (I read a bio for a famous Korean pop musician who said that one of her favorite things to do was read the Bible. Caught me by surprise.)

Anyway, I believe my meeting with Su Jung, regardless of the outcome, is another small victory--a tiny reminder that I just might be in the right place at the right time.

Here is one of my Korean favorites: Potbingsu!

Here is the Sahan and Eva of Korea:

Missing home

This week I:

• Drank chocolate milk for the first time in a long time
• Kicked a student out of my class when, at the end of a difficult lesson, and as a last straw, he started breaking colored pencils just to tick me off!
• Taught my students the phrase "knee high by the fourth of July" after reading an article about farming in Iowa. Go Iowa!
• Really missed home
• Worked out by myself at the health center
• Tried to discern the plot of a Korean drama from facial expressions and music as I viewed the program from a small screen on my treadmill
• Used a cell phone calculator to convert my weight from kg into pounds (Last week, I realized I had gained weight since I've been to Korea. I know this weight has to be credited to the quantity I've been eating and not the quality. I've eaten more fruits and vegetables than ever before! Luckily, this week I lost one kilo.)
• Listened to Ingram Hill's "Will I ever make it home?"...a few times in a row. Felt stupid for thinking about home so much, so early. Wished I were busier and had less time to think.
• Struggled with Insomnia and planned a few lessons during my hours awake
• Downloaded my first Kpop song, "Nobody But You," by the Wonder Girls, in an effort to relate to my students better.
• Incorporated pop stars Minzy and CL from the group 2ne1 into a reading exercise.
• Spoke with Justin about my host family situation and told him that I thought the price of food was way too high. $250 per month! We're going to work something out. Yay!
• Missed Nick a lot
• Gained a few office hours during which I will help students with their homework
• Met with my new friend Su Jong Hwang and arranged to meet her and her friend for a Bible study/Korea study group on Sunday.
• Concluded that it is worth it!

I realized that I'm going to have bad days and hard times no matter what country I'm in. Sure, it's difficult to be in a foreign land on a bad day. But going home wouldn't make me happier. Just more comfortable.

Busses, trains, and funny new friends

I didn't remind Hyunsuk about the Bible study when I left for work on Friday afternoon. I decided to just let it be. Inwardly, I felt a little guilty about going without her approval. I wasn't even sure if bus 840 came through Jilyang after 10 p.m, so I made a deal with God that I would wait for ten minutes at the bus stop for bus 840, and if it didn't show, then I wouldn't go, assuming it wasn't meant to be. Toying with the idea of starting my own Bible study, I asked my Father to show me who I should invite if he should want me to start one.

On Friday night, I dismissed class at exactly 9:50, packed my things, and made my way toward the bus stop to check my wool for dew. High school students, still dressed in uniform, were walking home finally. Many fruit stands and kabob kiosks remained open on the street. If Jilyang had a nightlife, then one could say it was in full swing. The evening air held a hint of weekend energy. About ten feet ahead of me, I spotted a couple of teenage girls giggling and squirming at a bug on the sidewalk as they shone a small flashlight and used their feet to scoot the creature across the cement. I didn't see the bug myself, but their game made me laugh out loud.

"O! Hello!" said one of the girls, surprised to see a foreigner.

"Hello," I said, being friendly. People sample their simple English on me quite often, so I wasn't totally surprised.

"Where are you from?" she asked. I stopped to chat, not totally committed to the Bible study anyway, and told her I was from America.

The girl was dressed in a t-shirt, knee-length shorts, and a ponytail--attire that matched her I-don't-need-to-conform-to-the-Korean-norm demeanor. She introduced herself to me as Hwang, which I believe is her surname. She told me that she would teach me about Korean culture and history if I was interested. Was I interested? Heck yes! Her lack of awkwardness about approaching foreigners with a ready invitation reminded me of my friend, Diana. She made me feel at home for a moment.

Hwang walked with me to the bus stop. We exchanged phone numbers, and she said she would call me on September 9th when she had more money on her phone.

"Where was I going?" She wanted to know. I explained that I was a Christian, and I was going to go to a Bible study tonight. I asked her if she was a Christian, which is not such an awkward question in Korea. She said she's not, but she attends church with her grandmother sometimes because she is interested.

"Do you want to study the Bible with me?" I asked. She said she would like that.

Bus 840 came within the first couple of minutes, but I waited for the next one, so we could finish our conversation. What a cool interaction! I can't wait to meet with Hwang, my new fifteen-year-old friend.

There's something really neat about surrendering your journey into the helping hands of total strangers. It's humbling to ask for help in the first place, but being helped in the ways I've been helped by Korean strangers forced me to release my sense of pride that comes from having complete control over my evening fate. After boarding the bus, I soon learned it wouldn't take me all the way to Kyungbook National University Hospital in downtown Daegu, where I was supposed to meet Hyun-Jin. Instead, I went to Sarwol Station and took the subway to the hospital.

The Bible study was worth my trek out there, not necessarily because of the study, but because of the company. I stayed the night with Eli, Thirene and Elyse in their impressive apartment with a great view. On Saturday, I made it home with plenty of time to shower and get ready to teach.

After class, I took a taxi to Hayang, where Jean and I walked around town chatting about the hogwan drama and her plans to move the U.S. For dinner, we ate delicious pizza at an Italian restaurant called "Tomato."

For dessert, I ate a small waffle with green tea gelato at Gelaccino.

Mmmmm! Jean's daughter, Becky, came with us and warmed up to me pretty well by the end. As we walked to the bus stop, Becky reached out to hold my hand. What a precious little girl!

Refiner's Fire

Mischief is in the air in Jilyang through the workings of a newly-discovered adversary. A local woman, who is now an ex-employee and ex-client, and who I thought was my friend, has worked diligently to tear down the business I work for in order to build her own learning center. She spread vicious rumors, actually I don't know how vicious they are, to parents of the hogwan students in an effort to build her own clientele. Word travels fast in a small town like Jilyang.

I thought she was being kind when she wanted to show me around Korea, free of charge, but I now realize she tried to recruit me to work for her when she kept asking me about "overtime hours" and questioning me about my schedule. Almost all of the clinic's employees have been haggled during the past few weeks. Anyway, my number of classes has dwindled, and my number of students has dwindled considerably. My contract offers a sort of job security, but the whole situation is sad. The new competition gives me an additional reason, along with some unexpected extra time, to improve my teaching skills. And quickly.

Tonight, we had a parent-teacher meeting, partially to settle the rumors with Justin's calm and collected presentation of the truth. As parents trickled in, Justin introduced me to so-and-so's mom and such-and-such's mom. (I suppose all the dads had better things to do. "Korean man is king," said one Philipino wife I know.) He asked me to say a little something about what each student is like in class, and I was embarrassed to find I still don't know all of their names. After the meeting, which was all in Korean, Justin asked if they had questions, and I learned about the many ways I need to improve. (I'm not sulking...really...I'm just speaking the truth.) Give more homework. Discipline. (Even if they complain, according to the parents.) Use the online system. I'm working on it.

It's been another rough week in the discipline area. When using sticks made another girl cry, then I decided to switch to carrots. No more tears, I decided. I bought a bag of candy and gave it pretty generously throughout class to those who answered questions correctly or to game-winners at the end. It's so much more fun to give carrots than to swing sticks. Still, discipline is necessary when students have a lack of respect for their teacher. One of the crying girls' parents mentioned to me, through Justin's translation, that they should be more disciplined in class. I was dumbfounded. More discipline? Her daughter is going to wail. Yet even with the carrots, her daughter had her cell phone out in class today after I asked her to put it away.

Like I said, I'm not sulking. There's a purpose behind all of this. God is refining my character and all that. He's helping me develop childcare kinds of skills, which are pretty new for me and will be pretty useful to me if I ever have kids. I'm just walking through the fire right now. The fire of correction. The fire of trial and error. And that fire is showing up at home, too.

Some of my friends from Dongshin church invited me to be part of a woman's Bible study on Friday nights. All of the members are also teachers, so the meeting time is 11 p.m. I would need to stay the night at their apartment, and take the bus home in the morning. When I delivered news about the late night Bible study in KyungSan, Hyunsuk had a fit and called the Bible study leader to ask why in the world we would have a Bible study at 11 p.m. at night. It's amazing how much hostility one can pick up through non-verbals.

Hyun-Jin called me later and said she was very rude and suggested that she is trying to control me. It surprised me. Usually, she's pretty sweet and polite. Everyone has a breaking point, I guess. I don't want her to worry about me that much. My real mom doesn't even worry about me that much. Thanks, Mom!

Today was the first time that I seriously thought about moving out. At the local market, I perused the aisles and thought about what I might buy if I were living in an apartment and cooking for myself. I wondered whether I would maintain some of the Korean traditions like taking your shoes off at the door and hanging clothes up to dry. (Koreans are really way more energy efficient than Americans.) I dreamed about the comfort I might have. I thought also about how I would need to buy a hairdryer and figure out how to translate the Korean on a washing machine.

Then again, I have many sweet moments with this family, and I think I would miss them. For example, I enjoyed learning a few Korean words as I hiked a mountain with my host mom. A couple of nights ago, I taught my host parents "Be careful, little eyes, what you see...," and they taught me the Korean equivalent, "Uri moda dakatchi songbukul." In a few weeks, Jimin, Hyunsuk, Moxanim, and I will all go to an amusement park in Daegu together. I prayed for Chihey a few nights ago when she said one of her high school acquaintances commit suicide. When she said the girl was a Christian but couldn't go to heaven, and I challenged her by asking where that was in the Bible. When she said drinking was a sin, I challenged her the same way, mentioning Jesus' first miracle as a reference. She conceded these points. She didn't know. I think this is a relationship that I want to maintain.

Maybe there is a sacrificial element to all relationships. In order to maintain them, one must give up a little bit of independence or comfort or time.

I see my true but sometimes ugly colors when I respond bitterly toward my host mom in the morning after she rushes me to get ready for the health center. "Bali, bali!" Stop! I want to say. I'll go to the health center when I'm ready. But I don't. I can't say such things. And she wouldn't understand me if I did.

On the other hand, I know she's working very hard to host me, and it's not her fault that our communication is limited. Humbled by her constant servanthood, I try to repay her by doing the dishes and folding the laundry. Also, I honestly wonder if this is a time of refinement for her as well. She is a worrisome mother. Sometimes I think, "You believe in God. Trust him! I'll be ok." I think of Chihey, who is almost 18, and I wonder if He is preparing her for the day she leaves home. Let go!

My life seems jumbled until I write down my thoughts and notice a hopeful theme: Refinement.