The Tree of Life. Allen Zaruba. Watercolor. November 2013.

Allen Zaruba (exhibiting as Alzaruba) Allen Zaruba is a senior Fulbright interdisciplinary visual artist who taught at Sung Kyun Kwan University (03-04), researched early Korean sculpture and its impact on Japan, lectured extensively and took part in several international art events. This is the ninth in a series of watercolors, which began in Korea. Inspired by the colors of Gyeongbokgung Palace, the ship shapes represent conceptual thresholds or windows shifting through alternate moments and states of time in the universe. In the center is a small circle showing the Tree of Life from Revelations 22:2. The small boat offers us crossing into His glory.

Books Festival. Sarah Chen. Naju.

INFUSION
VOLUME 7, ISSUE 1

THE FULBRIGHT KOREA

CONTENTS
LETTER . 02 . JAI OK SHIM FOREWORD . 04 . KATELYN HEMMEKE WHERE DO I BEGIN? . 06 . HELEN LI THE BALLADEERS OF JUNGMA . 09 . JOSH WOOD & STUDENTS 08.18.13 . 13 . ANDREW CHENG ANCESTORS, FAMILY AND THE MEANING OF CHUSEOK . 16 . HOLLEE MCGINNIS THE GARDENER . 23 . PRESTON NANNEY THE KOREA QUESTION . 28 . COURTNEY MCLACHLAN . 34 . KRISTEN BIALIK WE HAVE LOVE AND THE GOD OUTSIDE . 41 . KALEY CURTIS

PUBLISHING ADVISER

STAFF
Jai Ok Shim Katelyn Hemmeke Kristen Bialik Jennifer Law Ashley Park Meredith Howard Andrew Cheng Neal Singleton Rachel Lim Teresa Baik Phung Nguyen Mimi Cagaitan Sarah Chen Connor Dearing Hector Ramos Flores Clara Kang John Karayannopoulos Josephine Reece Jon Rice Christina Socci Sophia Zhang Beopjusa Morning. Neal Singleton. Beopjusa, Songnisan.

EDITOR-IN-CHIEF MANAGING EDITORS DESIGN EDITOR ASSISTANT DESIGN EDITOR PHOTO EDITORS WEB MANAGER MONITORS STAFF EDITORS

COVER PHOTO

The Fulbright Korea Infusion E-MAIL FULBRIGHT WEB FACEBOOK INSTAGRAM fulbright.infusion@gmail.com http://www.fulbright.or.kr /fulbrightkoreainfusion fulbrightkoreainfusion

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

Seoul Back Alley. Helen Li. Seoul.

Seoul Back Alley. Helen Li. Seoul.

01

LETTER FROM THE

Dear Readers, It is my distinct honor to present Volume 7, Issue 1 of The Fulbright Korea Infusion. For the first time in the history of the magazine, we are publishing separate winter and spring issues. We hope this winter issue demonstrates the impressive work our grantees have already accomplished, and that the spring issue will reveal even further growth. I would like to extend my thanks to all the grantees and alumni who have contributed to this issue of Infusion, for it could not have happened without their tireless effort. Since its inception seven years ago, Infusion has grown exponentially in its content and reach. Every year, the magazine builds upon its former success in presenting a glimpse into the Fulbright Korea experience. As a compilation of photographs, essays, poems and more, Infusion represents the tremendous diversity of experiences, perspectives and lives that comprise the Fulbright Korea community.

EXECUTIVE DIRECTOR
With a community of over 5,000 active grantees and alumni, Fulbright Korea has reached the furthest corners of the country in education, scholarship and cultural exchanges. Since our earliest days, Fulbright Korea has sought to improve cross-cultural connections through a diverse array of educational programs. Every grantee has left his or her mark on this country and commission. The accomplishments of those grantees are reflected within Infusion, a representation of the character of our Fulbright community. Sincerely,

Jai Ok Shim Executive Director Korean-American Educational Commission

Gyeongbokgung Palace Guard. Helen Li. Seoul.

03

FOREWORD
As Fulbright grantees, we take on the formidable challenge of leaving behind home, family and friends to live in a foreign country for one year (or two or three!). Whether its your first time in Korea, your first time ever abroad, or one trip in a string of many, its a daunting task to dive into a life that is new and unknown. But when does the strange, the foreign, the unknown cross the line and become something familiar? And what does it take for that shift to occur? It is this contrast between the familiar and the unfamiliar that threads through this issue of The Fulbright Korea Infusion. (un)familiar.

Katelyn Hemmeke, Editor-in-Chief

For the first time, Infusion is releasing two issues within one

grant year: a winter issue and a spring issue. We are so pleased to expand this outlet for Fulbright Korea grantees English Teaching Assistants and Junior Researchers, past and present to further share their diverse experiences and talents. And perhaps it is fitting that the theme for our very first winter issue is the exploration of the

Beokpjusa Stacking Stones. Helen Li. Beopjusa, Songnisan.

Even in a foreign country where grantees are scattered nationwide and no two experiences are alike, there are some things that strike a familiar chord with us all. ETAs can recognize the vivacious quirks and personalities of Helen Lis beloved students. The warmth of a mothers home-cooked food and handmade scarf, so lovingly described by Josh Woods student Seung Hui Yang, resonates with anyone living away from home. The immense familial love that drives Hollee McGinniss piece is echoed in the ties between grantees and their own families thousands of miles away, as well as in the bonds they forge with their host families and new communities in Korea. But familiarity is not always easy or comforting, nor is unfamiliarity always difficult or upsetting. Twists of tragedy, new languages and cultures, even something as simple as a new blanket of fresh snow 1. The Korean SAT 2. An iconic K-pop star can render a place or person familiar or not into something completely different. Sometimes this shift creates discord or sorrow; sometimes it is a delight, causing us to crave more. Our writers and artists in this issue of Infusion explore the emotions and complexities that arise within such experiences of the new and known. My students often ask me whether or not I know something: Teacher, do you know kimchi? Suneung?1 G-Dragon?2 As you take in the written and visual work within these pages, ask yourself: What is familiar to you? What do you know, and what do you want to know? Please enjoy Volume 7, Issue 1 of Infusion.

05

WHERE DO I BEGIN?
A few months ago, he asked you if you were happy. With that smile on his face, there was no space for you to say No. Im in a race against the backspace button. Im afraid one day Ill win and compose that shameless message to your name. They say acceptance of your problem is the first step to recovery. But thats for waiting room trifold brochures and posters in clean, bright doctors offices. The first step is actually wanting a recovery because sometimes the dark, shifting hole youve dug for yourself is the only place you can see the whole of your history. Stretched out from the moment you met to the last time you sat side by side. Fragile to the point that saying the word Recovery means opening your eyes and watching that timeline vanish. So you lingered in your dark, shifting hole, replaying old tapes and projecting them onto the backs of your eyelids. Then something changed for you. You moved to a place where surviving meant pretending that you could survive, and somewhere in the middle of pretending you realized that you could survive. Slowly, you opened your eyes and found a world where his silhouette didnt need to be in your pedirection of your gaze so you looked only forward.

Helen Li

riphery. You stopped turning to chase brown and blue in the corners of your eyes. You found students who followed the

You were so thankful. For Geon Yeongs shy smiles and Do Kyeongs boisterous grins. For the diversity of insa1, Su Bins 2, Hyo Seons Hello Teacher, Tae Ohs BROTHER. For Shin Hongs shoe kleptomania and Seung Chans outrageous lies. For Jeong Hyeon the Mouth Fighter and Ji Won the General. For Yeon Seobs infinite face contortions and the creases on the edges of Yoon Uis eyes. For Jong Woos quiet humor and Jeong Woos confused expressions. For break time so your boys could yell and pretend-fight in the hallways and your girls could buy snacks and share them with you throughout the day. Somewhere in between First and Finals Week, between teaching your impossible 2-43 boys and your wild 2-2 girls, you found happiness. You found it in the little balls of awkwardness and enthusiasm that soon became your prescription for keeping the walk-ups from turning into mountains and the fall-downs from turning into cliffs. Repeated in the cinema on the backs of your eyelids were images of won-

1. Greetings, traditionally in the form of a bow 2. Literally sounded out, Ar- reo-byu (I love you) 3. The moniker for a homeroom class. The first number represents the grade; the second is the class number. 2-4 is a class of second grade high school students (the equivalent of U.S. high school juniors).

derful chaos in 2-9 and sweet cooperation in 2-1. Every laugh, every giggle, every stumbling conversation became a soundtrack that echoed in your head from first to last period, bouncing off the walls in a mind that had been cleared of self-doubt and filled with a renewed sense of self-assurance. You can be kind for them. You can be brave for them. You can be happy for them. Yesterday, Hwa Jeong asked if you were happy in Korea. You couldnt give her a convincing answer, so you decided to write a reflection defining happiness. Happiness is not wondering, Am I happy? Happiness is not being able to fathom an answer to the question, Are you happy? You never thought it was up for debate. Happiness is every second you spend trying to put more stars in their eyes, windows that show you an achingly beautiful horizon with every remembered name and promises of a Game. Happiness is Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday. Happiness is walking home and hearing farewells shouted from the third floor. Happiness is ending class early for an impromptu snowball war. Happiness is losing 4 and buying the winner a 700 won drink from the

vending machine. Happiness is notebook doodles and chalkboard art. Happiness is 867 brilliantly frustrating, sweet and courageous individuals that make every day worth the start. Youre not afraid anymore of writing to him. If he asks you if youre happy, youll say, Where do I begin?

Helen Li is a 2013-2014 ETA at Changpyeong High School in Changpyeong, Jeollanam-do.

4. Rock-paper-scissors

07

Untitled. Judy Her. Seocheon.

THE BALLADEERS OF JUNGMA

Josh Wood & Students
The following three poems were submitted by individual students for their final speaking exam at Jungma High School in Gwangyang, Jeollanam-do. Josh Wood is the ETA at Jungma High.

Hero
Insecure to intend something That had never been imagined, Faithless to face something That had never been fought for, She was that sort of silent sheep.

One day, Unintentionally, inevitably, And irrecoverably, She saw the salvation in her solitude.

She resisted to retrieve the right, Eliminating her limits, Struggling to set a fire Revealing her rebelliousness.

At length, she won a war with herself. Now, She is worth a warm welcome Waiting for her.

Seung Hoo Song

09

My Winter
The sun sets so early. Cold air touches my face. Winter is around the corner, And everyone is bustling around preparing for winter.

My winter is colder than that of others. I have no one to hold my hands, I have no one to hug me, I have no one to warm my cold cheeks.

My winter is warmer than that of others. With the handmade food, The hand warmer worth five hundred won and, The scarf my mom made for me.

The sun sets so early. Cold air touches my face. Winter is around the corner, And everyone is bustling around preparing for winter.

Seung Hui Yang

The Tree
When I walked on the street Saw many fallen leaves Yellow, orange, brown and charcoal... Seemed as if they were whispering in my ear

Do not mash me! Do not stamp me down! Do not hurt me anymore! I am sad enough As I was abandoned from this tree

Looked like just what I was I was already mashed out I was already stamped down I was already hurt by this world

Nevertheless, look at me now! I am still alive Getting older, getting taller, getting wiser Than last year oh!

Want to whisper in the ear of the leaves You are not abandoned Because of you Because you were here This tree will be here forever Like I will be in this world forever

Cha Lui Park

11

Surviving. Thomas Owens. Donghae.

08.18.13
Dear Tony,

Andrew Cheng

I decided to take a walk tonight and, since I now live quite close, my feet led me toward the school. Your school. Our school. When the dormitory came into view from behind the new apartment buildings, I realized, to my shock, that it was the first time that I had been back since July 12th, the day you died. The day I was supposed to go home with happy goodbyes and see-you-in-Augusts but instead left in hurried confusion and sadness. The day you were supposed to go home but never did. The buildings looked exactly the same as they always have: grand, silent, with brightly-lit windows. It being Sunday evening, most students had already returned to their dormitory rooms and were probably preparing for the start of classes tomorrow. I thought about what I would say and do when I arrived on campus in the morning, one silent month of summer vacation behind me. Ought I to speak openly of the tragedy and let the school community know that I still cared? Ought I to ask my students personally if they were coping healthily? I wondered if I should talk about you at all, even mention your name. I could waltz into class with the same familiar smile and vigor and begin to teach as if nothing had happened. As if real life had no bearing on the classroom environment. Its been difficult to come to grips with your death, Tony. I havent told a single person about you. If I did, I would say first that you were an exceptional student. That you were almost relentlessly positive, and that the only times you werent happy were when you were lost in thought and concentrating very hard on how to formulate a sentence in English properly enough to make your point understood. You volunteered to speak up in class every single week and did so purely from self-motivation, because you were actually paying attention to the discussion and wanted to give your earnest input, even if it wasnt a popular opinion. Sometimes, you stayed after class to clean the whiteboards without being asked. It gave you an opportunity to chat with me as I packed up, not even because you wanted more English practice but because you simply wanted to chat with me. Tony, you deserved your Class MVP

award, and although it was just a piece of paper, it meant so much more than that, at least to me. I actually wish I could impart even more meaning to it now, to shower you with verbal praise, to do anything in my power to affirm your intrinsic value as a human being. But its too late. Do you remember our last conversation? It was over lunch earlier that week. The subject of the Korean education system came up yet again and I went on my usual rant about how stressful and unfair it was for a students entire potential to be governed by a few arbitrary exams. You agreed and added that schools were not doing their students any good. Prophetically, you became a victim of the system just a few days later. No one even realized the pressure you were under, and for that I am so, so sorry. Tony, Im going to miss you in my classes this semester. I still dont know what I will do when I have to face your peers, or how it will feel. Whatever happens, we must all move on, right? But for me, moving on will not entail forgetting. For you, Im going to strive to be the best teacher I can be. For you, Im not going to let a minute go to waste on anyone else. I will let my students talk to me as much as they want, whenever they want, and encourage them always to speak their minds. When they do occasionally say something brilliant, it will remind me of you. I hope that you are resting in well-deserved and long-awaited peace.

Always, Andrew

Andrew Cheng is a 2012-2014 high school ETA in Changwon, Gyeongsangnam-do.

13

Seoraksan Cairn. Neal Singleton. Baekdamsa, Seoraksan.

A Walk in the Park. Neal Singleton. Cheonan.

15

ANCESTORS, FAMILY AND THE MEANING OF CHUSEOK

Hollee McGinnis
I have a family three families in fact. I have my American family by adoption, my husband and son, and my Korean biological family with whom I reunited in 1996. Yet being in Korea during Chuseok for the first time filled my heart with sadness. Chuseok is the traditional Korean harvest festival, a time of thanksgiving, spending time with family and honoring ones ancestors. However, my Korean family did not invite me to celebrate this holiday with them. Despite all the family in my life, I felt like the orphan I once had been. My dissertation, supported by Fulbright and the Korean Foundation, explores the experiences of adolescents in adoptive families and orphanages in Korea and the stigma associated with not being raised by blood kin. I had thought celebrating Chuseok with my birth family would give me insight into Korean blood kinship. Instead I experienced the keen pain of knowing you have blood family, but are rejected or worse, ignored by them. I tried to console myself, thinking maybe if I stayed until next Chuseok, maybe I would be invited and would perform the intimate family ritual of charye with my Korean blood family. Maybe I would
1

15 years old, but who died before I reunited with the family again. Like the Koreans I read about, I wanted to go to my grandfathers burial ground, clear it and bow deeply and thank him. For what? For remembering me. For trying to find me. For loving me as part of the family. Despite the fact that I was sent away for adoption, he never forgot me. He searched for me. Although I will never know, I feel he may have longed for me as much as my child heart longed for him. I also wanted to honor my dad, my adoptive father, who died suddenly five years ago, six months after the birth of my son. For what? For his unwavering love and labor that transformed me from an orphan in a foreign country to his daughter. For always honoring my roots and encouraging me to follow my heart and pursue my dreams. I had always imagined he would come with me to Korea one day, but that day was taken away when he died. The notion of honoring ones ancestors deepened when I visited Bukchon Hanok Village in Seoul, one of the few areas where traditional Korean houses still stand in the city. The woman working there explained the design of the traditional Korean house, or hanok: how one room was warm in the winter and another cool in the summer. She said with pride and humility, I think our ancestors were very smart. And I appreciated two things. First, that she said our, as in me, my husband (who was also adopted from Korea) and our biological son. In that simple word, she acknowledged that we too are Korean

be included as part of their family. Maybe then I would feel a part of a family that I had lost when I was 3. I especially wanted to perform charye for my haraboji, my biological paternal grandfather, who had searched for me when I was

1. Charye is a memorial service that Korean families traditionally perform at Chuseok and the Lunar New Year. Koreans honor their ancestors by performing bows, offering food, fruits and wine, and visiting tombs to trim the grass.

and these are our ancestors. Second, her words made me realize that honoring our ancestors is also about celebrating all who had lived and created Korean culture and society. They are our ancestors too. Their presence still endures in Koreas traditional architecture, dress and food. And by the simple fact of being of Korean descent, we are also a part of this lineage. So honoring our ancestors is as much about honoring our direct blood descendants as it is about revering those who built Korean culture. Despite this insight, I could not shake my sadness. Instead of being with my Korean family, I traveled with my son to a party organized by a group of overseas adoptees residing in Seoul. Was it any consolation? In my 20s I started an organization for adult overseas adoptees in New York City, Also-Known-As, Inc., and found a sense of belonging and connection to the adoptee community. But on this Chuseok these connections felt empty because they were not my kin. As I got off the bus holding my sons hand, I was distracted by a stream of people heading into Jogyesa Buddhist Temple in Insadong, an area known for its traditional Korean goods. I was curious. I looked up at the temple gates and saw beautiful floating paper lanterns painted with delicate images of gold, red and pink fish swimming among lotus blossoms. Beyond them were larger lanterns shaped like flowers that were tagged with Korean inscriptions written on gold and red paper. The beautiful white floating paper fish,

suspended on an aqua ribbon of cloth between the earth and the sky, beckoned me. I followed the people and floating fish into the crowded temple grounds. There was a queue of people waiting to buy drinks, and a stand where tteok2 was being handed out. There were people sitting at shaded tables chatting and drinking. Above the crowd, a school of paper fish swirled in crescent arcs, swimming to a single point: a large lotus-shaped lantern near the main temple doors. Smaller goldcolored fish dangled from the lanterns and flashed in the warm late September sun. As I watched the people milling about the grounds and going into the temple, I felt their energy and I realized they were all gathered on these grounds for Chuseok. My body tingled with excitement as I realized I could honor my haraboji and my dad, even without my Korean family, just as these people had gathered on these temple grounds to do. I took my sons hand, walked up the stairs into the main temple hall and found a spot to put down two cushions. I performed deep kowtow bows, a tradition of Korean Buddhism, my son following along with me. My body felt light and natural, swinging to the rhythm of the bows. The monk then began the Buddhist chants with the klok klok klok of the hollow wooden drum. Not knowing the words to chant,

2. Sweet rice cake

17

We are all a part of this human family, each swimming like the beautiful paper fish in the ethereal air between heaven and earth, flowing in the stream of life, from which we all arise and will return.

I sat with closed eyes and let the sounds of the drum and voices wash over me. In my inner darkness, the klok klok klok of the drum merged with my heart. As the pain of never getting to see my haraboji or dad again pressed my heart, a tear ran down my cheek. The tear was followed by another and then another. And as each tear emerged, the sadness in my heart slowly lifted, until I was left with an overwhelming feeling of love throughout my being. I felt my ancestors had gently pushed me this way, to stumble into the temple at the right time to be with other Koreans who were there to pay homage to their deceased loved ones. I honored you today, dad and haraboji. And I felt your incredible love. After the ceremony, we went into the gift shop on the temple grounds. I wanted to buy a token to remember this Chuseok day. My son picked out a bracelet of heart-shaped pale pink quartz stones, saying, Buy this bracelet because this is how much I love you. At first I did not want it because I am not a fan of heart-shaped jewelry, but then I realized it was the perfect bracelet for the moment because it reflected the tremendous love I had felt in the temple. It was as if my son knew what I was looking for. After I purchased it, my son pointed to each stone and said happily, This is love from me, Mommy, Daddy, Nana, Grandpa, Poppy, Nene, Uncle Phil, Aunt Karen, Uncle Tim I smiled and said to my son, There is so much love! And indeed there was. On this little heart bracelet were all the

hearts all the love from the members of my family: by blood, heredity and choice.

We are all a part of this human family, each swimming like the beautiful paper fish in the ethereal air between heaven and earth, flowing in the stream of life from which we all arise and will return. Those beautiful swimming fish are our ancestors, spirits and guides. They too swim beneath the surface of the waves of eternity. They glint and gleam in the sunlight showing us the way. We will follow you soon. But not today. My heart and mind float up to you longingly. My mind can only grasp you in the form it knows, your beautiful faces lost to me now. But soon we will all be together again, swimming in the oceans of heaven.

Hollee McGinnis, MSW, is a PhD candidate and 2013-2014 Junior Researcher affiliated with the Graduate School of Social Welfare at Hallym University.

Patience. Andrew Cheng. Changwon.

19

Gyeongbokgung Garden. Helen Li. Seoul.

21

Jido Smile. Neal Singleton. Jido.

THE GARDENER
Preston Nanney
A garden is rolling down the street Plastic bags blossoming from soiled cardboard Vines of tape and rope incubating In a seedbed of Styrofoam nuts The afterbirth of a world she reared, This gardener behind her pushcart

Like a wind-battered tree she leans Over her disjointed legs and Into the rusty tumbrel, the whinnying wheels of which Drown the click of her steps, Hide the tick of the seconds and the minutes marked By this timekeeper behind her pushcart

Her overgrowth of refuse groans to our bus stop As the timetable tolls for the 705 Its all zippers and snaps and straps and Commuters bracing, standing raptly at the curb A specious ovation for The old lady and her pushcart

23

With a shriek of axles and brake pads The bus lurches to a stop behind her It howls in righteous disdain For her stoppage in the right lane To say there is no room in the margin For this planter and her pushcart

She does not hasten She does not look back But somnambulates ahead and Turns instead to look at me Among the vesper glow of handheld screens Under a Plexiglas canopy

Me, herald of the west and young Sowing an unknown language on her ground She, sunk-eyed watcher, leather-handed grower With her tree bark face and harrow gait The forgotten forebear of this new world This gardener behind her pushcart

Preston Nanney is a 2013-2014 ETA at Jeonmin Co-ed Middle School in Daejeon.

Autumn at Communal Vision. Judy Her. Seocheon.

25

Working Man. Neal Singleton. Mullae.

27

T H E KO R E A Q U E S T I O N
Courtney McLachlan
Why Korea? A simple, innocuous question that has plagued me for seven years. If you have a simple answer to this question, I applaud you. No, really, I do. Because here I am, going on my seventh year of the inevitable question and I still dont have a perfect answer. I still cant quite put into words why it had to be Korean that I took my freshman year of college, why I insisted on continuing it, even though it meant transferring schools. Theres no simple way to make people understand all that is Korea. My challenge stems from the hierarchy that has formed in the American perception of East Asia. Theres China. If you study Chinese, most people will assume youre going into business or the Foreign Service. You might get a few why China?s here and there, but without too much perplexity. These days China, Chinese, makes sense. And then theres Japan, a country that has been the bane of my Korean Studies existence. Realistically, neither Korean nor Japanese quite make sense to study in the way that Chinese does. China is business and politics and opportunity. But neither Japanese nor Korean magically become golden tickets to riches in your future, or even to steady employment. They both garner a puzzled why? from anyone and everyone to whom you ever confess your major. Choosing either of them will require explanations for the rest of your life. But there is one key way in which they differ. Japanese culture made it big in the U.S. in the 90s; many people know anime, manga, Sega, Playstation, Nintendo, karate, sushi, ramen, Sony, Toyota - this list can go on. Why Japan? is usually asked with assumptions in mind, a list of easily digestible reasons the answerer can pull from. By contrast, there is very little collective, mainstream perception of Korea. Korean isnt in. Freshman year, my Korean class (only one section) had ten students. Beginner Japanese had four sections and fifty students. There was kind of an us-versus-them mentality, an air among the Japanese students that the Korean kids had chosen the wrong language. , , 1... Suddenly, raucous applause and cheering ripped through our Korean classroom. My professor jumped, as did the rest of us, cutting our repetition off into gasps or yelps of surprise. The source of the cheering was Japanese 103 in their room across the hall. We sat awkwardly waiting as our professor stomped over to beg for some silence. After class, as we all streamed into the hall, I asked my Japanese class friend what all the ruckus was about. Oh, we were just watching Princess Mononoke you know, by Miyazaki. Another student butted into our conversation: Hes one of the

1. Basic Korean conjugations of the verb to do

most famous directors in the animation world. Sorry if we were too loud; our class is just so exciting! You really should have taken it with me. My friend regarded me with some mixture of pity and amusement as she spoke. I couldnt help but roll my eyes. During club week, among the rows of student organizations there were an anime club, a manga club, a para-para club and a Kendo club. The Japanese class students, all fifty of them, swarmed the tables and soon the sign-ups were filled. Circling the auditorium twice left me with only one Korean option: the Korean-American Students Association with six members. Since I am quite obviously not Korean, I passed on joining. By second semester, every time the class across the hall erupted into yelling, cheering and/or applause, I imagined my class kicking down their door and breaking into some sort of battle (epic Yakuza vs. Busan Kkangpae style). It never happened, but that odd inferior2

I actually applied to go to Japan, since it seems to be much cooler. One of my fellow American delegates was talking to me about going to Korea for the first time. But that conference is so popular that I got wait-listed. Luckily the deadline for Korea hadnt yet passed, so I just re-purposed my app and got in. A chorus of me too!s erupted from seven of the other participants. The conversation dissolved into a discussion of other ways to go to Japan after our conference ended - despite the fact that it had hardly even begun. This trend is larger than my 25-delegate conference. It has resulted in a special type of visitor (short-term or long-term) to Korea. They begin many sentences with in Japan. They end others with would never happen in Japan. As an ETA, I continued to hear almost daily comparisons of Korea and Japan, complaints about areas where Korea differed. Why does all of Korea smell? I never had this problem in Japan. Korean ramen is seriously weird, where can I find real ramen? Hashtag Japan does it better! I thought that this was only my complex, that I was simply too sensitive about it. Until I learned from my students that I was far from alone in this sentiment. Despite the fact that they knew I spoke Korean, many of them would still ask if I could speak Japanese, which always gave me

ity complex stuck with me. My complex was only made worse by a certain phenomenon among Westerners in Korea. Many Westerners aim for Japan and if they dont make it they choose Korea as though the two countries are somehow interchangeable. I noticed this the first time I visited Korea, as part of a conference that had a Japanese sister conference.

2. Japanese and Korean mafias, respectively

29


after class. head around.

Korea isnt the wrong choice. Theres a reason Korean actors and directors are breaking into Hollywood, Michelle Obama is making kimchi, and Google is now hosting Korean pop concerts in the States.

pause until one of my students, Seok In, enlightened me as to why. 3, why is it that foreigners who come to Korea always speak Japanese and never Korean? He sprung the question on me one day

was Japan that colonized Korea for forty years and sought to rewrite Korean history on its own terms. It was Japan that left Korea in 1945 tasked with redefining Korea and Koreanness. It is no wonder that today Korean nationalism burns as intensely as it does. Korea has spent years climbing out of the shadows to carve its own culture into the Wests imagined landscape of East Asia. Ninjas have no place there; neither does kung fu, nor communism for that matter. And yet, even as Koreans try to splash their unique qualities (Dynamic Korea!4) across the globe, Westerners continue to flock to Korea and ask for Japan. They leave disappointed by how boisterous Koreans are (the Japanese are so orderly), how spicy the food is (Japanese food is so much healthier), how nationalistic Koreans are (Japan doesnt need to brag about itself). And Koreans notice. Even my rural-area students somehow know that many foreigners see Korea in terms of Japan. They feel the same inferiority that I myself struggle with but for them, its personal. Despite leaving Korea, I still have to listen to Korea-Japan comparisons at least once a week. Dude, Korea is hella boring! A week into my new job, a group of my co-workers had just returned from an Asia trip. I perked up, despite my newbie status. No it isnt? I replied, wondering if this was some sort of running joke. My co-worker rolled his eyes.

What do you mean? I asked, genuinely stumped since I had never heard of this generalization from a Korean. Well, most times if you ask a foreigner if they speak Korean they say, No, but I can speak Japanese! And I always wonder why they come to Korea if they like Japan a lot. Its embarrassing; why would they study Japanese but come to Korea? Well, they probably want to experience Korea too, was my lame excuse for a phenomenon that even I couldnt quite wrap my

Well, were impressed with you, . When we mention Korean history, you know what were talking about; we feel comfortable with you. Youre the first foreigner Ive met who cares about Korea. You must be unique in America. Unique? Why? Because everyone else studies Japan. The shame hit me hard; I was still stunned when Seok In ran off to his next class. This isnt just a passing curiosity for him. He, along with the rest of Korea, has had years of history classes to remind him that the darkest period in Korean history was courtesy of Japan. It

3. A familiar term for teacher

4. A Korean tourism slogan

Hell yeah it is, they dont have arcades or gambling or anything worth buying. They dont even have toys; Korean kids just study. Tell me one thing that Korea makes that I actually want to own? I spent 200,000 yen in Japan. In Korea, I spent like nothing. He had spent all his money on arcade games, collectibles, DVDs and books things that Japan is well-known for. The guys he had traveled with nodded their heads in agreement, eyes on me. Why does anyone even go to Korea? Whats it good for? You see, I actually knowingly applied to work in an office of Japanophiles at a streaming-media company that provides almost exclusively Japanese content: anime, manga, Japanese dramas. The timing worked out just right that they decided to branch out into Korean media and needed a Korean brand manager at the exact same time that I was desperately job-hunting for anything, never expecting to find a job that would actually allow me to use any of my Korea-related knowledge. I am now the Korean brand manager and one-woman Korean media team. I have to prod the people around me (who mainly focus on Japan) to help me when they have time. This also means that in a company of 60 people, I am the only person who focuses solely on Korea. As I meet more and more people from the other side of the office, I have to explain and defend my interest in Korea nearly daily a

side effect of both the company environment and the fact that Im white and in charge of the Korean brand. But my answer to the why Korea? question has gradually improved. My responses are no longer wavering and self-deprecating. Korea isnt the wrong choice. Theres a reason Korean actors and directors are breaking into Hollywood, Michelle Obama is making kimchi, and Google is now hosting Korean pop concerts in the States. Korea rose out of the Korean War and grew into an economic and cultural powerhouse, spreading influence throughout Asia and the world. Why Korea? Its only a matter of time before Korea answers that question on its own.

Courtney McLachlan was a 2012-2013 ETA at Naju High School in Naju, Jeollanam-do. She is now the Korean brand manager at Crunchyroll.

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The school of my dreams A light on a dark river Floats gently away Andrew Cheng. Jinju.

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E V E RY T H I N G I SAW WA S N E W TO M E

Kristen Bialik
1
I saw it with my own eyes The hunched backs and bowed legs of ajummas, backs that carry entire families. The 108 prostrations of a congregation in repentance, stationary steps on the long path to truth. The grey hairs of 17-year-old boys who smile with nostalgia at thoughts of the good old days.

2
to be blind in one eye One eye to the immediate One eye to the West Home rests always in the peripheries Clouding nows rounded corners

3
to be dizzy / / / // Right / Left East / West Moving forward / Looking back To be strange // To be familiar

: Constantly calculating the time difference between my past and their future Feeling disoriented and yet feeling wonderfully at home

Note: (pronounced noon) means both snow and eyes in Korean.

4
with ones eyes shut / I am afraid of the eyes of the people Eyes that stare Eyes like laser beams Eyelashes that bat in whispers Pupils pointing out the obvious: / Foreigner

5
with ones eyes open To lower ones gaze is to lose ones sight Where tongues fail, eyes connect Shared gazes in a shared humanity

Look! Raise your eyes to meet the stares

Smile. Say hello in local tongue

6
dazzling, glaring, blinding Glaring: My otherness Dazzling: The warmth with which Ive been welcomed, in light of blinding otherness

7
snowflakes that come riding on the wind Each new fact, new Korean word, new custom I learn is a snowflake A small crystallization, distinct in form refracting light in a flurry of culture It is a particle of water, singular in form but of the same water that spans its ancient history It melts on my tongue I cannot hold its shape Can only wait for it to snow again

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8
The snow is staying Words crystallizing on a frozen tongue Sticking as the ground beneath my feet feels harder, more stable / snow-covered Language and culture falling blanketing, like a dazzling mound of snow

9
// the first snowfall // love at first sight It was warm November when I looked up the road to Halla mountain And in the distance saw the first snow-capped peaks Snow with origins in the sea to my back And I laughed in delight / in the twinkling of an eye falling in love with this place all over again

10
to be awakened To know Ill never fully understand To know I understand more than when I first arrived That, in truth, Ive never understood more about the illusion of difference, that our eyes have seen the same things: Visions of pride and pain Visions of heartache and love Visions of people lost in a blinding blink of snow

Kristen Bialik is a 2012-2014 ETA at Seogwipo High School in Seogwipo, Jeju-do.

Persimmon Season. Judy Her. Jeongeup.

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Beach. Sarah Chen. Sinan-gun.

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Little Buddha. Katelyn Hemmeke. Haeinsa Temple, Hapcheon-gun.

WE HAVE LOVE AND THE GOD OUTSIDE

I live in the small moments. I do not remember the details of my first date or that trip to China my family took sometime in high school. But I can tell you about the exact moment when I was 6 years old crossing the L.A. River on Pacific Street and my sister said her first word (uh-oh) as she heard sirens in the distance. I remember sitting under a crooked tree in Providence, opening my Fulbright acceptance packet with a friend. The comfortable familiarity of having sat together exactly like this countless times before, suddenly interrupted by the realization that my college days of midnight walking and ninja gardening were coming to a close. Why do people leave after theyve found providence, when theyve woven scraps of family into a blanket to fold around them on cold nights? I came home to L.A. before leaving for Korea. I went to my dads softball game for the first time and saw seals and dolphins at Zuma Beach with my mom too-fast summer memories like fragmentary glimpses between speeding trains. I remember reading after everyone was asleep and banging my shins on the furniture in the dark. Thinking this is what I get for having twin lives on two coasts, and finding one answer to that nagging question what is home? A place you can navigate in the dark. Korea began sticky and sweaty at a marble university tucked in green mountains and rice fields. Orientation like summer camp: dorm rooms, after-school clubs, excursions out of town. And then one day camp was over and it was time to start new lives with homes and families, and this was also Korea. The first night I asked my host

Kaley Curtis
parents what I should call them. Unsure, they looked at each other and laughed until my host dad finally suggested, King and queen? So I put them in my phone as and and called them that for months. And so my first semester passed in a blur of resolving awkwardness with humor, figuring out what to call people, when to bow, how to stumble through Korean, how to teach, how to deal with crying and bleeding and yelling children, how to be a sister and daughter and teacher. Small moments teased from the tumble and tangle of home and family in Korea: My host siblings asking permission to pull blonde hairs from my head, running around the house yelling We found gold! Were rich! The kindergartener who does a full insa2 to each lunch lady reaching to pat my head and say Merry Christmas. A conversation with a first grader: Does Spiderman really live in America? Yes. Really? For real? Yes. Having the same conversation the next two days. Taking a break from New Years cooking to lie under warm blankets with my host mom and aunts, gossiping about husbands, food, beauty. Thinking I could learn to love these women, love this life. I dont know what you call a place you never expected to call home, where none of your oatmeal banana chocolate chip pancake friends can follow you. Leaving home for a country town where time moves slowly along the riverbank on the way home from school, pausing for a flower, ice fractaling across a puddle, leaving the naming country.

1. From the poem The Diverse Causes by Michael Ondaatje 2. Greetings, traditionally in the form of a bow

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Why do people leave after theyve found providence, when theyve woven scraps of family into a blanket to fold around them on cold nights?

Ive written so many letters to friends, trying to explain my life here. Dear friend, let me prepare a feast for you. To your right is the soup, usually ocean-derived and salty, reminding me of the California coast and family I am missing back home. In front is the rice, precisely measured by my Korean mother based on how hungry I am that day. She makes the most delicious rice in Korea, a careful blend of sticky rice, dry rice and red beans. Before you are the side dishes: radish and cabbage kimchi, dried fish in caramelized peanuts, sesamedipped beans, boiled radish leaves, whole poached fish lovingly prepared by our grandmother. We nibble bits and pieces throughout the meal and I have come to love:

This bird-like way of eating, kimchi stew, country life, this Korean family who loves me, the host mother who carries happiness like sunshine

my American family stupidly steep Providence hills musical pirates, friends sipping late-night Dark and Stormies on unsound porches

All these twin truths, love spilling from so many countries. These are the pieces I have of them here tonight, little moments tied to my wrist with string, pieces of home bobbing across continents.

Kaley Curtis is a 2012-2014 ETA at Cheonan Yong-So Elementary School in Cheonan, Chuncheongnam-do.

Headed for Hongseong. Neal Singleton. Cheonan.

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