Lost

I wish life were like it is in The Alchemist, where an old king blesses you and tells you to follow the omens, and then they appear.

But it isn’t like that, is it?

Too often, I have found myself in this life searching, questioning, praying, begging, asking, with silence as the only response.

And today I am lost in a foreign country, and I am asking myself once again what I’m doing out where. What am I doing with my life? I had an amazing job offer in the U.S. that I passed up for this dream, this dream of living abroad that is turned out to be nothing but cracks.

I mean sure,

it’s been amazing on the weekends. I’ve met some of the most wonderful people, people whom I would have sought out in the States and people whom I wouldn’t have.

And sure,

it’s definitely boosted my confidence–I am more sure in my ability to get myself home in nearly every situation even if there are language barriers–something that is not to be taken lightly,

but every Monday to Friday I deal with the fact that I made the mistake of trusting a company that was supposed to be trustworthy,

only instead of being trustworthy they stuck me in a job situation where my contract is completely ignored,

and their only advice is deal with it.

And I probably could, except on top of that I have no mentorship, no guidance, only the comfort of being completely ignored–on a good day.

It’s crushing.

What am I doing with my life?

Can I really exist in this environment, where nobody is on my side, for a year?

Am I spoiled? Is this my entitlement showing, that I need someone to be on my side in order to thrive and be happy? 

Should I really be able to make my peace with my contract being ignored and having no one on my side and just live that way for a year?

I can’t decide whether it’s better to quit and not waste my precious moments on this earth in a position that is miserable–

or stick it out and experience whatever growth is on the other side of this barbed-wire rainbow.

If this were The Alchemist, I’d have two stones, and I could reach in my pocket and pull one out and one would be yes and one would be no.

If this were The Alchemist, a man would come up a hill exhausted and I’d get the idea to sell tea from crystal glasses,

then a memory of an old king’s encouragement would tell me to stay on the path to my personal legend–

my dream.

But it’s not The Alchemist, and while I do know my dream (it’s to write) I feel so incredibly lost and insignificant that I’m paralyzed.

I feel more often than not that when I pray it’s only to look inside, because that’s the only place I’ve ever found any real answers,

and then sometimes I feel afraid to pray because in some situations there are no answers–there’s only dealing with it.

There are no answers about why I’m here. Why did I get stuck in this awful situation while everyone else I know is enjoying their schools and have only minor hiccups to deal with.

There are no answers about the other things going on, things I can’t blog about because they don’t only involve me.

Why am I here?

Why did I want to come here so bad?

Or do I really just need to shut a part of myself off Monday-Friday and tell myself that it’s only a year and it has no bearing on my real life anyway?

Because I’ve always been really bad at that,

and in a perfect world I’d love to be an amazing teacher.

love at first

she walked slowly, for once. because in Korea anything done slowly was a luxury. the river reflected her mood and elected to recant its incessant babbling that afternoon for a slower, more gentle trickle.

it was a windy spring day, sunny after raining all morning and the moisture and the sun made it too warm for her leather jacket, but the wind made it too cool not to be wearing a scarf.

her mind wandered back to saturday night, back to him, the man she had met and connected with. it was monday afternoon and so she she was stuck in that exquisite place of excitement at meeting someone possibly wonderful, yet anxiety at the fact that he hadn’t followed up with her yet.

she thought of him even as she tried to concentrate on the sounds surrounding her: the stream; her footsteps on the soft path. The sounds of cars and trucks whizzing by on the road above.

It almost worked, except that her mind wandered back to him and how she felt like she could love.

It was too soon to think love, but abroad the rules were different. And anyway, if she could know in an instant, if she could assess someone and immediately know that he was someone she could never love, someone who would never hold her interest, then why couldn’t she know after spending hours with one man that he possessed the credentials and the humor and the energy and the wit–and that between them there was the chemistry–of someone that she could?

Maybe he would not be her First Man,

the one into whose soul she would see. She wanted to learn how to love without feeling the need to possess–a goal that was certainly a long way off from her current nature. And yet she knew enough to want it, and wanting it would lead to pursuing it, which would lead to one day experiencing a love without ultimatums; without restraints.

She pictured his face; heard his voice telling her that there was just something about her, felt herself sleeping soundly beside him.

“I want to love you without possessing you. I want you to love me without possessing me. I want to soar together in freedom,” she said out loud.

It had been an entire Sunday and Monday and she still hadn’t heard from him, and she thought about love and “too soon” and possession. It was true, she did tend to get carried away in these things.

She sighed and continued to walk. Her apartment building was there in the distance.

Maybe my first lesson in learning to love without possession is you, she thought to the man whose name she didn’t even know. Maybe that was to be our only encounter. Maybe I am to love you, but let you go.

And then she thought about the small moments, and how they had the power to permanently change a woman’s life.

To Boston, to Afghanistan, with Love

A little project we did in my English Club

 

http://blackgirlabroad.wordpress.com/2013/04/17/to-boston-to-afghanistan-with-love/

Traveler’s Thoughts

“Wake up,” a small voice whispered to her from inside.

She was on a bus from Seoul, Macklemore in her ears, ministering to and prodding her as she thought about her life. Her eyes were closed, but she was hardly asleep, as it had been one of those weekends where you’re forced to spend too much time with yourself and so you’re half-resting, half-thinking but mostly just trying to block it all out.

Eyes shut, head nodded, breath slow, she tried to slip into sleep or to lose herself into the lyrics of her latest obsession.

That was the thing about her, and it was one of the many things she had tried to leave behind when she moved across the world: she dove headfirst into anything. Even a rapper–if it was raw, if it was real, if it touched her, really touched her,

then she was obsessed with it.

It was part of what made her feel alive,
but lately she was less into feeling alive and more into saving face, which she guessed was a great thing since she’d moved to Asia.

But when she got to Korea, she found that the rumors were just lies–that the Koreans she’d met were just as direct and honest and real, or else as infuriatingly indirect and into covering their own asses, as any people from the U.S. she’d ever met, and so she spent a decent amount of time thinking in passing about how marvelous/disappointing a thing it is to be on the other side of the world and yet feel like your life is exactly the same, almost.

That was when she allowed herself to think at all,
because she mostly just allowed herself to be pulled along, mute and complicit as she tried to make her pace in life fit what seemed to be everyone else’s.

Mostly, she just wanted to be different.
This time, she wanted it to be different from before.

She had understood when her new friend had remarked in passing that most of the types who settled overseas were running from something; she recognized that quality in herself, although she didn’t admit it at the time because she mostly wanted to live and breathe only surface things, and avoid emotional honesty if at all possible.

And perhaps unsurprisingly in fulfilling that mission something inside of her had fallen asleep, and she found herself for the first time in her life with no direction, no motivation, and no real goals for the future. The thought that had started with “enjoy your achievement” had taken root and sprouted as “you have arrived–the hard part’s over,” and she found that her mind, her passion, her creativity, and her heart, exhausted from years of exertion, had collectively decided to take a nap.

And none of this might have even mattered if it hadn’t been for the hours she’d spent on her couch by herself–something that always showed her immediately what was inside. When she was at peace, it was her favorite pastime, nothing but her, Netflix and her Kindle. When she wasn’t at peace, she would watch coming-of-age movies about life and love and wonder why it was never her, and then she would remember all the times she’d got it wrong, and those things collectively would start to break down her fences.

And so she sank into the luxury seat on the bus trip back from Seoul and she listened to Macklemore because it was the first thing in a while that made her really feel, and she closed her eyes to fall asleep, but something inside her told her it was time to wake up.

And she wasn’t quite sure what that meant, but she pictured herself with a cello and knew that was the first step; for 10 years her cello had been her extension of herself and she had carted it with her everywhere, even if she almost never played it. Its presence reminded her constantly of a part of her that she would always seek to cultivate, but when she left for Korea she had locked it in storage,
a metaphor of she ever knew one, looking back.

And so she decided that it starts with a cello and it would probably end in the place she was always running from, because it seemed her greatest obsessions, heartaches and losses shared a core with her creativity, her vision, her own unique movement and flow through life, and apparently it was time to go back to that place again.

Noticing

It has slowly occurred to me over the past couple of weeks how  careful  I have been this past year. I have set boundaries for myself that are really designed to make sure that I’m always presenting myself in “the best” light (one that I have deemed appropriate of a 26-year-old).

My coteacher told me the other day that I think too much about what other people think of me. This was because we hadn’t been getting along and I told her I was concerned that this would make the vice principal dislike me (and therefore all Americans and blacks, my mind continued). 

My coteacher told me that we were at a busy high school and people had better things to do than worry about me (my coteacher is very direct).

In a way, I guess this is what going abroad is for. It’s to remove you from everything that was familiar and place you square in front of your one true common denominator: you. You are your common denominator, and there’s no arguing that in a place where nothing is the same as it was before. If I’m having similar types of problems (or achievements!) then they stem from me and facts is facts.

But back to being careful.

Last year I had some experiences that just made me feel like I was making an ass of myself entirely too much to be 25 years old, and so I began to set a lot of boundaries for myself so that I wouldn’t do that.

And without commenting on whether or not that’s “good” or “bad,” I will say that it has helped me to achieve my goal of not making an ass of myself.

But it has also contributed to me developing a trepidation toward “loosening up,” really loosening up. Because even when I’m hanging out and having fun, I’m still very much trying to maintain a level of control so that things don’t get out of hand.

Is this just regular ol’ growing up?

Last weekend I went to Seoul, and I wanted to spend only Friday night there. I wanted to come home Saturday night and do my regular ol bullshit of staying up until 5 am watching TV on the internet and laying around and whatnot.

Well, things ended up playing out in such a manner that I stayed in Seoul (with my friends) on Saturday night too, and at first I was inexplicably sad. And then I thought to myself “what’s the harm in staying another night, really? Yeah you’ll spend money you didn’t mean to and you’ll be tired…..but so what? Loosen up.” And that was the first time I realized how tense I’ve been for the past year (I had a great night btw).

I’ve started drinking again, and last night I was at a wine bar and I was drunk. As my friend C put it, “I can tell you’re drunk because you haven’t reapplied your lipstick” (I had just bought some $40 Chanel red lipstick, heaven help me). And I insisted I wasn’t drunk as a drunk person must.

And then this guy in our friend group turns to me and say something like “You just noticed me.” And I was confused, but not confused. I knew what he meant, but it was surprising to hear it said out loud.

And I feigned noncomprehension and insisted that I’d been talking with, of and to him the entire night, but I still knew what he meant, which is hard to articulate, but it’s the difference between looking and seeing I guess. 

And he said “well maybe you’re just more discreet when you’re sober,” and it hit me. Yet another area where I’ve been so tense, so afraid to take a risk, so afraid of getting rejected or making an ass of myself. I’m so afraid to get caught even noticing a guy, for this crippling fear of rejection and humiliation and of course making an ass of myself.

What is the balance? How do I open up and show the true me without fear of people’s (or my own) judgement, yet also conduct myself with the decorum that suggests that I’m 26, not 19?

Or am I already doing that and just thinking too much?

 

Do you eat chicken?

Well, 

today was the big day. First day teaching. True to form, I stayed up until around midnight last night putting the perfecting touches on everything: edublog, video greeting for edublog, ppt, teaching philosophy, class policies, writing diagnostic, and desperate fb messages to all of my teacher friends/mentors for advice about icebreakers, etc.

In the end, I decided to go with the classic “3 Truths and one Lie” game for the first day. I don’t quite know my reasoning. At first I was going to do a writing diagnostic…but I don’t know. English class is supposed to be fun, and even though we will be writing (and I will be doing a diagnostic)….I just wanted the first day to be fun. 

So anyway, I went with the 3 truths and one lie thing,

and it was hilarious. I learned 3 things about my students: 1) they are hilarious. 2) they are not shy 3) they are surprisingly up on American Pop Songs (as exhibited by the LMFAO reference that, coincidentally, made me LMFAO). 

I am glad to know these three things about my students, because it will definitely influence my approach throughout the year, although I don’t think my co-teacher appreciated it because after those classes she became a lot more hands-on, telling me what I need to plan for them for tomorrow and Monday.

Oh well. I’ve had 26 years to come to terms with the fact that not everyone gets my humor.

Speaking of 26 years….

isn’t it awkward when someone guesses your age…and get it exactly right? Is that only me? It’s like damn, I really look my age?

I have been long-since warned about the Korean tendency to ask you seemingly personal questions as a way to get to know you (are you married, how old are you, etc.), but today was the first day anyone actually took a personal interest in me I guess. This teacher guy at my school asked me whether I was married (to which I replied no….mi-hon–single). Then he said some stuff in Korean, the Korean teachers giggled, and my co-teacher translated:

“He’s trying to guess your age.”

To which I replied brightly, “Oh, 26.”

She translated, and everyone had a good laugh. “That’s what he guessed,” she translated. “26 or 27.”

…da fuq?! Now you can look at me and see I’m in my late 20s? Oh,

not cool man.

Ouch.

Ouch.

Old though I may appear, I definitely felt like a freshman in high school today. I had the typical first-day-of-school round of mishaps: brand new pimples, missing the bus, tripping up the stairs, and even finding a hole in my tights. So the universe kind of got the inverse of what I want, which is to look like a high-schooler but conduct myself like a grown-ass woman, not the other way around.

And finally, to sum of my first day teaching, I leave you with this:

As a part of wrapping up my second class of the day, I asked students if they hand any questions for me.

Amid the shaking of the heads, one girl raises her hand.

I smile and tell her to ask away.

She smiles.

“Do you eat chicken?” she asks.

The class laughs. Again, I’m like….da fuq?

In my mind, I’m trying not to go there–there being stereotype threat, of course: Oh. Why you gotta ask the black girl do she like chicken? I’m trying to tell myself this is a whole ‘nother part of the world. Maybe she wants to know if Americans like chicken. Or maybe she just wants to know if Ms. Bri, the individual standing in front of her, likes chicken.

I’m thinking this while the class is laughing, so I put on my best smile and I reply, “Do you like chicken? Since I’ve been in Korea I’ve noticed a lot of chicken restaurants. So yes, I like chicken, but I think everyone does, don’t you?”

Meanwhile, my co-teacher asks her, “Do you ask every teacher that?” to which the girl replies “yes.” So I go, “oh, you’re taking a survey about which teachers like chicken or something?” to which the girl replies no.

Liar. It was just something she asked me. I’ve got my eye on you, you little so-and-so.

 

 

Second day

Hey everyone. I’ve been posting on my other blog (A broad abroad), but I figured I’d copy and paste this one: 

“Well,

It looks like I updated too soon. It is a bit different here, but in good ways. Definitely no complaints. The rest of the first day was cool–we had lunch, bbq for dinner with all of the teachers (and all of the new teachers), and we went to norebang (karaoke). I also think I connected with my co-teacher a bit more, which is good. I was nervous about that–at orientation, they really stress the #1 key to success here is having a good relationship with your co-teacher.

No pressure.

So it turns out that yesterday, I ate snail (in the school lunch, so this is apparently normal) and raw cow’s liver. You know what that taught me? Don’t ask “what is this?” I know I don’t have any dietary restrictions–there’s no need in asking questions to which I probably don’t want the answers. As long as it doesn’t give me a tummy ache,

down the hatch it goes.

At bbq, I faced the moment I was most dreading: the one where they offered me soju. I quit drinking in October, but I recently modified “quit” to “a little” mainly just to fit in. I don’t even want to drink anymore–it feels gross inside my body, but it’s just one of those things that makes you stand out in that “why doesn’t she drink?” way, not in that “oh she’s so cool and fashionable and witty” way. So I was prepared to drink a little soju just to fit in,

but,

I had told my co-teacher before that I didn’t really want to drink before dinner. And this is just because…I am already nervous. There is already a lot going on that I can’t control or monitor, and so I want to be at my absolute sharpest (whatever that means in a place where I don’t know my address or telephone number or how to say/understand nearly anything). Even though I know that when I’m with my school I’m in a safe place and I’ll get home fine, still, I just didn’t want alcohol to dull anything, or make me suddenly burst into tears.

This is a real concern for me.

But anyway,

so my co-teacher stepped in and told the teachers that I would drink water only every time someone wanted to toast, which in Korean is something like 술 뭈 마사ㅛ (sul moot ma sai yo), or “I don’t drink alcohol). For the most part, people rolled with it–even the principal let me toast water, but this ooooonnnnnneeeeee guy was like “Why?! Why?!” Me: “religion…christian.” Him: “Not even a little???” Me: “water? yes, water.” Him: leaving in disgust.

And then I noticed that the teachers at my school weren’t drinking to get drunk anyway. Here is a slight, yet major, difference I’ve noticed in Korean/U.S. society. In the U.S., we finish our food and we finish our drinks. “waste not want not.” And especially among the..erm…partygoers…leaving an alcoholic drink unfinished is called “alcohol abuse.” You pour it, you finish it.

But in Korea, it’s not really like that. I think you finish your food here, but your drinks…finishing your drinks means you’re asking for more drink. I think it’s the same with cleaning your plate. The way to say you’re finished is by leaving a bit in your glass. This basically amounts to “I’ve lost interest in this drink,” I think. So I noticed the Korean teachers taking shots at first, but then very small sips. Or even taking a sip and dumping the rest into a cup or bowl. There was no pressure to drink everything, just the expectation of being congenial about the toasts.

I kind of wish I had known this beforehand–maybe I would have handled the drinking thing differently. But oh well. I like to do what everyone else is doing because I like to participate, and this includes drinking. I don’t want to be the only one not drinking for an entire year because it makes me feel left out. But maybe it’s time to get over that anyway. I still had a great night, and I still went to norebang (karaoke) and sang and jumped and banged the tambourine and had a really great time. And there really seemed to be no love lost, overall.

Tomorrow I teach for real.”