Breakfast and the ATM

(currently listening to a conversation about teachers)
I walked to base to have breakfast. I still haven’t found a Korean place that serves eggs. I’m not interested in kimchee for breakfast. I stopped at the base bank to withdraw some cash. As I was leaving the ATM, a woman stopped me and gesticulated toward the machine. She motioned to me that she wanted help to withdraw $500.00 from her checking account. She demonstrated this by “writing” the amount on the machine edge. I helped and entered the amount. By this time, I realized that she not only didn’t speak English, she was also deaf. We finished that transaction, and she needed help with another card. She wrote on the machine that she needed $400.00 from another card, this time savings. She was very kind and thankful for my assistance.

I thought about how hard it would be to be in an environment with a language that you do not speak as well as being deaf. It put perspective into being an outsider.

My musing ended when I started to think that I could have been helping her in some illegal activity. Security police won’t be interested in my thoughts on being an outsider.

Living Without Living

(currently listening to The Minus 5)
I just returned from seeing “Collateral.” Even if you haven’t seen it, you probably know the premise: Tom Cruise plays a hit man who forces Jamie Foxx to drive him around the city. The main story is mediocre, typical bad huy-good good chases and gunshots. However, there is another story working that I enjoyed far more. Jamie Foxx’s Max is paralyzed with not doing what he wants, and he convinced himself that the past twelve years of driving taxis is a temporary job. Vincent chides him for not doing that which he really wants. While Max criticizes Vincent for senseless killing, Vincent makes a case for existentialism in that nothing really matters. Killing a man in an apartment is no different than 10,000 Rwandans dying in one day. Nobody notices. They both criticize the other for not really living: Vincent in his morally corrupt occupation, Max in his dead-end one.

I could continue, but this is not a movie review. I felt a connection to this message of living without living. I have been inwardly complaining about some aspects of my current situation here in Korea. As the sign states on the subway in the concluding scene in the movie, “Life is too short.”

Seventeen Years Ago

Seventeen years ago today, I left home to join the Air Force. I have forgotten so many of the details on that trip, but what I do remember is that I felt a bit like an adult. I had a suitcase and a plane ticket, both very grown-up items.

I usually remember this date. This year is different. I left seventeen years ago when I was seventeen. I have lived outside of Rhode Island as long as I lived in it. A turning point. Equal. Halved. It’s like the glass that caused debate on its fullness or emptiness.

The Outsider

Today is another day of questioning this decision. I am an outsider here is many ways, and it is uncomfortable. Being an outsider among Koreans is the easy, expected one. I think I can deal with being an American how doesn’t speak Korean; I’ve played a similar role when I lived in Germany. Being an outsider in the local economy is nothing new. Sure it’s uncomfortable, but in a fun way. Far worse than that is how I feel as an outsider with the other teachers at the high school. Ever since I have arrived, I felt passed over by others as if I had blood on my door. I am not receiving the same treatment I think the others are getting from the established teachers. I can’t explain it, but it appears that I am being ignored. I felt a similar feeling when I arrived at Clackamas, but that is so much different. Here, I need people to help me, rather than simply making friends. With the exception of a few people, the staff doesn’t seem interested in getting to know me. I’m not looking for a sleepover invitation for Christmas morn, just a few kind words. The principal knows little about me (she talked about the school’s strengths the entire time) and hasn’t tried. I was in her office on Monday to have a chat, but she talked about how great Osan High School is.

If one more person tells me that Osan’s students are the best, and how I’ll never have an experience like this again, and whatever other cult-sounding phrases I have heard more times than I’ve seen trash in the streets, I’m going to scream.

The Church Visit

I visited the local American church, Mission Baptist Church with unfavorable results. It was the standard blend-it-all-together-so-that-a-message-is-difficult-to-see type of place. I walked to the church and sat in the back. The pastor beelined his way to me with a heavy southern drawl in tow and let me know that he “was so happy that I could visit today.” The associate pastor (I immediately knew that he was the associate pastor because his drawl was inferior to the first guy) followed up to greet the poor wanderer who came in from the wilderness. A Korean couple sat next to meet, but we carefully avoid eye and physical contact.

Here’s the measure of a church, plain and simple. This is the yardstick in which everything else is measured: how does a church welcome visitors. If the pastor stands up and gives a warm, toothy greeting to people who made it in for the first time, then that is a church I’m eager to continue learning about. If the pastor in any way makes me stand up in front of 100 other people to say my name, then I will not go back. In this simple test lies the heart and soul of sound doctrine. I think you already know which church this is.

During the pleading to stand and introduce yourself to a crowd of people who will not even attempt a stab at memorizing your name, I sat silent. But, they had these damned name tags. I didn’t have one so that labeled me. My bare chest was my Star of David awaiting persecution. The Korean lady turned to me and said, “Is this your first time?” I nodded, then she said, “You can stand up and introduce yourself.” I said, “No thank you,” as if she offered me another helping of chimsee. “Go ahead,” she urged. I replied, “I don’t want to.” She then broke all kinds of social ettiqutte when she waved to the back at the pastor while tapping me on the back with her other hand. She was flagging down the head pastor as if it the Gospel Ship was leaving station and she was in the snack bar. I turned to her and in my mean-yet-quiet voice said, “Please stop that.” She followed my command and faced forward looking for other visitors.

We shook hands during the greeting part of the service (that was after eviscerated choruses and before the sermon on “Great Leaders are Humble Servants”), but continued avoiding each other. After the final greeting was pronounced, I turned left out of the pew and headed for the exit door. She called out to me, “See you next Sunday.” I cursed with my smile.

Seat 14J to Seoul, Korea

I’m in seat 14J in Business Class behind a set of rambunctious twins around five. Why are they up here? They belong in Economy torturing those saps back there. Perhaps a more fitting question is why am I up here? Not in Business Class in front of the behind-the-curtain seats(mileage upgrade), but why am I am a plane going to Korea, a country of which I know nothing? I’m leaving a group of friends that I greatly enjoy, a city that has become my home over the past 13 years, a teaching position that I felt I was really growing into, not to mention leaving my wife behind for three months. Kristie and I talk about how these last couple of years have been our happiest days; we are contented by our current life, not grumbling about needed a change from work, the weather, or people. So I’ll ask once again, why am I sitting in 14J next to Alfred the German software company vice president filling out custom forms watching the brats throw the United Comfort Pack around in their overstuffed chairs?

I don’t know.

At times, I’m a hypocrite. I like to think that I one of those adventurous types, wanting to travel and see and experience. That’s what I tell my Rhode Island people back there. I left Rhode Island when I was 17 to join the Air Force. I never thought that I was an adventurous before that, I just wanted to do something cool. As I told many times since, that plane trip to San Antonio, Texas, began an altered course for my life. It was a trajectory that took me far away from the ordinary. Let me go back to my blatant hypocrisy: I am pretty ordinary. I like being a home with Kristie and I shy away from major disruptions in my routine. As Kristie or other close friends can attest, I become out-of-sorts during major moves, decisions, or even projects around the house. I’m afraid of all the aspects that can go wrong. Even as I type, I fear the problems in getting a house in Korea, Kristie not being able to rent out our own house, Aslan being able to get enough exercise, etc.

I think the reason I like the unknown future is because I’m uncertain and afraid of it. It’s a titillating feeling that could be psychopathically deviant if it were applied to other areas of life. The uncertainty is alluring to me. The fact that I don’t know anything about the country in which I’m going to live for two years, or whether I’ll enjoy the new school, or if I’ll make some good friends makes this one of those trajectory points. I’m not sure what my opinion of Korea will be in two years, but I’m quite certain that the path of our lives will be altered some. A slight angle at the point of trajectory will, of course, grow into a larger angle as the line lengthens. If this were Math class, a diagram would help.

The brats are watching Garfield: The Movie. I even dislike their movie choice. Enough of that. The flight attendant brought a dish of warm nuts and a glass of Merlot, the humble offerings of a new trajectory.