Translation: Given Names (Year 3, Day 34)

An explanation: Part of what I am working especially hard on this year is improving my Korean reading ability to prepare for reading (hopefully a little faster) whatever graduate school is going to throw at me next year. I am already taking classes to help this along a little, but I thought it might be good to just throw myself into the pool, so to speak, as well. So, starting this Monday, I am going to try to translate one article from a Korean newspaper every week. Wish me luck!

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A disclaimer: Please understand that this is a very rough translation by a humble student of Korean. While I'm pretty sure it'll be more accurate than any internet translation engine to date, it still may not even be close to the original since I typically have to look up every three words when I try to read the newspaper. (Hanja constructions are killer...) If you can translate Korean yourself, I would appreciate your constructive criticism. Leave your mockery at the door.

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Taken from Donga Ilbo (동아일보) 2009.09.28

오바마-하토야마, 이름 부르기로… 친밀감 과시

“우리 서로 이름을 부르면서 친하게 지내자.”

버락 오바마 미국 대통령(48)과 하토야마 유키오(鳩山由紀夫·62) 일본 총리가 24일 미국 피츠버그에서 열린 만찬에서 앞으로 서로 이름을 부르며 지내기로 약속했다. 오바마 대통령을 ‘버락’으로, 하토야마 총리는 ‘유키오’라고 부르기로 한 것. 한국으로 치면 성을 붙이지 않고 바로 이름만 부르는 셈이다.

격식을 매우 중시하는 정상외교에서 이는 이례적인 일이다. 그만큼 두 정상이 친밀하다는 점을 내외에 과시하기 위한 것으로 보인다. 양국의 퍼스트레이디도 남편들 뜻을 따라 미셸 오바마 여사는 ‘미셸’로, 하토야마 미유키(鳩山幸) 여사는 ‘미유키’로 부르기로 했다고 한다.

하토야마 총리는 국제무대 데뷔전이기도 한 이번 방미에 앞서 “오바마 대통령과 신뢰관계를 쌓는 것이 중요하다”고 말해왔다. 그런 점에서 서로 이름 부르기는 일단 ‘신뢰구축 1단계 목적’으로 달성됐다고 할 수 있다.

하토야마 총리가 이번 방미 기간 중 오바마 대통령과 개인적 얘기를 나눌 시간을 가진 것은 모두 세 차례였다. 23일 뉴욕 정상회담에서는 오바마 대통령이 예정보다 일찍 도착한 하토야마 총리를 대기실까지 찾아와 회의장까지 직접 안내하기도 했다. 이런 오바마 대통령에 대해 일본 대표단에선 ‘소탈한 사람’이라는 칭찬이 이어졌다. 일본 언론에선 상대의 마음을 사로잡는 데에는 오바마 대통령이 한 수 위였다는 평가도 나왔다.

도쿄, 윤종구 특파원

Obama-Hatoyama, by using each other’s given names... display intimate feeling

“Let’s use each other’s given names and become friendly.”

American President Barack Obama (48) and Japanese Prime Minister Yukio Hotoyama (62) on the 24^th in Pittsburg, USA at an open dinner made a promise to use each other’s given names in the future. Calling Pres. Obama by “Barack” and P.M. Hotoyama by “Yukio” intends to hit Korea where they use family names.

Very seriously showing formality is strange in sincere diplomacy. Two diplomats acting intimate with each other displays their inner and outer feeling. The countries’ first ladies also, following husbands’ meaning, said they will use first names, Michelle Obama by “Michelle” and Mrs. Hatoyama Miyuki by Miyuki.

P.M. Hatoyama before his debut on the international stage with this visit to America said, “Building a confident relationship with Pres. Obama is important.” From that, using each other’s first names as the ‘1 Purposed Step in Confidence Building’ was the first achievement that he could attain.

During the period of this trip to America, P.M Hatoyama divided his private allotted speaking time with Pres. Obama in three steps. On the 23^rd at the New York diplomacy conference, Pres. Obama before the meeting found the early arrived P.M Hatoyama in the waiting room and the meeting room in order to give him information directly. Concerning this Pres. Obama, the Japanese delegation praised the “informal person” as a success. In the Japanese speech, Obama, who captured the opposition’s heart in that place, was the first do bring about peace.

Tokyo, Special Correspondent Yun Jong-gu

Teaching, Week 4... or the lack thereof (Year 3, Day 24)

For reference, here's my normal teaching schedule.

• Monday: Low-level Adults Conversation
• Tuesday: Intermediate Adults Free-Talking; Grade 1 (American system 10), Classes 1 and 2
• Wednesday: Intermediate Adults U.S. History
• Thursday: Grade 1 (10), Classes 1 and 2

In all 7 class hours. It's a pretty light schedule, and it's probably the lightest of all the teachers in my program. My friend has often quipped that my school is the program's retirement home, and there's justification for calling it that. As if it weren't light enough, my students are advanced, so agonizing over restricting my vocabulary and grammar patterns, talking like a robot, clarifying every minute detail over and over aren't really issues for me. I have been blessed.

Besides having a fantastic schedule and comprehending students, as an additional bonus, every so often I get a sort of unofficial vacation from teaching, a week or so of class-less bliss. (That's class-less, not classless. I've never been short on class.) This week was one such week.

Don't get me wrong, school is still in session here, but testing and preparing for the new group of students has decimated my class load. Specifically, this week we had Grade 2 and 3 (11 and 12) mid-term examinations and all grades had to take the national university entrance mock examination on Thursday.

On Monday, my Adult Conversation class was canceled apparently. No one showed up at any rate, and I realized that with mid-terms both students and faculty take the afternoons "off". The scare quotes are there because the students study for the next day's subjects and the faculty grade the tests so they can get them back to the students IMMEDIATELY. (The faculty do this for every test at this school, and I admire their dedication. Student scores are usually posted by the end of the period following the previous exam.)

On Tuesday, all of my classes being in the morning, I taught all three of my classes for that day. Grade 1 (10) read through personal ads and played match maker, a lesson I borrowed from Laura K., one of our better educated teachers in the program.

On Wednesday, two of the three teachers that usually participate in the U.S. History topic course had to go on a recruitment trip, so we decided to cancel that course as well.

Thursday was the national mock examination, so no classes then.

And Friday, my only responsibility is to sit at my desk for a bit.

Let me be clear. It's not like these mini-vacations allow me to get out of town. I have responsibilities here still (Korean classes, faculty meetings, etc.). So, what do I do with my free-time then? I write, and I read. Preparing for grad school is no small task.

These schedule interruptions are troublesome, especially when one is trying to develop lessons that build on each other. A few weeks ago, I did a lesson series on environmentalism that incorporated practicing open forum debate and discussion skills. Although it is fairly typical for teachers in our programs to teach single lesson topics, after teaching for two years I prefer these lesson series because it allows the students to acquire and practice new vocabulary instead of just retaining it for the one lesson.

This is difficult to accomplish with interruptions, however, because students will often forget what they've acquired with too much time in between lessons and because, as is the case with testing periods, students have trouble concentrating on their English when they're worried about the math exam they have to take tomorrow. To combat this and to help the students relax a bit, my co-teacher and I have adopted a policy of playing games during the lessons before major exam periods like mid-terms and finals, and I am careful not to schedule major projects so that they are due immediately before examinations.

Next week, for instance, I really only have Tuesday for a constructive English conversation lesson. The week after is mid-term examinations for Grade 1 (10), so Thursday will be a game day. After those Thursday lessons, I won't have class with my students again for another 11 days.

Of course, one might ask, why not just make them study in your classes? You are a teacher after all, and your responsibility is to the kids and their learning. Kids may not like broccoli, but parents make them eat it anyway because it's good for them to grow up healthy. Students may not like learning certain subjects, but we make them do it anyway because it's good for them to have a well-rounded elementary and secondary education.

I appreciate the sage-advice, oh, rhetorical device, but the reality of the situation here is, while I feel my classes are important and helpful for these students, I also realize just how supplementary they are.

Native teachers who first come to Korea often come with the misconception that they will be like their teachers in their home country. They will have control over their classrooms and curricula. They will stretch and enhance their students minds. They will improve their quality of life.

When I first came here, I was loathe to give up any of my classes for the sake of examinations. I decried the system. It was unjust to subject students to the kinds of torture studying for the national examination system entails. It was unhealthy for the students, and it was a poor measurement of aptitude besides. I fought for every class and bargained with teachers to make up classes I would miss because I knew that my class was making a difference in these students' lives and was helping them to see the world in new and better ways!

And while I truly believe that we do make a significant impact on these students, I came to realize that in the Korean education system, for better or for worse, we and our conversation classes are the sideshow. The main event is the examination. For most students, this means acquiring facility with English reading and listening, no more, no less. For most of my students, this means getting a good score on TEPS, largely a vocabulary knowledge examination, so that they can put that on their early admittance applications for top technical universities.

My point is, after a couple of years here, I've realized that we need to strike a balance. Yes, we should teach. Yes, we should educate. Yes, we should do all of these things with intention and diligence to present the best possible window into English speaking culture and to get our students actually communicating in our language rather than just comprehending it.

On the other hand, speaking English like a pro and knowing what Americans do on Thanksgiving Day isn't going to help my kids get into college. I have come to realize that I need to be humble, to step aside and let the students prepare and study and pass their examinations.

And these few hours, these few moments I am given to interact and explore with my students--these are all the more precious for it.

When It Rains... (Year 3, Day 12)

This being my third year, weekend routine is somewhat... routine. This has not always been the case. After all, in just a couple of weeks during the first year, I was lobotomized, walked up a near-vertical cliff face, and spent an entire day being chauffeured around by a friend of a friend, that friend having just met her friend on the bus the night before. Year One was a positive adventure weekend to weekend with my weeks seeming like a relative vacation for all their routine mundaneness, what with their 20-hour work weeks of predictable schedules. (Who am I kidding? Those had their moments of insanity as well.)

Well, as I said, the third year is more routine. I have my clique that I like to spend time with, and I rarely make trips out of Pohang anymore, both because of expense and because I've already seen and experienced so much. Here's a fairly typical weekend for me now:

Friday Night - Play board games, watch movies, talk at my friends' apartment.
Saturday Morning - Go to sleep around 2 A.M. Wake up in time for Ultimate Frisbee at 11 AM.
Saturday Afternoon to Evening - Continue playing games and generalizing socializing at the same apartment. Go to bed much earlier both because I am tired by then and because ...
Sunday Morning - Go to church.
Sunday Afternoon - Relax. This means drinking a pot of coffee, playing basketball with my boys, reading a book on East Asian history (to each his own...), or--but most likely and--playing guitar.

I sleep in the same bed, I eat in the same cafeteria, and I do everything at roughly the same time.

Occasionally though, I get blindsided. That's what happened this weekend.

Initially, I had no plans whatsoever. I did have the intention of seeing a friend in Daejeon, but when I called her, she said that she had plans to help out with an orphanage party in Gumi on Saturday. (Incidentally, the group that helps out at that particular orphanage, KKOOM, is well worth supporting if you're into that kind of thing. I know some of the founders, and the group is strongly affiliated with the organization that brought us out here. Good things are happening people! Check them out!) So, it looked like it was back to the old routine for me.

Then I get a call from the new EPIK (English Program in Korea) teacher at the elementary school adjacent to mine. She tells me that a bunch of the new EPIK teachers are getting together on Saturday and that it'd be cool if I could come as well to show them around. Sure, why not? It's just dinner and some drinks after wards, right?

Then I call up my good friend Jon F. to see if he wants to tag along. No can do. He's going to the orphanage party too, but he invites me along to Daegu on Friday night to meet some other teachers in our program. Well, okay, I say, but only so long as I'm back in Pohang before 11 AM on Saturday.

So we go to Daegu and generally carouse until the wee hours of the morning. With several teachers from the program, four Korean good sports (I got a lot of speaking practice in at least!), and even an old friend from VALPO who ended up out in Daegu last year at Chungdahm Language Institute. (At least seven of these people were going to the orphanage the next day as well. Why wasn't I going?!) The point is, much alcohol was consumed, songs sung, and memories made. The even more important point is that it wasn't totally out of my system by the time I woke up four hours later to catch a bus back to Pohang for Ultimate... (Of course, to wake up you actually need to fall asleep...)

So, a little (read: lot) hung over, I drag myself onto the Ultimate pitch. I forget how many games we played exactly, but it was about two hours of play time. Enough at least to exhaust me to the point where I fell asleep almost immediately upon my return to my apartment, slept through an alarm, and barely woke up in time to meet the new EPIK teachers for dinner.

Dinner was actually quite fun though. I clarified early on that I wouldn't be hanging out with them too late both because of the night before and because I wanted to make church in the morning. But they seem like a good group of people, and at least a couple would like to play Ultimate. (This will help tremendously, as we've been playing a lot of exhausting 3-on-3 games lately...) The night ended (for me) with a trip to the beach to enjoy the lights.

Then Sunday: Woke up early to catch the bus to church. Read a book on the history of Korean politics and took notes on my computer in a Dunkin Donuts. Played basketball with my boys. Sat down to type up this little window on life as an EFL teacher to you all.

And yet, it is not over for me. My ESPN Fantasy Football league commissioner changed the draft date to a very reasonable 2 pm Eastern Standard Time, which happens to correspond with a quite more unreasonable 3 am I-live-in-Korea Time.

All this is to say, when it rains, it pours.

I'm just happy that it still occasionally does pour.

Morning Calm (Year 3, Day 5)

Year 3, Day 5… At least, according to the contract. By my reckoning, it has been twelve days since returning to Korea—the Land of the Morning Calm, as it is sometimes called.

Not that my mornings are calm.

My window faces the East, and so I am greeted by the Sun’s rays every morning. This would be wondrous if I could actually see the Sun peek over the horizon of the East Sea (unless you are feeling contrary, in which case it is the Sea of Japan) from atop my hill, but instead a sea of skyscrapers delays the Sun’s appearance, allowing it to get fully dressed for the day as if he were a performer getting into position behind the curtains. If you got lost the simile, the skyscrapers are curtains. But regardless, I get to see the Sun in all his glory without that pesky making-up and costuming business. His glory is bright and intrusive.

The school provided me with curtains. They are white like snow and allow me to view the Sun’s intrusiveness through their fibers as through a glass darkly. That is, very brightly.

In addition to my automatic lighting system, I am greeted each daily by matutinal thunder. It is my students daily, ritualistic obligation to wake me in this way. Loose lines form on the dirt yard, the students’ eyes bleary, but alert for the coming litany. The combination physical educator and dormitory supervisor descends from on high and nods to his chief officiant, the student body president. A call to attention, a call to at ease, a call to attention again, a bow to the educating supervisor to show respect for authority, a bow to the flag to show respect for blood shed, a bow to North and South and West and all directions in between (except East) to show respect for one’s own family (because few here would unabashedly admit to coming from an island nation of dwarves and monkeys), and then it begins. Its lyrics are eight words—hana, dul, set, net, tass, yass, ilgob, yadolb—with claps—hana, dul, set, net—and arm motions accompanying—tass, yass, ilgob, yadolb. Their bodies stretch lazily, their blood flows more quickly, their minds sharpen considerably, and then the run begins. There is a light padding of feet as athletic shoes—and sometimes slippers for those who were late getting up—hit the dirt, one footfall indistinguishable from the next eighty-nine. And then, the thunder, as they come around to the newly paved basketball court—a blessing because trying to stop and go on dirt is a sin, and a curse because as their feet hit the green painted concrete, they begin to run in unison. The monsoon season has long ago passed Korea by, thank the Heavens, but every morning in my initial haze I wake to think that it is raining despite the brightness of the light streaming through my window. Their feet pound to the rhythm of hana, hana, hana, hana. I am fully awake.

I can’t help but smile because they are the reason I came back. Every morning at 6:30 am, they remind me that they are still here, minds eager and ready for that 50 minutes of nonsense that is my English class.

My internal clock runs biologically now, like the cavemen of old. I manage without mechanical arms that tick and tock. I disregard displays on digital devices. When a student asks if I am a morning person or an evening person, I laugh. I am an afternoon person. I am most fully alive in the Sun’s glory. His Morning Noise. They have made me so.