Forgiving Yourself
By Pel Doski, ETA 2018–19 There are times we unfortunately give up on a once shiny goal. Sometimes it stems from a dramatic breaking point, but other times it has origins in learned helplessness. It was the latter that led me to leaving my Japanese studies in the backroom of one of the many homes I moved out of. In other words, I nearly abandoned my studies. I was afraid I would be completely illiterate no matter how long I studied, so I learned 한글, the Korean alphabet, quickly and moved forward with studying Korean instead. Mailé at a Shinto shrine in 銀座 (Ginza). This winter break, with one of my closest friends, Mailé, I found myself in Japan for 10 days. I booked tickets last minute and packed haphazardly, not fully aware of exactly what I was getting myself into. I was afraid that I would be an alien in a place I once cared so deeply about. I was also afraid that I would be frustrated at myself for forgetting all of the language I once knew years ago. Mailé and I, the day before we left for Japan, eating ramen in a Studio Ghibli themed restaurant in Daegu. Mailé and I on a subway, in transit to the temple. With their kind guidance and patience, Mailé and I traveled through Tokyo. At first I was disappointed in myself. I used a friend as a complete crutch for the first few days and, although I was enjoying the sights, I felt like a completely oblivious tourist. In order to wind down from the excitement of Tokyo, we took a long, yet scenic train ride to 護国寺 (Gotoku-ji). All I really knew at that point was that we were going to a famous Buddhist temple known for cat statues. I had heard the famous “beckoning cat” (maneko or 招き猫) may have originated from a story taking place at this particular temple. Cat charms on display at the Gotoku temple in Tokyo. We wove through neighborhoods and alleys by foot until we arrived at a large yet sparse temple surrounded by winter torn trees. Once we arrived we both picked up on a difference in the wintry air. There were hundreds of frozen cat statues waiting for us—each possessing an identical stare. The statues, in conjunction with the slow and calm chanting from the monks, gave an eerie yet serene vibe to the place, but despite this, I never felt uneasy. I felt at peace. There are times in our lives when eerie feelings make us feel apprehensive and want to flee a scene; however, I felt a sense of nostalgia and serenity at this temple. These are 絵馬 (ema) displayed at a Buddhist temple known as the birthplace of the 招き猫 (the beckoning cat). In those moments I was able to strip myself of all of the extra lingering feelings that kept souring my mood. With a newfound ability to reflect inward, I forgot about the lingering disappointment in myself for not continuing Japanese studies, and instead forgave myself. I remembered that I met this amazing friend and came to this introspective place. Me at 明治神宮 (Meiji Jingu) a Shinto shrine in Shibuya. Mailé and I observed Buddhist style prayer and we compared it to what we learned when we went to 해동 용궁사 (Haedong Yonggungsa) in Busan. Buddhism at its core is the same across nations and languages, but between South Korea and Japan there are slightly different methods of praying. In Korea, people give a monetary offering before kneeling and prostrate before raising their forearms and standing up again. They repeated this three times for each Buddha present (usually there are three Buddhas). In Japan, people remained standing after offering money. They bowed their heads and rang a bell before praying, clapping, and then bowing. It was very similar to what we observed at Shinto shrines (places of worship for members of the more popular Japanese religion Shintoism). After quickly catching onto the pattern and giving our own offerings, we prayed for the New Year, our grant year, and the distant years to come. I was then ready to jump back into our Japanese travels, with a clearer mind and a less burdened conscience. Finally, after all these years, I will return to my Japanese studies.
From the Editor
Melissa Kukowski, “Goldfish Market,” Hong Kong Dear Readers, Six months have passed since the latest group of grantees arrived in Korea. Regardless of if it was our first time in Korea or if Korea was like a second home, we knew there would be challenges; we would need to learn a lot. We could not have predicted, however, just how much we would learn about our own identity and that of those in this country. Situated in a foreign environment, we are challenged to view ourselves through a new lens. How fitting it is then that this issue of Infusion is filled with works that reflect our changing perspectives and what we may learn from them. Pel Doski begins our issue with a poem aptly titled “Erudite,” embracing the new knowledge we may gain through this issue and our own time in Korea. We then learn how a new tradition can positively influence our understanding of grief through Carlee Wright’s “Unseen Spirits.” Isabel Moua teaches us about acceptance in an unexpected situation, as her host brother proves to us the universality of love and wonder. We continue with wonderment in a different sense as Jess McKay takes us into the mind of a school bus as it shares the pride it has for its job. Nathan Sieminski follows with a piece about overcoming the forced silence imposed by language barriers in order to create new connections. Next, Kyle Wardwell writes of a bizarre 경험 (kyeongheom)—an experience of thought and intrigue that sparks mid-transit. Finally, Mailé Nguyễn writes a powerful piece on bravery and embracing who we are. We end the issue with an Open Window feature where Korean students share views of their world through art, poetry, and prose. Before I end, some thanks are in order. Thank you to the KAEC Executive Director Jai Ok Shim and Executive Assistant Heidi Little for their endless support and help. This issue would also not have been possible without the 22 amazing individuals that comprise the Infusion staff. Their constant efforts have created an issue of which to be immensely proud. I must also thank our contributors—thank you for sharing your story with us and letting us learn from you. Lastly, I thank you. Whoever you may be, I hope this issue offers you a new outlook as it has for the staff and our authors. Please enjoy Infusion, Volume 12, Issue 1. Lauren Lin Editor in Chief
From the Executive Director
Dear Readers, It is an honor to once again present to you the latest edition of Fulbright Korea’s Infusion literary magazine. As in publications past, the stories, photos, and artwork presented in Volume 12, Issue 1 paint a picture of the Korean peninsula as experienced through the eyes, hearts, and minds of the many accomplished Fulbright grantees and alumni who make up the Fulbright Korea community. It is with pride and gratitude that I consider the over 5,000 active grantees and alumni that have grown to create this community over the course of Fulbright Korea’s nearly 70-year history. Flipping through the pages of Infusion, I am reminded of countless stories from across the years as I see reflected on each page both the newness of today and the accumulated experience of the past. Since the publication of its first volume in 2008, Infusion has served as a space of sharing and reflection on the Fulbright experience in Korea and the countless, diverse ways in which this experience has been felt. Although each grantee’s Fulbright experience is unique, underlying these varied experiences is a common commitment: a commitment to promoting international cooperation, mutual understanding, and compassion through academic and cultural exchange. These values, so vital to the Fulbright program since its inception, have been manifested through the efforts and contributions of so many Fulbright grantees worldwide. As you enjoy reading through this issue of Infusion, I invite you to take a moment to ponder not only the visual and written work presented within, but also the greater goals, challenges, and accomplishments these pieces represent. With that in mind, I would like to conclude by expressing my heartfelt thanks to the authors, artists, and photographers whose talented work is highlighted in the current issue as well as to the Infusion staff who strove diligently and enthusiastically to create yet another successful edition. From the culmination of their efforts, I hope you will find both enjoyment and fresh insight as you are cordially welcomed into their lives through this issue of Infusion. Warmest Regards, Jai Ok Shim Executive Director Korean-American Educational Commission