Homerun Homestay
Uiseong, South Korea- September 2015 My host dad told me early about his love of baseball, and demonstrated it one night as he inhaled dinner and bounded back to the television to watch Korea beat the United States. The first week into my homestay, he also told me that his nephew had recently signed a contract with one of Korea’s professional teams, the LG Twins. Prior to joining this team, he had also played for the national team, and before that, Yonsei University. I’ve never cared much for baseball, my heart lies on the volleyball court and in the hammer-throwing circle, but even so I could tell that my host dad’s nephew had a pretty impressive resume. So, as the Chuseok holiday approached, I couldn’t help but wonder if I would be able to meet the all-star. ——— “Oy!” I turned from watching my host dad chase down a missed baseball behind me to see his nephew waiting to send the next one my way. He had not learned my name yet. In fact, he really had not said much at all to me since we met the day before. I thought maybe he was just shy and intimidated by English. Or was it that a big time athlete couldn’t care less that I existed? Regardless, I refocused my attention and watched through the blinding afternoon sun as he tossed the ball and connected with a loud “CRACK!” The ball zipped and bounced across the ground like all of the other balls he hit towards me. It was meant to be a softer hit, a “manner” hit as a Korean might call it, and a hit that paled in comparison to what he was truly capable of. To me, though, every hit of his was challenging for my awkward baseball skills. Prior to that weekend, I had not touched a baseball since the sixth grade, when a poorly calculated swing left me with a purple knuckle. Nevertheless, I played on, thankful that I had been included in the family fun rather than sitting in the house. ——— “Becky, what do you think of my nephew?” My host dad broke through the silence after breakfast as we all sat together on the floor. He was waving Vanna-White-style in the direction of the baseball player, who sat at his side, looking quietly down at his hands out of shy embarrassment. Undeterred by the silence of his nephew, my host dad moved on in an attempt to sling arrows like cupid: “He is one year younger!” Hoeun had come just the day before, flanked by his equally tall, handsome, and athletically built brother who was just one year younger than him; there was no doubt they had caught my attention. Both brothers loved sports, were sons of a farmer, single, and about the same age as I was… As my host dad looked on with eager eyes, I could feel my face burning red while I tried to think fast. Hoeun seemed nice, but I didn’t think I was interested in dating him. Still, I needed an answer. A quick answer. An answer that wouldn’t hurt feelings. An honest answer? What was the answer he was hoping for? “He’s…handsome” I finally replied. Thankfully, my awkward answer was quickly forgotten in a sudden commotion, as the wives hurried to move everyone out the door for grave visits. ——— While Hoeun remained shy most of the morning, not muttering much more to me than “be careful” as I stumbled over a fallen tree, his brother, Hogang, chatted excitedly with me as we made our way up a mountain to clean the grave of their great-grandmother. “Do you like sports?” Hogang was smiling cheerfully as he walked, unfazed by the weight of the weedwacker engine and gas tank strapped to his back, even as we ascended upward. Like his brother, he loved baseball, and took an interest in other sports as well. He also told me that he would be starting his two year military service in February; he was currently in the ROTC and so would later serve as an officer. After clearing the area around the grave, we all sat together resting under the shade of a tree while passing around a large Sam-da-soo water bottle. My host dad’s older brother decided to use the break to ask me about my relationship status. “Becky…you…boyfriend?” After answering that I did not have one, he proceeded to gauge my interest in his son; this time the younger one, who now sat resting just a foot or so in front of me. “How about Hogang? He is strong. He is farm-boy. Hogang you like? Hogang you want!?” Before I could answer, his younger son whipped around and grinned in amusement as he offered up a flexed bicep: “Touch!” He then extended a fist to bump in approval of my response to his father’s question, with which I had answered simply: “He’s a nice guy.” Uiseong, South Korea- February 2016 “Best team!” Hoeun gave a thumbs-up in approval as my friend, Margaret, and I stuffed newspapers into a foam board. We were working much faster than my homestay parents, which kept Hoeun busy as he carried them to the other side of the greenhouse. It was the Seollal holiday weekend, and my homestay uncles were taking full advantage of additional labor to help with work on their farm. “Margaret…boyfriend?” My host dad had noticed his nephew’s sudden friendliness, and as my friend shook her head “no” I could see him gearing up for his usual cupid routine. I suppose he had given up on me after he and his brother failed at their second attempt in December, and was ready to pursue a fresh, new target. “How about my nephew? No girlfriend!” Hoeun, who usually feigned ignorance whenever my host dad started the conversation, retorted this time with “있어요”[1. Issoyo, I have one] and a clever smirk as he exited the greenhouse in search of something to
Study Sessions
I’m 12 years old and staring at a Spanish test. The words are twisting together so that all I can see are blurs on the paper. I think I may actually be crying. I don’t even understand what I’m supposed to be doing, all I know is that I need to pass this test so I won’t get a bad grade in Spanish. I failed the last two tests though, and I don’t think I can pass this one either. I can’t do it. And I can only cry at how stupid I am. ****** The test in front of me has strange words swimming across it. They make no sense. I know that it is English, and I know that I recognize a few of the letters, but the rest is a mystery. What sound is that supposed to make, and what sound is my teacher making? She’s standing at the front of the classroom, reading from a paper with all the words we are suppose to know. But I don’t know, I don’t know any of them. My paper blurs, and my eyes sting. I know I’m too old to cry. I know that I can’t let anyone else see. But it’s not fair. I’m good at everything else. I pass all my other classes, so why can’t I pass this? Maybe I’m just stupid. ****** I’ve been in Korea for two weeks now, and I’ve been studying Korean for equally as long. I’ve mastered the alphabet, though in truth I had studied that before I even set foot on this continent. Back home I had the help and encouragement of half a dozen Korean students from the adult English classes I taught. They praised me for memorizing the alphabet so quickly, and they were excited to teach me words and phrases. It felt good, exciting. I couldn’t wait to get to Korea and show how much better I was with this language than I had ever been with Spanish, or Latin, or French. But two weeks in and all I could do was grit my teeth and complain as loudly as the students beside me that this was unfair. Why would the teacher cover their mouths when speaking the vowels and consonants? When would we ever be talking to someone without seeing their mouths? And when would I ever need to know exactly what vowel sound they had just made? How unfair was this test? And why, when I had been so confident the weeks before, could I not get it now? What was wrong with me? ****** There is a new English teacher today. She smiles at us and says hello. She shows us pictures of her home and her friends, and she talks about something. She seems nice, but I have don’t have a clue what she’s saying. Everyone around me is nodding in agreement, sometimes they even ask something, in Korean, or in English. But I don’t. I don’t ask anything, not to her. I couldn’t understand her anyways. A new picture is on the screen and there are people in it doing taekwondo. One of the students asks, in Korean, who they are. The new teacher doesn’t understand but our teacher, the Korean teacher, says something. The new teacher laughs and says something too I think. I don’t understand. I want to though; I want to know how she knows these people. I turn to my friend and ask him. When he doesn’t answer I ask again, and then a third time. Finally, I hit him. Why won’t he listen to me? The new teacher comes over and scowls at me. She says something I don’t understand. I do understand she is angry. She crosses her arms. And I cross mine. I hate English. ****** In a brightly lit and very cold room a woman hands me a certificate of completion. I have finished the intermediate Korean course offered at city hall. I smile, and shake her hand, laughing towards the man with the camera. My teacher pats me on the shoulder and says something in Korean. I don’t know what. But I smile and laugh and pretend to understand. After the ceremony, and after the dinner, I take a long bus ride out to my little village. Once off the main street the path becomes windy, and dark, and I have to wedge myself into the corner of the seat to keep from falling over. Outside the window the few lights from the small houses that line the road blur past, until suddenly we are once again washed in the yellow street lights of a main street. I get off the bus and wrap my scarf tighter around myself, shoving one hand into my pocket while the other one clutches the certificate. My fingers ache in the cold, even with the gloves. I want to drop the stupid thing just so I can get my hands warm. I want to leave it in the frozen mud where it will get buried under leaves and dirt, and by the time the spring comes again it’ll be unrecognizable. I don’t deserve it. I didn’t learn a thing in that class except that I am as bad at languages as I remember being in seventh grade. Instead, I take it home. I pack it in a box in the laundry room, along with all my Korean books, and both sets of notebooks almost completely filled. There’s no point in pretending anymore. I’m never going to understand this. ****** It’s the start of the new semester, and I’m on top. My new teacher likes me a lot, and my coach is proud of me because I helped to win the last match. She tells my teammates it’s because I never do anything halfway. When I get into the ring I go at it with all I’ve got, even if it means I might make a mistake. I put as much force as I’ve got into
A Day in the Life of a Heungdeok High School Student
by Tiffany Chu The biggest highlight of my Autumn Camp was seeing our school film come together in less than one week. I asked for student volunteers to step up and take the lead on this project, and I was lucky enough to get five passionate & dedicated campers + one non-camper, who was the man behind the seamless camerawork. My vision for this project was to have campers consider the most important elements of Heungdeok student life and condense these ideas into one video that they could share with their homestay families this winter break and ultimately, anyone who is curious to see what Korean students are involved in outside of their traditional academic classes. I’ll never forget the mornings in my English classroom spent reviewing filming schedule and our afternoons spent running all around school making sure we didn’t miss anything. I met our school’s award-winning shooting team for the first time (one of the members is currently participating in the 2015 Asian Games) and galloped on invisible horses across the soccer field with my film team. I was mistaken for a student countless times by other teachers and at one point actually donned a student blazer for a scene that didn’t make it into the final video. I’ll never forget the look of horror on a 3rd grade student’s face when he walked by in the middle of us filming a student leader stopping me in the hallway tensely and with a small push to inform me that my hair was out of dress code. :’D Through each of my 24 campers, I was reminded once again of why I came to Korea in the first place — to discover the many facets of Korean students that are often overshadowed by their portrayal in books and news articles as one-dimensional study machines. I fell in love with my students over the course of two short weeks, as they invited me into their lives and revealed their incredible talents and creativity. These are students who have a passion to explore the world. Yet, they are each uniquely fearless enough not to lose sight of who they are in doing so. Though my students all wear the same uniforms and may look similar on the outside, they are people with diversely beautiful dreams and the self-determination to get them there. I am so proud of the work we accomplished during autumn camp!