Making Time for Wonder
By Amelia Wagner, ETA 2018–19 Be aware of wonder. Live a balanced life—learn some and think some and draw and paint and sing and dance and plan and work every day some. — Robert Fulghum The salty breeze tousled my hair as Carlee, a fellow ETA, and I sat on the dock, our feet dangling off the edge, looking out onto the blue sparkling eddies and coves of the rocky shore. It was towards the end of our trip in Yeosu. We had woken earlier that morning in hopes of going to Geumodo Island (금오도) National Park only to find that the first and only ferry had left several hours earlier. Having planned well the day before and seen all that we wanted to around town, we made the impromptu decision to take a bus along the southern coast. Our plan was to visit a small beach and grab some lunch before leaving. After the bus dropped us off in the tiny town, we meandered our way down winding back alleys and found ourselves at a cove where lines of pretty blue boats bobbed in the gentle waves. Sitting together on the dock, we absorbed the sun’s rays. Around lunchtime we began to get hungry and, as the town was too small to support a convenience store let alone a restaurant, we decided to head back to the city in search of seafood pancakes (해물전). Catching a bus again on our way back, we passed Manseongni Black Sand Beach (만성리 검은 모래해변), a more populated area with open restaurants. Thinking we might find some 해물전, we made the spontaneous, and somewhat reckless, decision to jump off seconds before the bus doors closed. Immediately we realized we had made a mistake; none of the restaurants served 해물전. Instead, we discovered a delightful bowl of mixed rice and raw fish (회비빔밥); a more than fair substitute. After lunch, we still had several hours before our train and decided to take a stroll along the beach. The smell of burning smoke mingled with the salty breeze drew our attention to a group of twenty or so older women and a monk. Slightly removed from the tourists, they were gathered around a decorated table. Curious, we watched as one of the women stepped forward, burning paper in hand, and quickly threw it into the waves. She then bowed, her hands pressed loosely together by her chest. One by one the women approached the shore and threw their burning offerings into the sea. A gust of wind caught one of the papers, causing it to flutter back to shore. It tumbled near the edge, leading a woman on a chase down the beach to retrieve her fallen prayer. She quickly scooped it up and extinguished it in the lapping waves. The black sand ground into my feet as Carlee and I watched—bemused—as the wind played tricks on the group, blowing their prayers away from the water. After their papers had all been extinguished, the women gathered in prayer before cleaning up, chatting cordially, and passing out oranges. Out of pure luck, in this little coastal town, we had stumbled upon a traditional ceremony. A ceremony that was so localized that even Google couldn’t tell us its name. We were fortunate enough to get a glimpse into that tradition and one small aspect of these women’s lives. Throughout my travels, I have come to recognize the importance of striking a balance between spontaneity and planning. Our mistake at the ferry station, our rigorous planning the day before, and our impromptu decision to get off the bus had all led us to chance upon this ceremony on a small little beach on the coast of South Korea. While detailed plans are important in traveling to stay within budget, see the sights, and enjoy all the city has to offer, you will miss precious opportunities if you don’t allow yourself room to travel outside of your detailed plan. Planning gets you places; but by taking risks and setting aside time to be spontaneous, you can create opportunities for adventure and unique experiences. The practice of balancing rigidity with flexibility is not restricted to travel. While it is important to keep a schedule in everyday life, it’s equally as important to create opportunities to go on mini adventures. Explore a new section of town or take a different route home. This will allow you to not only accomplish your goal but also enjoy yourself along the way. As with most things in life, balance is key.
Article Fourteen
By Aki Camargo, ETA 2018–19 After peeling the straps of velcro off my sandals, I placed my bare feet on the inviting red carpet. It was just as fuzzy as I had expected. Almost like I was entering a friend’s dorm room, I carefully maneuvered my way around the neatly placed furniture. On the top of the table was a pile of fake bank notes stacked on top of each other, written in an accented roman script that struck a vague familiarity. Next to these bills was an iPad glued onto the plastic table, running a video of how to fold them into what looked like miniature boats. A man approached me. Take a seat. Make yourself at home. Phuong Ngo’s interactive performance, Article 14.1, illustrates a poignant message through the simple yet radical act of collective action. As a creative from Melbourne, Ngo invites museumgoers to help fold 10,000 paper boats, paying homage to the Vietnamese refugees who fled the Vietnam War almost 50 years ago. The exhibit resembled a dorm room, I soon realized, because Ngo would make this corner his temporary home. The Australian-Vietnamese artist would live in this exhibit for ten days. He would wake up, fold boats, eat a pile of saltines for his meals, and repeat. Ten days—the same number of days it took his parents to cross the South Pacific on boats, fleeing persecution and seeking a new life. After I finished folding my first boat, I chuckled in embarrassment. My feeble attempt reminded me of the many paper cranes I used to fold as a middle schooler in Japan. 1000 paper cranes—a gesture of commemoration for those who lost their lives from the nuclear bomb in Hiroshima. Each crane, folded as a means to grant a wish, served as a call for peace and dignity for all. A similar universal call for humanity is evident in Ngo’s performance, named after Article 14.1 in the UN Declaration of Human Rights: “Everyone has the right to seek and to enjoy in other countries asylum from persecution.” Like the Japanese cranes, Ngo’s boats remind us of the bravery of every refugee. These fragile vessels carried humans—fathers, mothers, children – whose livelihoods were stripped from them, as they fled war and violence. I folded my fifth boat, feeling slightly ashamed for not folding enough. But I did recognize the urgency of Ngo’s message. Article 14.1 underscored the unbound sacrifice of migrants, as they embarked on a new life to a foreign land. What does it mean to incorporate activism into art? To Ngo, they are one in the same. Article 14.1 reflects his personal yet provocative approach to process generational trauma and sacrifice. As a child of Vietnamese refugees, he embarked on this artistic endeavor to interrogate how refugees are deeply embedded in Australian society, but may not necessarily be visible. Whether it is entering Australia through the treacherous waters of the Pacific Ocean, or the United States through the precarious deserts of the Rio Grande, refugees and migrants are intimately weaved into the fabric of our nations, narratives and societies. 14.1 urges museumgoers to respect the lives of migrants. They are doctors, janitors, teachers and artists. Even if that means folding 10,000 boats, 14.1 honors each and every one of them.
The Hidden Cost(s) of Traveling
By Darla Torres, ETA 2018–19 Last winter vacation was my first time funding my entire traveling abroad experience. I was very hesitant to travel in the first place, but eventually decided to when I heard others boast about how “budget-friendly” it is to travel within Asia. I assumed that since I would probably never be in East Asia after Fulbright, it made sense to take advantage of my proximity as much as possible. So, I decided to travel to Taiwan and Thailand with a close friend from college. It should go without saying that traveling is a high-stakes, high-pressure investment, especially when coming from a low-income household. While traveling from South Korea to other Asian countries is relatively cheaper than departing from the United States, the reality is that it has the potential to break the bank. So, like all large investments, it requires a tremendous amount of budgeting and planning, from souvenir expenses, to housing and transportation, to travel buddies. Prior to this trip, I had never traveled on my own; much less from my own income. No one in my family had either, so planning the finances of this trip proved harder than I expected. I thought that if I could just afford plane tickets, everything else would fall into place. Unfortunately, I found myself constantly worrying about money while on my trip. Traveling is a completely different story when you never thought you would be able to afford such an experience. It also didn’t help that my co-teacher asked me why I was traveling if I claimed to be from a low-income household. Their comments were based in curiosity, but they never realized that it added unnecessary stress to an already precarious traveling situation. This was not the first time people have contested my socioeconomic upbringing because of certain material items I own, but it still stung nonetheless. My co-teacher’s comment reminded me that the lack of financial stability in my life conditioned me to guarantee satisfaction with every purchase, because I simply cannot afford to “waste” money. It made me think that I shouldn’t have even traveled in the first place, because any minor inconvenience would’ve made me regret my entire decision. In the end, my friend and I did not plan our trip well as we were both complacent in our decision to just ‘wing’ everything. It caused us to wake up late everyday and miss many opportunities to explore these cities. For example, the family we were staying with in Thailand strongly encouraged us to make a day trip to Ayutthaya. I wasn’t sure if it was a good idea, as this trip was expensive, time consuming, and hot. My travel partner and I had several difficulties deciding whether or not to make the trek, but we ultimately decided to go for it—unfortunately we didn’t have the best time. I’m not sure if I am expressing myself well enough, but there’s something about wanting an experience to be so perfect that it inevitably sets you up for failure (especially when you’re not used to spending that much money). I ended up blaming my travel partner for many of the inconveniences on our trip, but I think the psychological pressure to have a “perfect vacation”—rooted in years of financial insecurity—in order to justify spending so much money played a large role in the outcome of our experience. We did not see eye to eye on how we wanted to spend our time in these countries, and we could have better discussed our traveling goals in more detail. This experience was a double-edge sword, as I learned a lot about my travel needs. However, it was a very expensive lesson, and I’m not entirely sure if preparing ahead of time could have prevented some of the more deeply rooted issues given our general inexperience. Fortunately, I am still excited by the prospects of traveling, and hope to do more traveling in the future, but it’s hard to enjoy an expensive endeavor when you’re riddled with financial guilt. Moving forward, I hope to find travel partners who understand these hidden costs of traveling, and are comfortable navigating these stressful factors together.