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.
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.
A Life Within a Year
By Carlee Wright, ETA 2018–19 Upon leaving for an exchange opportunity, many say it is not a year within your life, but rather a life within a year. While seemingly trivial, this expression remains embedded in my mind. After graduating from high school in May of 2013, I embarked on a journey to Brescia, Italy to spend a year as an exchange student. I lived with a host family, attended a local high school, immersed myself in the culture and language (and almost quite literally engulfed myself in pasta at every meal). I studied Italian for at least three hours each day and received well-intended criticism from my host family if I could not understand their patois. Italians are very proud of their language, as they should be. I realized the best way to learn about the local and national cultures is through communication—only through the local language can one hear and feel the nuances that answer some of the most complicated and unexplainable cultural and societal questions. Slowly, with my growing knowledge of the language, I established deep friendships with people I still consider my best friends today regardless of distance. Upon receiving the news that I was selected as a 2018–19 Fulbright Scholar, I was excited to create another tangent of my life. While I am currently only halfway through my grant year, I am indeed studying Korean daily and getting closer to a few my coworkers because of it. The art teacher at my second school and I spend time together at least twice a month, and we bond over our peculiar interest in quaint and traditional Korean towns, saunas, and unexpectedly, Italian art. Moreover, I knew my American life would eventually intersect with my Korean life, as happened in Italy when my parents visited, but it never occurred to me that my Italian and Korean lives could ever possibly mix. I suppose I saw it as a sort of Venn diagram: my American lifestyle was the large bubble in the middle and my Italian and Korean lives were attached at respective sides, but never touching. During winter break, this misconception was shattered (and I am so pleased it was) when I found out the art teacher would be in Rome, Italy at the same time as me. She was traveling around the country with other teacher friends while I was visiting my partner. Having already formed a friendship with her, I was thrilled at the thought of showing her one of my favorite restaurants, Osteria da Fortunata, and the best gelato shop in the city, La Romana. While at Osteria da Fortunata, a restaurant where two Italian grandmothers still make homemade pasta with a secret recipe, there was a rush to try and translate things back and forth from Korean to Italian, an effect from my two exchanges I never expected. The look on my partner’s face when my friend abruptly reached her fork into my plate without asking was priceless, and the explanation was even more amusing. It was a quintessential example of the difference between the Western and Eastern worlds’ concept of sharing, the latter characterized by a much more communal culture. After having this experience during my winter vacation, I came to welcome the idea that while we do form separate lives abroad, if we embrace the fact that they may eventually intermingle, even in the most unpredictable of ways, the aforementioned Venn diagram can begin to merge together. The circles on each side will slide downward and slightly overlap, making for a more harmonious and complete feeling of our life experiences.