He Can Speak
By Isabel Moua, a second-year ETA in Cheongju Taylor Bice, “Daisy Me Workin’,” Hampyeong My co-teacher called for my attention sooner than I anticipated. She told me that we would be going to my homestay first. No one had told me anything about my homestay family. The only information I received had been on a thin, white strip of paper: the family’s address, family member titles, ages, and my school name. As we exited the highway I inched forward in my chair and asked, “What are they like? My homestay family.” I eagerly nodded along as my co-teacher told me what she knew and was still listening closely when she brought up what must have been the most important information. “Your host mother wanted me to tell you that your host brother is disabled and hopes that you won’t be scared. I hope that’s okay,” she intoned. I replied with a quick, “Of course that’s fine.” She seemed relieved and said, “That’s great.” I didn’t know quite what to make of her reaction. Was she relieved because she thought my host brother having a disability would make me reject the host family? Was she worried because she thought a disability would affect my experience with them? She had worked with enough foreign teachers to know that host families had to devote time and resources to their hostee. Maybe she worried that I wouldn’t be taken on trips like other hostees. Or that I would be neglected if it turned out that my host brother needed a lot of care. My mind continued to race through possibilities and eventually started filtering through the information I knew about Korean society from my studies and my time as an exchange student in the country a couple of years prior. She was worried. Maybe it was because of her expectations of a host family. But then, I remembered the way that people with disabilities are viewed in Korean society. As a general rule, disabilities and those who have them still aren’t quite understood by the general public. Despite the handicapped parking spaces, sidewalk bumps for the visually impaired, and wheelchair ramps at public buildings, I had hardly seen people with disabilities outside. I remembered reading articles about the sit-in activists had started in 2012. They fought for the rights of people with disabilities, while the parents petitioned local goverment for help. They were subsequently shut down by others in the community. They and their family members could feel shame and embarrassment from a simple walk around the neighborhood. I knew that in a homogenous society like Korea’s those who stand out for any reason aren’t necessarily welcome in mainstream society. My mind raced for an explanation of her reaction only to come up empty. Her reaction had a more nuanced explanation than I could glean from my single interaction with her in the car. As I settled back in my seat, I filed the information about my host brother away in my head. It wasn’t a red flag and rather I looked at it as another thing to keep in mind as I adjusted to their lifestyle. But, for a brief second, I wondered, just who was this boy? They were almost all there to greet me when I arrived: mom, daughter, and him, the son. My host father was at work. Hiding away in the back of the group was their cousin. She was slight and skinny. Her glasses seemed to take up most of her face and she greeted me in English. My co-teacher was surprised to see her. She also seemed relieved, again. It seemed like she was also meeting the family for the first time face-to-face. My co-teacher introduced the teen to me as one of our students, a third-year at my new middle school. Facing each other in the kitchen, we struck up a conversation. She was good at English and played translator for me and my host mom. Zoya Hsiao, “할머니’s Favorite Fruit Stand,” Gimhae She asked me, “What language do you want to speak with them?” I thought that curious since she was doing the translating and replied, “What language are they comfortable with?” She said with a deadpan expression, “They’re most comfortable with Korean.” I felt embarrassed and said, “Ah, of course. They are Korean.” She said, “Yeah.” I didn’t feel my six-week Korean course had prepared me for daily Korean usage and so with nervous undertones, I said, “Okay, so Korean it is.” “Okay. I have to go now. I have hagwon, private academy lessons,” she declared. I followed her out of the kitchen and hurriedly asked, “Wait! What about your cousin? Can you ask her if I should be more careful around him or do something special…?” She talked to my host mom and translated, “She said that he won’t bother you and that he’ll be fine. You don’t have to do anything. I have to go now. She said you can unpack. Bye.” As I went into my room, I looked at the tells of a person with a disability around the house. The physical therapy ramp that ran the length of the living room veranda. The walker that stood in the corner of the kitchen waiting for Ha Neul to use. The standing equipment with straps to harness him in. And lastly, the plastic braces that could only have been Ha Neul’s shoes. I wasn’t entirely convinced by my host mother and cousin’s words. I was sure that whatever relationship we developed, my host brother and I wouldn’t have a “normal” relationship. My host mom called from the kitchen, “Isabel, it’s time to eat!” I stopped unpacking and made my way to the kitchen. My host brother was already there, seated in his wheeled chair with a tray. He wasn’t making any noise but his eyes carried undeniable curiosity. My host mother noticed and said, “Ha Neul, this is Noona. Your new older sister. Say it with me, Noo-na.” He
An Ode to the Yeonnam School Bus
By Jess McKay, a first-year ETA in Sejong Sarah Coldiron, “School Buses,” Mokpo Each morning, Its wheels trace a map of the city Only taking breaks when It sees small feet through the corners of Its eyes. Hana, Dul, Set,1 It counts in Its head, as It takes a big breath,1. One, two, three welcoming the footsteps aboard. Some of the footsteps follow bodies, Some bodies follow footsteps. It hums to match the parade of pitter patter. Together, they create a morning hymn, until they reach the school. On Its way, It passes a coffee shop that is still waking up, a city bus that is running late, and a crosswalk with a crooked spine. It does not have time to insa2 to each one,2. Say hello So It takes a mental note for tomorrow. Anna Yamamuro, “Menu,” Bukchon On the outskirts of the city, It arrives just in time. It takes a deep breath and releases the pitter patter from the inside. Once the tiny toes hop into some slippers, The hymn is replaced with stillness, a void of sound. Sometimes It grows jealous of the library. The thought of snooze buttons, solace, and continuous silence inch It closer to turning in a two weeks’ notice. How serene it must be, It thinks. But, then It remembers, The laughs and chatter. How the morning hymn would sound slightly off without that pitter patter.
Open Window 12.1
Visit the Open Window website to check out artwork and writing by students in Fulbright ETA classrooms.