Fans
By Allana Wooley
Vegetarian Vignettes
“Why do you only have rice and kimchi? Do you not like Korean food?” A concerned teacher asks me this in Korean on my first day as I set down my nearly bare plate on the table. Before I can respond, my co-teacher replies, “Monica does not eat meat. She only eats chicken.” Then, she turns to me and sighs, “You know, Monica, our cafeteria serves a lot of meat because without meat, these students will not grow well.” “Oh I understand. It’s okay,” I say with a smile and with far too many enthusiastic head nods. It’s only my first week here, and I do not want to be difficult or annoying. “Besides, my host mom makes delicious chicken and vegetarian food, so I eat a lot for breakfast and dinner,” I assure her, the other teachers and myself. ~~~~ “Why is Monica only eating rice and kimchi?” Another teacher asks me in Korean later that week. “Gogi anmeogeoyo[1. I don’t eat meat.],” I proudly reply with one of the most useful phrases I have learned in the past few days. ~~~~ A few weeks have passed since the beginning of school, and I now dread lunch time. The cafeteria has become one of the most uncomfortable places for me in school. After carefully inspecting the meat in the orange sauce, I scowl at it. It’s pork, not chicken. Picking up my tray of rice and kimchi, I tread carefully towards the table, trying to avoid teachers I have not interacted with before, solely so I do not have to entertain… “Do you not like the food? You didn’t take any meat or oyster soup.” …those questions. I sigh and annoyingly make eye contact with the concerned teacher behind me, “gogi anmeogeoyo,” I say in a tone harsher than I mean. ~~~~ After a two-hour drive to our condo in Boseong, the five other English teachers and I drop our bags on the floor and check out our room for our English retreat. I take a seat at the dining table while the other teachers gather on the floor of the main room, a stone’s throw away from me. “Seonsaengnimdeul![2. Teachers] Let’s eat raw meat for dinner tonight,” a teacher suggests at the sound of growling stomachs. “Yes! The school is paying for this English teacher’s retreat, so we should indulge,” another teacher excitedly agrees. “Okay, I’ll look for a good restaurant, so we can eat well tonight.” The conversation is in Korean, but from experience, I already knew what is going to happen next. I feel everyone’s gaze shift across the room towards me, despite the fact that I am intently staring at the super interesting thing happening with my hands in my lap. Eventually, the awkwardness forces me to meet the assortment of pitying and slightly frustrated eyes. Though, their voices drop to a whisper, I can still make out the conversation. “Oh, but Monica cannot eat if we go there,” a teacher sadly remarks. “She can’t eat any meat? Not even pork?” another teacher says in a voice laced with disbelief. “What about fish? She has to eat fish, right?” With a sigh, “No, we should go somewhere else. Maybe we can find a bibimbap restaurant nearby or…” “Aww I really wanted to eat raw meat tonight.” “This is too bad…” We ended up at the raw meat restaurant. ~~~ I convince myself to endure the awkwardness and feelings of being burdensome at school. It’s okay, I tell myself, because I can always eat everything served at home. My host mom makes kimchi jjigae[3. Stew usually made with kimchi, pork belly and tofu] without sausage, japchae [4. Glass noodles with stir-fried vegetables and meat] without ham, and bibimbap[5. Rice with mixed vegetables, beef and red pepper paste] without beef. However, I feel like this comfort and food security at home will not last long. Day by day, I notice it slowly escaping my grasp. For example, lately, my host mom has been making more meat dishes. Today, as I was picking out the ham from my fried rice, my host brother asked me, “Teacher, why don’t you eat meat?” “I was raised Hindu, and Hindus believe it is our duty to God to not harm God’s other creations, including animals. For us, eating meat is like committing an act of violence.” Before my host brother can ask why I eat chicken, I add, “When my parents immigrated to America, they found it difficult to be completely vegetarian. So, they raised my brothers and me as semi-vegetarians—vegetarians who eat chicken.” I look at him with squinting eyes wondering what he is thinking or if he even understands me. Feeling guilty and burdensome, I apologize for my dietary choices. “I’m sorry. I know it must be hard to feed me. It seems that there’s a lot of seafood and meat in this area.” “Oh teacher, you should not say sorry. You come from another culture. I think it is important that we respect other cultures and lifestyles. It’s important to understand other people,” he reassures me in broken English. I was touched. I’m not sure his mother or my co-teacher share the same sentiment, but now I feel like at least one person understands me. ~~~~ Charlie and Kingsley, two of my Fulbright friends, are visiting my placement city, Naju. My host mom has unexpectedly planned the entire weekend for us. I’m a little hesitant, but I suppose she will do a better job of showing off Naju than I will. Our first stop is the neighboring town of Yeongsanpo’s famous Hongeo row—a line of restaurants that serve fermented skate fish. The smell wafting in the streets should have been enough warning, but we felt it impolite to protest. We did not want my host mom to think we were unwilling to immerse ourselves in a new culture. As we walk in, two older men point and laugh at the absurdity of foreigners trying the local dish. My friends and I exchange concerned glances—hongeo is
Places We See: Part II
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