picking flowers
By Rachel K. Fauth, ETA ’16-’17 what I know about the old lady is maybe three things: first that she is pious, second she is harsh, third that sometimes she wears white and only white, matching linen shirt and pants. that, and she once stopped to lift my wrist, flip it, graze its pale, translucent underside, cooing oh 예쁘다, beautiful! * in the field she picks only white ones, while I search for the mutations: blushing, emotive pink blooms, some hot red peeling from the petal’s edge. she says of my selection, 귀엽다, this is very cute. there’s my dad’s comment about how flowers happen, and though it be another species altogether, the bluest hydrangeas are because of the acidity in the ground. that I can’t tell her, joyous woman, bounty of only the whitest wild, cut and compliant. we don’t share a language or perhaps its definitions. * driving back at dusk I recognize one word on the radio. it’s her son’s name, the Korean word for hymnal. the sky burns borderless beautifully the same color as my fistful of derelict buds. and I wonder, does this woman prefer the daytime for its purity? Rachel K. Fauth was a 2016-2017 ETA at Changpyeong High School in Damyang, Jeollanam-do. She now lives in Knoxville, Tennessee
Hindsight is more beautiful
By Arya Mohanka, ETA ’16-’17 On a strenuous hike into the mountains of the north of Thailand, We were all sweaty and sore and drained, unsteady. We regretted this. But afterwards on Facebook, they posted lovely photos with captions: “That was the best, most amazing experience of my whole lifetime.” I struggled greatly in a rural city of North Sichuan, China. With no language, I had only two companions. Lonely together. Arcades and dumplings, we filled time with games and snacks. Typical weekends now seem exciting and adventurous. I miss those mundane pastimes. Now in my small town faced with the difficulties of teaching English and being friendless, I feel crushing loneliness, a weak self-pity. The days drag onward, filled with skipped meals, restless nights, precious time, wasted. I must remember the yearning that comes when the plane lands in Boston. Craving adventure, novelty, frailty and strength. I was all at once. Hindsight may be clear, but, like me, the present is sadly nearsighted. I focus in on every failure, frustration, struggle, misery. I only notice later how it helped me grow and increased my grit. I cannot allow only hindsight to sparkle. I must seek that now.
Cereal with Mr. Kim
By Rachel Fauth, ETA ’16-’17 is poured from a glass jar. gold flakes then wafers then milk each time. familiar materials, but in a different permutation. I learned by imitating, does he watch me? he chews and we quietly take notice of each small noise. his front teeth jut out: two half-swung doors. hunched over, humble like breakfast on the floor at a low, semi-sticky cherrywood table. “Easy-going?” he tries to classify the eggs. yolk breaking we share a laugh. some adjectives I explain are just reserved for people. mr kim is fluent in eating. he eats perfectly, all his particles in the right place at the right time. but I decipher the bowl with hands like someone barefoot treading big, far-apart stones. slow motion, but not complicated. our conversations long enough but not complicated. broken english is good morning talk. it only sometimes halts completely, one unknowable word dangling between a dialogue, asking “do you recognize me?”