battles

There's been a war going on inside my apartment. It's been me versus the mosquitoes. I'm getting crushed.

I've fought valiantly. Maybe too valiantly, because I'm pretty sure over the past month I've breathed in enough Raid Mosquito Spray to kill a toddler. Nevertheless, they still run riot throughout my place.

Thankfully, mercifully, this war will soon end. On Saturday I'm moving into a new apartment. It's got less to do with the mosquitoes and more to do with the fact that all the shit in my apartment is broken. Couch, table, refrigerator, washing machine- all of it defective. I've even had to hand-wash my clothes lately. That was a lot more annoying than I thought it'd be.

On another note: I'd like to introduce you to the most frustrating kid I've ever taught. His name is "Nick" and he's probably 8 years old. I've taught him for the two months I've been here, he's currently in the lowest possible level, because he was bumped down to the beginning after his first month. The thing is, he can speak English, which is strange because other kids at his level can't even tell you what their English names are. Yet I can have a chat with Nick about the weather.

What Nick can't do is grasp the English alphabet. After two months he still can't spell "cat", but he can, as he did today, respond to my frenzied pleas for him to spell "cat" with this statement, "Teacher, what are you going on about?"

hangukeo 2.0

Last year I wrote a post about how little of the Korean language I spoke. If I recall correctly, my fluency extended not much further than saying "hello", "goodbye", and "do you want to die?".

"Do you want to die?" is still my most oft-used bit of the Korean language. I say it often to kids, and they get a real kick out of it. I'll typically use it when they are being disruptive or didn't do their homework. I'll clench my fist, take on a comically serious countenance, and grumble "Chu-ga-lay?!?"

My post last year bemoaned my lack of Korean, this post here is to kinda brag about it.

I didn't realize how much Korean I knew until I returned here. During the first week or two it all flooded back to me, and I've made an effort at expanding and building upon what I already know. I do that by using my students as Korean teachers, and by watching episodes of The Simpsons subtitled in Korean and typing the Korean subtitles into the Korean-English dictionary on my cell phone.

It's worked well for me. Well enough to the point where when I encounter drunken Koreans out and about during my daily life, our conversations take place more in Korean than in English. 50-50, at least.

Regardless of the progress I've made, the most handy bit of Korean I know is still "Hangeung mal-reul molayo" (I don't speak Korean). Well, either that or "Due-gae mek-ju chusaeyo" (two beers, please).

chameh

I eat a lot of fruit. Gotta get them vitamins, you know. Korea is ripe with fruit. Everything you'd find in a grocery store in the States is readily available here.

There's also one fruit in particular which can't be found back home. I've always referenced it as the Korean melon to people here. And, despite living in Korea for more than a year, I only just gotten my hands on one.

I've learned that its name is "chameh". It's about the size of a pear, its skin is striped yellow and white.

I've never bought one. However, recently I had dinner with a friend, during which some soju-riddled Korean dudes sat down at our table and talked to us. At some point during the meal a vendor entered the restaurant selling Korean melons. The Koreans we were with insisted on buying us a bunch of them. We accepted, and were stuck carrying around a bushel of fruit for the rest of the night.

So, I've gotten my paws on one. Here's a picture of it:

Yeah, the picture isn't upright. I'm too lazy to fix that. Deal with it.

Here's a picture of it cut in half:

Once again, sideways picture. If you don't like it, screw!

Now, I'm no food critic. I'll readily admit to not caring how food tastes, my sole purpose of eating is to prevent starvation. I'm not one to savor intricate flavors, or insist on only the freshest ingredients. I grew up on grilled cheese, tomato soup, and franks and beans. My palate is unrefined.

Regardless, I'm in a privileged position compared to you, my readers back home. I can readily sample this fruit, whereas you can't. So, I feel I owe it to you all to give you my review of it.

So, here it is, my debut as a food critic:

Tastes like cantaloupe.

the frog's name is freddy

I had to wake up earlier than usual this morning because I was obligated to attend a seminar. The seminar was for all teachers who work for the franchise of schools of which I am employed. See, a lot of English academies over here are franchises, independently owned schools which operate under the same name and curriculum. They're like Dunkin' Donuts or 7-11s.

I worked for a different franchise last year, one of the biggest names in the Korean English academy game. This year I'm at a relatively new franchise, one that is currently experiencing massive growth while using untested and unrefined curriculum. It was started by a husband and wife duo who were teachers like me for 6 or 7 years and then decided to open up their own school. They're in their mid-to-late 30s, I'd guess; the guy is from somewhere in Canada and the woman is a Korean who was adopted as a baby, raised in New York City, then came back to Korea to teach.

Anyway, about 15 other foreigners and I endured 2 hours of training in the "new" curriculum which will be implemented sometime during the next 2 months. The "new" curriculum is the same as the current curriculum, just less of it.

Now, last year I was pretty much left to my own devices to create lesson plans and strategies in the classroom. Me calling them "lesson plans and strategies" is kinda deceptive, it's more like for the first 3 months I aimlessly meandered through 45 minute classes while throwing darts of English knowledge at apathetic and bewildered kids, and waited to see which darts stuck. Those darts ran the gamut of phonics, grammar, vocabulary, comprehension, speaking, and writing. Over time I learned which darts to throw, and by the end I feel I was a pretty competent thrower-of-English-darts, and my students' English ability improved because of me.

This year things are a lot more bullheaded, more rigid and specific. This year I don't teach anything but "conversational English". So no more grammar or writing, just getting the kids to speak well, and if they happen to understand a fraction of what they are actually saying, hell, that's a bonus.

Now, a slight digression: when people back home learn that I teach English to Korean kids, often times their first question to me is, "Can you speak Korean?" This is a perfectly valid question because you'd think that in order to teach someone a new language, you'd have be able to communicate with them in their native tongue. My response to the "Can you speak Korean" question is always, "No, but my students have already had some level of English education, so it's sort of building on what they already know."

However, this isn't always the case, and in fact just this month I picked up a class in which none of the kids know so much as their ABCs. How my current academy teaches English can most clearly be seen at this level.

My first day of teaching these kids was without any books or curriculum, because they hadn't been delivered yet. So I kinda just relied on my prior experiences teaching phonics. There's a certain chant I use that connects a letters name with its sound: A B C D, Ah Buh Cuh Duh, E F G, Eh Fuh Guh...and so on through to Z. The next class I had them for they had their books, and I got a look at what I'm supposed to be doing.

Granted, a portion of it is Ah Buh Cuh Duh, but there's another element as well. The first lesson, meaning these kids' first interaction with English, entails them being able to point at a picture of a cartoon frog and say "The frog's name is Freddy", point at a picture of a bee and say "The bee's name is Betty" and so on. Now of course, these kids don't have a damn clue what they are saying, but they're saying it! That's all that matters! But why? What good can there possibly be in a kid not learning anything but simply memorizing which sounds to make in a row, which in their minds apparently translates to saying something in English?

Well it all boils down to appeasement, appeasement of a ruthless beast, a beast who is secretly in charge of the entire sham that is the Korean English academy. That beast is the Korean Mother.

The Korean Mother is outwardly gentle, if you encounter one they'll hit you with a slight bow, an affable smile, and an "Anyeong haseyo" (Korean for 'hello'). However, behind this facade lies a dogmatic woman, cracking the whip, demanding her child learn something fast. The Korean Father is too busy with working 14 hour days and drinking soju to pay any mind to his child, so the Mother knows her role.

However, what the Korean Mother doesn't know is English. So, a step-by-step process based on a sound foundation, which gradually accumulates to a legitimate understanding of- and ability to express oneself in- English, isn't evident to her. So, if after a month of paying for her child's English education, all she sees is: A B C D, Ah Buh Cuh Duh, well that just doesn't cut it, and before you know it she's paying for her kid to attend a different academy. But, if after a couple of classes she can see her kid point at a picture of a cartoon frog and say some mangled version of The frog's name is Freddy, boom! That's English! Money well spent!

So that's what my franchise has done. They've cut out the pesky part of teaching English, which is actually teaching English. They've gotten down to brass tacks, and focused merely on appearances. They know where the money is, which is in the hands of the Korean Mother.

Addendum

My favorite author is Kurt Vonnegut. In one of his non-fiction works, perhaps Palm Sunday or A Man Without a Country, he writes about how he was able to make a living off of writing short stories in the 1940s and 50s. He explains he was a bit of an opportunist; he was living during a time when people could make money writing short stories for magazines like Colliers or Ladies' Home Journal. It was a time before television monopolized at home entertainment, when people were more inclined to spend 20 minutes reading a story, whereas now people can spend 20 minutes watching and listening to a story.

So, while Vonnegut was working on novels, he could pound out a few mediocre short stories to pay the bills. He lamented that this was no longer the case. Because of television, people who could've been authors no longer can. That well has dried up and those would-be-authors are forced to find more reliable means of income.

I kinda think that's what I'm doing now. I'm taking advantage and making money off of a system that won't be around forever. Because when this generation of Korean students grow up, they'll realize how little the English academy system actually helped them and they won't waste their money on their children the way their parents wasted it on them. This well will have dried up.

So what I'm doing here are my short stories. Now I just need to find my Slaughterhouse-5.

haeundae

I had a little vacation last week. I used part of it to visit Busan with a couple of friends.

Haeundae beach is in Busan, and is Korea's most popular beach. There were loads of people there. It seems as though people here go to the beach with the sole purpose of avoiding the sun. Everyone rents an umbrella, lines them up in rows, and enjoys their bit of shaded sand.

See?