A Korean Streak.

The most often guessed nationality that locals around here suppose me to be is Korean.  I get a bit miffed at this suggestion, something to do with my pride in thinking that I at least should be accepted as some sort of Chinese.

In reality living here is my second longest streak of Korean culture.  I think it's funny that my Korean colleagues and I are reduced to communicating in the local language to each other, which for both of us is either our second or third+ language.  Try that on for size sometime.

This is the most kimchee I've eaten consistently at any point of time in my life, earning the admiration of my Korean counterparts.  And certainly this is the first time I've been exposed to the world of Korean soaps, as I find myself starting to watch the "Full House" series that AC has already completed.  The locals have really caught on to Korean culture, too.  Case in point: the screaming teenagers at the local high school the other week when a group of Korean dancers came to perform--further convincing me that I'm so not cool as I sat there in the first row motionless while all the teenagers clapped, gasped, and got out their cell phone cameras to memorialize the moment.

But I reserve my favorite Korean cultural anecdote for the end of this entry.  One of my Korean female colleagues recently hooked up with another Korean male colleague who had first come in the summer on a short term, but came back "wei le ta (for the sake of her)," as my other Korean colleague described.  Apparently when he met her in the summer he was so smitten he decided to haul right back here a couple of months later.  Within two weeks they were going out.  "But what if he didn't succeed?" I had asked.  But the guy risked it, and I give him props.   

I Just Wanna Be a Sheep (Baa Baa Baa Baa).

Walking through the village the other day I happened upon a flock of sheep.  'Ooh, get your camera!' AC excitedly declared.  I fumbled for my camera and pressed the 'on' button, only the sheep had already passed, allowing only a shot from the rear (see below).   

'Run in front of them,' AC directed.  I picked up my pace.  The sheep, however, must have seen my hurry-up routine and started picking up the pace themselves.  I stopped, realizing that I was in a no-win situation.  Each time I would hurry up, the sheep would also in turn hurry up.  'They're following me!' I announced laughing, half out of breath.  They hurried so far that my only shot was from a distance.

I glanced behind me at who I assumed was the herdsman.  'I was trying to get a picture of them,' I said to him, grinning sheepishly.  He said nothing in return but whistled loudly and the flock turned precisely on command.  They turned and reached their destination, where they were shuffled into their quarters.

 

Sheep are interesting creatures.  Sheltered city girl that I am, my exposure to livestock has been, well, minimal.  So sheep do respond to their shepherd's voice.  'A stranger they will not follow, but they will flee from them, for they do not know the voice of strangers (italics mine).'  Right.  So what exactly was I attempting?  But they all obeyed the shepherd.  Not one rebelled.  So it is for those in the Great Fold of the Shepherd.  He knows his own and His own know Him.

(Thought I would throw in a picture from my previous travels West--see above)

A Woman's Hope.

There's a widely circulated story of a woman who generously offered food and accomodations to a certain reputable Man of Insight.  To repay her, the Man of Insight's servant was asked to find out an area of her need.  When it was disclosed that she was barren, the Man of Insight declared that within a year she would give birth to a child.  In response, the woman replied, 'do not lie to your servant,' indicating what I believe was her want to hope, but also her fear of  potential hurt and disappointment.

I believe women have a particular affinity for hope different from men.  Women can hope with little, even when evidence points to the contrary.  It's a hope that is persistant, stubborn even.  Hope shares an intricate connectedness with a woman's heart such that what we hope is no light matter. 

Sometimes women whose hope is carefully calculated can still end up on the far end of hoping too much and being disappointed.  It's true that 'hope deferred makes the heart grow sick but a desired fulfilled is a tree of life.'  

Disappointment is part of the human experience.  I've certainly tasted enough of its bitterness.  I've hung onto my share of unfulfilled hopes.  I've questioned my ability to hope again.  But I have never completely thrown it away.  Because somehow in the disappointment what is revealed is a Hope far more promising than before.

Jobs I've Had.

Got thinking tonight with AC of jobs I've had in the past.  Here are a few:

Notetaker.  Glamorous, isn't it?  I thought that getting paid to go to class was a pretty sweet deal.  It was freshman year, and I was in Psych 1.  The notes I took were available for students to purchase through the campus notetaking service.  The problem?  No one bought my notes...

College Advising Assistant.  This is where I learned what an STD is.  Ha, before you jump to conclusions, let me clarify--STD is the acronmym we used for "subject to dismissal."  True Lowellite that I am, are there *gasp* really people who get lower than a 'B'?      

Receptionist.  You know those Duty Free Stores in the airports?  Well, they have a corporate office in SF.  Before finding 'permanent' employment I spent a couple of days as the front desk receptionist.  My conclusion: Sherise + switchboards aren't compatible.

Jr. Marketing Manager.  My long awaited job after graduation.  Not even two weeks and I was already in Chicago on my first 'business' trip.  My first dose of the real world at 21.  Cocktail hour?  I'll have a coke on the rocks, please. 

Sales Associate.  My mom likes it when I tell my retail stories. Working in retail revealed a unique slice of human behavior (relating to women and clothes) that tested my sanity and but also served as sheer comedy.  I'm glad that I don't have to deal with those customers...or rather clients (the 'better' term I was told) any more.

Grammar Teaching Assistant.  Call me a nerd.

Pharmacy Clerk Vocational ESL Instructor.  Everyone repeat after me..."antihistamine, antihistamine."

Academic Coach.  I never liked the title of my last job before coming here.  I could never explain satisfactorily what I did.  But here I found my niche of teaching, counseling, administration, mentoring, and design.  My longest-standing job yet.

To say what I do currently may be even more complicated, but let's just go with the title that they have officially bestowed to me here: Foreign Expert.  English teaching is what it's most commonly known as, but I also call it foreign relations :)  There's thought I may stick in the business for awhile...

Tattle Tale.

The other day on the bus I looked over my shoulder and stared right into a cloud of cigarette smoke.  I wrinkled my nose, scanning for the culprit.  One of the few places where smoking isn't allowed here is on the bus, and here this brown-jacketed man was carelessly puffing away, polluting one of my few public smoke-free sanctuaries!  But before I mustered the courage to say anything, the bus driver shouted back for the man to put it out.  Half embarrassed, the man grinned sheepishly and proceeded to put his cigarette out (or so I thought).  Less than 5 minutes later he lit up again!  This time I determined to do something about it--but use the bus driver as leverage.  I leaned over to the driver and whined, "He's doing it again...that man's smoking again!"  The bus driver proceeded to stop the bus and walk to the back to check it out.  Unfortunately for me the man had already stopped, and was now staring nonchalantly out the window, as if he had done nothing wrong.  Argh!  The fact that he was so blatant, obnoxious even, made me all the more annoyed.

I usually don't make a practice of tattling, but there's something satisfying when another person helps seek your justice.  Living here, I could use it sometimes.

Roped Into Things.

There are a lot of firsts for me as I live here. Add to the list country line dancing.  I don't remembering agreeing to it, but I have exactly one week to learn well enough to be able to teach at an event next weekend.  Perhaps the question isn't how I get roped into these things, but rather the idea of willingness.  I find myself doing things like willingly singing a solo in front of an audience, and I wonder if it's something in the water or if I've really tossed inhibition aside.  The intent not being "who cares, I'll just do it"  but rather "I know Who cares, therefore wo yuan yi (I'm willing)."   

Short.

None of the locals seem to like the fact that I cut my hair.  Not outright disapproval, but "I liked your long hair..." is the comment that I've gotten the most.  I for one am liking the fact that it's less ma fan.  And maybe I'll get sympathy eprops from others who like the short do, too...haha.  I was able to educate the barber on how Americans don't like the whole da bao look, which is when locals thin out their hair so that it has that distinctive 'you're from overseas' look.  What was funny was that he agreed with me and questioned why the locals like it as such.  Ironically that was the hair cut I left home with last year...and me thinking I would get a less fob haircut before leaving...

I was all dressed up for a wedding last weekend (if you were wondering).  It was perhaps one of the most unique weddings I've attended (an expat marrying a local).  The funniest part was the throng of onlookers both at the ceremony and reception.  I neglected to think beforehand that this would cause a spectacle, but it turned out to be something like having a celebrity in town and the locals all wanting a glimpse.  Police reinforcement had to be called in.  Hilarious. 

I pigged out (oops,...not literally speaking here) at the reception.  And oh my goodness they had CHEESE!  With an American flag proudly protruding from the top.  There was an open coffee bar, too...now that's an idea :)

CONGRATS, CONGRATS.
WK and AW are engaged!!!  WK stayed up way past her bedtime to tell me the news.  Before this, AC gave me an excited phone call, ambigious as to why I needed to 'immediately' go online. I had to press further because I was extremely bu fang bian having just nearly incapacitated myself by breaking a glass jar of ma jiang (in vain trying to save it from falling but ending up with a bleeding palm). I was a mess, trying to decide what to deal with first--my bleeding palm or the ma jiang.  Despite my own drama, their engagement was much more 'ordinary,' and I love that it so typified them.  Congrats! 

Re: My punctured palm, Neosporin® and a Band-Aid® and I'm feeling better     

Bad Cake.

There's a phrase that I at one point used with regularity around these parts: zao gao, meaning literally bad cake.  This time of year sees the surfacing of (what I deem to be) bad cakes.  Westerners have their fruitcake; locals have their mooncake.  Packaged in fancy boxes, they disguise a strange concoction that comprises the filling of these cakes (see left).  At present I have bad cakes a-plenty (though I managed to rid of 2 boxes).  To my credit, AC doesn't like them either.  I mean, who wants bad cake?  

Maybe I'm too harsh.  Not all mooncake is bad.  But let the eater beware.  There are bad cakes out there.

Thus concludes my very literal entry.     

Nostalgic.

   
I'm feeling a tad nostalgic having just heard that the N.O. Saints played their first home opener in the newly restored Superdome.  I remember the surge of energy that saw me sprinting to the finish line of my marathon earlier last year in the exact same place, before Katrina hit. 

Since finishing my marathon, I really haven't run at all.  Folks at home continue to run, though.  My running buds ML and WK have since moved on to more running adventures, and it seems that still others have jumped on the marathon bandwagon.  Makes me want to run again.

I hate that feeling that I'm missing out as life goes on at home.  I'm adverse to even walking outside here because of the dust and pollution.  Then I realize I'm still running, just on a different course and all.  Katrina's destruction is perhaps further evidence that my nostalgia is better placed in Him who enables our finishes...

I still get a smile, though, when I think of those pre-marathon beignets...mmm :)