My Crib in the RoK

I realized I haven't posted any pictures of my studio apartment I call home, where all the lesson planning, guitar playing and Sims 3 occurs. Hence, I am providing this "Cribs"-style  photo montage of where I've been calling home in Korea for five months. One month was in Jochiwon in a dormitory, where I lived once again like a college king. But alas, real world, real apartment here I am. If I'm feeling particularly motivated, I may make a video tour. But we'll see how motivated I can - nope, lost it.

Things to note about my studio apartment:

1. My washer sounds like a jet engine is taking off and spews water all over the little floor in the little room it resides in. I throw dirty clothes in, pour in a random amount of detergent, blindly mash buttons until the green lights that light up outnumber the red lights that light up, and pray that clean laundry comes out. There are no dryers in most studios, so I hang my laundry all over every airy spot in my studio I can find.
2. I randomly mash buttons on my thermostat until the room reaches a desired temperature and my heating/cooling bill is livable, since I can't read what the buttons mean.
3. Mold is a common problem in apartments here. A few TaLK scholars got mold poisoning and had to go to the hospital for meds. I have rid my apartment of the mold that was there and have not seen any since. Winning.
4. No keys required to get into my building, just pass-codes to punch into keypads. The US should follow suit. 
5. My "closet" exposes my intimates for any visitors to see. How embarrassing.
6. Every morning, I awake to the sound of dozens of screaming children partaking in English classes at exactly 9:30. They sound just like my students, but more engaged, enthused and medicated. It's as if they are my natural alarm clock saying "Yep, that's what's coming for YOU today."
7. I fall asleep to the sounds of a dying cat (which has, from the sound of it, been dying for the past four months), soju-puking ajusis (older Korean men) and screaming ajumas. Regularly.
8. My apartment looks fairly clean, but under my desk is a growing pile of used/unused English worksheets and various kindergarten crafts. The guitar tabs in my life have been replaced by "Brown Bear Brown Bear" folding booklets. The motorcycle magazines have given way to coloring books. In the immortal words of Blink 182, I guess this is growing up. As an elementary teacher.
9. I have a lot of natural light, which I appreciate.
10. As is usual in Korea, there is no true shower, just a shower head attached to the sink, so yes, everything in the bathroom gets soaked after my 45 minute showers.
11. Overall, I'm very fortunate to have the place I do. It's clean, good location, good size, and utilities are very cheap (around $20 a month). 

Days Go By (In Korea)

Korea is a busy place. Above is a picture of the subway system in Seoul. Seoul is busy and crowded. Nice to visit but whenever I go I'm always ready to head back to the "small town" of Jeonju (pop. ~600,000). Jeonju, my home for six months, has grown on me considerably. I've been all over Korea, but I am very thankful for being placed where I have. Known as the home of bibimbamp and makgeoli, it's a good base to return to after weekends away.

I haven't put up a blog in a while, mostly because the days started to blur into a routine. A fantastic routine that I enjoy everyday, but a routine nonetheless.

MY TYPICAL DAY IN KOREA:

8:30am - I intended to wake up early and go to the gym. Sleep and my warm, comfortable, western-style bed win again. Hit snooze button.

9:30am - I intended to wake up and work on my lesson plan, infusing as much creativity, challenges and fun as I can fit into a 40 minute class period, all for the children's educational and personal growth. Wait - my warm, comfortable western-style bed wins again. Hit snooze button.

10:30am - The sound of Korean children reciting English snaps me awake, because my snooze button is now broken from overuse. "Where ARE you?" "HERE I AM!" "Where ARE you?" "HERE I AM!" I also realize I have one hour until my first bus comes and I need to do laundry, shower, pay bills, feed myself, lesson plan, talk to people back home, etc. I should have woken up at 8:30. Oh. Wait. I punch my bed in anger for its cruel psychological power it has over me. I cry.

10:45am - I roll out of bed, run into the shower, realize I didn't turn on the water heater, and cry as icicles hit my bare chest. I turn on the water heater, angered at myself that I've cried twice this morning already. Grow up, man, grow up.

11:00am - Start lesson planning while eating a tuna fish sandwich, some chips, and an orange.

11:05am - Get distracted and start playing guitar. Realize I'll never be Damien Rice and that the thin, sharp strings hurt my delicate, piano hands. I do not cry, because I'm a man. Sometimes.

11:10am - Lesson plan.

11:12am - Get distracted watching YouTube videos of America's Got Talent and Viral Video Film School.

11:20am - Lesson plan.

11:25am - Get distracted Facebooking people I got done Facebooking about eight hours ago.

11:30am - Run to my bus, sit with hajimas (elderly Korean women) as they stare at me and wonder what's different about me. Scoot over on the bus bench as elderly Korean men sit awkwardly close to me and lean in to read whatever it is I'm reading in English, then beg me for candy.

12:35pm - Arrive at my school, drag at least three children into school as they hang on me like monkeys, and repeatedly answer to "Hello Matthew Teacher!" and "Sunsangneem!" ("teacher" in Korean). Change my shoes into slippers, bow to the principal, vice principal, and any teachers walking through the halls. Print off worksheets and coloring pages for my upcoming classes. Steel my nerves with a shot of soju. Or two. Heck, a bottle's only 1200 Won. I down the thing. This teacher thing is easy now. I'm feeling warm and comfortable. Yeah.... I got this.

1:10pm - Let the chaos begin. Footsteps thunder down the halls along with laughter, squealing and squeaking. My classroom door bursts open and I get another round of "HELLO MATTHEW TEACHER!" Children pick up everything not nailed down and throw or attempt to eat it. I repeatedly yell "ANJA!" ("sit down" in Korean) and pull kids apart from each other, off the walls, and off the desks. I dodge a dongchim attack. As the children finally "sit" in their chairs, I glance around my backpack frantically for another bottle of soju. None left....

1:20pm - The children stare at me and demand I speak to them in Korean.

1:25pm - I give up on my lesson plan and start a riveting game of Hangman - to teach vocab, of course.

1:35pm - "Get off the desk."

1:36pm - "You don't need to be touching that."

1:37pm - "Please stop talking."

1:38pm - "Stop talking."

1:39pm - "TEACHER MATTHEW IS TALKING AND YOU DO NOT TALK WHEN HE IS TALKING!"

1:40pm - Having no tears left, I stare silently out the window, thinking of the positive aspects of responsible family planning. My Korean Talk Scholar, Hak, who is with me on Thursdays only, agrees.

1:45pm - After staring out the window for five minutes, I distract the children with a clip of a Pixar movie, which they quietly watch in awe. Although they understand none of the words spoken, they are captivated. Apparently if I looked like Buzz Lightyear, it wouldn't matter what I was saying - they would eat it up. The clock ticks away the minutes. Mercifully, it's close enough to the end of classtime, and I say "Goodbye!". Let the stampede begin.

1:50pm - First class done. Three to go. Go to your happy place....

4:20pm - I Facebook for 20 minutes, since my first bus does not come into my part of the countryside until sometime between 4:45 and 5:20. I hop onto the bus, surrounded by schoolchildren and hajimas. The schoolchildren are armed with the latest tablet PC or smartphone, earbuds in place. The hajimas are armed with oversized bags of kimchi and rusty bag carts. And scoliosis. We bump along through countryside and small towns, dropping off angry old men and rowdy young girls. The girls giggle and eat dried squid, while the guys rub each other's shoulders and sit on each other's laps. I don't join either crowd.

5:40pm - I arrive at my first bus stop and walk to the next one, praying that the wifi works there. If not, I have ten to thirty more minutes of time to myself to reflect on the hard day's work of changing the minds of children. Or ten to thirty more minutes of time to myself to reflect on the hard day's work of changing my mind about children.

5:43pm - The wifi works. A vocal "thank you" goes up into the heavens as I check KakaoTalk, Facebook, Words With Friends and DrawSomething. Kevin Watson, you win again. But this time only by 135 points. Progress! I feel a bit better about myself and my language retention and regurgitation capabilities that had previously been crushed by a bunch of seven year olds. Kevin asks me if I even know any multi-syllabic words. Confidence gains vanish quickly.

6:10pm - I arrive at my apartment and head straight to GS25 for ramen and pepsi. I eat my salt and sugar snack, play some guitar to clear my head, and once again check my Words With Friends games. Libby plays dulcets for 327 points. I wonder if I can challenge any of my students to a game as a "confidence booster."

7:30pm - I head to the gym, and show those hajimas a thing or two on the Smith machine and the benchpress. They stare incredulously and run (scuttle) when I approach. Clearly they are in awe of my physical prowess. And my inability to speak Korean. But mostly I think it's my physical prowess.

9:00pm - Coffee shop. Recharge time. $7 latte. Happiness has a price. And too much caffeine.

10:30pm - Skype with a cutie from Indiana. Highlight of the day? Absolutely. Nice-uh.

2:00am - After repeatedly pushing aside my lesson plans, watching YouTube clips and Facebooking, it's time for bed. Still having a strong psychological grip, my bed beckons me, and I heed the call. It's warmth envelops me, and I drift off to dreamless sleep. Four more days of glory, then - THE WEEKEND.

Which is what I'll write about next time. "Next time" might be three months though...sorry in advance.