Little Things and Larger

Before traveling overseas, I studied a spiky graph titled, The Stages of Culture Shock.  The line soared upward toward bliss, tumbled downward approaching hate, and then began to climb up again before cascading down one more time.  In the ideal end, the line flattened out as if parallel with the floor, presumably depicting some sort of well-adjusted medium.

And thus, soaring and tumbling lines were what I saw in the darkness of my mind, as my closed eyes shut out the light, and I attempted to visualize the culture shock that I'd heard I would inevitably experience upon traveling to a foreign land.  

Since my initial arrival in Korea, however, I have spotted not a single such line.  I haven't sensed a season of glee followed by dreary despise.  I don't know if I'm climbing up or falling down, and I wish I knew, but instead only wonder, whether or not I am beginning to become parallel with the floor.  

That being said, I wouldn't say that I haven't experienced culture shock. 

 October 3, 2011: The day before I boarded my first international flight. 

- After about a day and a half of surviving off the oatmeal and granola bars that I'd stashed in my suitcase, I was invited to dinner by my new supervisor, only to be caught up in confusion as I stared at the table: one large pot of chicken boiling in red, spicy-looking broth in the center, an array of random and indiscernible mini-dishes scattered about seemingly everywhere, and thin, metal chopsticks next to an empty, white baby-sized plate in front of me.  I knew neither what this meal was, nor how to consume it.  (October, 2011)

- Ready for my second day of on-the-job training at an elementary school, I answered an incoming call, was told that another teacher had gone on vacation so I would be taking his place, teaching full-time for 6-weeks at a middle school down the road, and that, since the first class was to start in 45 minutes, I should come over immediately to prepare.  I thought that position changes usually took closer to a week and never imagined one happening in under an hour.  (October, 2011)

- Attempting to eat like the locals, I brought a bowl of plain white rice for lunch, only to be informed by room full of elementary school students that man cannot live on rice alone, but that rice must always be accompanied by, at the bare minimum, kimchi and kim (dried seaweed).  I didn't know that rice specifically required side dishes.  (November, 2011)

- Looking forward to finishing my shift at 10:00pm one ordinary Wednesday evening, my co-teacher turned to me and said that we'd be staying late to rehearse the choreography for a song, which another teacher had written (mostly about the greatness of our school's founder and a bit about the greatness of our school), and which we'd be performing, while wearing large, red rose headbands, in front of more than 400 other teachers at a regional conference the next morning.  Yikes.  (April, 2012)

- Simply out to stock up on some face lotion, I waited in a rather long line and watched as an aproned employee spoke with the first person, looked down at her clipboard as she moved to the next, looked up again and spoke with the second person, looked down at her clipboard as she moved to the next, looked up again and spoke with the third person, looked down at her clipboard as she moved to the next, looked up again, met my eyes for not more than a moment, and hastily looked down again as she moved to the next.  I was used to fitting in, not to being purposefully passed by.  (December, 2012)

- Having gotten my tray-full of cafeteria food and sat down at a long table with the four Korean teachers I'd come with, I was just over half-way finished eating when I noticed that the three oldest teachers had finished already and I saw the other one hurriedly scraping her remaining food into a pile as if to appear finished and I noticed that the four of them began subtly glancing back and forth from me, to each other, to my tray -- I supposed to see when I'd fall in and do the same, thereby permitting the group to rise and depart.  So much for me eating my lunch and you eating yours.  (March, 2014)

 June 15, 2014: I've now lived in Korea for a grand total
of 24 months.  Sorry I still took a picture with the
wrong side of the map! 

Looks, 

words, 

feelings, 

everyday events.  

While I haven't felt myself bumping distinctly up and directly down like the spikes on a stegosaurus' back, I have been shaken by the slightest things, at the most unexpected times, in the normal-est of places.  And that's what I now think must be what makes up the larger rises and falls on the graph of The Stages of Culture Shock -- not big business, like I had initially imagined, but instead, all sorts of little things -- little things that take turns as they softly whisper the weighty words: here is a whole lot different than there. 

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Thanks for reading :)