The Complexity of Krexit

Last February when I handed myself my contract to sign, I felt as though I'd reached a peak of oddity. It struck me that I was as high up as anyone who doesn't possess a Korean passport can climb in this industry.

My choices then became to stay squatted at the top of the totem pole, to slide back down to where I was, or to walk left, right, or straight out of the system.  Staying and sliding are actions that require little effort.  Although the top of the ladder may seem scary, an object at rest remains at rest and, although cascading may come with splinters, gravity handles the exertion of force.  Unique, however, when compared to staying or sliding is walking. 

Before muscles even engage to move one foot forward and then the other, the mind must contemplate the three hundred and sixty degrees of potential direction, and decide.  After a decision is reached and physical strength is summoned to perform the actual act of walking, the mind must join forces with the body and transform the dream of endurance into reality. 

Krexit, Karen leaving Korea, is a paradoxically vague yet dense topic of deliberation.  It can be spoken of over ice cream cones and dissolved into a discussion of plane ticket prices, yet it has implications too great for any metaphor to encompass accurately.  

With the exception of the eight months from May 22, 2013 through February 14, 2014, I have resided in the Republic of Korea since the autumn after graduating from university.  Cell phone numbers starting with 010, all rising when the director enters the office, a cup of coffee meaning a $4 americano (iced if it's any season but winter and rarely consumed before noon), intentionally avoiding eye contact with strangers yet not being bothered about bumping into them, changing lanes  while turning corners, removing shoes before stepping up onto the raised floor where meals are eaten criss-cross-applesauce, the mountains and tunnels, the language that expresses not only meaning but age relation, status differential, and level of closeness.  Accepting cultural tidbits, first one and then two at a time, my habits have evolved and what I am used to is not what it used to be. 

Tweaks of behavior and little adjustments of thought... Change.

Now, going back to where I grew up, I know the roads, houses, and some of the neighbors' names, but I wonder whether to meet the eyes of strangers in town and it troubles me why no one stood to greet the director who just entered the office.  How can you tell two people's relationship if not from  the words that they choose and the affix that they either insert or leave out?  What do you mean come to a complete stop when the coast is so obviously clear?  Just a minute!  You forgot to remove your shoes.

Insignificant though they may seem, these examples begin to paint The Complexity of Krexit.

Thanks for reading :)

To Africa

I never wanted to go.  I thought it was nice that other people went, but I didn't want to take a bath in a barrel of cold water, walk barefoot down a dirt road, participate in a questionably quasi development project, or come out prizing a picture of myself in the center of a swarm of cute little black kids -- and that is what I thought of when I thought of going to Africa.

But no one asked what I thought.

And so I went to Kenya, as the go-between for a group of Koreans.

Each year, the Provincial Office of Education sends a team for two weeks to conduct ICT training, helping Kenyan teachers learn how to use computers in education.  My duties included assisting with the training and aiding with translation.  I didn't have a lot of energy to exert during the computer course, but my stomach started to settle just in time to translate for our department's director, who arrived midway through the trip.

It is a funny feeling sitting between a Kenyan and a Korean.  The Kenyan was late.  The Korean was early.  The Kenyan sat slouched to one side.  The Korean sat straight.  The Kenyan's eyes black.  The Korean's a dark shade of brown behind glasses.

One spoke.

The other looked lost.

The one who had spoken looked at me, as though he was waiting for me to convert the other's expression into something more agreeable than lost.

The lost one looked at me, too.  He was furiously searching my face for a clue as to what had been said so that he could quickly react in the most appropriate accord.

With both the Korean and the Kenyan looking at me in anticipation, I felt a bit funny.  I had to speak, but what I would have to say was what another had presently said and I would have to say it in such a way that the one who was lost would react agreeably, not only relieving himself of the fury of not knowing, but also satisfying the expectation of the one who had spoken and now sat waiting.

Only after understanding had occurred would the one who had spoken and the one whose role it was to react intentionally redirect their gazes away from me and toward each other to celebrate for a second their successful yet complicated communication.

The Korean cited several statistics, such as the number of teachers trained to date and stated that education is essential to a country's development.  The Kenyan agreed on the importance of education, expressed gratitude to the Korean and spoke of his hope for the program to continue ceaselessly.  The parties exchanged gifts and the meeting came to a close.

All that the Korean and the Kenyan understood had been said by me and yet I had not said a thing for myself.

Funny.

After all official duties had been dealt with, the Korean cohort, myself included, took off on a two-night trip to Masai Mara National Reserve.  Riding in an open-topped Land Cruiser, a local guide helped us spot wildlife on the savannah.

The land far and flat like ocean.  The sky boundless above.  Animals grazing alone, lying in patches, moving in massive groups.  When the sun set, everything appeared as gold.

The peculiar position of sitting between strikingly contrastive cultures.  The near transcendence of time and space while riding around the plain.

Perhaps it was wise that no one had asked what I thought of going to Africa.  

Now what I wonder is whether I will go again.

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Thanks for reading :)