Last Tuesday, in my advanced middle school class, we were doing a listening and speaking excersise on employers monitoring their employees in the work place. My kids being the way they are, they helpfully pointed out the "class cams," claiming it "violated their privacy." One of the girls innocently said that the people who watch the children in the POLY classrooms really just sit back and "play with themselves." But back to my point.
The listening series we use employs actual radio broadcasts, usually from NPR, so they do spark some interesting debates. There is a reading section to go along with the listening section; in this week's reading selection, the journalist used the "Xerox scandal" as an example of how employers monitor employees, stating that 40 Xerox employees were fired after downloading pornography onto their work computers. The boy reading the article did a double-take, and I said,"Ah, Sean, you know what 'pornography' is?"
Without thinking, he answered, "Oh yes, I know very well what it is," then turned an interesting shade of pomegranate. Fortunately, only a few of the boys caught it (the girls looked puzzled).
One of the ways in which employees are being monitored, according the the article, is through cameras in the bathroom and other "private areas" (direct quote). The girls were horrified by this, even when I mentioned that it was done to prevent stealing and drug-dealing. (Connecticut is the only state that has banned this practice, btw.)
During group discussion, one of the other boys caused some more snickering, and even "teacher" nearly lost it. We were discussing alternative ways to monitor employees, ways that don't interfere with privacy overmuch. Only one boy defended the practice of bathroom cams, but his reason was, "If they put a camera in the bathroom, they can catch people performing immoral acts."
I only lost my composure for a moment; Sean was not so lucky. I backed the mildly embarassed boy up, "Such as..?" and he went on to talk about the stealing and drug dealing that goes on it the bathroom. He also advocated a "one person at a time" bathroom policy, but that didn't fly well with the class.
On another middle school note, my co-worker assigned her class to come up with a list of ten items each student would want to have if they were trapped on a desert island; they are reading LORD OF THE FLIES. Harry's number one answer? GIRLS!
Tuesday, May 30, 2006
Monday, May 29, 2006
Photo Journal: Gyeongju Part II
I slept in the next morning, then hied myself down to a local coffee shop for breakfast. I spread out my map, and I decided to go to Tumuli Park. The park is a massive burial area for the kings and the queens of the Shilla Dynasty (the “Ming” dynasty of Korea). At the same time Gaul was being conquered, the Shilla were in power. No Stone Age people, these craftsmen had superb skills in stone carving, weaving, and metal works. The Mongolians feared them, which says quite a bit.
The “Tumuli” are the burial mounds; these are not mounds in the sense of mass graves, but are in fact rather complex underground structures, much like the pyramids of Egypt. The structures were built with wooden chambers inside, where the king or queen was buried with their clothes and crown ON TOP of their coffins. Like the Egyptians, the Shilla left things around for assistance in the afterlife. The tumuli was then covered with earth and grass, forming an enormous mound, like these:
Note the camera man on top for a sense of scale.
I slept in the next morning, then hied myself down to a local coffee shop for breakfast. I spread out my map, and I decided to go to Tumuli Park. The park is a massive burial area for the kings and the queens of the Shilla Dynasty (the “Ming” dynasty of Korea). At the same time Gaul was being conquered, the Shilla were in power. No Stone Age people, these craftsmen had superb skills in stone carving, weaving, and metal works. The Mongolians feared them, which says quite a bit.
The “Tumuli” are the burial mounds; these are not mounds in the sense of mass graves, but are in fact rather complex underground structures, much like the pyramids of Egypt. The structures were built with wooden chambers inside, where the king or queen was buried with their clothes and crown ON TOP of their coffins. Like the Egyptians, the Shilla left things around for assistance in the afterlife. The tumuli was then covered with earth and grass, forming an enormous mound, like these:
Note the cameraman on top for a sense of scale.
As I strolled along the park, a couple of middle-aged ladies approached me and asked if they could walk with me for a pace. This is quite common in Korea – if you look white, people want to practice their English on you. I usually comply with such requests, and this was no exception. The ladies explained that they were “volunteers,” and appeared to be associated with the park. Many park docents are, in fact, unpaid volunteers. We chit-chatted about this and that and they inevitably asked about my religion. The town was full of people who were in town to celebrate Buddha’s birthday; in fact there was a temple across the street from the park. Gyeongju is the center of Korean Buddhism, so this question did not seem too odd to me. Not wanting to be mistaken for the weird hippie-type Westerner, I gently explained I was a Christian, not a Buddhist. This seemed to impress them, and the subject was dropped. We stopped to take a picture, and then I began to go on my way. Before I left, we exchanged information - again, a politeness in Korea. It is very rude to refuse contact information. Then the bomb dropped, “I would like you to read this magazine and tell me what you think about it. I will contact you later on this week."
They were Jehovah’s Witnesses.
I have got to give them credit. I am so used to acting “Korean polite” that I didn’t see it coming. Not only this, but they did it virtually on the doorstep of a Buddhist temple. That takes some guts, and I admire that. One of the ladies did contact me, but I did not respond.
I continued on towards the center of the park, and promptly ran into a gaggle of young children, shepherded by their weary teachers. Each group was neatly “color-coded” by uniform - a handy thing when you are responsible for 40 children in your group! The colors also appeared to correspond somewhat to age group – yellow and orange for preschool/kindergarten, pink for 3rd grade, etc. The children were relatively quiet until a silent signal was released from the teachers. Then, the children began doing what children do - run around like lunatics. I walked near the older group for a bit, and one of the male teachers spoke surprisingly good English. He was very interested in conversing further, but his duties interfered.
I went towards the bathroom, and groaned as I saw a line of children in front of me. The children got very excited when they saw me, and began babbling at me in Korean. The female teacher in charge tentatively approached me, and asked if I would pose for a picture. The noisy tots (about 5-6 years old) gathered around me eagerly, and I made bunny ears over their dark little heads as the camera flashed. Then they babbled at me some more, “hello, thank you, hi” being the extent of their English. One of the more silent ones looked up at me in wonder, and exclaimed “Ajuma!” (Wow, you look like middle-aged!) I looked down at him and said, equally seriously,
“Ajuma?! Anio!” (Old woman? Nooo!)
The crowd rippled with excitement.
“Hangul?” “Hangul!” (She speaks Korean! Woah!)
Great fun.
nbsp;
I soon left, and headed out of the gate on the other side of the park. I wandered down the village streets for awhile, trying to get my bearings. As I went down the main drag, someone frantically called out to me, “Excuse me! Excuse me!” I turned around, and saw a well dressed middle-aged woman in heels chasing me down. Out of breath, she panted, ”May I talk with you?”
Oh great. Another one.
She then explained, “I came into town with my husband on business. We just finished lunch, and he just... dropped me off here. Can I talk to you and walk with you for awhile? I don’t know what to do until my husband picks me up…I think I will be bored…”
Korean women, especially of a certain class, do not know how to travel alone. As we were in the middle of nowhere, and there isn’t much of a town, I took pity on her, and allowed her to join me. “Pearl” turned out to be a good companion; she even insisted on paying my way a bit. In America, I would be suspicious, but there was something about her that spoke of a fragile honesty.
Pearl often traveled with her husband, but he had a tendency to drop her off in random places (“Have a good time, dear!”). In a country where no one even goes to the bathroom alone (even sharing bathroom stalls), this is a scary thing. As we chatted, I got to know a bit more about her life. She had a teenage son studying at boarding school in Australia, and a 14 year old at home (who kept calling her). She “helped her husband” with his business, but I took this to be code-word for “housewife.”
We went across a field to the Cheomseongdae Observatory, one of the oldest of its kind still standing in Asia. There we met one of the volunteer guides, a man who said everyone called him “Grandpa Choi.” He clearly enjoyed his “job,” giving lengthy details about the mathematical reasoning behind the stone structure. It was a clever system of season, day, and cycle counting, a system I couldn’t even begin to relate. The structure did survive several massive earthquakes, establishing Korea’s reputation at the time for brick-making. Even now, the masonry has held up amazingly well; not a stone was missing or out of place:
After we left, we crossed the street to a bakery that served Gyeongju’s specialty, a sort of barley-bread sandwich stuffed with red bean paste. It was tasty, but not spectacular.
We then boarded a bus to go up to Bulgaksa Temple, a UNESCO World-Heritage sight. As it was Buddha’s birthday, the temple was lavishly decorated with paper lanterns and lotus flowers:
This ancient pagoda is featured on the back of the "10 Won" piece (about ten cents):
I was especially intrigued by the “mini-pagodas,” which serve as wishes or prayers. These piles of rocks are man-made, and have deep symbolism for Buddhists:
A very resourceful individual used a convenient tree to build a taller pagoda:
Tree Pagoda
Even the god of music looks like someone you would not like to cross:
We were not allowed to take photos inside the temples, so I did not get any shots of the Buddhas here.
Pearl’s husband finally called wondering where she was. I didn’t understand the cell phone conversation of course, but the tone of voice sounded like this:
Husband: You are WHERE?! Up the mountain at a temple?! (She was Christian)
Wife: You think I was going to wait around for you all day?
Husband: (Sigh) All right, I will come get you.
As we waited, we stopped at a food stall. Pearl then proceeded to buy what can only be described as a Korean delicacy – cooked silkworm larvae. I have never actually seen people buy these things, let alone eat them, although they are readily available in any street market. My students either absolutely love them, or think they are gross (“Ewww, fried worms!”) They smell like burning tires, and look like, well, cooked larvae. Apparently you spear the suckers with a toothpick; a young couple was lovingly spooning them into each others’ mouths at the bus stop…I tried to get up the courage to ask if I could try one, but Pearl’s husband came with the car.
I took the bus down the mountain, then stopped at a GS (convenience store) for dinner. The restaurants were just too crowded, and I was too tired to figure out the menus (in Korean). I bought some lunch meat, but had to eat it with no bread. I also purchased some nuts, a snack or two, and water. I went back to my hotel room, and curled up with THE DA VINCI CODE.
The “Tumuli” are the burial mounds; these are not mounds in the sense of mass graves, but are in fact rather complex underground structures, much like the pyramids of Egypt. The structures were built with wooden chambers inside, where the king or queen was buried with their clothes and crown ON TOP of their coffins. Like the Egyptians, the Shilla left things around for assistance in the afterlife. The tumuli was then covered with earth and grass, forming an enormous mound, like these:
Note the camera man on top for a sense of scale.
I slept in the next morning, then hied myself down to a local coffee shop for breakfast. I spread out my map, and I decided to go to Tumuli Park. The park is a massive burial area for the kings and the queens of the Shilla Dynasty (the “Ming” dynasty of Korea). At the same time Gaul was being conquered, the Shilla were in power. No Stone Age people, these craftsmen had superb skills in stone carving, weaving, and metal works. The Mongolians feared them, which says quite a bit.
The “Tumuli” are the burial mounds; these are not mounds in the sense of mass graves, but are in fact rather complex underground structures, much like the pyramids of Egypt. The structures were built with wooden chambers inside, where the king or queen was buried with their clothes and crown ON TOP of their coffins. Like the Egyptians, the Shilla left things around for assistance in the afterlife. The tumuli was then covered with earth and grass, forming an enormous mound, like these:
Note the cameraman on top for a sense of scale.
As I strolled along the park, a couple of middle-aged ladies approached me and asked if they could walk with me for a pace. This is quite common in Korea – if you look white, people want to practice their English on you. I usually comply with such requests, and this was no exception. The ladies explained that they were “volunteers,” and appeared to be associated with the park. Many park docents are, in fact, unpaid volunteers. We chit-chatted about this and that and they inevitably asked about my religion. The town was full of people who were in town to celebrate Buddha’s birthday; in fact there was a temple across the street from the park. Gyeongju is the center of Korean Buddhism, so this question did not seem too odd to me. Not wanting to be mistaken for the weird hippie-type Westerner, I gently explained I was a Christian, not a Buddhist. This seemed to impress them, and the subject was dropped. We stopped to take a picture, and then I began to go on my way. Before I left, we exchanged information - again, a politeness in Korea. It is very rude to refuse contact information. Then the bomb dropped, “I would like you to read this magazine and tell me what you think about it. I will contact you later on this week."
They were Jehovah’s Witnesses.
I have got to give them credit. I am so used to acting “Korean polite” that I didn’t see it coming. Not only this, but they did it virtually on the doorstep of a Buddhist temple. That takes some guts, and I admire that. One of the ladies did contact me, but I did not respond.
I continued on towards the center of the park, and promptly ran into a gaggle of young children, shepherded by their weary teachers. Each group was neatly “color-coded” by uniform - a handy thing when you are responsible for 40 children in your group! The colors also appeared to correspond somewhat to age group – yellow and orange for preschool/kindergarten, pink for 3rd grade, etc. The children were relatively quiet until a silent signal was released from the teachers. Then, the children began doing what children do - run around like lunatics. I walked near the older group for a bit, and one of the male teachers spoke surprisingly good English. He was very interested in conversing further, but his duties interfered.
I went towards the bathroom, and groaned as I saw a line of children in front of me. The children got very excited when they saw me, and began babbling at me in Korean. The female teacher in charge tentatively approached me, and asked if I would pose for a picture. The noisy tots (about 5-6 years old) gathered around me eagerly, and I made bunny ears over their dark little heads as the camera flashed. Then they babbled at me some more, “hello, thank you, hi” being the extent of their English. One of the more silent ones looked up at me in wonder, and exclaimed “Ajuma!” (Wow, you look like middle-aged!) I looked down at him and said, equally seriously,
“Ajuma?! Anio!” (Old woman? Nooo!)
The crowd rippled with excitement.
“Hangul?” “Hangul!” (She speaks Korean! Woah!)
Great fun.
nbsp;
I soon left, and headed out of the gate on the other side of the park. I wandered down the village streets for awhile, trying to get my bearings. As I went down the main drag, someone frantically called out to me, “Excuse me! Excuse me!” I turned around, and saw a well dressed middle-aged woman in heels chasing me down. Out of breath, she panted, ”May I talk with you?”
Oh great. Another one.
She then explained, “I came into town with my husband on business. We just finished lunch, and he just... dropped me off here. Can I talk to you and walk with you for awhile? I don’t know what to do until my husband picks me up…I think I will be bored…”
Korean women, especially of a certain class, do not know how to travel alone. As we were in the middle of nowhere, and there isn’t much of a town, I took pity on her, and allowed her to join me. “Pearl” turned out to be a good companion; she even insisted on paying my way a bit. In America, I would be suspicious, but there was something about her that spoke of a fragile honesty.
Pearl often traveled with her husband, but he had a tendency to drop her off in random places (“Have a good time, dear!”). In a country where no one even goes to the bathroom alone (even sharing bathroom stalls), this is a scary thing. As we chatted, I got to know a bit more about her life. She had a teenage son studying at boarding school in Australia, and a 14 year old at home (who kept calling her). She “helped her husband” with his business, but I took this to be code-word for “housewife.”
We went across a field to the Cheomseongdae Observatory, one of the oldest of its kind still standing in Asia. There we met one of the volunteer guides, a man who said everyone called him “Grandpa Choi.” He clearly enjoyed his “job,” giving lengthy details about the mathematical reasoning behind the stone structure. It was a clever system of season, day, and cycle counting, a system I couldn’t even begin to relate. The structure did survive several massive earthquakes, establishing Korea’s reputation at the time for brick-making. Even now, the masonry has held up amazingly well; not a stone was missing or out of place:
After we left, we crossed the street to a bakery that served Gyeongju’s specialty, a sort of barley-bread sandwich stuffed with red bean paste. It was tasty, but not spectacular.
We then boarded a bus to go up to Bulgaksa Temple, a UNESCO World-Heritage sight. As it was Buddha’s birthday, the temple was lavishly decorated with paper lanterns and lotus flowers:
This ancient pagoda is featured on the back of the "10 Won" piece (about ten cents):
I was especially intrigued by the “mini-pagodas,” which serve as wishes or prayers. These piles of rocks are man-made, and have deep symbolism for Buddhists:
A very resourceful individual used a convenient tree to build a taller pagoda:
Tree Pagoda
Even the god of music looks like someone you would not like to cross:
We were not allowed to take photos inside the temples, so I did not get any shots of the Buddhas here.
Pearl’s husband finally called wondering where she was. I didn’t understand the cell phone conversation of course, but the tone of voice sounded like this:
Husband: You are WHERE?! Up the mountain at a temple?! (She was Christian)
Wife: You think I was going to wait around for you all day?
Husband: (Sigh) All right, I will come get you.
As we waited, we stopped at a food stall. Pearl then proceeded to buy what can only be described as a Korean delicacy – cooked silkworm larvae. I have never actually seen people buy these things, let alone eat them, although they are readily available in any street market. My students either absolutely love them, or think they are gross (“Ewww, fried worms!”) They smell like burning tires, and look like, well, cooked larvae. Apparently you spear the suckers with a toothpick; a young couple was lovingly spooning them into each others’ mouths at the bus stop…I tried to get up the courage to ask if I could try one, but Pearl’s husband came with the car.
I took the bus down the mountain, then stopped at a GS (convenience store) for dinner. The restaurants were just too crowded, and I was too tired to figure out the menus (in Korean). I bought some lunch meat, but had to eat it with no bread. I also purchased some nuts, a snack or two, and water. I went back to my hotel room, and curled up with THE DA VINCI CODE.
Tuesday, May 16, 2006
Photo Journal: Gyeongju Part I
I arrived in Gyeongju on May 3, 2006, not certain what I would find. I took a late bus because I had been through a job interview earlier that afternoon. The bus journey was quite uneventful, except that it was a four hour ride with no bathroom. Naturally, I had to go, even though I had not had any liquid for hours. It would be a very Korean thing to do - take a four hour bus-ride without stopping - the Koreans are very stoic about suffering. Fortunately, two hours into the trip, we stopped at this waystation. You couldn’t miss this tourist kiosk, that’s for certain:
Tourist Kiosk
When I arrived, I noticed the bus station was not terribly well-lit, and it was clearly a more interesting part of town. The characters one might expect to meet in such a place are the same no matter what part of the world you are in; at 10 p.m., things looked a bit dodgy. I scanned my map, and discovered I had gotten off at the wrong bus stop; there is the Express Bus Terminal and the Intercity Bus Terminal. I got off at the Intercity, but my map was for the other one. My Korean wasn’t up to “bus terminal” but the lady at the bread counter indicated that it was a LOOONG walk. The scale on my map was missing, so after calling a friend, I asked a taxi driver where my hotel (x marks the spot) and/or the other bus terminal was. He pointed vaguely in the opposite direction for the bus terminal, then peered at my map carefully, using the headlights for a light. He asked his colleagues, but no one could tell me where I needed to go. Korean streets don’t always have names.
Frustrated, I began stumbling to the “love motel” row behind the bus station. I grew increasingly uneasy as I wandered through this part of the city; it was very dark, and the “ladies” had already left their “calling cards” propped up on the steps of the motels. One particularly garish hotel caught my eye. “Oooh, over the top,” I thought absently, observing the plush velvet stairs decked with photos of the local delicacies. I passed it, crossed my fingers, and went down a side street. I found myself back where I started, at the Intercity terminal. Two university-aged students came and offered their assistance. I never got their names, but one of them had a crazy tie that clashed nicely with his rock t-shirt. The other one zigzagged ahead down the street, leaving us in his dust. Suddenly he shouted, “Yo gi oh” (over there!). It was the “over the top” love motel with the stairs. If I had just looked up and read the Korean sign, I would have known that. So much for problem-solving.
With much smiling and bowing, the boys left me (probably wondering about my reputation!) on the steps of my love palace. The staff turned out to be very pleasant, and actually remembered my reservation – a rarity in Korea, as Koreans never plan ahead. The room was small, but well-appointed, with a large screen t.v., a wide bed, and “his ‘n hers” hangers. There were at least three boxes of Kleenex “for clean-up” in the amenities, “special” lotion, bottled water in the fridge, but alas, no condoms. When I flipped the light switch, the room was bathed in a glow of blacklight! After some fumbling around, I discovered the actual light switch!
There was one “Korean porn” channel, and, in my ever increasing interest in sex ed. in Korea, I decided to take time to see what it was about. Korean “porn” is actually quite tame compared to cable t.v. fare. Let’s just say if any of my students came across it, they would still be quite mystified as to “where babies come from.” This has a lot to do with censorship in Korea – T and A, but no frontal nudity below the waist. Actually, I’m not sure how anyone can get their jollies off this stuff as the “performers” are not remotely attractive even by Asian standards, and the videos are shot at peculiar angles. I flipped across a “shower scene” where the camera spent quite a bit of time on the lady’s legs; this would have been fine, except her legs were blotchy and scarred. Even so, the cameraman used as sexy an angle as he could. The women also tended to be a bit on the plump side, and, as I have mentioned before, overweight Korean women have CELLULITE. The men were exceptionally skinny, a fault which usually gets a man ribbed and ridiculed by his mates. A bigger and more cushioned body type is preferred by the ladies.
But maybe that was the point, a common man gets a woman, any woman. In many of the scenes, said woman was intoxicated to the point of compliance. Korean men are very shy unless intoxicated, what does this say about the women? As Westerners, we are horrified by the thought of a woman being taken advantage of in this fashion; American women are prone to cry “Rape!” at the least provocation. This is not a bad thing by any means, but it puts men in a certain position of powerlessness. Generally speaking, Koreans are introverts, and not prone to make waves; their powerlessness lies in their inability to communicate what they are REALLY feeling. It is only when the defences are down “after hours” that deals are made and broken between Korean business men. Maybe the same can be said about sexual relations.
Tourist Kiosk
When I arrived, I noticed the bus station was not terribly well-lit, and it was clearly a more interesting part of town. The characters one might expect to meet in such a place are the same no matter what part of the world you are in; at 10 p.m., things looked a bit dodgy. I scanned my map, and discovered I had gotten off at the wrong bus stop; there is the Express Bus Terminal and the Intercity Bus Terminal. I got off at the Intercity, but my map was for the other one. My Korean wasn’t up to “bus terminal” but the lady at the bread counter indicated that it was a LOOONG walk. The scale on my map was missing, so after calling a friend, I asked a taxi driver where my hotel (x marks the spot) and/or the other bus terminal was. He pointed vaguely in the opposite direction for the bus terminal, then peered at my map carefully, using the headlights for a light. He asked his colleagues, but no one could tell me where I needed to go. Korean streets don’t always have names.
Frustrated, I began stumbling to the “love motel” row behind the bus station. I grew increasingly uneasy as I wandered through this part of the city; it was very dark, and the “ladies” had already left their “calling cards” propped up on the steps of the motels. One particularly garish hotel caught my eye. “Oooh, over the top,” I thought absently, observing the plush velvet stairs decked with photos of the local delicacies. I passed it, crossed my fingers, and went down a side street. I found myself back where I started, at the Intercity terminal. Two university-aged students came and offered their assistance. I never got their names, but one of them had a crazy tie that clashed nicely with his rock t-shirt. The other one zigzagged ahead down the street, leaving us in his dust. Suddenly he shouted, “Yo gi oh” (over there!). It was the “over the top” love motel with the stairs. If I had just looked up and read the Korean sign, I would have known that. So much for problem-solving.
With much smiling and bowing, the boys left me (probably wondering about my reputation!) on the steps of my love palace. The staff turned out to be very pleasant, and actually remembered my reservation – a rarity in Korea, as Koreans never plan ahead. The room was small, but well-appointed, with a large screen t.v., a wide bed, and “his ‘n hers” hangers. There were at least three boxes of Kleenex “for clean-up” in the amenities, “special” lotion, bottled water in the fridge, but alas, no condoms. When I flipped the light switch, the room was bathed in a glow of blacklight! After some fumbling around, I discovered the actual light switch!
There was one “Korean porn” channel, and, in my ever increasing interest in sex ed. in Korea, I decided to take time to see what it was about. Korean “porn” is actually quite tame compared to cable t.v. fare. Let’s just say if any of my students came across it, they would still be quite mystified as to “where babies come from.” This has a lot to do with censorship in Korea – T and A, but no frontal nudity below the waist. Actually, I’m not sure how anyone can get their jollies off this stuff as the “performers” are not remotely attractive even by Asian standards, and the videos are shot at peculiar angles. I flipped across a “shower scene” where the camera spent quite a bit of time on the lady’s legs; this would have been fine, except her legs were blotchy and scarred. Even so, the cameraman used as sexy an angle as he could. The women also tended to be a bit on the plump side, and, as I have mentioned before, overweight Korean women have CELLULITE. The men were exceptionally skinny, a fault which usually gets a man ribbed and ridiculed by his mates. A bigger and more cushioned body type is preferred by the ladies.
But maybe that was the point, a common man gets a woman, any woman. In many of the scenes, said woman was intoxicated to the point of compliance. Korean men are very shy unless intoxicated, what does this say about the women? As Westerners, we are horrified by the thought of a woman being taken advantage of in this fashion; American women are prone to cry “Rape!” at the least provocation. This is not a bad thing by any means, but it puts men in a certain position of powerlessness. Generally speaking, Koreans are introverts, and not prone to make waves; their powerlessness lies in their inability to communicate what they are REALLY feeling. It is only when the defences are down “after hours” that deals are made and broken between Korean business men. Maybe the same can be said about sexual relations.
Tuesday, May 02, 2006
Monday, May 01, 2006
NOTES: The Baby Story
This is a continuation of my earlier discussion of sex education in Korea, so bear with me. I have done a bit of research, and found an older article on the subject at:
http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?file=/chronicle/archive/2003/03/14/MN19286.DTL
I was basically right on target, except for a few details. First of all, Korea still has one of the lowest AIDS rates in Asia. The strain is specifically known as "the Korean" strain, and is being spread almost exclusively through sexual contact. Needle-sharing is uncommon, and so is homosexuality. Although initially introduced by a sex worker who plied her trade on a U.S. military base, it is now spread from Korean to Korean.
Condom use is still not high; I have been told that this is because the Korean brands are made of very thick and uncomfortably tight latex. The Korean men I have spoken to (they will only talk about it if they are drunk) say they prefer to buy American brands, even though they are a little too big...I have no direct experience of this, so I will have to take their word for it.
Here is an exerpt from the above-mentioned article:
Changing attitude toward sex threatens South Korea
Growing promiscuity, lack of education may lead to
increase in AIDS, experts sayBobby McGill, Chronicle Foreign Service
Friday, March 14, 2003
Health officials say reluctance to use condoms,
a rise in infections among homosexuals, an increase
in young Koreans' sexual activities and lack of
information about contraception are likely factors
that could lead to a significant increase in HIV
infections in future years.
"Korea needs to be shocked by someone famous with
the disease, like the United States with Rock Hudson,"
said Kwon. "Maybe then parents will see the importance
of talking about it at home."
The government now offers a Web site with AIDS
information, a 24-hour hot- line and free AIDS tests.
The National Institute of Health also plans to install
18,000 condom vending machines at major nightspots
throughout the country and at "every possible location
we can," said Kwon.
Recognizing the reluctance of parents to address AIDS,
sexuality and especially contraception, a government
campaign encourages middle school and high school
teachers to lead candid discussions with their students
about the consequences of unprotected sex.
Starting at the middle school level, students are taught
about abstinence and safe sex practices. But critics
say the depth of classroom discussions depends on the
willingness of individual teachers to broach the subject.
Students say some would rather show anatomical charts
and tame videos than preside over a frank discussion.
Saets Byul Choi, a 16-year-old high school student from
the industrial city of Ansan, just south of Seoul,
recalled a recent video shown at her school.
"It was about a man and a woman who fall in love and get
married. They get into the bed fully dressed and the
screen goes black," she said. "When they return to the
screen, the woman has a big stomach."
Yet, clearly, babies do happen. It is spring in Seoul, and babies are almost as abundant as the spring flowers. Women carry their babies in a blanket sling, rather than a baby carrier. These bundles of joy are just that; they grow like tumors on hapless female backs. They appear to be comfortable, and flirt with passing strangers over their mothers' (and grandmothers') backs. I get lots of stares and an occasional grin on the subway when their mothers are otherwise distracted.
Trendy mothers carry their babies in front-slings, as was popular in the mid-eighties in America. Father's carry young children in their arms more often, although the less dignified (and typically younger) fathers also use the front sling. I have never seen a baby carrier in Korea, though I do see the occasional "pram."
Today I got to hold one of the little Korean babies. I went to my usual sandwich shop, and one of the employee's relatives brought her baby in. As it was a little slow, the baby got passed around among the employees. Even Mr. Pak, who can be a bit stiff and formal, picked up the child and crowed at it. I finished my lunch, picked up my bag, and walked out the door.
The mother, who appeared to be very young, handed the baby off to her sister. I said "Anyung" (hello) to the baby in passing, who appeared to be about three months old, and was startled when he gave me a toothless grin. I put my finger out, and was surprised at the grip the little guy had. He was apparently older than I thought, because he reached for me. Before I could say a word, he got passed to me.
Now, an American mother would never pass a baby to a random stranger, especially one who was not expecting it. Fortunately, he was strong and able to hold himself upright and move about. I wondered how old he actually was; his mother was very small so perhaps he was just undersized. After "making friends," I bounced him around and "flew him" gently (which got another toothless grin)up and down. He loved this, and so did his grateful mother (who looked very tired).
I have not held a baby for over a year, and it was bittersweet for me. I find it very painful, and try to avoid it because I may never have one of my own; the thought hurts me more than I can bear. At the same time, it felt so good to hold a new life in my own hands. Yesteday, I held a puppy at the subway station; today I held a person. Of course, the little kids at work "tackle hug" me; Korean children are very affectionate and demonstrative. It is not the same, however. Am I seeing "dancing babies" already? Or is it just spring?
http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?file=/chronicle/archive/2003/03/14/MN19286.DTL
I was basically right on target, except for a few details. First of all, Korea still has one of the lowest AIDS rates in Asia. The strain is specifically known as "the Korean" strain, and is being spread almost exclusively through sexual contact. Needle-sharing is uncommon, and so is homosexuality. Although initially introduced by a sex worker who plied her trade on a U.S. military base, it is now spread from Korean to Korean.
Condom use is still not high; I have been told that this is because the Korean brands are made of very thick and uncomfortably tight latex. The Korean men I have spoken to (they will only talk about it if they are drunk) say they prefer to buy American brands, even though they are a little too big...I have no direct experience of this, so I will have to take their word for it.
Here is an exerpt from the above-mentioned article:
Changing attitude toward sex threatens South Korea
Growing promiscuity, lack of education may lead to
increase in AIDS, experts sayBobby McGill, Chronicle Foreign Service
Friday, March 14, 2003
Health officials say reluctance to use condoms,
a rise in infections among homosexuals, an increase
in young Koreans' sexual activities and lack of
information about contraception are likely factors
that could lead to a significant increase in HIV
infections in future years.
"Korea needs to be shocked by someone famous with
the disease, like the United States with Rock Hudson,"
said Kwon. "Maybe then parents will see the importance
of talking about it at home."
The government now offers a Web site with AIDS
information, a 24-hour hot- line and free AIDS tests.
The National Institute of Health also plans to install
18,000 condom vending machines at major nightspots
throughout the country and at "every possible location
we can," said Kwon.
Recognizing the reluctance of parents to address AIDS,
sexuality and especially contraception, a government
campaign encourages middle school and high school
teachers to lead candid discussions with their students
about the consequences of unprotected sex.
Starting at the middle school level, students are taught
about abstinence and safe sex practices. But critics
say the depth of classroom discussions depends on the
willingness of individual teachers to broach the subject.
Students say some would rather show anatomical charts
and tame videos than preside over a frank discussion.
Saets Byul Choi, a 16-year-old high school student from
the industrial city of Ansan, just south of Seoul,
recalled a recent video shown at her school.
"It was about a man and a woman who fall in love and get
married. They get into the bed fully dressed and the
screen goes black," she said. "When they return to the
screen, the woman has a big stomach."
Yet, clearly, babies do happen. It is spring in Seoul, and babies are almost as abundant as the spring flowers. Women carry their babies in a blanket sling, rather than a baby carrier. These bundles of joy are just that; they grow like tumors on hapless female backs. They appear to be comfortable, and flirt with passing strangers over their mothers' (and grandmothers') backs. I get lots of stares and an occasional grin on the subway when their mothers are otherwise distracted.
Trendy mothers carry their babies in front-slings, as was popular in the mid-eighties in America. Father's carry young children in their arms more often, although the less dignified (and typically younger) fathers also use the front sling. I have never seen a baby carrier in Korea, though I do see the occasional "pram."
Today I got to hold one of the little Korean babies. I went to my usual sandwich shop, and one of the employee's relatives brought her baby in. As it was a little slow, the baby got passed around among the employees. Even Mr. Pak, who can be a bit stiff and formal, picked up the child and crowed at it. I finished my lunch, picked up my bag, and walked out the door.
The mother, who appeared to be very young, handed the baby off to her sister. I said "Anyung" (hello) to the baby in passing, who appeared to be about three months old, and was startled when he gave me a toothless grin. I put my finger out, and was surprised at the grip the little guy had. He was apparently older than I thought, because he reached for me. Before I could say a word, he got passed to me.
Now, an American mother would never pass a baby to a random stranger, especially one who was not expecting it. Fortunately, he was strong and able to hold himself upright and move about. I wondered how old he actually was; his mother was very small so perhaps he was just undersized. After "making friends," I bounced him around and "flew him" gently (which got another toothless grin)up and down. He loved this, and so did his grateful mother (who looked very tired).
I have not held a baby for over a year, and it was bittersweet for me. I find it very painful, and try to avoid it because I may never have one of my own; the thought hurts me more than I can bear. At the same time, it felt so good to hold a new life in my own hands. Yesteday, I held a puppy at the subway station; today I held a person. Of course, the little kids at work "tackle hug" me; Korean children are very affectionate and demonstrative. It is not the same, however. Am I seeing "dancing babies" already? Or is it just spring?
Monday, April 17, 2006
JOURNAL: The Russians Are Coming...
There are many good reasons for visitors not to get into trouble in foreign lands. You can't speak the language, the government doesn't have any reason to listen to you, and you may or may not be given a fair hearing. These are basic things anyone travelling should be well aware of before trying to upset the locals. But what if the combatants are foreigners?
First of all, I was only there for the first part of the "incident." The rest was told to me by eye-witnesses; under cross-examination, their stories all checked with each other, so I am inclined to believe what happened, given my own experience earlier that evening.
One of my coworkers was having her birthday party in Apkujeong. Apkujeong, I must explain, is a district (sometimes called "Rodeo Drive") where the rich, famous, and trendy Seoulites (and others) like to shop, get plastic surgery, and drink. Overpriced botiques abound, overabundantly filled with the REAL Prada, Calvin Klein, Chanel, and Louis Vutton products that those-who-have love to purchase. I myself own some very nice fakes; my $10 "Prada" purse has more than once been taken for the real thing. Actually, I didn't even know it was a "Prada" until someone told me so; I just liked the interesting design (aligator leather, spikes, and a bow!). My rhinestone "diamond" Chanel watch also has passed muster.
You can also, for a reasonable price, get a "packagee" (Konglish), which I beleive includes a nose job, eye fold removal surgery (to look more Western - actually, it just makes Asians look permanently surprised) and Botox (ditto). The Deluxe Packagee includes a boob job. Hmmm....maybe I can get my extra "chin" (which I had even when ridiculously skinny) removed...
I have only been in Apkujeong a couple of times, but I have generally found the place a bit pretentious; I paid 10,000 won ($10) for an elaborately-presented fancy mug of...pre-powdered hot chocolate. Nevertheless, I decided to swallow my pride and go to the party at an Apkujeong club called "The Garden." I like this particular coworker quite a bit, and, even though still recovering from my bout with pnewmonia, I decided it was worth it to go.
I arrived there and my coworker's boyfriend, a very handsome and outgoing young man (especially for a Korean) graciously showed me the way. We went through what seemed to be a maze of stairs and hallways to a small club in the basement. It was nothing grand, but not a dive either. We went up another staircase, and into a room with chairs and tables behind a glass wall. You could look down at the dancers on the floor from behind the glass. These rooms completely encircled the dance floor, but the noise level was much more conducive for talking.
Ladies got in free, and after 11, drinks were two for one. I later discovered that this special did not include water...I asked for bottled water, but the bartender heard "Budweiser." I tried to argue with her, but she just looked puzzled, then feigned that she did not speak English (I heard her later doing just that). I HATE Budweiser, and I only really wanted water, but it was cold, and strangely refreshing. In for a penny, in for a pound, and I nursed two Long-Island Iced teas for three hours. My big meal helped with this. At the price, I figured they were charging me for two anyways.
With all the "let's go clubbing" talk going around earlier, no one actually danced. There were surprisingly many foreigners of many different nationalities mingling freely and speaking English. There were a few handsome Persian businessmen, a Spainiard, a random Indian or two, and a couple of Russians. There were decidedly more men than women; most of the women were in fact, in our group. Many of my coworkers are very attractive women in their own right, but they are not fashionably so. One girl is blond, strongly built, and well over 6 foot three. She has a vivacious personality which makes her beautiful in many conventional men's eyes. We had a red-head, a brunette with pale skin, and various Korean girls whom I didn't know. I felt like a dud, actually.
One of the Korean women (forgot her name) turned out to be the sister of my trainer at the gym, and she was a stunner. Tall, slim, and with long black hair, she OWNED the room. She was completely low-key and down to earth; I chatted with her for some time, and found that she was very likeable. She spoke English with an Australian accent, which made her all the more charming. What really stood out was that she was tanned, and looked more Italian than Korean. Her brother is also dark (Koreans are light-complected). She was definately getting some looks, but didn't appear to be too interested.
I wandered about aimlessly; no one was looking at me after all, so I felt free to look at the "pretty people" in relative silence. Suddenly, one of my coworkers came charging up the stairs and said, "You'll never guess who just walked in!"
"Who?"
"A group of women with legs up to HERE!" indicating her neck (she is shorter than I am).
With nothing better to do, I followed her down. Sure enough, a group of very tall, anorexically thin, and leggy Caucasian women stood in a group at the foot of the stairs. I observed them for awhile, and discovered they were speaking Russian. A well-groomed, well-muscled man ordered them about (in Russian), and they moved quickly and efficiently in their tight little group onto the dance floor. Eyes bulged and tongues panted out, but the ladies kept to themselves. I later learned that they were Russian models, presumably doing a shoot in Seoul.
I ran into them in the bathroom several times (side effect of the antibiotics). The
models obsessed over make-up, adjusting clothing lines, and looking snooty at the "commoners" using the stalls. I kept seeing one blonde in there - her barely present blouse kept riding up, exposing her prominent rib-cage and immaculately-waxed bikini line. She looked very hungry, and I felt a bit sorry for her. Until I ran into her alone.
On my last trip to the bathroom, I pulled out a lipstick. I discovered, to my horror, that it was REALLY the wrong shade, but, as I reasoned, the club was dark and no one would notice. Nevertheless, I went to one of the many mirrors in the trendy bathroom (think "Saturday Night Fever") and applied the pale shade as darkly as I could. I leaned over the sink, and suddenly realized that the girl was watching me. She was very tall, and towered over me in her spike heels. Not one word was exchanged, but she glared down at me with contempt. Her look confounded me, as I had not said a word to her, but it soon became apparent what the trouble was. The common little pansy was overshadowed by the brilliant and showy geranium, but dared to smile in the glow of her too-brilliant plummage. I calmly went about making my modest toilette; the queen would have to wait for her mirror (or use one of the other dozen in the room). I took my time, then left.
I left the club shortly after that; I do not belong in the world of pretty people. The girls in our group also elected to leave, and head for the college-town Hongdae club district. I made my excuses and taxied home.
Apparently, I missed the real fun. The group stayed out until 7 a.m., and a few of them spent some time in the police station. The beautiful Korean girl from Australia had apparently had one too many suitors, at least, until her burly trainer-brother showed up. The scuttlebutt is that he was VERY protective of his little sister, but also left before she did.
The lead up to the "main event" is a little hazy, as most people there were well in their cups, but at some point ANOTHER group of Russian women turned up. These ladies, it soon became apparent, were practitioners of the oldest trade in the world, and one of them did not take the unintentional competition from a pretty Korean girl well. The woman "accidentally" scratched the Korean girl on her face. Korean girl did not fight back, but calmly and collectedly asked for an apology. The woman absolutely refused, and Korean girl, after several more reasonable attempts to make peace rather than pick a fight, called the police. The "lady" called her "brother" from the police station, and when he came to pay the fine levied against her for public disturbance, absolutely berated and yelled at her. He forced the woman to apologize to the Korean girl, then carried his "sister" away, still spitting angry.
I am very glad, when it comes down to it, that I have a lawyer-friend who speaks the language; nevertheless, I hope I never find myself in that situation.
First of all, I was only there for the first part of the "incident." The rest was told to me by eye-witnesses; under cross-examination, their stories all checked with each other, so I am inclined to believe what happened, given my own experience earlier that evening.
One of my coworkers was having her birthday party in Apkujeong. Apkujeong, I must explain, is a district (sometimes called "Rodeo Drive") where the rich, famous, and trendy Seoulites (and others) like to shop, get plastic surgery, and drink. Overpriced botiques abound, overabundantly filled with the REAL Prada, Calvin Klein, Chanel, and Louis Vutton products that those-who-have love to purchase. I myself own some very nice fakes; my $10 "Prada" purse has more than once been taken for the real thing. Actually, I didn't even know it was a "Prada" until someone told me so; I just liked the interesting design (aligator leather, spikes, and a bow!). My rhinestone "diamond" Chanel watch also has passed muster.
You can also, for a reasonable price, get a "packagee" (Konglish), which I beleive includes a nose job, eye fold removal surgery (to look more Western - actually, it just makes Asians look permanently surprised) and Botox (ditto). The Deluxe Packagee includes a boob job. Hmmm....maybe I can get my extra "chin" (which I had even when ridiculously skinny) removed...
I have only been in Apkujeong a couple of times, but I have generally found the place a bit pretentious; I paid 10,000 won ($10) for an elaborately-presented fancy mug of...pre-powdered hot chocolate. Nevertheless, I decided to swallow my pride and go to the party at an Apkujeong club called "The Garden." I like this particular coworker quite a bit, and, even though still recovering from my bout with pnewmonia, I decided it was worth it to go.
I arrived there and my coworker's boyfriend, a very handsome and outgoing young man (especially for a Korean) graciously showed me the way. We went through what seemed to be a maze of stairs and hallways to a small club in the basement. It was nothing grand, but not a dive either. We went up another staircase, and into a room with chairs and tables behind a glass wall. You could look down at the dancers on the floor from behind the glass. These rooms completely encircled the dance floor, but the noise level was much more conducive for talking.
Ladies got in free, and after 11, drinks were two for one. I later discovered that this special did not include water...I asked for bottled water, but the bartender heard "Budweiser." I tried to argue with her, but she just looked puzzled, then feigned that she did not speak English (I heard her later doing just that). I HATE Budweiser, and I only really wanted water, but it was cold, and strangely refreshing. In for a penny, in for a pound, and I nursed two Long-Island Iced teas for three hours. My big meal helped with this. At the price, I figured they were charging me for two anyways.
With all the "let's go clubbing" talk going around earlier, no one actually danced. There were surprisingly many foreigners of many different nationalities mingling freely and speaking English. There were a few handsome Persian businessmen, a Spainiard, a random Indian or two, and a couple of Russians. There were decidedly more men than women; most of the women were in fact, in our group. Many of my coworkers are very attractive women in their own right, but they are not fashionably so. One girl is blond, strongly built, and well over 6 foot three. She has a vivacious personality which makes her beautiful in many conventional men's eyes. We had a red-head, a brunette with pale skin, and various Korean girls whom I didn't know. I felt like a dud, actually.
One of the Korean women (forgot her name) turned out to be the sister of my trainer at the gym, and she was a stunner. Tall, slim, and with long black hair, she OWNED the room. She was completely low-key and down to earth; I chatted with her for some time, and found that she was very likeable. She spoke English with an Australian accent, which made her all the more charming. What really stood out was that she was tanned, and looked more Italian than Korean. Her brother is also dark (Koreans are light-complected). She was definately getting some looks, but didn't appear to be too interested.
I wandered about aimlessly; no one was looking at me after all, so I felt free to look at the "pretty people" in relative silence. Suddenly, one of my coworkers came charging up the stairs and said, "You'll never guess who just walked in!"
"Who?"
"A group of women with legs up to HERE!" indicating her neck (she is shorter than I am).
With nothing better to do, I followed her down. Sure enough, a group of very tall, anorexically thin, and leggy Caucasian women stood in a group at the foot of the stairs. I observed them for awhile, and discovered they were speaking Russian. A well-groomed, well-muscled man ordered them about (in Russian), and they moved quickly and efficiently in their tight little group onto the dance floor. Eyes bulged and tongues panted out, but the ladies kept to themselves. I later learned that they were Russian models, presumably doing a shoot in Seoul.
I ran into them in the bathroom several times (side effect of the antibiotics). The
models obsessed over make-up, adjusting clothing lines, and looking snooty at the "commoners" using the stalls. I kept seeing one blonde in there - her barely present blouse kept riding up, exposing her prominent rib-cage and immaculately-waxed bikini line. She looked very hungry, and I felt a bit sorry for her. Until I ran into her alone.
On my last trip to the bathroom, I pulled out a lipstick. I discovered, to my horror, that it was REALLY the wrong shade, but, as I reasoned, the club was dark and no one would notice. Nevertheless, I went to one of the many mirrors in the trendy bathroom (think "Saturday Night Fever") and applied the pale shade as darkly as I could. I leaned over the sink, and suddenly realized that the girl was watching me. She was very tall, and towered over me in her spike heels. Not one word was exchanged, but she glared down at me with contempt. Her look confounded me, as I had not said a word to her, but it soon became apparent what the trouble was. The common little pansy was overshadowed by the brilliant and showy geranium, but dared to smile in the glow of her too-brilliant plummage. I calmly went about making my modest toilette; the queen would have to wait for her mirror (or use one of the other dozen in the room). I took my time, then left.
I left the club shortly after that; I do not belong in the world of pretty people. The girls in our group also elected to leave, and head for the college-town Hongdae club district. I made my excuses and taxied home.
Apparently, I missed the real fun. The group stayed out until 7 a.m., and a few of them spent some time in the police station. The beautiful Korean girl from Australia had apparently had one too many suitors, at least, until her burly trainer-brother showed up. The scuttlebutt is that he was VERY protective of his little sister, but also left before she did.
The lead up to the "main event" is a little hazy, as most people there were well in their cups, but at some point ANOTHER group of Russian women turned up. These ladies, it soon became apparent, were practitioners of the oldest trade in the world, and one of them did not take the unintentional competition from a pretty Korean girl well. The woman "accidentally" scratched the Korean girl on her face. Korean girl did not fight back, but calmly and collectedly asked for an apology. The woman absolutely refused, and Korean girl, after several more reasonable attempts to make peace rather than pick a fight, called the police. The "lady" called her "brother" from the police station, and when he came to pay the fine levied against her for public disturbance, absolutely berated and yelled at her. He forced the woman to apologize to the Korean girl, then carried his "sister" away, still spitting angry.
I am very glad, when it comes down to it, that I have a lawyer-friend who speaks the language; nevertheless, I hope I never find myself in that situation.
Monday, April 10, 2006
JOURNAL: Miracle of Life?
Something that keeps coming up at the oddest moments has finally provoked me to discuss a subject I have broached before. I bring it up again because a. it both puzzles me and frightenes me and b. it keeps coming up in my conversations with Korean women. Call me Margaret Meade. It is Korean men and women's ignorance about their own bodies.
Remember that, just a few months ago, there was a scandal attached to a professor at a prestigious university in Seoul, a man who fudged his own research in regards to stem-cell research. How did this fact get by so many people on his project? You may well ask. Given the complete ignorance about human reproduction I have encountered among well-educated and otherwise intelligent Korean adults, I am no longer surprised. This does not even only cover the more...er...earthly aspects, I am talking simple cell division, DNA, and the life cycle of cells.
First, let us discuss the touchy issue of sex education in American public schools. I see nothing wrong with teaching a few basic facts about how babies are made, birth-control, and the amazing miracle of conception; someone likened it to the odds of 1078 blind people solving a Rubik's cube at the same exact moment!By about fifth grade, the average American child (especially if they have cable tv) has a rough idea about where babies come from. The details are a little hazy; this can be problem if incorrect guidance is provided through the dubious avenuse of peers, television, or older siblings. Educators are well-trained to deal with the more technical aspects, and should be given a chance to offer cold, hard facts. What my parents didn't cover I learned through my sixth grade science teacher.
My parents were quite open all through my childhood about information concerning where babies come from, though I was a bit confused about when my mother told me (at age 8) that some women "sold their body to men." I innocently thought this was a good thing; there are many accident victims out there missing body parts after all who might want a new arm or leg. But I digress... My point being I had a general idea of what went where, and that what went up must come down...presto chango - a new life.
My church took our sixth grade girl's group through the ubiqitous (in the fundamentalist Christian childhood of the 80s) Dr. Jame's Dobson's "Preparing for Adolescence." I was already prematurely developed, so none of the information about periods, breasts, or copulation was new to me. He was very vague on spiritual issues, I found, and I'm afraid he left me more confused than enlightened. That was my problem with Fundamental Baptist Christianity, "Because God said so."
The other milestone of my knowledge was a video shown on NOVA in the mid-eighties. I had a childhood addiction to science programs, and my mother watched this "new documentary" with me; I must have been about 8 or 9. It was, as you may have guessed, "The Miracle of Life," a still-wonderful and astounding video of the process of life from conception to birth. There was nothing titilating or sexy about it; we watch the sex act from INSIDE the woman rather than externally, though the film ends in a graphic filming of the birth of this being we have watched from conception to live birth. The photography is astounding, and it is because of this film I became rather strongly pro-life (except in cases of danger to mother).
The film was remade with updated technology in 2001, and was retitled "Life's Greatest Miracle." You can watch the new version at:
http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/nova/miracle/
It has a TV-14 rating, so it is pretty safe.
In sixth grade public school, we separated boys from girls in Health class, and were allowed to ask questions. We did group work together on diagramming the reproduction system, and we were given a basic knowledge of the hydraulics (male) and receptors (female) involved in conception. No specific moralizing was done except to remind us that this sort of activity created pregnancy; we listned to a teenage mother speak about her experiences to drive home the point. Most of the education was basic - how to take care of your smelly, awkward, and weirdly-functioning adolescent body, why boys were weird, why girls were moody, how not to annoy each other too much, and group dating (in the late 80s, this was considered a safe way to interact between the sexes during the tween years without getting into too much trouble.)
In ninth grade biology, we went into more detail of the science of reproduction. We watched the "Miracle of Life" again, but, as I was in a prviate school, a little moralizing was done, albeit in a strange way. I had already seen the documentary, so I was unperturbed by the live birth scene. Some of my classmates, however, were quite traumatized. Instead of taking compassion on these poor girls, who never even knew how babies got into their belly, seeing one come out (remember, men, girls can't see their equipment without being trained contortioist with a hand-mirror) was quite frightening. Some of the girls cried or covered their eyes; the boys snickered or blushed. The teacher, instead of taking compassion on these students, rewound the tape, and played the live birth scene TWICE MORE. He then quietly said, "This is why you don't have sex before you are married." His point worked, because we only had two pregnancies in the class of 1994.
So, what kind of education do they get in Korea? Nothing. Nada. Zip. At least, as near as I can tell.
I spoke to a forty-something unmarried woman, who had only a vague sense as to how children came into this world. She was not embarrassed; she simply did not have a clue. This came out after a vague reference from a gyopo (Korean American) to the process of childbirth. None of the women (singles) even knew what he was talking about. I thought it was odd, but continued the conversation in another direction (defending a woman's right to gossip!) with the young man. The single older women looked puzzled, and I hesitatingly asked if they knew what we were talking about. They admitted that they were clueless. I gently explained that in some Western cultures, childbirth is openly discussed among women of a certain age, whether they have had children or not. Any gathering of close female friends will result in some discussion of this subject (see "Sex and the City"); in married women, it tends to be childbirth-oriented, rather than process-related. I then bluntly asked the oldest woman if she had ever learned about or seen a baby born. She said she hadn't. This conversation happened months ago, but it stuck in my head.
A rather Westernized Korean male friend of mine brought up the subject in a recent phone conversation. This person learned the facts of life through looking up things in the encyclopedia! No one told him why his body was acting crazy so he decided to find out. This man is well-educated and intelligent, so I was a bit taken aback when he asked what happened to the cord after birth. Where did it go? I was puzzled by this question for a minute.
"Does it go back up inside the woman?"
"WHAT?! You mean, you don't know? Where do you think we get a belly button?"
That stumped him.
"The cord comes out with the afterbirth...." I prompted.
Silence.
(What's that? He wondered).
Exasperated by this hole in his education (and slightly amused) I patiently and thoroughly explained the process in very scientific detail. I can't imagine going through thirty-something years of life wondering vaguely, how does the baby eat inside the mother? Why do we have belly buttons?
I then began to wonder about other adults. I got a clue tonight in my sixth grade writing class. A few of the kids who have been American-educated do know basics; I try to keep the topic out of my classroom, but it does spring up in odd ways. Kids are very curious at that age, and Korea does them a great disservice by not explaining things. I have developing adolescents in grade five as well (they start school a little later) so these poor children must be traumatized by their crazy bodies. Tonight we were talking about where people were born. Some were born in Korea, but others were born in America or Europe. One girl piped up and said,
"I was born three weeks early."
"Oh really?"
"Yes, I was born at nine months, not ten."
I absently corrected her.
"Then you were born on time. Women carry babies for nine months."
"No. Babies are inside their mother's stomachs for ten months. I was too early, and they had to cut my mother open to get me out."
To my surprise, other girls in the room agreed with her about ten months. Now, I know Koreans reckon birthdays differently (you are considered a year old when you are born) but they count months the same way. Another girl piped in and said,
"Yeah. My mother and father didn't even have birth dreams before I was born."
Puzzled, I asked her what she meant.
"You know, when you dream that you are going to have a baby. How else are you going to know you are pregnant?" (Uh, big stomach?)
One girl described seeing a woman give birth on a plane; the baby came out from under the woman's skirt after a burst of water. That must have been a sight for a child.
I abruptly changed the subject to get out of the danger zone; this particular group really trusts me and confides in me, and I was afraid of the trouble I could get in. They do not hesistate to ask awkward questions.
Given the stigma attached to unwed pregnancy, it seems to me Korea should focus on arming its teenagers against ignorant mistakes. Unwanted babies are simply aborted, but if young women don't know how they get pregnant in the first place, shouldn't they be told?
I have seen more than one late night "alternative" Korean movie about the trauma of an unwanted pregnancy. A high school girl, upon hearing the news, jumps headfirst off a school building while her classmates watch in calm disdain. A guilty young father tries to raise money for an abortion. He is too late however; his girlfriend aborts herself in a bathroom stall, and dies in his arms.
One movie in particular haunted me. In it, a girl goes into a rather dingy abortion clinic. She lays on the table in her hospital gown in a dark room. The camera follows her eye movements; she scans the room, the tray of instruments, the monitor, and finally she comes to rest on the suction pail for almost a full minute. Her eyes go wide, and a silent tear rolls down her cheek. Blackout. The movie follows her with compassion as she recovers; the best friend of her boyfriend cooks seaweed soup for her (a Korean remedy for childbirth - very nutritious I am told), entertains her, and even changes her sheets. She is silent for most of the rest of the movie. Naturally, the boyfriend is nowhere to be found.
The Korean government keeps harping on the "low birthrate" in the country. Women are waiting to have children like their American counterparts, so the government is sponsoring incentives to promote pregnancy. Nature always finds a way to bring life, but I question how much of it might be snuffed out before it begins. It seems to me that knowing how the body works might be one way to control this problem. American women, for example, know that there is a window of time in their cycle where they are likely to get pregnant. Accordingly, they adjust their nocturnal activities to either avoid the danger zone, or embrace it. Would this scientific knowledge help at all? On the other hand, STDs are the lowest in the world; I suspect this is because they go unreported. There is qutie a bit of marital unfaithfulness going on. How many women are infected, don't know it (no one goes to the OB/GYN unless they are pregnant), and are accordingly infertile due to their spouse's unfaithfulness?
Public health campaigns work WELL here. Children and adults dutifully march to the bathroom with their toothbrushes after every meal, diet crazes are obsessively followed (I love the sweet potato diet!), and everyone takes their vitamins. Maybe a public health campaign for reproductive issues might be in order.
Remember that, just a few months ago, there was a scandal attached to a professor at a prestigious university in Seoul, a man who fudged his own research in regards to stem-cell research. How did this fact get by so many people on his project? You may well ask. Given the complete ignorance about human reproduction I have encountered among well-educated and otherwise intelligent Korean adults, I am no longer surprised. This does not even only cover the more...er...earthly aspects, I am talking simple cell division, DNA, and the life cycle of cells.
First, let us discuss the touchy issue of sex education in American public schools. I see nothing wrong with teaching a few basic facts about how babies are made, birth-control, and the amazing miracle of conception; someone likened it to the odds of 1078 blind people solving a Rubik's cube at the same exact moment!By about fifth grade, the average American child (especially if they have cable tv) has a rough idea about where babies come from. The details are a little hazy; this can be problem if incorrect guidance is provided through the dubious avenuse of peers, television, or older siblings. Educators are well-trained to deal with the more technical aspects, and should be given a chance to offer cold, hard facts. What my parents didn't cover I learned through my sixth grade science teacher.
My parents were quite open all through my childhood about information concerning where babies come from, though I was a bit confused about when my mother told me (at age 8) that some women "sold their body to men." I innocently thought this was a good thing; there are many accident victims out there missing body parts after all who might want a new arm or leg. But I digress... My point being I had a general idea of what went where, and that what went up must come down...presto chango - a new life.
My church took our sixth grade girl's group through the ubiqitous (in the fundamentalist Christian childhood of the 80s) Dr. Jame's Dobson's "Preparing for Adolescence." I was already prematurely developed, so none of the information about periods, breasts, or copulation was new to me. He was very vague on spiritual issues, I found, and I'm afraid he left me more confused than enlightened. That was my problem with Fundamental Baptist Christianity, "Because God said so."
The other milestone of my knowledge was a video shown on NOVA in the mid-eighties. I had a childhood addiction to science programs, and my mother watched this "new documentary" with me; I must have been about 8 or 9. It was, as you may have guessed, "The Miracle of Life," a still-wonderful and astounding video of the process of life from conception to birth. There was nothing titilating or sexy about it; we watch the sex act from INSIDE the woman rather than externally, though the film ends in a graphic filming of the birth of this being we have watched from conception to live birth. The photography is astounding, and it is because of this film I became rather strongly pro-life (except in cases of danger to mother).
The film was remade with updated technology in 2001, and was retitled "Life's Greatest Miracle." You can watch the new version at:
http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/nova/miracle/
It has a TV-14 rating, so it is pretty safe.
In sixth grade public school, we separated boys from girls in Health class, and were allowed to ask questions. We did group work together on diagramming the reproduction system, and we were given a basic knowledge of the hydraulics (male) and receptors (female) involved in conception. No specific moralizing was done except to remind us that this sort of activity created pregnancy; we listned to a teenage mother speak about her experiences to drive home the point. Most of the education was basic - how to take care of your smelly, awkward, and weirdly-functioning adolescent body, why boys were weird, why girls were moody, how not to annoy each other too much, and group dating (in the late 80s, this was considered a safe way to interact between the sexes during the tween years without getting into too much trouble.)
In ninth grade biology, we went into more detail of the science of reproduction. We watched the "Miracle of Life" again, but, as I was in a prviate school, a little moralizing was done, albeit in a strange way. I had already seen the documentary, so I was unperturbed by the live birth scene. Some of my classmates, however, were quite traumatized. Instead of taking compassion on these poor girls, who never even knew how babies got into their belly, seeing one come out (remember, men, girls can't see their equipment without being trained contortioist with a hand-mirror) was quite frightening. Some of the girls cried or covered their eyes; the boys snickered or blushed. The teacher, instead of taking compassion on these students, rewound the tape, and played the live birth scene TWICE MORE. He then quietly said, "This is why you don't have sex before you are married." His point worked, because we only had two pregnancies in the class of 1994.
So, what kind of education do they get in Korea? Nothing. Nada. Zip. At least, as near as I can tell.
I spoke to a forty-something unmarried woman, who had only a vague sense as to how children came into this world. She was not embarrassed; she simply did not have a clue. This came out after a vague reference from a gyopo (Korean American) to the process of childbirth. None of the women (singles) even knew what he was talking about. I thought it was odd, but continued the conversation in another direction (defending a woman's right to gossip!) with the young man. The single older women looked puzzled, and I hesitatingly asked if they knew what we were talking about. They admitted that they were clueless. I gently explained that in some Western cultures, childbirth is openly discussed among women of a certain age, whether they have had children or not. Any gathering of close female friends will result in some discussion of this subject (see "Sex and the City"); in married women, it tends to be childbirth-oriented, rather than process-related. I then bluntly asked the oldest woman if she had ever learned about or seen a baby born. She said she hadn't. This conversation happened months ago, but it stuck in my head.
A rather Westernized Korean male friend of mine brought up the subject in a recent phone conversation. This person learned the facts of life through looking up things in the encyclopedia! No one told him why his body was acting crazy so he decided to find out. This man is well-educated and intelligent, so I was a bit taken aback when he asked what happened to the cord after birth. Where did it go? I was puzzled by this question for a minute.
"Does it go back up inside the woman?"
"WHAT?! You mean, you don't know? Where do you think we get a belly button?"
That stumped him.
"The cord comes out with the afterbirth...." I prompted.
Silence.
(What's that? He wondered).
Exasperated by this hole in his education (and slightly amused) I patiently and thoroughly explained the process in very scientific detail. I can't imagine going through thirty-something years of life wondering vaguely, how does the baby eat inside the mother? Why do we have belly buttons?
I then began to wonder about other adults. I got a clue tonight in my sixth grade writing class. A few of the kids who have been American-educated do know basics; I try to keep the topic out of my classroom, but it does spring up in odd ways. Kids are very curious at that age, and Korea does them a great disservice by not explaining things. I have developing adolescents in grade five as well (they start school a little later) so these poor children must be traumatized by their crazy bodies. Tonight we were talking about where people were born. Some were born in Korea, but others were born in America or Europe. One girl piped up and said,
"I was born three weeks early."
"Oh really?"
"Yes, I was born at nine months, not ten."
I absently corrected her.
"Then you were born on time. Women carry babies for nine months."
"No. Babies are inside their mother's stomachs for ten months. I was too early, and they had to cut my mother open to get me out."
To my surprise, other girls in the room agreed with her about ten months. Now, I know Koreans reckon birthdays differently (you are considered a year old when you are born) but they count months the same way. Another girl piped in and said,
"Yeah. My mother and father didn't even have birth dreams before I was born."
Puzzled, I asked her what she meant.
"You know, when you dream that you are going to have a baby. How else are you going to know you are pregnant?" (Uh, big stomach?)
One girl described seeing a woman give birth on a plane; the baby came out from under the woman's skirt after a burst of water. That must have been a sight for a child.
I abruptly changed the subject to get out of the danger zone; this particular group really trusts me and confides in me, and I was afraid of the trouble I could get in. They do not hesistate to ask awkward questions.
Given the stigma attached to unwed pregnancy, it seems to me Korea should focus on arming its teenagers against ignorant mistakes. Unwanted babies are simply aborted, but if young women don't know how they get pregnant in the first place, shouldn't they be told?
I have seen more than one late night "alternative" Korean movie about the trauma of an unwanted pregnancy. A high school girl, upon hearing the news, jumps headfirst off a school building while her classmates watch in calm disdain. A guilty young father tries to raise money for an abortion. He is too late however; his girlfriend aborts herself in a bathroom stall, and dies in his arms.
One movie in particular haunted me. In it, a girl goes into a rather dingy abortion clinic. She lays on the table in her hospital gown in a dark room. The camera follows her eye movements; she scans the room, the tray of instruments, the monitor, and finally she comes to rest on the suction pail for almost a full minute. Her eyes go wide, and a silent tear rolls down her cheek. Blackout. The movie follows her with compassion as she recovers; the best friend of her boyfriend cooks seaweed soup for her (a Korean remedy for childbirth - very nutritious I am told), entertains her, and even changes her sheets. She is silent for most of the rest of the movie. Naturally, the boyfriend is nowhere to be found.
The Korean government keeps harping on the "low birthrate" in the country. Women are waiting to have children like their American counterparts, so the government is sponsoring incentives to promote pregnancy. Nature always finds a way to bring life, but I question how much of it might be snuffed out before it begins. It seems to me that knowing how the body works might be one way to control this problem. American women, for example, know that there is a window of time in their cycle where they are likely to get pregnant. Accordingly, they adjust their nocturnal activities to either avoid the danger zone, or embrace it. Would this scientific knowledge help at all? On the other hand, STDs are the lowest in the world; I suspect this is because they go unreported. There is qutie a bit of marital unfaithfulness going on. How many women are infected, don't know it (no one goes to the OB/GYN unless they are pregnant), and are accordingly infertile due to their spouse's unfaithfulness?
Public health campaigns work WELL here. Children and adults dutifully march to the bathroom with their toothbrushes after every meal, diet crazes are obsessively followed (I love the sweet potato diet!), and everyone takes their vitamins. Maybe a public health campaign for reproductive issues might be in order.
Tuesday, March 28, 2006
BOOK RECOMMENDATION: A New Category
It occured to me that, as I read a wide variety of books, to starT a book recommendation section in my blog. People are aLways asking me about what I am reading, so here it is.
1. THE AQUARIUMS OF PYONGYANG by Kang Chol-Hwan and Pierre Rigoulot
This memoir is a harrowing account of a boy and his stint (with his family) in a North Korean prison camp. It has nto had much success among S. Koreans, but Americans have been reading the book quite frequently. I picked up a copy and, pro-Bush enthusiasm aside (trading one dictator for another, I guess), this book is pretty fair-handed. The man who went throguh it now works for Seoul's daily newspaper, so he has excellent journalistic eye for detail.
2. THE DEVIL IN THE WHITE CITY by Erik Larson
This book defies categorization, other than history. A very clever writer has taken two historical events and twined them together in one fascinating read. It is about the Chicago World Fair in 1893, and is also about a serial killer names Dr. Holmes who used the fair as his hunting ground.
3. STUPID WHITE MEN by Michael Moore
I have this one a try on a whim (and a cheap used book) and actually found the man had something to say. While I don't particularly agree with his answers, I do agree with the kinds of pointed questions he raises about the state of the union. He is vey humorous, if exasperating, about the political climate that gave us Bush, Jr.
1. THE AQUARIUMS OF PYONGYANG by Kang Chol-Hwan and Pierre Rigoulot
This memoir is a harrowing account of a boy and his stint (with his family) in a North Korean prison camp. It has nto had much success among S. Koreans, but Americans have been reading the book quite frequently. I picked up a copy and, pro-Bush enthusiasm aside (trading one dictator for another, I guess), this book is pretty fair-handed. The man who went throguh it now works for Seoul's daily newspaper, so he has excellent journalistic eye for detail.
2. THE DEVIL IN THE WHITE CITY by Erik Larson
This book defies categorization, other than history. A very clever writer has taken two historical events and twined them together in one fascinating read. It is about the Chicago World Fair in 1893, and is also about a serial killer names Dr. Holmes who used the fair as his hunting ground.
3. STUPID WHITE MEN by Michael Moore
I have this one a try on a whim (and a cheap used book) and actually found the man had something to say. While I don't particularly agree with his answers, I do agree with the kinds of pointed questions he raises about the state of the union. He is vey humorous, if exasperating, about the political climate that gave us Bush, Jr.
Thursday, March 23, 2006
NOTES: Fat Floats
"I have found that over time I slowly began to let go of some of the ideas about what constituted weightloss success, which led to letting go of unrealistic expectations, which led to less guilt and self loathing for never reaching those goals, which led to a happier state of being and then this all led to a healthier lifestyle and ultimately weightloss. Not weightloss in a can, bottle, or box but weightloss in the truest spiritual sense. Now that my excess weight is not the priority in my life I find that I enjoy life more and this in turn makes me a happier person. Cure the mind and the ass will follow."
Steve Vaught
http://www.thefatmanwalking.com
I was going to jump right into a three (?) part entry on the Korean education system tonight, but my thoughts quickly turned elsewhere. As this is my journal, I want to share some encouragement I got tonight.
First of all, it was weigh-in time at the gym. Althoguh I have not really seen any improvement, I have apparently lost 1.2 kilos (2.6 lbs) in one month. It does not sound like much, but I have also changed .8 kilos (1.8) of fat to muscle. Basically, I have lost one brick of Tilamrook Pepperjack Chesse (drool drool) of body fat. Of course, I still have "miles to go before I sleep," but it is encouraging.
While I was browsing the Yahoo News today (pathetic, but the only real English-language news I get here), I noted an article about a man who was walking across America to lose weight. When I tried the website, the site was down (due to heavy traffic, evidently), and made a mental note to try again this evening. I just spent about a half hour on his journal/blog, and I am quite encouraged.
Mr. Vaught speaks candidly and openly about the good, bad, and the ugly about weight loss and mental health (he has lost over 100 lbs on his journey so far). Of course, we should already know that there is a connection between weight gain and coping with life, but some people seem to have forgotten.
I was forced to admit that I stress eat sometimes. I am primarily overweight due to lack of exersise rather than food intake (I am in Asia after all!) but I am working on it. I will also admit that I suffer from chronic depression, and eating is sometimes the only thing that quells the inner hunger. Something about this man's story struck a chord in me, and, judging from the responses to his website, struck a chord with other people too. Are we a nation of seriously depressed individuals?
Think about it. In American society, at various times in history, alcohol has been banned, smoking has been banned, sex has been banned....now "fat" is being banned. What "vices" do we have left? No wonder we are depressed. It's a tough world out there, and, after fighting our way through our jobs, traffic, and relationships, is it any wonder that we feel the need to splurge on something?
Of course, in moderation, the above "vices," when taken/indulged in moderately, become relatively innocuous (except perhaps smoking). A drink or two on the weekend isn't going to kills anyone or GASP make them an alcoholic. Moreover, a little drink is useful in preventing heart disease. Sex releases useful endorphins and seratonin in the brain (regardless of prowess or technique) that help create a steady mental balance. Maybe lack of this type of activity is why many single people are so uptight and aggresive. A little body fat is also good; we should not get below 20% BFI or we start getting ill.
Although I have a long way to go, I feel a bit upbeat tonight. The mental and physical exhaustion from doing my "hamster in a wheel" routine did achieve some results, though progress is slow. Check out Steve Vaught's site at:
http://www.thefatmanwalking.com
Steve Vaught
http://www.thefatmanwalking.com
I was going to jump right into a three (?) part entry on the Korean education system tonight, but my thoughts quickly turned elsewhere. As this is my journal, I want to share some encouragement I got tonight.
First of all, it was weigh-in time at the gym. Althoguh I have not really seen any improvement, I have apparently lost 1.2 kilos (2.6 lbs) in one month. It does not sound like much, but I have also changed .8 kilos (1.8) of fat to muscle. Basically, I have lost one brick of Tilamrook Pepperjack Chesse (drool drool) of body fat. Of course, I still have "miles to go before I sleep," but it is encouraging.
While I was browsing the Yahoo News today (pathetic, but the only real English-language news I get here), I noted an article about a man who was walking across America to lose weight. When I tried the website, the site was down (due to heavy traffic, evidently), and made a mental note to try again this evening. I just spent about a half hour on his journal/blog, and I am quite encouraged.
Mr. Vaught speaks candidly and openly about the good, bad, and the ugly about weight loss and mental health (he has lost over 100 lbs on his journey so far). Of course, we should already know that there is a connection between weight gain and coping with life, but some people seem to have forgotten.
I was forced to admit that I stress eat sometimes. I am primarily overweight due to lack of exersise rather than food intake (I am in Asia after all!) but I am working on it. I will also admit that I suffer from chronic depression, and eating is sometimes the only thing that quells the inner hunger. Something about this man's story struck a chord in me, and, judging from the responses to his website, struck a chord with other people too. Are we a nation of seriously depressed individuals?
Think about it. In American society, at various times in history, alcohol has been banned, smoking has been banned, sex has been banned....now "fat" is being banned. What "vices" do we have left? No wonder we are depressed. It's a tough world out there, and, after fighting our way through our jobs, traffic, and relationships, is it any wonder that we feel the need to splurge on something?
Of course, in moderation, the above "vices," when taken/indulged in moderately, become relatively innocuous (except perhaps smoking). A drink or two on the weekend isn't going to kills anyone or GASP make them an alcoholic. Moreover, a little drink is useful in preventing heart disease. Sex releases useful endorphins and seratonin in the brain (regardless of prowess or technique) that help create a steady mental balance. Maybe lack of this type of activity is why many single people are so uptight and aggresive. A little body fat is also good; we should not get below 20% BFI or we start getting ill.
Although I have a long way to go, I feel a bit upbeat tonight. The mental and physical exhaustion from doing my "hamster in a wheel" routine did achieve some results, though progress is slow. Check out Steve Vaught's site at:
http://www.thefatmanwalking.com
Monday, March 20, 2006
NOTES: Emerald Lady's "Personal Ad"
The Kiss
Don't Let the Sun Go Down On Me
Elton John
(Elton John/Bernie Taupin)
I can't light no more of your darkness
All my pictures seem to fade to black and white
I'm growing tired and time stands still before me
Frozen here on the ladder of my life
Too late to save myself from falling
I took a chance and changed your way of life
But you misread my meaning when I met you
Closed the door and left me blinded by the light
Don't let the sun go down on me
Although I search myself, it's always someone else I see
I'd just allow a fragment of your life to wander free
But losing everything is like the sun going down on me
I can't find the right romantic line
But see me once and see the way I feel
Don't discard me just because you think I mean you harm
But these cuts I have they need love to help them heal
Don't Let the Sun Go Down On Me
Elton John
(Elton John/Bernie Taupin)
I can't light no more of your darkness
All my pictures seem to fade to black and white
I'm growing tired and time stands still before me
Frozen here on the ladder of my life
Too late to save myself from falling
I took a chance and changed your way of life
But you misread my meaning when I met you
Closed the door and left me blinded by the light
Don't let the sun go down on me
Although I search myself, it's always someone else I see
I'd just allow a fragment of your life to wander free
But losing everything is like the sun going down on me
I can't find the right romantic line
But see me once and see the way I feel
Don't discard me just because you think I mean you harm
But these cuts I have they need love to help them heal
Thursday, March 16, 2006
JOURNAL: The V Monologue (you know what I mean!)
I have reached a milestone.
Koreans: 2 (the boob thing...twice)
Emerald Lady: 3 (the boob thing twice, and tonight...score!)
Last night I was thoroughly discouraged when I went to my workout. Things had gone bad at work (dumb parent complaint that I got blamed for), I was tired and fractious from rowdy children all day, and I got thoroughly reamed in the stretch class. The trainer seems to think that by just screeching "back straight! back straight!" that I can do it while contorting in weird positions. You see, Koreans don't believe in disability or difficulty doing things; you get the way you are because you are lazy, or worse, a "baby" (highest Korean insult next to S.O.B.).
My body doesn't look any different, though the scale says I have lost a kilo (about 2 lbs in three weeks). This is pathetic. The trainer appears to think I am not working hard enough. The truth is I am screaming in my head at every thump of my shoe hitting the pedal "You are fat! You deserve this! Lazy ass! Get moving! That's it! Jiggle a little faster!" There is no "beautiful" left in me, so why am I even trying? Because I never give up without a fight, that's why. I will conquer this flabby piece of blubber that some call a body even if it kills me....and it just might.
You see, sometimes, it seems like a punishment to be there. My muscles ache, I get acne from the sweat (though the yellow dust storms from China aren't helping), and I look like a pregnant tomato in the gym uniform (remember that I said orange and grey are not my colors). I snap at everyone who tries to help me on the other hand. John is a nice guy, but very me-man you-woman you-listen. He gets annoyed when I try to argue. I don't think he likes me much, as he has been avoiding me lately. Not that I have been very pleasant lately either.
Tonight I made an effort to be pleasant, but I found myself being negative again so I clammed up. The mess at work is continuing, but will be cleared up by Monday...I hope. Stretch class went ok, and I took John aside. I politely requested to change from cross-trainer, which I hate, to treadmill, which is dull but reliable. Surprisingly he agreed, after expressing a little concern over my tricky knee. We are trying it out for awhile to see what happens. The treadmill also has a tv screen, best of all! It is cleverly angled so that to see it correctly you have to be aligned correctly! I did a total of 1:20 of cardio plus a 40 minute stretch class. I do this 4 times a week for 3 weeks, and all I get is 2 pounds off for good behavior? Ridiculous!
With something new to do at last, I began putting more effort into it. The treadmill is, of course, automatic, so I can't slack off. I really began to sweat this time. I was so sticky afterwards that I decided to conquer my fear of public showers. It was the hardest thing I have ever had to do.
I must digress a little. Of course, no American woman likes to be naked in front of other women because we are hypercritical of each other. Anyone who has ever suffered through middle school gym class knows this. I used to get teased, get this, for being too thin! I got called "anorexic," "the wall," and "skinny" (hate that word more than fat). I always undressed under a towel, but inevitably, some body
parts poked out for criticism. And they did criticize.
Koreans are no different. The reason this doesn't matter as much to them is that they are raised by being endlessly criticized and pushed by their parents. "Do you want to be stupid?" parents often say. Or, "Don't you want to go to Harvard/Stanford/Princeton?" This applies to bodies also. I see quite a number of overweight children in the gym. I have some roly-polies in my classes as well. The Korean sense of humor, unfortunately for hapless foreigners, stems from things people do that are out of the norm. "Haha, you wear a headgear! Haha you have a big belly. Haha, you are not good in geometry!"
Unlike in America, where kids are psychoanalyzed (Why does he keep eating? He must be making up for some lack. Do his parents love him enough?), Koreans take a pragmatic approach. They send their children to the gym or taekwondo academy and cut down the children's eating habits. Kept on a traditional Asian diet, the kids stay thin (Asians appear to have a lightning-fast metabolism). The snack food craze is causing the problems in the other direction. Koreans aren't particularly candy-crazy (except for chocolate), but they do like their potato chips (and squid chips, and freezedried French fries).
To get back to my main point...I decided that, while I was down, I certainly couldn't fall any further. Sweaty, exhausted, smelly, and desperate for cleanliness, I entered the locker room. Fortunately, it was very empty. When I was certain no one was looking, I peeled my sticky clothes off, and, after a minute's hesitation, peeled them ALL off. Forcing myself to breath naturally, I padded over to the laundry bin, and dumped them in. I grabbed a tiny pink towel, and entered the communal shower.
The room was filled with busy ajumas. So that's where everyone was! I stood under a spigot, and tried to figure out the water works. It took a few tries, but I got the hang of it. I glanced around, and saw that what I took to be a towel was actually a particularly brutal fom of washcloth. The material was very rough and nappy, like the cheap, Kmart variety in the U.S. I observed a rather corpulent ajuma soaping up the pink towel, and SCRUBBING her body, like she was doing the laundry by the scrub and tub method. She began at the top and methodically worked her way down, presumably to slough off dead skin. I have, of course, HEARD of an "ajuma scrub" from the foreigners who frequent saunas, but I had never seen it done before. I have been told that sometimes they will begin doing it, unbidden, to other women, including foreigners.
I soon noticed that every one was doing this. I winced as I saw two women pass the towels THROUGH their legs and scrub very roughly (think flossing) in a very delicate area....well, I reasoned, probably no worse than drunk husbands with bad aim... or childbirth. But OUCH!
I stuck to my Western ways with a plain old bar of soap and a good rinse. No one bothered me and I didn't bother anyone. I think if someone had offered to scrub my back, I might have even taken it. They were saggier and baggier than me, after all.
Koreans: 2 (the boob thing...twice)
Emerald Lady: 3 (the boob thing twice, and tonight...score!)
Last night I was thoroughly discouraged when I went to my workout. Things had gone bad at work (dumb parent complaint that I got blamed for), I was tired and fractious from rowdy children all day, and I got thoroughly reamed in the stretch class. The trainer seems to think that by just screeching "back straight! back straight!" that I can do it while contorting in weird positions. You see, Koreans don't believe in disability or difficulty doing things; you get the way you are because you are lazy, or worse, a "baby" (highest Korean insult next to S.O.B.).
My body doesn't look any different, though the scale says I have lost a kilo (about 2 lbs in three weeks). This is pathetic. The trainer appears to think I am not working hard enough. The truth is I am screaming in my head at every thump of my shoe hitting the pedal "You are fat! You deserve this! Lazy ass! Get moving! That's it! Jiggle a little faster!" There is no "beautiful" left in me, so why am I even trying? Because I never give up without a fight, that's why. I will conquer this flabby piece of blubber that some call a body even if it kills me....and it just might.
You see, sometimes, it seems like a punishment to be there. My muscles ache, I get acne from the sweat (though the yellow dust storms from China aren't helping), and I look like a pregnant tomato in the gym uniform (remember that I said orange and grey are not my colors). I snap at everyone who tries to help me on the other hand. John is a nice guy, but very me-man you-woman you-listen. He gets annoyed when I try to argue. I don't think he likes me much, as he has been avoiding me lately. Not that I have been very pleasant lately either.
Tonight I made an effort to be pleasant, but I found myself being negative again so I clammed up. The mess at work is continuing, but will be cleared up by Monday...I hope. Stretch class went ok, and I took John aside. I politely requested to change from cross-trainer, which I hate, to treadmill, which is dull but reliable. Surprisingly he agreed, after expressing a little concern over my tricky knee. We are trying it out for awhile to see what happens. The treadmill also has a tv screen, best of all! It is cleverly angled so that to see it correctly you have to be aligned correctly! I did a total of 1:20 of cardio plus a 40 minute stretch class. I do this 4 times a week for 3 weeks, and all I get is 2 pounds off for good behavior? Ridiculous!
With something new to do at last, I began putting more effort into it. The treadmill is, of course, automatic, so I can't slack off. I really began to sweat this time. I was so sticky afterwards that I decided to conquer my fear of public showers. It was the hardest thing I have ever had to do.
I must digress a little. Of course, no American woman likes to be naked in front of other women because we are hypercritical of each other. Anyone who has ever suffered through middle school gym class knows this. I used to get teased, get this, for being too thin! I got called "anorexic," "the wall," and "skinny" (hate that word more than fat). I always undressed under a towel, but inevitably, some body
parts poked out for criticism. And they did criticize.
Koreans are no different. The reason this doesn't matter as much to them is that they are raised by being endlessly criticized and pushed by their parents. "Do you want to be stupid?" parents often say. Or, "Don't you want to go to Harvard/Stanford/Princeton?" This applies to bodies also. I see quite a number of overweight children in the gym. I have some roly-polies in my classes as well. The Korean sense of humor, unfortunately for hapless foreigners, stems from things people do that are out of the norm. "Haha, you wear a headgear! Haha you have a big belly. Haha, you are not good in geometry!"
Unlike in America, where kids are psychoanalyzed (Why does he keep eating? He must be making up for some lack. Do his parents love him enough?), Koreans take a pragmatic approach. They send their children to the gym or taekwondo academy and cut down the children's eating habits. Kept on a traditional Asian diet, the kids stay thin (Asians appear to have a lightning-fast metabolism). The snack food craze is causing the problems in the other direction. Koreans aren't particularly candy-crazy (except for chocolate), but they do like their potato chips (and squid chips, and freezedried French fries).
To get back to my main point...I decided that, while I was down, I certainly couldn't fall any further. Sweaty, exhausted, smelly, and desperate for cleanliness, I entered the locker room. Fortunately, it was very empty. When I was certain no one was looking, I peeled my sticky clothes off, and, after a minute's hesitation, peeled them ALL off. Forcing myself to breath naturally, I padded over to the laundry bin, and dumped them in. I grabbed a tiny pink towel, and entered the communal shower.
The room was filled with busy ajumas. So that's where everyone was! I stood under a spigot, and tried to figure out the water works. It took a few tries, but I got the hang of it. I glanced around, and saw that what I took to be a towel was actually a particularly brutal fom of washcloth. The material was very rough and nappy, like the cheap, Kmart variety in the U.S. I observed a rather corpulent ajuma soaping up the pink towel, and SCRUBBING her body, like she was doing the laundry by the scrub and tub method. She began at the top and methodically worked her way down, presumably to slough off dead skin. I have, of course, HEARD of an "ajuma scrub" from the foreigners who frequent saunas, but I had never seen it done before. I have been told that sometimes they will begin doing it, unbidden, to other women, including foreigners.
I soon noticed that every one was doing this. I winced as I saw two women pass the towels THROUGH their legs and scrub very roughly (think flossing) in a very delicate area....well, I reasoned, probably no worse than drunk husbands with bad aim... or childbirth. But OUCH!
I stuck to my Western ways with a plain old bar of soap and a good rinse. No one bothered me and I didn't bother anyone. I think if someone had offered to scrub my back, I might have even taken it. They were saggier and baggier than me, after all.
Tuesday, March 14, 2006
NOTES: Random Quote of the Week
No explanation is needed for the following quote:
"Always remember that when the Lord closes a door, somewhere he opens a window...It's the hallways that are a bitch...." Shirley Barr, Stephanie's (coworker) Grandmother
"Always remember that when the Lord closes a door, somewhere he opens a window...It's the hallways that are a bitch...." Shirley Barr, Stephanie's (coworker) Grandmother
Monday, March 13, 2006
JOURNAL: Boobs
A note on the previous post - I was not imagining things when I said everyone in the locker room was staring at my boobs. They were.
I have befriended the yoga instructor at the gym, a warm, friendly, and beautiful Korean woman who I will call Esther. I ran into her on my way home from the gym on Thursday, and we began to chat. We warmed to each other immediately, and she felt no hesitation in holding onto my arm and hands even though we had just met. The Koreans have no difficulty in expressing same-sex physical affection.
Esther has a strong and warm "gi," a concept which is a very spiritual matter in the east. I have always known of and rather strongly perceived it's existence (INFJ personality that I am), but most Westerners do not recognize it. It is a person's inner spirit and emotional balance, plus something quite ineffable. This is how Koreans determine who they will be friends with and who they will not be friends with. Esther has a beautiful gi; this makes her a beautiful woman to me. Her external beauty is only enhanced by her internal beauty, and, though she is in her mid-thirties, I hope some man recognizes her for the gem that she is.
I ran into Esther at the gym tonight in the changing room. I have officially given up on modesty for practical reasons; without thinking much about it, I removed my sports bra and changed into my street bra. We struck up a conversation and continued our changing. As I threw my rather ratty sweater over my head, she suddenly said, "You look so glamorous!"
Confused, I asked her what she meant, and she pointed to my chest.
"Big!" she said. "I wish I have bigger."
"Too big!" I protested. "Backache."
She then pointed to my sports bra. Koreans do not wear them because they do not need them.
"Very small?"
"Yes. Tight. Strap 'em down."
"Ah....Excersise hurt, yes?" She mimicked jumping up and down.
"Yes."
An enlightened grin spread over her expressive face. I then regaled her with a story of a well-endowed college acquaintance of mine, who was a bit of a jokester. This person used to amuse us with placing a cup (or shot glass) in her ample bosom, then proceeding to drink it. She also used to balance plates. Esther hooted with laughter over this story.
On a personal note, I am finally getting used to Korean bluntness. Although it still manages to shock me on occasion, I no longer get annoyed. Every situation is humorous if you look at it in the right way.
I have befriended the yoga instructor at the gym, a warm, friendly, and beautiful Korean woman who I will call Esther. I ran into her on my way home from the gym on Thursday, and we began to chat. We warmed to each other immediately, and she felt no hesitation in holding onto my arm and hands even though we had just met. The Koreans have no difficulty in expressing same-sex physical affection.
Esther has a strong and warm "gi," a concept which is a very spiritual matter in the east. I have always known of and rather strongly perceived it's existence (INFJ personality that I am), but most Westerners do not recognize it. It is a person's inner spirit and emotional balance, plus something quite ineffable. This is how Koreans determine who they will be friends with and who they will not be friends with. Esther has a beautiful gi; this makes her a beautiful woman to me. Her external beauty is only enhanced by her internal beauty, and, though she is in her mid-thirties, I hope some man recognizes her for the gem that she is.
I ran into Esther at the gym tonight in the changing room. I have officially given up on modesty for practical reasons; without thinking much about it, I removed my sports bra and changed into my street bra. We struck up a conversation and continued our changing. As I threw my rather ratty sweater over my head, she suddenly said, "You look so glamorous!"
Confused, I asked her what she meant, and she pointed to my chest.
"Big!" she said. "I wish I have bigger."
"Too big!" I protested. "Backache."
She then pointed to my sports bra. Koreans do not wear them because they do not need them.
"Very small?"
"Yes. Tight. Strap 'em down."
"Ah....Excersise hurt, yes?" She mimicked jumping up and down.
"Yes."
An enlightened grin spread over her expressive face. I then regaled her with a story of a well-endowed college acquaintance of mine, who was a bit of a jokester. This person used to amuse us with placing a cup (or shot glass) in her ample bosom, then proceeding to drink it. She also used to balance plates. Esther hooted with laughter over this story.
On a personal note, I am finally getting used to Korean bluntness. Although it still manages to shock me on occasion, I no longer get annoyed. Every situation is humorous if you look at it in the right way.
Wednesday, March 08, 2006
JOURNAL: Korean Torture Device
"One of the nicer aspects of Koreans is that they are not raised to feel that displays of emotion are a weakness [. . .]they can be embarassingly earthy and blunt. If you have an ugly spot on your nose, the English and Japanese will politely pretend it's not there. The Korean will stick his finger in your face and inform you, 'Hey, you've got a spot.' As if he couldn't tell from the deep fingernail grooves around it that you already knew."
Michale Breen, British journalist in THE KOREANS: WHO THEY ARE, WHAT THEY WANT, WHERE THEIR FUTURE LIES (2004)
On Saturday, March 11, I will be turning the corner of "the age that dares not give its name." Yes, folks, I will be what is euphemistically called "still young" but not "young"; this strikes me as rather like receiving a consolation prize for coming in second, or even third place. I do not have much of a career to brag about, and I did not get married, so I guess I am not so much a success, superficially at least. In Korean (and some conservative American) terms, I will now be officially an "old maid." Like hell.
Although I certainly do not LOOK like my age (good anti-aging genes from my mother's side!), I have begun noticing some of the not-so-good parts of getting a little older- namely, gravity. Yes, things are beginning to sag ever so slightly, but enough to make me look in the mirror and go "Ugghhh, when did THAT happen? And when, pray tell, did I begin to get spots of cellulute?" Granted, I am a bit overweight, although I have lost quite a bit of it since moving to an Asian country. Still, there is much room for improvement. I began contemplating this miserable state of things a few weeks ago, and decided to do something about it with my "bonus" for teaching extra classes. I joined a Korean gym.
Before my knee-wrenching accident a few years ago, I worked out pretty regularly with a personal trainer. I "bulked out," but did not actually lose much body fat or weight, like a sumo-wrestler. Many doctor visits later, I found out my metabolism was sluggish but not slow enough for medication; furthermore, my Northern Eurpoean genes were predisposed to store fat (long, cold winters) rather than lose fat. It is a losing battle; the best I can hope for is stamina and strength. My accident prevented me from seriously working out, so I was pretty stuck.
Since moving to Korea, I have regained strength in my injured limb. I walk 40 minutes round trip to work and back everyday, and, except for occasional "Golden Arch" splurges, I eat a relatively Asian diet (except for the fish!). I have lost about 10 pounds and gone down one full size in clothes. Still it is not enough.
There is a gym about half a block from my apartment; my neighbor and co-worker works out there and took me to see it. It was very basic and small; just a smattering of machines and freeweights in the center of the room. Pounding pump-you-up music blared from the ceiling, and my coworker said the only annoying thing about this place was that they play the same CD over and over again. I was amused to note that old body building posters (circa 1980) were still plastered to the wall, and, more intriguingly, included several bulked-up Caucasian women. There were also some machines that I did not recognize, at least, not until I saw them in use. More on that later. The machines were in excellent working order, and the place was very clean. The on-duty manager spoke very limited English, but was reasonably polite, if a bit apathetic. I got the impression that he would have had a cigarette dangling from his lips had it been permitted (gyms are the only smoke-free zones in Korea, as far as I know). The lighting was a bit dim for my taste, but other than that, I liked the place. It had character. The price was very reasonable, and I indicated to the clerk on duty that I would consider it.
About halfway home from work (overlooking the McDonald's) is another gym, fairly new and modern. I am not really into fancy gyms, and had always assumed that this was one of the yuppie-expensive places. Even so, many of my coworkers go there and rave about it, so I made a visit there. I usually dread the fancier gyms because most people (coworkers included) don't NEED as much body work as I do. I learned that foreigners from our school get a good discount; for six months, we pay 300,000 Won ($295). I decided to make a visit.
Immediately upon entering, I was impressed. The girls at the desk spoke reasonable English, and were more than happy to help me. I removed my shoes (remember this is Asia) and was shown to a pair of slippers to wear while I made the tour. You can only wear gym shoes in the facility, and then only in certain areas. A young man named Shawn showed me around a bit; his English was also better than average. I noted that there were quite a variety of ages and body types in the room - fat ajumas and agashis (over 40 men and women), skinny teenagers, and young adults were all hard at work. There were quite a few Caucasian faces scattered among the clientele as well. I saw and greeted two of my coworkers, one of them with the perfect body type, the other more like me (also cursed with Northern European genes...but TALL!).
The gym was well-lit and relatively clutter-free. There were more choices of machines than at the first gym, some of which I had never seen before. I giggled as I saw a group of machines similar to the ones in the first gym. In the early 20th century, man invented a machine that more or less did excersise for the client. One put the fat-affected part in a loop of material, turned on a switch, and the belt vibrated hard and violently to shake the fat away. I had never seen one of these in person before. They were a popular item, and I immediately began to wonder about the integrity of the fitness instructors. Then, as I went closer, I observed, written in English, "body massager." Oh. Never people to waste an idea, the Koreans had simply adapted obsolete ideas to modern wholistic medicine.
An area had been set aside for floor work with a comfy but firm mat. I observed people doing stretches, yoga, pilates (they had the pilate ball available) and other types of strengthening excersises there. One of the more amusing "floor toys" in use was an oversized hula hoop. This is no ordinary hula hoop, oh no; this is a WEIGHTED hula hoop. I am guessing that the purpose of using this monster is to whittle away at one's sometimes well-buried waist, as I saw several plump matrons using it freely. ALthough I doubt it works for the intended purpose, it must strengthen SOME part of the body in that region. The old jump-rope standby was also a popular toy. A little bit later, they cleared the floor, and Shawn began a stretch class. In America, these sorts of classes are usually only attended by the older generations; here, all ages do these excersises.
Two days later I joined JNB Sports. The price was only $100 more than the first gym, and I figured I would have a better chance of staying motivated. One of the biggest selling points was that I would not have to do laundry (remember, I have no dryer). The gym provides a uniform for clients. Girls receive a grey and orange shirt with navy shorts; boys get turquiose blue and black shirts with black shorts. They are form-fitting but not skin-tight, and make everyone look good (except orange is not my color). They are laundered for you; you turn them into a clothes hamper after you work out. Towels, toiletries, and a footlocker are also provided.
On my first day, with some trepidation, I entered the locker room. About ten naked Korean women turned and glanced at me, then went back to their primping, much to my relief. Usually, when I walk into a room, everyone stares. One older woman did not stop staring however, so I gave her my most charming smile before proceeding to my locker. It amazed me how free and easy the women were about doing things in the nude. I saw women drying their hair, putting on makeup, or just sitting and talking, all without any sort of clothing. Now, I am used to working with theatre folks, so this is not too traumatic for me, but even theatre folk cover up to do their makeup! For myself, however, well, I am rather modest.
I chose a dark corner and began to undress. To my considerable annoyance, my bra strap got hung up somehow. I stepped into the central area where there was light and a mirror, and heroically fought with the hook. Suddenly, the hook gave way, but I was not touching it at the moment. The staring ajuma had come to my aid and unhooked me, then patted my on the shoulder. I was both startled and touched by her gesture. Her action was not unnnoticed, however, and the staring began. The staring was more out of curiosity than animosity, but I was feeling a bit unstrung. "Yes, I have BOOBS!" I wanted to shout, but refrained from doing so. Instead, I stared back.
All of those men who have Asian body-type fantasies out there, forget it! You are delusional. Just like Westerners, there are skinny women, plump women, mosquito bites and modestly proportioned saggy-udders. Korean women do not have curvy or defined hips either, but strangely enough, Korean men do. They women also do not have strongly-defined muscles. My curves are what attracted attention, rather than my weight, I discovered. Blue eyes and blonde hair didn't hurt either. The one common thing that all the women had was....CELLULITE! Lots and lots of cellulite, even on the skinny ones. I suspect this has to do with a high carb (noodles, rice, etc.)/ low protein diet. It also explains the "body massager" phenomenon!
I noted that there was a communal shower where you could use the conventional wall mounted unit, or you could choose to powerwash your neighbor with a green rubber hose. Women also will soap and scrub each other down. I have yet to use the shower there, as I know my, er, other parts, will be stared at freely and openly. I am not ready for that yet.
The uniform fit me nicely, and I emerged from the locker room. I went upstairs to the trainer's office, and was met by a tall, rather dark (Koreans are usually light-skinned) and handsome man. He opened his mouth, and I received a bit of a surprise. Now, some of my students have lived in America, New Zealand, the U.K., or Australia, so I am used to hearing different accents coming out of Korean schoolchildren's mouths. When a new student "How are y'all today"s, it is cute and funny. When a grown Korean man speaks to you in strongly accented Australian English, it is damn sexy! Alas, he is too young, and occupied territory (though not sold!). We hit it off immediately, and I decided I was going to like him.
"John" spoke excellent English, and took me right into the office. He put me on a machine to take my weight, height, body fat (sigh), and various other blah blah blah. After a few moments, it spit out a lengthy report, wherupon John began to explain the medically-termed data (it was in English, but a little dense). I have lost some weight, but am still dangerously close to being termed "obese," (38 BFI)although I do not look like it. I DO have the same bone structure and height as a Korean woman (I had noticed this before). My upper body is still well-toned and strong; my lower body is shot to perdition however. No surprises there. My body fat, he bluntly told me, was mainly belly fat and lower; this is a dangerous type of fat. I also have some swelling and I am retaining some water (I did not mention that I was on my period at the time; perhaps I should have said something). I also knew this, but again, it was not obvious externally, it was more a feeling.
As of now, I am on a strict regime of 70 minute of cardio each day for about two months. I hate it with a passion (hampster on a wheel) but I need to drop some body fat (roughly about 6 pounds) before I can begin weight traning again. I will "bulk up" and look worse if I start too soon. I also take a stretch class every night for 40 minutes. I like that part, even though it is conducted in Korean. The trainers are very "hands on." If they don't think you are working hard enough, they will physically correct you.
Last week, I got a little lazy on the bike. John came by to check on me. He began questioning me a bit and chit-chatting. I was very polite and slowed down a bit to answer him (as I was breathing hard). After a few minutes of this, he quietly informed me that if I was really working hard, I wouldn't be able to carry on much of a conversation. My fury and my embarassment fueled me pretty quickly through THAT workout, but I knew I deserved it.
The stretch class is not for wimps either. I struggled at first because I couldn't understand the instructions. I know my numbers, but that is about it. I watched people carefully, but sometimes missed the "in between" instructions. The trainers walk around on the mat, and physically correct those who are doing it wrong; I seemed to be a good target for the first few days. If my knee popped up during a stretch, for example, someone would come by and gently but firmly press it into place...and hold it there. When stretching forward, Shawn grabbed my hands, pulled me like taffy, and told me to breathe into it. To my surprise, I went further than I thought I could without too much discomfort. It is very odd to be touched by a stranger, but I like this approach to fitness. I can FEEL the difference between the wrong and the right way now. I am getting the hang of things, though my balance is still horrible. You are not allowed to NOT do an excersise; you have to do them all. Now, when we get to that part of the routine, one of the trainers automatically extends his arm for me to grab onto. It is humiliating, but I am trying my best. I hope it gets better.
John is turning out to be a decent human being. He is definately Australian in his outlook, which is a refreshing change. I do not have to censor what I say too much; he is used to Aussie women! He is intelligent and is still in university (I think); in other words, not a dumb jock. I can't stand jock attitudes! The other clientele are polite, though they do still stare sometimes. The "regulars" do not stare anymore, which helps.
Michale Breen, British journalist in THE KOREANS: WHO THEY ARE, WHAT THEY WANT, WHERE THEIR FUTURE LIES (2004)
On Saturday, March 11, I will be turning the corner of "the age that dares not give its name." Yes, folks, I will be what is euphemistically called "still young" but not "young"; this strikes me as rather like receiving a consolation prize for coming in second, or even third place. I do not have much of a career to brag about, and I did not get married, so I guess I am not so much a success, superficially at least. In Korean (and some conservative American) terms, I will now be officially an "old maid." Like hell.
Although I certainly do not LOOK like my age (good anti-aging genes from my mother's side!), I have begun noticing some of the not-so-good parts of getting a little older- namely, gravity. Yes, things are beginning to sag ever so slightly, but enough to make me look in the mirror and go "Ugghhh, when did THAT happen? And when, pray tell, did I begin to get spots of cellulute?" Granted, I am a bit overweight, although I have lost quite a bit of it since moving to an Asian country. Still, there is much room for improvement. I began contemplating this miserable state of things a few weeks ago, and decided to do something about it with my "bonus" for teaching extra classes. I joined a Korean gym.
Before my knee-wrenching accident a few years ago, I worked out pretty regularly with a personal trainer. I "bulked out," but did not actually lose much body fat or weight, like a sumo-wrestler. Many doctor visits later, I found out my metabolism was sluggish but not slow enough for medication; furthermore, my Northern Eurpoean genes were predisposed to store fat (long, cold winters) rather than lose fat. It is a losing battle; the best I can hope for is stamina and strength. My accident prevented me from seriously working out, so I was pretty stuck.
Since moving to Korea, I have regained strength in my injured limb. I walk 40 minutes round trip to work and back everyday, and, except for occasional "Golden Arch" splurges, I eat a relatively Asian diet (except for the fish!). I have lost about 10 pounds and gone down one full size in clothes. Still it is not enough.
There is a gym about half a block from my apartment; my neighbor and co-worker works out there and took me to see it. It was very basic and small; just a smattering of machines and freeweights in the center of the room. Pounding pump-you-up music blared from the ceiling, and my coworker said the only annoying thing about this place was that they play the same CD over and over again. I was amused to note that old body building posters (circa 1980) were still plastered to the wall, and, more intriguingly, included several bulked-up Caucasian women. There were also some machines that I did not recognize, at least, not until I saw them in use. More on that later. The machines were in excellent working order, and the place was very clean. The on-duty manager spoke very limited English, but was reasonably polite, if a bit apathetic. I got the impression that he would have had a cigarette dangling from his lips had it been permitted (gyms are the only smoke-free zones in Korea, as far as I know). The lighting was a bit dim for my taste, but other than that, I liked the place. It had character. The price was very reasonable, and I indicated to the clerk on duty that I would consider it.
About halfway home from work (overlooking the McDonald's) is another gym, fairly new and modern. I am not really into fancy gyms, and had always assumed that this was one of the yuppie-expensive places. Even so, many of my coworkers go there and rave about it, so I made a visit there. I usually dread the fancier gyms because most people (coworkers included) don't NEED as much body work as I do. I learned that foreigners from our school get a good discount; for six months, we pay 300,000 Won ($295). I decided to make a visit.
Immediately upon entering, I was impressed. The girls at the desk spoke reasonable English, and were more than happy to help me. I removed my shoes (remember this is Asia) and was shown to a pair of slippers to wear while I made the tour. You can only wear gym shoes in the facility, and then only in certain areas. A young man named Shawn showed me around a bit; his English was also better than average. I noted that there were quite a variety of ages and body types in the room - fat ajumas and agashis (over 40 men and women), skinny teenagers, and young adults were all hard at work. There were quite a few Caucasian faces scattered among the clientele as well. I saw and greeted two of my coworkers, one of them with the perfect body type, the other more like me (also cursed with Northern European genes...but TALL!).
The gym was well-lit and relatively clutter-free. There were more choices of machines than at the first gym, some of which I had never seen before. I giggled as I saw a group of machines similar to the ones in the first gym. In the early 20th century, man invented a machine that more or less did excersise for the client. One put the fat-affected part in a loop of material, turned on a switch, and the belt vibrated hard and violently to shake the fat away. I had never seen one of these in person before. They were a popular item, and I immediately began to wonder about the integrity of the fitness instructors. Then, as I went closer, I observed, written in English, "body massager." Oh. Never people to waste an idea, the Koreans had simply adapted obsolete ideas to modern wholistic medicine.
An area had been set aside for floor work with a comfy but firm mat. I observed people doing stretches, yoga, pilates (they had the pilate ball available) and other types of strengthening excersises there. One of the more amusing "floor toys" in use was an oversized hula hoop. This is no ordinary hula hoop, oh no; this is a WEIGHTED hula hoop. I am guessing that the purpose of using this monster is to whittle away at one's sometimes well-buried waist, as I saw several plump matrons using it freely. ALthough I doubt it works for the intended purpose, it must strengthen SOME part of the body in that region. The old jump-rope standby was also a popular toy. A little bit later, they cleared the floor, and Shawn began a stretch class. In America, these sorts of classes are usually only attended by the older generations; here, all ages do these excersises.
Two days later I joined JNB Sports. The price was only $100 more than the first gym, and I figured I would have a better chance of staying motivated. One of the biggest selling points was that I would not have to do laundry (remember, I have no dryer). The gym provides a uniform for clients. Girls receive a grey and orange shirt with navy shorts; boys get turquiose blue and black shirts with black shorts. They are form-fitting but not skin-tight, and make everyone look good (except orange is not my color). They are laundered for you; you turn them into a clothes hamper after you work out. Towels, toiletries, and a footlocker are also provided.
On my first day, with some trepidation, I entered the locker room. About ten naked Korean women turned and glanced at me, then went back to their primping, much to my relief. Usually, when I walk into a room, everyone stares. One older woman did not stop staring however, so I gave her my most charming smile before proceeding to my locker. It amazed me how free and easy the women were about doing things in the nude. I saw women drying their hair, putting on makeup, or just sitting and talking, all without any sort of clothing. Now, I am used to working with theatre folks, so this is not too traumatic for me, but even theatre folk cover up to do their makeup! For myself, however, well, I am rather modest.
I chose a dark corner and began to undress. To my considerable annoyance, my bra strap got hung up somehow. I stepped into the central area where there was light and a mirror, and heroically fought with the hook. Suddenly, the hook gave way, but I was not touching it at the moment. The staring ajuma had come to my aid and unhooked me, then patted my on the shoulder. I was both startled and touched by her gesture. Her action was not unnnoticed, however, and the staring began. The staring was more out of curiosity than animosity, but I was feeling a bit unstrung. "Yes, I have BOOBS!" I wanted to shout, but refrained from doing so. Instead, I stared back.
All of those men who have Asian body-type fantasies out there, forget it! You are delusional. Just like Westerners, there are skinny women, plump women, mosquito bites and modestly proportioned saggy-udders. Korean women do not have curvy or defined hips either, but strangely enough, Korean men do. They women also do not have strongly-defined muscles. My curves are what attracted attention, rather than my weight, I discovered. Blue eyes and blonde hair didn't hurt either. The one common thing that all the women had was....CELLULITE! Lots and lots of cellulite, even on the skinny ones. I suspect this has to do with a high carb (noodles, rice, etc.)/ low protein diet. It also explains the "body massager" phenomenon!
I noted that there was a communal shower where you could use the conventional wall mounted unit, or you could choose to powerwash your neighbor with a green rubber hose. Women also will soap and scrub each other down. I have yet to use the shower there, as I know my, er, other parts, will be stared at freely and openly. I am not ready for that yet.
The uniform fit me nicely, and I emerged from the locker room. I went upstairs to the trainer's office, and was met by a tall, rather dark (Koreans are usually light-skinned) and handsome man. He opened his mouth, and I received a bit of a surprise. Now, some of my students have lived in America, New Zealand, the U.K., or Australia, so I am used to hearing different accents coming out of Korean schoolchildren's mouths. When a new student "How are y'all today"s, it is cute and funny. When a grown Korean man speaks to you in strongly accented Australian English, it is damn sexy! Alas, he is too young, and occupied territory (though not sold!). We hit it off immediately, and I decided I was going to like him.
"John" spoke excellent English, and took me right into the office. He put me on a machine to take my weight, height, body fat (sigh), and various other blah blah blah. After a few moments, it spit out a lengthy report, wherupon John began to explain the medically-termed data (it was in English, but a little dense). I have lost some weight, but am still dangerously close to being termed "obese," (38 BFI)although I do not look like it. I DO have the same bone structure and height as a Korean woman (I had noticed this before). My upper body is still well-toned and strong; my lower body is shot to perdition however. No surprises there. My body fat, he bluntly told me, was mainly belly fat and lower; this is a dangerous type of fat. I also have some swelling and I am retaining some water (I did not mention that I was on my period at the time; perhaps I should have said something). I also knew this, but again, it was not obvious externally, it was more a feeling.
As of now, I am on a strict regime of 70 minute of cardio each day for about two months. I hate it with a passion (hampster on a wheel) but I need to drop some body fat (roughly about 6 pounds) before I can begin weight traning again. I will "bulk up" and look worse if I start too soon. I also take a stretch class every night for 40 minutes. I like that part, even though it is conducted in Korean. The trainers are very "hands on." If they don't think you are working hard enough, they will physically correct you.
Last week, I got a little lazy on the bike. John came by to check on me. He began questioning me a bit and chit-chatting. I was very polite and slowed down a bit to answer him (as I was breathing hard). After a few minutes of this, he quietly informed me that if I was really working hard, I wouldn't be able to carry on much of a conversation. My fury and my embarassment fueled me pretty quickly through THAT workout, but I knew I deserved it.
The stretch class is not for wimps either. I struggled at first because I couldn't understand the instructions. I know my numbers, but that is about it. I watched people carefully, but sometimes missed the "in between" instructions. The trainers walk around on the mat, and physically correct those who are doing it wrong; I seemed to be a good target for the first few days. If my knee popped up during a stretch, for example, someone would come by and gently but firmly press it into place...and hold it there. When stretching forward, Shawn grabbed my hands, pulled me like taffy, and told me to breathe into it. To my surprise, I went further than I thought I could without too much discomfort. It is very odd to be touched by a stranger, but I like this approach to fitness. I can FEEL the difference between the wrong and the right way now. I am getting the hang of things, though my balance is still horrible. You are not allowed to NOT do an excersise; you have to do them all. Now, when we get to that part of the routine, one of the trainers automatically extends his arm for me to grab onto. It is humiliating, but I am trying my best. I hope it gets better.
John is turning out to be a decent human being. He is definately Australian in his outlook, which is a refreshing change. I do not have to censor what I say too much; he is used to Aussie women! He is intelligent and is still in university (I think); in other words, not a dumb jock. I can't stand jock attitudes! The other clientele are polite, though they do still stare sometimes. The "regulars" do not stare anymore, which helps.
Monday, March 06, 2006
In Memorium: Eulogy for My Grandmother (1910-2005)
Below I have posted the eulogy for my Grandmother; today, March 7, is the one year anniversary of her passing. She was a much loved lady, and lived a full and rich life.
Eulogy for Rose Chipps
March 12, 2005
by Rebecca Eagleson
Rose Christina Hansen Chipps was born December 11, 1910 in Wallbach (WAHL-BACK), Nebraska to Peter and Johanna Marie Hansen. Rose was the middle daughter; she had an older sister, Seena, and a younger sister, Ella. Her parents were members of a Danish community, and she spoke Danish until she began formal schooling at age five. She spent the majority of her childhood and girlhood on a farm, and, even in her advanced years, retained memories of some of the major and minor events of the decade. Grandma once told me a story about herself and her sister Seena staying up one New Year’s Eve, breathlessly anticipating the arrival of the year 1919. My brother, Andrew, was absolutely delighted to hear that Grandma remembered Kaiser Wilhelm. She also spoke of the troops coming home from WWI by train through St. Louis.
Sadly, Rose and her sisters lost both of their parents while young teenagers. Rose graduated from high school as Valedictorian, and at age seventeen, began to teach at a small country school. She taught for two years before beginning college at Kearny State Teacher’s college in Kearny, NE. In 1932, she met her future husband Larry Chipps. In 1933, they were married in the Methodist pastor‘s house, attended only by the cleaning maid and the pastor’s wife.
I once asked Grandma about how she met grandfather, and it is worth noting her response. She told me rather vaguely that they met in teacher’s college, but, as I later found out, there was more to the story than that. Apparently, Larry Chipps was what was known back then as “diffident,” or shy, and Sister Ella’s beau decided to set them up on a blind date. At this time, Rose was a very beautiful woman, but also very tall. Larry was so flustered when he saw her that Ella’s beau had to give Larry a push up the stairs as Rose was coming down the stairs.
I asked Grandma later why she married Larry, as he was so shy and quiet.
With a mischievous twinkle in her eye, she responded, “Well, he just kept on coming, and I sorta got used to him!”
The Depression was on in their early married life, and as a result, Rose never finished college. Larry and Rose both began teaching school. One particularly desperate summer, the newlyweds lived in a tent, while Larry worked for the W.P.A . For dinner, he shot pheasants, geese, and possums. The Chipps’s began their family in 1939, and in 1940, they purchased a farm in Ewing, NE. They had two sons and two daughters. First came Ron, then Lyle, then Linda (my mother), and finally, Macrayla. Rose was always a hard worker, active in both the community and on the farm. She held a position with the Ladies Aide Society and also as a Sunday School teacher. In 1956, the Chipps’s sold the farm, and headed West to California.
Life became rather lively for the Chipps family in California, as the children were now in their teen years. Rose managed to hold down a job as a duplex manager as well as assist Larry with his maintenance business. Time passed, and her children grew into young adulthood. In the 1960s, her children began to leave the nest and acquire spouses. Rose then found a new job that she loved. At Alum Rock Covenant Church, where she attended up until her death, Rose began to teach the two and three year old children their Sunday School lessons. This position gave her great delight and much pleasure; she dearly loved the children that she taught. She held this position until she was well into her seventies, when she reluctantly gave it up.
In the 1970s, the grandchildren began to come, all within six years. They are, in chronological order, Dendra, Rebecca, Chris, Carlos, and Andrew. It was, once again, a lively house when the grandchildren came to visit as we were so close in age. Of course, this also meant that we collectively found mischief, and grandma was always there to patch us up and sooth our bruises. I recall that one night, I was sleeping in the “bouncy bed,” which was popular with the grandkids because it was spring-loaded, and there was a rather strong earthquake. I was a very tiny child, so I was easily tossed off the bed and smashed face first into the hard-wood floor. I cut my chin pretty badly, and grandma rather stoically cleaned me up and put me back to bed. Grandma always had a way of soothing the unquiet minds of little children; I expect it was because of her long experience teaching. There was always a generous supply of cookies, and let’s not forget her famous apple pie. She was always a “hostess by stealth,” preferring to sit back and let other people talk while she beamed quietly in the corner.
One of Grandma’s most favorite days was on a fine August day in 1983. As the Chipps’s had never had a formal wedding reception, the family got together a large 50th wedding anniversary celebration. There were friends and family attending from years back, and there was even a large wedding cake. Grandma always cherished this event, and kept a picture of her and her husband on her mantelpiece, taken on this momentous day. Three years later, Larry passed away, and Rose began the next epoch of her life.
In these last years, Rose lived alone in the family house on Golf Drive, taking much pleasure in working in the garden, attending church, and keeping house. A stub-tailed cat named Katie adopted Rose, and became her resident lap-warmer and entertainer. She received regular visits from children, grandchildren, and church members. Her daughter, Macrayla Evans, visited her daily on her lunch breaks from work to make sure she was doing well and eating properly. She also lived with Rose for a short time. Over the years, Rose became increasingly forgetful and absent-minded, but never forgot those grandkids! In February of 2004, Rose’s first great-grandchild, Alyssa Chipps, was born to Chris and Shannon Chipps.
In the 1990s, Linda moved out of state. Macrayla and Ron began to care for Mom, helping her with yardwork and other duties around the house. Macrayla took her grocery shopping, and later on, when Rose’s strength began to fail, did the shopping for her. Ron left for New Mexico, and Macrayla took over all of Rose’s care. She commuted from Modesto to San Jose for her job and checked daily on Rose. It would be a stressful time for both Mac and Grandma, as Grandma was increasingly unaware of how much help she needed. Mac tried all methods known to mankind to make sure that Grandma took her medications on schedule, but grandma would miss whole days because she was so forgetful. Mac would set up doctor’s appointments only to find out later that Rose had cancelled them when the office called to remind her of her appointments; Mac often took off time from work to take her to appointments. Mac bought her new clothes, but Mom would refuse to wear them and hide them away. Rose would wear things until they were beyond worn out, so Mac learned to throw things out or hide the old things in the garbage so that Rose would not find them. One day, Grandma fell in front of her house, and the neighbors called the paramedics. Grandma had a bruised face and a black eye, but did not remember the fall. Linda would make visits from Wisconsin to give Mac some relief, but this at times confused Rose even more and made her more fractious after Linda had left.
In late 1999, the family determined that Rose could use permanent live-in assistance, and Linda, her daughter, and Jim, her son-in-law, sold their house in Wisconsin and moved in to care for her. I soon joined them. I truly enjoyed hearing all her old stories and the process of getting to know the quiet hostess who had cared for us all as children. It was only fitting that we should do the same for her.
In the autumn of 2004, Rose suffered a bad fall which left her hospitalized. When she came home, a series of wonderful homecare workers came into her life, doing all the little things for her and providing daily and nightly assistance in matters beyond the scope of the family’s expertise. In December, she suffered a stroke, and was placed in a rehabilitation facility. At Plum Tree, she was the resident trivia champion. She was then transferred to Crescent Villa, where she spent her final days.
Rose thrived at Crescent Villa; her last two months were filled with a miraculous rejuvenation of sorts. She enjoyed all the people and health care workers there, and they enjoyed her every bit as much. Her sense of humor reemerged, even though she was wheelchair-bound now, and unable to get around without assistance. The night before her final stroke, she was eating dinner, and one of the C.N.A.s noticed that she was touching her mouth frequently. When Priti, the C.N.A., went over to investigate, she found out that Rose was wiggling a loose tooth. Rose looked up at Priti from her wheelchair, and said, “If I put it under my pillow, do you think I’ll get some money?” The two of them then began to hoot with laughter.
Grandma’s last days were spent with family members and friends surrounding her bedside. Although bed-ridden and unable to speak, Rose intently listened to those around her. Pastor Jon, his wife Pat, and I entertained her by singing the old hymns that she loved so well, as well as some of the old Irish ballads that Grandpa used to sing. Grandma always loved music and having people around her. She most enjoyed the times when family and friends would chatter back and forth.
One night, after everyone had left, Dendra and I stayed with her to keep vigil, knowing that her life on earth would soon come to a close. We were laughing and chatting softly, or so I thought, when suddenly we realized that she was awake and alert. We told her funny stories, and, although she couldn’t speak, she smiled often and watched us whenever we moved around the room. She even took a few spoonfuls of food. This was the last time we saw her conscious.
On Monday, March 7, 2005, Rose passed away quietly and peacefully at 3:10 in the afternoon. It was the first fine spring day after weeks of rain, a fitting day for the passing of a woman who loved to be outside so much.
Eulogy for Rose Chipps
March 12, 2005
by Rebecca Eagleson
Rose Christina Hansen Chipps was born December 11, 1910 in Wallbach (WAHL-BACK), Nebraska to Peter and Johanna Marie Hansen. Rose was the middle daughter; she had an older sister, Seena, and a younger sister, Ella. Her parents were members of a Danish community, and she spoke Danish until she began formal schooling at age five. She spent the majority of her childhood and girlhood on a farm, and, even in her advanced years, retained memories of some of the major and minor events of the decade. Grandma once told me a story about herself and her sister Seena staying up one New Year’s Eve, breathlessly anticipating the arrival of the year 1919. My brother, Andrew, was absolutely delighted to hear that Grandma remembered Kaiser Wilhelm. She also spoke of the troops coming home from WWI by train through St. Louis.
Sadly, Rose and her sisters lost both of their parents while young teenagers. Rose graduated from high school as Valedictorian, and at age seventeen, began to teach at a small country school. She taught for two years before beginning college at Kearny State Teacher’s college in Kearny, NE. In 1932, she met her future husband Larry Chipps. In 1933, they were married in the Methodist pastor‘s house, attended only by the cleaning maid and the pastor’s wife.
I once asked Grandma about how she met grandfather, and it is worth noting her response. She told me rather vaguely that they met in teacher’s college, but, as I later found out, there was more to the story than that. Apparently, Larry Chipps was what was known back then as “diffident,” or shy, and Sister Ella’s beau decided to set them up on a blind date. At this time, Rose was a very beautiful woman, but also very tall. Larry was so flustered when he saw her that Ella’s beau had to give Larry a push up the stairs as Rose was coming down the stairs.
I asked Grandma later why she married Larry, as he was so shy and quiet.
With a mischievous twinkle in her eye, she responded, “Well, he just kept on coming, and I sorta got used to him!”
The Depression was on in their early married life, and as a result, Rose never finished college. Larry and Rose both began teaching school. One particularly desperate summer, the newlyweds lived in a tent, while Larry worked for the W.P.A . For dinner, he shot pheasants, geese, and possums. The Chipps’s began their family in 1939, and in 1940, they purchased a farm in Ewing, NE. They had two sons and two daughters. First came Ron, then Lyle, then Linda (my mother), and finally, Macrayla. Rose was always a hard worker, active in both the community and on the farm. She held a position with the Ladies Aide Society and also as a Sunday School teacher. In 1956, the Chipps’s sold the farm, and headed West to California.
Life became rather lively for the Chipps family in California, as the children were now in their teen years. Rose managed to hold down a job as a duplex manager as well as assist Larry with his maintenance business. Time passed, and her children grew into young adulthood. In the 1960s, her children began to leave the nest and acquire spouses. Rose then found a new job that she loved. At Alum Rock Covenant Church, where she attended up until her death, Rose began to teach the two and three year old children their Sunday School lessons. This position gave her great delight and much pleasure; she dearly loved the children that she taught. She held this position until she was well into her seventies, when she reluctantly gave it up.
In the 1970s, the grandchildren began to come, all within six years. They are, in chronological order, Dendra, Rebecca, Chris, Carlos, and Andrew. It was, once again, a lively house when the grandchildren came to visit as we were so close in age. Of course, this also meant that we collectively found mischief, and grandma was always there to patch us up and sooth our bruises. I recall that one night, I was sleeping in the “bouncy bed,” which was popular with the grandkids because it was spring-loaded, and there was a rather strong earthquake. I was a very tiny child, so I was easily tossed off the bed and smashed face first into the hard-wood floor. I cut my chin pretty badly, and grandma rather stoically cleaned me up and put me back to bed. Grandma always had a way of soothing the unquiet minds of little children; I expect it was because of her long experience teaching. There was always a generous supply of cookies, and let’s not forget her famous apple pie. She was always a “hostess by stealth,” preferring to sit back and let other people talk while she beamed quietly in the corner.
One of Grandma’s most favorite days was on a fine August day in 1983. As the Chipps’s had never had a formal wedding reception, the family got together a large 50th wedding anniversary celebration. There were friends and family attending from years back, and there was even a large wedding cake. Grandma always cherished this event, and kept a picture of her and her husband on her mantelpiece, taken on this momentous day. Three years later, Larry passed away, and Rose began the next epoch of her life.
In these last years, Rose lived alone in the family house on Golf Drive, taking much pleasure in working in the garden, attending church, and keeping house. A stub-tailed cat named Katie adopted Rose, and became her resident lap-warmer and entertainer. She received regular visits from children, grandchildren, and church members. Her daughter, Macrayla Evans, visited her daily on her lunch breaks from work to make sure she was doing well and eating properly. She also lived with Rose for a short time. Over the years, Rose became increasingly forgetful and absent-minded, but never forgot those grandkids! In February of 2004, Rose’s first great-grandchild, Alyssa Chipps, was born to Chris and Shannon Chipps.
In the 1990s, Linda moved out of state. Macrayla and Ron began to care for Mom, helping her with yardwork and other duties around the house. Macrayla took her grocery shopping, and later on, when Rose’s strength began to fail, did the shopping for her. Ron left for New Mexico, and Macrayla took over all of Rose’s care. She commuted from Modesto to San Jose for her job and checked daily on Rose. It would be a stressful time for both Mac and Grandma, as Grandma was increasingly unaware of how much help she needed. Mac tried all methods known to mankind to make sure that Grandma took her medications on schedule, but grandma would miss whole days because she was so forgetful. Mac would set up doctor’s appointments only to find out later that Rose had cancelled them when the office called to remind her of her appointments; Mac often took off time from work to take her to appointments. Mac bought her new clothes, but Mom would refuse to wear them and hide them away. Rose would wear things until they were beyond worn out, so Mac learned to throw things out or hide the old things in the garbage so that Rose would not find them. One day, Grandma fell in front of her house, and the neighbors called the paramedics. Grandma had a bruised face and a black eye, but did not remember the fall. Linda would make visits from Wisconsin to give Mac some relief, but this at times confused Rose even more and made her more fractious after Linda had left.
In late 1999, the family determined that Rose could use permanent live-in assistance, and Linda, her daughter, and Jim, her son-in-law, sold their house in Wisconsin and moved in to care for her. I soon joined them. I truly enjoyed hearing all her old stories and the process of getting to know the quiet hostess who had cared for us all as children. It was only fitting that we should do the same for her.
In the autumn of 2004, Rose suffered a bad fall which left her hospitalized. When she came home, a series of wonderful homecare workers came into her life, doing all the little things for her and providing daily and nightly assistance in matters beyond the scope of the family’s expertise. In December, she suffered a stroke, and was placed in a rehabilitation facility. At Plum Tree, she was the resident trivia champion. She was then transferred to Crescent Villa, where she spent her final days.
Rose thrived at Crescent Villa; her last two months were filled with a miraculous rejuvenation of sorts. She enjoyed all the people and health care workers there, and they enjoyed her every bit as much. Her sense of humor reemerged, even though she was wheelchair-bound now, and unable to get around without assistance. The night before her final stroke, she was eating dinner, and one of the C.N.A.s noticed that she was touching her mouth frequently. When Priti, the C.N.A., went over to investigate, she found out that Rose was wiggling a loose tooth. Rose looked up at Priti from her wheelchair, and said, “If I put it under my pillow, do you think I’ll get some money?” The two of them then began to hoot with laughter.
Grandma’s last days were spent with family members and friends surrounding her bedside. Although bed-ridden and unable to speak, Rose intently listened to those around her. Pastor Jon, his wife Pat, and I entertained her by singing the old hymns that she loved so well, as well as some of the old Irish ballads that Grandpa used to sing. Grandma always loved music and having people around her. She most enjoyed the times when family and friends would chatter back and forth.
One night, after everyone had left, Dendra and I stayed with her to keep vigil, knowing that her life on earth would soon come to a close. We were laughing and chatting softly, or so I thought, when suddenly we realized that she was awake and alert. We told her funny stories, and, although she couldn’t speak, she smiled often and watched us whenever we moved around the room. She even took a few spoonfuls of food. This was the last time we saw her conscious.
On Monday, March 7, 2005, Rose passed away quietly and peacefully at 3:10 in the afternoon. It was the first fine spring day after weeks of rain, a fitting day for the passing of a woman who loved to be outside so much.
Monday, February 20, 2006
PHOTO: Where I Spend Most of My Time...
Uh Oh!
Yes, you read that right. This joint is directly behind Cafe Pacucci in Gangnam, a well-to-do district of Seoul known for its night life. The "face" on the Man-in-the-Moon is not really a face, but the Korean word "ddong" (shit). I am not sure how that got by the censors.
Yes, you read that right. This joint is directly behind Cafe Pacucci in Gangnam, a well-to-do district of Seoul known for its night life. The "face" on the Man-in-the-Moon is not really a face, but the Korean word "ddong" (shit). I am not sure how that got by the censors.
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