I apologize about the delay. I had typed up several entries to readily put online once I had internet access, and they suddenly were deleted. The motivation to retype all the entries that I already wrote was non-existent. I have been through the US, Australia, and back to Korea and haven’t had much of a chance to update. Thanks for waiting so patiently.
Over a month ago, my friend and I were returning to the states via a layover in Hawaii. One of our first goals was to hit the beach and snorkel.
We arrived at Hanauma Bay in a tour van with several other unsuspecting victims. Our driver handed us our snorkels and then inquired about flippers. We requested them and, as he dug through his box of swimming gear, he warned us of the numerous deaths that resulted from flippers. He solemnly handed them to us, looking deep into our eyes, and asked us if we were positive that we wanted to use these death traps. Considering that we were snorkeling in three feet of water, we were not too worried.
The bay is a flooded volcanic crater protected by the government for its unique fish and coral formations. Before we were allowed to swim in the bay, we were gathered into a small room and showed a video with singing fish about not stepping on the coral. After a full 15 minutes of fish convicting me of putting my feet down anywhere, I was starting to panic that I would single-handedly kill off all the coral of Hanauma Bay.
We hiked into the crater, strapped on our gear, and waddled down the the lapping waves. My friend happily swam off leaving me to my panic of killing off the entire bay with my toxic feet. I slowly eased myself down into the water and practiced breathing through the snorkel. Check. One hurdle over. I kicked off to go exploring in my friend’s wake.
Now, there is a slight problem if one has learned to swim in the ocean and not in a pool. In the ocean, you swim UNDER the waves so that you are not repeatedly smacked in the head by them. Imagine the problem of this if you are breathing through a snorkel attached to your head.
The moment I started swimming, everything went downhill. I inhaled a lung-full of water and proceeded to flail around in three feet of water. I began to put my foot down so I could clear my mask, but the singing fish came back to haunt me. I was now drowning and unable to put my feet down because I was terrified of the fish attacking me for killing the coral. After desperately searching for a patch a sand to step on, I gasped for breath and looked at the mine field I had surrounded myself with. As beautifully colored fish swam circles around me, I was convinced they were mocking me with their song. I knew I had to try again in order to escape my precarious position. I took another deep breath and went back under.
I wasn’t drowning! I could handle this! After a few minutes of blissfully floating along the surface, I began to venture farther out. Pretty soon, I found myself surrounded by unbelievably colored fish swirling around my death-flippers. I was captured by the bright coral and unusual fish enough to lower my defenses. Unfortunately.
I suddenly caught motion out of the corner of my eye. Something coming ominously closer. I slowly glanced ahead of me- half curious, half worried. Swimming straight at me was a very large fish, mouth gaping open as if he were singing that dreadful song! I flailed, trying to move desperately out of his way, but he continued to swim towards me. I flailed more, although that didn’t seem to help much. I gulped water through my snorkel, but was afraid to put my foot on the coral in fear of the evil fish ahead. Who knew what tortures he could wreak on a coral-killing, poison-footed human?
So, of course, I continued to drown pathetically until I could drag myself ashore. Needless to say, I don’t suspect I will go snorkeling again any time soon.
There is just something about traveling. The rush of anticipation, the fear of the unknown, the thrill of the unseen. It is almost like perching on the edge of a ravine, drinking in the beauty but knowing full well that with one slip – it could all end.
Or at least that is how I view it, but I have been known to be a bit dramatic.
Last month, I visited the sea (Japan-side) and climbed some breath-taking mountains. My friends and I were beaten away from dangerous cliffs by elderly Korean men, fried snails on a grill only to have them explode on us, and were angerly shouted at by beach authorities who assumed that as foreigners – we must have been littering. It is amazing that, for such a small country, Korea offers such incredible natural diversity. Thus concludes my explanation of why these pictures are in this entry even though it has nothing to do with the rest of it.
Last week, I visited the eye doctor due to my second case of pink-eye this month. The first time, I had a translator at the International Clinic, but this time – in interest of time – I chose to go to another, smaller, clinic. Sometimes I simply forget that nothing is quite as easy as it seems.
It began with finding the clinic – in an obscure building on the third floor. I was given the name in English, but apparently the sign was written in Korean – of course. After several minutes of slowly reading the sign in the pouring rain, I triumphantly burst into the office.
Receptionist: (bows a little) Anyo huseyo. (Meaning hello).
Me: bows back and responds in kind. Gives name and waits for response.
Receptionist: pulls out a massive sheet written in tiny Korean symbols. Begins babbling in Korean, obviously expecting me to respond back to help her fill out her paperwork.
Me: Uh, luni (eye)? (begins violently pointing at my eye because, duh, it is not like I am at an eye clinic or anything.)
Receptionist: (smiles at me a bit pitying.) Con-tact-uh?
Me: What?
Receptionist: Con-tact-uh? (points at her own eyes)
Me: Huh? Mulieyo (I don’t know).
Receptionist: obviously at a loss of how to explain this any other way.
Me: (finally putting together the fact that some Korean words are the same as English, only with an -uh at the end) OH. Contacts! Nae (yes)!
Receptionist: smiles benignly, realizing she wont get anymore information out of me, puts the form away and ushers me into the doctor’s office and away from the gaping stares of the others in the waiting room.
And thus began the next twenty minutes of feeling like an child. The doctor and the receptionist were more than kind considering the circumstances, but I had not a clue what they were asking of me. They would babble a few minutes to me, realize I wasn’t responding with anything other than “I don’t know”, and then begin babbling to each other about me. At one point, in complete frustration, I called our school nurse to translate for me. I, smiling at my genius, handed the cell phone to the receptionist. She explained everything to the school nurse, hung up my cell phone, and happily handing my cell back to me. I, slightly dejected at the thwarting of my brilliant plan, accepted it and dumped it back in my bag. She then grabbed my hand, led me down the stairs, across the street and into the nearest pharmacy – still holding my hand.
I think it is very tempting – despite our own level of understanding – to treat others who do not speak the same language as us childishly. Based on what little she knew I understood, the receptionist earnestly desired to make things easier for me – though unknowingly making me feel silly. It also made me realize the extent to which I still depend on others. Maybe I needed to be made a little humble to allow the kindness of others to shine.
That, and maybe I should go to the International Clinic next time.
There are things that happen while living abroad that can occur in Western societies. Make no mistake, no person is safe.
Specifically from the ever intimidating bouncy castle of doom.
Friday last, my school had a welcome-back picnic with games, free food, magicians, water guns, and four different bouncy castles. I volunteered to help out where ever needed and I was stationed at a bouncy castle far away from central traffic. I was thrilled because it meant that I didn’t have to wrestle small children away from the castle to wait their turn.
I was told to go find the bouncy “lion” and to use my best judgement about the number of students permitted on at a time. I wandered aimlessly searching for the mysterious “lion” before stumbling across a domed, twenty foot inflatable room with a lion head strapped on at the top. Initially, not many students found my little corner zoo, but those who did returned for many more turns.
Eventually, five upper-elementary aged girls begged me to allow all five of them in at one time and I foolishly agreed. Never again.
Nor should you ever make such a mistake if you ever find yourself the dictator of a bouncy lion.
The girls bounced peacefully for a few moments before conspiring to all run to one corner of the castle. After impact, the castle began to sink in despair. I reprimanded the girls with the proper teacher voice and demanded that they leave the castle at once. I was holding open the entrance until I felt something bang against my head.
It just so happened to be the chin of the lion that had previously been twenty feet higher in the air. I held the face above my head like a professional wrestler about to throw a chair - while shouting at the girls to flee as if their lives depended on it. Since I was out of the way, no one knew my plight.
After several minutes of students watching me while I attempted to support the rapidly deflating zoo animal, a fellow teacher stumbled across me. He was casually eating watermelon as he walked around the corner, only to discover me propping up a lion head and shouting for the girls to run for their lives. He ran to my aid and redirected the air flow of the bouncy castle. Thankfully, no one was injured from the mishap, but I have now developed an irrational fear of bouncy castles and an entirely reasonable fear of lions. After all, it tried to eat me.
Just remember, bouncy castles are evil and will try to eat your children. This may happen anywhere in the world, but I simply have a gorgeous environment to help me cope.
Until I poured my bowl of cereal this morning and a roach came out. After squealing and flailing around violently, I caught and released it outside. Hopefully he will not remember the joy of the chocolate Rice Krispies and return inside. I do not think my heart is strong enough for it.
Filed under: random
Superego: This journal recieves 400 visits a week. You should feel shamelessly guilty that you have not updated in two weeks.
Id: Meh. Nothing happens here. I just graduated from college last weekend and my parents talk about how worried they become when I update from home.
Superego: As if having a child who comes home from England with a bruised hand isn’t shameful enough. A bruised hand that was injured when you ran into the guardrails around the crown jewels in the Tower of London.
Id: Sensitive issue. It was bruised for about a month.
Superego: That is vaguely pathetic.
Id: Well, you are as well. I trump you at logic.
Superego: I completely disagree. The superego is the moral and taboo-avoiding portion of the personality. It is your fault that I couldn’t collect normal things as a child. Like stamps, coins, dolls – you know, the normal things that second graders collect.
Id: There is absolutely nothing wrong with the fact that I collected glass wolves. They are pretty.
Superego: And they will eat your arm off. No eight year old girl becomes utterly obsessed with wild, feral animals without mental health issues.
Id: Glass wolves cannot eat your arm off. They are just pretty. Ever so pretty.
Superego: And what about the obsession with magic tricks in third grade?
Id: I am sure Siegfried and Roy were obsessed with wild animals and magic in third grade. Perfectly normal.
Superego: Did you just call Siegfried and Roy normal? You have officially surrendered all rationality.
Id: I fondly remember the days of being able to disappear magically at the sound of “Abracadabra”.
Superego: If I remember correctly, your disappearing involved your brother holding a blanket up two feet away from the couch, saying the magic word, and you flinging yourself behind the couch violently without any regard for the fact that there was two feet of visibility for the entire audience. You are right, you have amazing magical ability.
Id: I reject your reality and substitute my own.
Superego: At least your friends are relatively sane. You are one very lucky, very bizarre individual.
I was cuddled up on our big chair, plunking away at my friend’s senior seminar paper when I heard it.
“And this is the amazing Danakil Depression.”
I sat up and looked at the ridiculously boring “Planet Earth” episode I had been so intently ignoring. My eyes widened and I shouted, “That’s in Ethiopia!” My dad peeked his head into the room and looked at the programme he was recording. “The Danakil Depression! That is in Ethiopia!” I continued to shout. “That’s up north! That’s where the people from the British Embassy in Addis were headed when the Eritrian military kidnapped them!”
It was then that my dad first learned that this was occurring while I was living in Ethiopia.
Ooops. Did I forget to mention the European hostages? From Addis? Silly me.
I suppose I don’t think about these things as I should. Tanks with snippers during shopping trips in Kosovo? Convoy of British nationals from Addis yanked into Eritrea by military forces? You would be surprised, it doesn’t come up that often in conversation. I wouldn’t say I was intentionally withholding information, but if it is on CNN, I consider it public knowledge.
When my mom arrived home, my dad proceeded to tell the events – adding tortures and various other atrocities to make my mother gradually more and more appalled. I kept interjecting “Not true! Lies! Ok, maybe not that part, but everything else!” throughout the entire conversation. Then, my mother turned wide-eyed to thrash me within an inch of my life.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I looked at her, white with shock, and felt rather pitiful.
“I thought you knew…” I weakly replied. “It was on the news.”
She did not look pleased, but she turned to clean something to distract herself. I took a deep breath, feeling as if I had narrowly dodged the bullet.
“You should hear what is going on in South Korea right now!” My father shouted from his perch in front of the computer.
“There is nothing! Nothing at all going on in South Korea! Stop with all the lies!” His manical laughter echoed throughout the room.
After very little thought and deliberation, I believe revenge would be very sweet in this instance. Any suggestions or methods of mental aggrevation would be much appreciated.
