"To have a second language is to have a second soul"It's been a few years since I've tried to learn a (living) language. Here's to the pursuit of a second seoul.
- Charlemagne.
Monday, February 14, 2011
Motivation
Sunday, February 13, 2011
It gets old and fast
you wanna know what one of the most frequently asked questions I'm getting these days, after I let people know that I'm moving half way around the world to a country I've never been, which has a language that I've never studied, to do a job that I've never done, and which is completely unrelated to what I've focused roughly 7 years of my higher education upon?
1) how is this going to help you?
oh wait, there's one more, slightly related question that is a close second.
2) what are you going to do when you get back?
I've struggled with these inevitable questions--detailed on Mirth--ever since I dropped out of school, but let's just say that I ended up going to Korea based on a few things: luck, my Peter Pan complex, an obsession, and an extreme reaction against finding myself suddenly and rather violently thrust into this "grown up" world that I had be actively resisting for at least 3 years.
My whole life, I've hated answering to people...or even feeling like I had to answer to them. Besides my parents, my friends, and a few of my teachers, I like to keep a lot of things a secret from the world, which is rather odd, considering how much I do wear my emotions on my sleeve.
So you can imagine how much I loathe telling people who are only marginally attached to me, that I am going to Korea. And I hate telling people who I went to school with. Because I know what they are thinking. They don't understand why I needed to work my ass off in school, get my masters, go to an ivy-league post bacc....all just to teach english in korea.
And if they aren't people I've gone to school with, it's the same thing. They don't understand the benefit of doing something so childish, when what I should be doing is joining the US work force like a good citizen. Why put off my responsibilities just to teach english in korea.
Look. I don't have to explain myself to you. Even if I owed you that, which I don't, I don't have anything to tell you. Nothing to make you feel better about me moving to Korea. I have no words of comfort to reassure you that I have my life all planned out. Nothing to take away your unease about someone doing something so irresponsible. I'm sorry, I just don't.
But don't worry, I won't blame you for my life either, so just relax.
I mean, I'm still in the midst of "pre-korea" as indicated with my post tags, and yet, here you are, asking me about post-korea. While I know that the proper grown up thing to do is to settle down somewhere... and that I ought to be thinking about my future and just what am I going to do with all this education that I've got... but I think we may be overlooking something rather significant here:
In between "pre-korea" and "post-korea" there's just that: Korea.
Let me have this.
Just, let me have this.
And when it's all said and done, I'll answer all the questions you want of me about "post-korea," I promise.
1) how is this going to help you?
oh wait, there's one more, slightly related question that is a close second.
2) what are you going to do when you get back?
I've struggled with these inevitable questions--detailed on Mirth--ever since I dropped out of school, but let's just say that I ended up going to Korea based on a few things: luck, my Peter Pan complex, an obsession, and an extreme reaction against finding myself suddenly and rather violently thrust into this "grown up" world that I had be actively resisting for at least 3 years.
My whole life, I've hated answering to people...or even feeling like I had to answer to them. Besides my parents, my friends, and a few of my teachers, I like to keep a lot of things a secret from the world, which is rather odd, considering how much I do wear my emotions on my sleeve.
So you can imagine how much I loathe telling people who are only marginally attached to me, that I am going to Korea. And I hate telling people who I went to school with. Because I know what they are thinking. They don't understand why I needed to work my ass off in school, get my masters, go to an ivy-league post bacc....all just to teach english in korea.
And if they aren't people I've gone to school with, it's the same thing. They don't understand the benefit of doing something so childish, when what I should be doing is joining the US work force like a good citizen. Why put off my responsibilities just to teach english in korea.
Look. I don't have to explain myself to you. Even if I owed you that, which I don't, I don't have anything to tell you. Nothing to make you feel better about me moving to Korea. I have no words of comfort to reassure you that I have my life all planned out. Nothing to take away your unease about someone doing something so irresponsible. I'm sorry, I just don't.
But don't worry, I won't blame you for my life either, so just relax.
I mean, I'm still in the midst of "pre-korea" as indicated with my post tags, and yet, here you are, asking me about post-korea. While I know that the proper grown up thing to do is to settle down somewhere... and that I ought to be thinking about my future and just what am I going to do with all this education that I've got... but I think we may be overlooking something rather significant here:
In between "pre-korea" and "post-korea" there's just that: Korea.
Let me have this.
Just, let me have this.
And when it's all said and done, I'll answer all the questions you want of me about "post-korea," I promise.
Saturday, February 12, 2011
Falling in love, everyday
youtube is wonderful for people like me who 1) don't watch TV, 2) are online a lot, and 3) feel better about watching 10 minute (max) clips rather than 22 mins of a sitcom.
but this post isn't about youtube.
it's about fashion/photography and The Sartorialist.
For many people, The Sartorialist needs no introduction...for the same reason that it's not listed under my "Seoul meets Body" blogroll: because its the effing Sartorialist. duh.
But, in the interest of being thorough, the Sartorialist is the fashion blog of Scott Schuman, started right here on blogger. Schuman takes photographs of people's daily wear that he spies on the streets of wherever he's at, be it New York, Milan, Paris, and the like. And in the world of fashion blogs, which both inform the fashion industry and are informed by it, the Sartorialist is one of the biggest, if not the biggest, kid on the fashion blog block.
The reason why I'm bringing this all up? Because of this:
but this post isn't about youtube.
it's about fashion/photography and The Sartorialist.
For many people, The Sartorialist needs no introduction...for the same reason that it's not listed under my "Seoul meets Body" blogroll: because its the effing Sartorialist. duh.
But, in the interest of being thorough, the Sartorialist is the fashion blog of Scott Schuman, started right here on blogger. Schuman takes photographs of people's daily wear that he spies on the streets of wherever he's at, be it New York, Milan, Paris, and the like. And in the world of fashion blogs, which both inform the fashion industry and are informed by it, the Sartorialist is one of the biggest, if not the biggest, kid on the fashion blog block.
The reason why I'm bringing this all up? Because of this:
Friday, February 11, 2011
the Force is strong in this one
This may or may not come as a shock to you, but I don't watch football...at least, not the American kind anyway. Thus, the superbowl completely came and went without me even batting an eyelash. Many of you will have caught this commercial during the superbowl, but I just discovered it today, and have kind of been playing it nonstop.
It's the VW Passat commercial.
"The funny thing is that the parents think they started the car..." - WIN comment on YT
things I loved:
- Darth's facepalm when his mom slides over his sandwich
- Darth's "no" when he runs outside and his dad tries to hug him (I do this^^)
- Darth's "oh sh*t" face/stumble backwards when the car turns on.
- Darth's theme song playing the whole time.
- Darth Vader.
It's the VW Passat commercial.
"The funny thing is that the parents think they started the car..." - WIN comment on YT
things I loved:
- Darth's facepalm when his mom slides over his sandwich
- Darth's "no" when he runs outside and his dad tries to hug him (I do this^^)
- Darth's "oh sh*t" face/stumble backwards when the car turns on.
- Darth's theme song playing the whole time.
- Darth Vader.
Sunday, February 6, 2011
Dress Code/Packing
EPIK just sent me a notice on the dress code for teachers, as well as a sort of list of things I should pack for Korea. I found this to be interesting/hilarious. I've screencapped for convenience:
Thursday, February 3, 2011
Officially Official
well, it's official.
but wait. let's back up some.
this past monday (2 days ago) I FINALLY got my EPIK contract and Notice of Appointment delivered to my very hands. the NOA had a nice shiny gold seal on it, and the contract itself was several pages thick, written in korean with english translations. It was: exciting, surreal, nerve wracking, awesome, scary, and finalized. I read through all the clauses and signed each page. The next thing I had to do was take the contract and NOA to my local consulate (in Los Angeles) to get my E-2 Visa which would not only allow me to stay in Korea for more than 90 days (I get to stay for a whole year!), but also to actually work in Korea as an English teacher.
After all that signing away of my life for the next year had been done, I went about finally booking my flight.
Let me tell you that booking "one-way flights" are painfully more traumatic that round-trip ones. And while that may seem like I'm stating the obvious, but having an intellectual understanding of that concept does not prepare a person for the finality of a one-way flight. I mean, just stop and think about that for a second. You are only going. There is no return flight. There. is. no. return. flight. No backing down, to turning back, no safety net, no coming home, not even the comfort of the idea of home--nothing but you and the raw void that is the unknown, terrifying future. There is no return flight.
Needless to say, I was shaking profusely as I clicked that little blue button that said "confirm," and the second, the second, it was all over and done with, I felt nauseated and burst into tears. Everything, all at once, seem to be crashing down upon me and my shoulders, grown weak in these idle months, were not up to the task of supporting them and me and what I had done.
The next day, I made the two hour drive to Los Angeles to the consulate. It was, however, my mistake to read some accounts of other people's experiences either applying for a visa at the consulate, or accounts of dealing directly with the consul herself, via the dreaded (in my eyes) visa interview. The first, because people had commented on how unfriendly/unhelpful the consulate was (in terms of not being very english-speaking/reading friendly); the second, because I had no idea how I was going to answer the question "why korea/why english in korea?" should I be interviewed by the consul.
I had a whole 2 hours to think about it.
Instead I admired the good weather of Southern California up the 5 freeway with its views of the Pacific, and listened to kpop.
When I arrived at the consulate, I was in near panic. Also, can I just say how much I abhor driving in LA? Freaking left turns, I hate you so much. Anyway, I finally found the little parking lot adjacent to the consulate, which was the only fortunate thing I had picked up online, because it was free parking with validation. I walked into the consulate armed with a slew of papers--you know, just in case--and little else. Immediately when you enter you go through the metal detector things that you go through with airport security and other official-ish buildings, and there was this security guard on duty. After I walked through, I was about to approach what I can only assume was a sort of receptionist desk--there was a lady sitting in an office thing behind a glass wall with one of those little speaking holes in it. The only thing I could see was like, an outline of a lady because there was, oddly, like a screen behind the glass that obstructed the view to the point where it wouldn't surprise me if people never came to that lady. I could, however, see a million signs, posted everywhere, and all in Korean.
JFC, I can distinguish the korean alphabet but that doesn't mean I can read anything.
I was going to make a fool of myself/ask the lady behind the glass and screen for help when the security guard, intercepted my question and helped me find the right window, like the Godsend he was. It was window 2, by the way.
I had read online to expect long lines, but there was like no one in the lobby except for myself. It may have had to do with the fact that the consulate had just reopened, they close for an hour each day between noon and 1pm for lunch. I was still nervous and nervous. I could see the closed off corner of the consulate that had the words "INTERVIEW ROOM," written in english, and like something you'd see out of cartoons, I swear I gulped when I saw it haha. Not to mention the fact that I was all ashamed to have to make the pleasant looking woman behind the glass wall of window 2 speak to me in english.
The woman behind the glass wall of window number 2 (no screen cover) also had one of those speaking hole things in the glass, but that thing was made of such fail. I honestly couldn't hear a word she was saying. The only reason why anything got communicated between us was because I literally threw my application, contract, NOA, and passport at her. And she pointed at a lot of things/nodded at a lot of things for me to do. Sign here, I guess? Attach a picture here, I suppose? Make the check out to the consulate general? okay. Oh, this was the only thing I could decipher from her (who knew my lip reading skills were so polished?): come back tomorrow after 10am. I'd have to wait a day for my visa to be processed. She was helpful and nice enough, and I don't think she judged me (too much) for fumbling through the whole process/not speaking Korean.
The next day, I showed up at 10am, and again there was no one in the lobby, and approached window 2. I didn't even have to say a word, the woman looked up, saw my face, and immediately reached over and slid my passport through the little slot in the glass wall.
And there it was in all its wonderful glory. My VISA stuck in the pages of my rumpled passport. I walked out of the consulate. No interview. No lines. No disagreeable people. It was a wonderfully easy process.
Contract? check.
Visa? check.
Flight? check.
It's official bitches, I'm going to spend the next year of my life in South Korea. Bam.
but wait. let's back up some.
this past monday (2 days ago) I FINALLY got my EPIK contract and Notice of Appointment delivered to my very hands. the NOA had a nice shiny gold seal on it, and the contract itself was several pages thick, written in korean with english translations. It was: exciting, surreal, nerve wracking, awesome, scary, and finalized. I read through all the clauses and signed each page. The next thing I had to do was take the contract and NOA to my local consulate (in Los Angeles) to get my E-2 Visa which would not only allow me to stay in Korea for more than 90 days (I get to stay for a whole year!), but also to actually work in Korea as an English teacher.
After all that signing away of my life for the next year had been done, I went about finally booking my flight.
Let me tell you that booking "one-way flights" are painfully more traumatic that round-trip ones. And while that may seem like I'm stating the obvious, but having an intellectual understanding of that concept does not prepare a person for the finality of a one-way flight. I mean, just stop and think about that for a second. You are only going. There is no return flight. There. is. no. return. flight. No backing down, to turning back, no safety net, no coming home, not even the comfort of the idea of home--nothing but you and the raw void that is the unknown, terrifying future. There is no return flight.
Needless to say, I was shaking profusely as I clicked that little blue button that said "confirm," and the second, the second, it was all over and done with, I felt nauseated and burst into tears. Everything, all at once, seem to be crashing down upon me and my shoulders, grown weak in these idle months, were not up to the task of supporting them and me and what I had done.
The next day, I made the two hour drive to Los Angeles to the consulate. It was, however, my mistake to read some accounts of other people's experiences either applying for a visa at the consulate, or accounts of dealing directly with the consul herself, via the dreaded (in my eyes) visa interview. The first, because people had commented on how unfriendly/unhelpful the consulate was (in terms of not being very english-speaking/reading friendly); the second, because I had no idea how I was going to answer the question "why korea/why english in korea?" should I be interviewed by the consul.
I had a whole 2 hours to think about it.
Instead I admired the good weather of Southern California up the 5 freeway with its views of the Pacific, and listened to kpop.
When I arrived at the consulate, I was in near panic. Also, can I just say how much I abhor driving in LA? Freaking left turns, I hate you so much. Anyway, I finally found the little parking lot adjacent to the consulate, which was the only fortunate thing I had picked up online, because it was free parking with validation. I walked into the consulate armed with a slew of papers--you know, just in case--and little else. Immediately when you enter you go through the metal detector things that you go through with airport security and other official-ish buildings, and there was this security guard on duty. After I walked through, I was about to approach what I can only assume was a sort of receptionist desk--there was a lady sitting in an office thing behind a glass wall with one of those little speaking holes in it. The only thing I could see was like, an outline of a lady because there was, oddly, like a screen behind the glass that obstructed the view to the point where it wouldn't surprise me if people never came to that lady. I could, however, see a million signs, posted everywhere, and all in Korean.
JFC, I can distinguish the korean alphabet but that doesn't mean I can read anything.
I was going to make a fool of myself/ask the lady behind the glass and screen for help when the security guard, intercepted my question and helped me find the right window, like the Godsend he was. It was window 2, by the way.
I had read online to expect long lines, but there was like no one in the lobby except for myself. It may have had to do with the fact that the consulate had just reopened, they close for an hour each day between noon and 1pm for lunch. I was still nervous and nervous. I could see the closed off corner of the consulate that had the words "INTERVIEW ROOM," written in english, and like something you'd see out of cartoons, I swear I gulped when I saw it haha. Not to mention the fact that I was all ashamed to have to make the pleasant looking woman behind the glass wall of window 2 speak to me in english.
The woman behind the glass wall of window number 2 (no screen cover) also had one of those speaking hole things in the glass, but that thing was made of such fail. I honestly couldn't hear a word she was saying. The only reason why anything got communicated between us was because I literally threw my application, contract, NOA, and passport at her. And she pointed at a lot of things/nodded at a lot of things for me to do. Sign here, I guess? Attach a picture here, I suppose? Make the check out to the consulate general? okay. Oh, this was the only thing I could decipher from her (who knew my lip reading skills were so polished?): come back tomorrow after 10am. I'd have to wait a day for my visa to be processed. She was helpful and nice enough, and I don't think she judged me (too much) for fumbling through the whole process/not speaking Korean.
The next day, I showed up at 10am, and again there was no one in the lobby, and approached window 2. I didn't even have to say a word, the woman looked up, saw my face, and immediately reached over and slid my passport through the little slot in the glass wall.
And there it was in all its wonderful glory. My VISA stuck in the pages of my rumpled passport. I walked out of the consulate. No interview. No lines. No disagreeable people. It was a wonderfully easy process.
Contract? check.
Visa? check.
Flight? check.
It's official bitches, I'm going to spend the next year of my life in South Korea. Bam.
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