The doorbell rang this morning. Liam and I were eating ice cream after a trip to the playground. Matthew & Rowan were taking a nap in the bedroom, so I answered the door.
It was a strange man. The first thing he said was, "아기?" and then in English, "baby?" He was kind of looking past me at Liam, but I couldn't figure out what he wanted. The next thing he asked was, "American?" I answered, "Yes." He then switched to Korean, which I didn't understand and told him as much in Korean.
Usually, unexpected visitors either (a) have the wrong apartment, in which case they quickly apologize and leave, (b) are building maintenance workers there to check the gas line or spray, in which case they show me their clipboard and equipment, etc., or (c) want to convert me to their religion, including the teenage Mormon "elders" (one Korean, one American) who were very shocked to see a white woman answer the door. This guy didn't fit into any of those categories. I couldn't understand what he wanted at all.
"What do you want?" I asked in English. See what a witty conversationalist I am? The whole time he was just kind of smiling weirdly. "I don't know what you want, so I'm just going to shut the door," I said. He was already starting to walk away as I did so.
I realize that living here has made me paranoid, but if I had to hazard a guess, I would say he came by just to get a look at the foreign kid. I'll probably never know, though, which is one of the things about living here that is so frustrating.
Showing posts with label language. Show all posts
Showing posts with label language. Show all posts
ten signs it's time to leave korea
Monday, August 3, 2009
10. every time you hear the phrase, "Waegookin imnida!" (It's a foreigner!), your middle finger starts itching.
9. you're tempted to tell people who want to take pictures of you or your children, "Poto, manwon" (photo, 10 bucks!) and those wanting to practice their English with you, while you're trying to watch your child, "Yeonga-lur, sahm-ship-boon, ee-man-o-cheon-won" (English, 30 minutes, 25 bucks.)
8. you hold your breath every time your toddler runs up to a group of "kids! kids!," waiting to see how they'll respond to the blond-haired, blue-eyed foreign "baby."
7. you teach your toddler the phrase "babo (foolish/stupid) kids," as a response to kids who run away or otherwise don't want to play with him.
6. you start to take offense at stupid things, like "egg-ee" (which applies to any child up to the age of 3, whereas "agg-ee" is more specifically an infant) being translated as "baby," or kids always saying, "c'mon, baby," which is a phrase from a popular k-pop song.
5. you're exhausted from running interference for your child every time you're in public.
4. you've begun to openly mock kimchi, which Koreans view as a wondrous cure-all.
3. you actually consider saying, "an-chua shiball imnida" (it's not f***ing cold) to women who insist your baby is under-dressed for a breezy day in the 70s.
2. you interpret the ear-nose-throat specialist's attempts at "enlarging your nasal passage" as blatant xenophobia.
1. some days you think if you hear one more child whine like a police siren, you're going to lose it.
9. you're tempted to tell people who want to take pictures of you or your children, "Poto, manwon" (photo, 10 bucks!) and those wanting to practice their English with you, while you're trying to watch your child, "Yeonga-lur, sahm-ship-boon, ee-man-o-cheon-won" (English, 30 minutes, 25 bucks.)
8. you hold your breath every time your toddler runs up to a group of "kids! kids!," waiting to see how they'll respond to the blond-haired, blue-eyed foreign "baby."
7. you teach your toddler the phrase "babo (foolish/stupid) kids," as a response to kids who run away or otherwise don't want to play with him.
6. you start to take offense at stupid things, like "egg-ee" (which applies to any child up to the age of 3, whereas "agg-ee" is more specifically an infant) being translated as "baby," or kids always saying, "c'mon, baby," which is a phrase from a popular k-pop song.
5. you're exhausted from running interference for your child every time you're in public.
4. you've begun to openly mock kimchi, which Koreans view as a wondrous cure-all.
3. you actually consider saying, "an-chua shiball imnida" (it's not f***ing cold) to women who insist your baby is under-dressed for a breezy day in the 70s.
2. you interpret the ear-nose-throat specialist's attempts at "enlarging your nasal passage" as blatant xenophobia.
1. some days you think if you hear one more child whine like a police siren, you're going to lose it.
the haps
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Interesting (to me, anyway) and random events from the past few weeks:
Crazy Weather
We had a solar eclipse (about 70% here in Korea) yesterday, but it was so overcast that you could barely even tell. I really hope I'm not jinxing myself by saying this, but we've had unseasonably cool (read: livable) weather so far this month. Last year, July 5th was the beginning of almost two solid months of "air conditioning weather": hot, sticky, yuck.
Couch Surfing 101
After Matthew invited home a random Dutch backpacker he met at the bus stop several weeks ago, we decided that hosting couch-surfers actually works okay for our family. Since changing our status to allow guests, we've had a Swiss tourist and two expat English teachers from Seoul stay with us. Since Matthew's profile clearly states that we have two young children, we've had guests who like kids. We have another American coming this weekend, and could easily end up hosting all summer unless we decline.
When Halmonis (grandmothers) attack:
One Saturday afternoon, we got on a bus going downtown. Since Matthew was carrying the stroller, I was carrying Rowan and holding Liam's hand. There were no open seats and no one moved to give theirs up, so I instructed Liam to hold on to the handle corner of one seat, while I held one of the handle ring hanging from the ceiling. I heard the voice of an older woman, and caught a few familiar words including "baby" before one of the middle school boys right by us got up. I helped Liam sit down. The voice became a little more persistent and another boy surrendered his seat. I sat down and turned to the woman who had been speaking. I thanked her, which let her know that I understood at least some of what she was saying. That was all the encouragement she needed. She became louder, haranguing the boys for all to hear. The gist of her lecture was, "When a woman with children gets on the bus, you give up your seat now, now, NOW!" They didn't look at her, but kept their eyes downcast, which is the proper way to respond to a scolding. When she got off the bus, I gave her a little nod (head bow) and smiled. Sometimes halmonis totally rock.
And I learned...
...Fenugreek (a "galactagogue," which sounds like something off of Star Trek) is apparently illegal in South Korea. (That doesn't mean that foreigners don't bring it in, or that they aren't willing to share extra.)
...how to say "It's not f***ing cold" really, really politely. Will I ever actually say that to an overly-pushy halmoni who insists my child is improperly dressed? Probably not, but knowledge is power, right?
...it feels really good to squirt kids with a super-soaker when they call me waegook (foreigner). (It was a one-time thing. Liam was using some girl's super soaker and I had just finished helping him with something on it. These kids have seen me many times before, so it was just ridiculous. Maybe I should start carrying a squirt gun with me for that purpose.)
...gim is really good wrapped around rice and tuna salad (tuna + mayonnaise). It's my minimalist/ghetto version of chamchi (tuna) gimbap.
Crazy Weather
We had a solar eclipse (about 70% here in Korea) yesterday, but it was so overcast that you could barely even tell. I really hope I'm not jinxing myself by saying this, but we've had unseasonably cool (read: livable) weather so far this month. Last year, July 5th was the beginning of almost two solid months of "air conditioning weather": hot, sticky, yuck.
Couch Surfing 101
After Matthew invited home a random Dutch backpacker he met at the bus stop several weeks ago, we decided that hosting couch-surfers actually works okay for our family. Since changing our status to allow guests, we've had a Swiss tourist and two expat English teachers from Seoul stay with us. Since Matthew's profile clearly states that we have two young children, we've had guests who like kids. We have another American coming this weekend, and could easily end up hosting all summer unless we decline.
When Halmonis (grandmothers) attack:
One Saturday afternoon, we got on a bus going downtown. Since Matthew was carrying the stroller, I was carrying Rowan and holding Liam's hand. There were no open seats and no one moved to give theirs up, so I instructed Liam to hold on to the handle corner of one seat, while I held one of the handle ring hanging from the ceiling. I heard the voice of an older woman, and caught a few familiar words including "baby" before one of the middle school boys right by us got up. I helped Liam sit down. The voice became a little more persistent and another boy surrendered his seat. I sat down and turned to the woman who had been speaking. I thanked her, which let her know that I understood at least some of what she was saying. That was all the encouragement she needed. She became louder, haranguing the boys for all to hear. The gist of her lecture was, "When a woman with children gets on the bus, you give up your seat now, now, NOW!" They didn't look at her, but kept their eyes downcast, which is the proper way to respond to a scolding. When she got off the bus, I gave her a little nod (head bow) and smiled. Sometimes halmonis totally rock.
And I learned...
...Fenugreek (a "galactagogue," which sounds like something off of Star Trek) is apparently illegal in South Korea. (That doesn't mean that foreigners don't bring it in, or that they aren't willing to share extra.)
...how to say "It's not f***ing cold" really, really politely. Will I ever actually say that to an overly-pushy halmoni who insists my child is improperly dressed? Probably not, but knowledge is power, right?
...it feels really good to squirt kids with a super-soaker when they call me waegook (foreigner). (It was a one-time thing. Liam was using some girl's super soaker and I had just finished helping him with something on it. These kids have seen me many times before, so it was just ridiculous. Maybe I should start carrying a squirt gun with me for that purpose.)
...gim is really good wrapped around rice and tuna salad (tuna + mayonnaise). It's my minimalist/ghetto version of chamchi (tuna) gimbap.
hurt: a flashback, a language lesson, a doctor visit and a video
Monday, July 13, 2009
March 2006: Shortly before we found out I was pregnant with Liam, Matthew and I took a weekend trip to Seoul with some friends. Oh, how easy it was to just throw a few things in a bag and hop on a bus in those days. My friend Sara wanted to get her eyebrow pierced while we were in Itaewon and I decided to get mine done as well.
Sara and I, modeling our newly pierced eyebrows:
When we returned to Sokcho, all the Koreans we knew seemed very concerned about how much it must hurt. I tried to explain that it didn't hurt any more than getting one's ears pierced, but I don't think they were convinced. One student told me it looked, "very very very very very very sick." I was a bit offended at first, until I found out that in Korean, the word 아파 (a'pa) means both hurt and sick. She just chose the wrong translation...I think.
Which brings us to yesterday when I told various medical professionals 귀 아파요 (kwi a'payo, "[My] ear hurts"). The family practitioner I initially visited took a look at my ear and referred me to an E.N.T. (ear, nose, and throat specialist). Yes, my ear hurt, but that was just the beginning of the pain. My rather nasty middle ear infection is caused by my equally nasty sinus infection. The E.N.T., a Dr. Song, told me that ramming several long cotton swabs up each nostril is the most effective treatment. Apparently, it opens the clogged nasal passages and allows them to drain more freely. It also felt as if red-hot pokers had been rammed up my nostrils. My eyes watered. I couldn't see. I gasped. I whimpered. He left them in there and then wanted me to look at the x-ray type picture he'd taken of my face. Even though the pain faded to a dull ache, I couldn't see anything without my glasses, which I'd removed. After the little torture session was finished, his assistant helped me with a nasal rinse (cross between a neti pot and the rinsing spout that a dentist uses). He prescribed two days of medication and told me to come back, evidently for more of the same. It will apparently take 2-3 weeks for the infection to clear. (The good doctor's wife is a dentist, quite a sadistic pairing.)
And, finally, while I'm on the topic of "Hurt," I will leave you with this video. Although I loved the original Nine Inch Nails version as an angst-filled teenager, it never touched me quite as much as this cover by the late Johnny Cash. Now there was a man who could sing about pain.
Incidentally, the eyebrow ring only lasted three or four weeks. I liked the way it looked, but would forget about it every morning and hurt myself when I rubbed my eyes. Alas, I'm too low maintenance to be a hipster.
Sara and I, modeling our newly pierced eyebrows:
When we returned to Sokcho, all the Koreans we knew seemed very concerned about how much it must hurt. I tried to explain that it didn't hurt any more than getting one's ears pierced, but I don't think they were convinced. One student told me it looked, "very very very very very very sick." I was a bit offended at first, until I found out that in Korean, the word 아파 (a'pa) means both hurt and sick. She just chose the wrong translation...I think.
Which brings us to yesterday when I told various medical professionals 귀 아파요 (kwi a'payo, "[My] ear hurts"). The family practitioner I initially visited took a look at my ear and referred me to an E.N.T. (ear, nose, and throat specialist). Yes, my ear hurt, but that was just the beginning of the pain. My rather nasty middle ear infection is caused by my equally nasty sinus infection. The E.N.T., a Dr. Song, told me that ramming several long cotton swabs up each nostril is the most effective treatment. Apparently, it opens the clogged nasal passages and allows them to drain more freely. It also felt as if red-hot pokers had been rammed up my nostrils. My eyes watered. I couldn't see. I gasped. I whimpered. He left them in there and then wanted me to look at the x-ray type picture he'd taken of my face. Even though the pain faded to a dull ache, I couldn't see anything without my glasses, which I'd removed. After the little torture session was finished, his assistant helped me with a nasal rinse (cross between a neti pot and the rinsing spout that a dentist uses). He prescribed two days of medication and told me to come back, evidently for more of the same. It will apparently take 2-3 weeks for the infection to clear. (The good doctor's wife is a dentist, quite a sadistic pairing.)
And, finally, while I'm on the topic of "Hurt," I will leave you with this video. Although I loved the original Nine Inch Nails version as an angst-filled teenager, it never touched me quite as much as this cover by the late Johnny Cash. Now there was a man who could sing about pain.
Incidentally, the eyebrow ring only lasted three or four weeks. I liked the way it looked, but would forget about it every morning and hurt myself when I rubbed my eyes. Alas, I'm too low maintenance to be a hipster.
standard conversation; strange question
Monday, July 6, 2009
Sometimes when I try to speak Korean, I am embarrassed by my pathetic language skills. Other times, like today, I feel like I'm not too bad.
I was at the playground with the boys, actually waiting for my friend to come down with her children. A woman sat down beside me on the bench after removing the baby boy strapped to her back with a podaegi.* She also had a little girl a bit older than Liam. She looked at Rowan in the stroller beside me and pronounced the usual expressions of cuteness. She was soon joined by two men (husband and brother-in-law would be my guess) with another little girl around the same age. The two little girls ran off to play and the men began conversing with the woman. The man I assumed to be her husband asked her if Rowan was a boy. I replied that he is, at which point she decided to start a conversation with me, since I obviously understand and speak a minimal level of Korean.
The following conversation took place almost completely in Korean, except she did say "teacher" and "January" in English, although I know those words in Korean.
KW: How old is he?
Me: 6 months. Your son?
KW: 7 months, born in December. Your son was born in January?
Me: No, December. December 30. Your son?
KW: December 13. Do you live in Buyoung? (That's the name of our apartment complex.)
Me: Yes. (gesturing vaguely at my building)
KW: You speak Korean very well.
Me: No, just a little. I don't speak well yet.
KW: Are you a teacher?
Me: Me? No. My husband is a teacher.
KW: Korean? American?
Me: My husband?
KW: Yes.
Me: American. (Amazingly, I said this without laughing.)
Now, maybe she hasn't seen many babies with mixed Korean and Caucasian parentage. I have. They're almost all absolutely gorgeous, and they have very definite Asian features. She had looked closely at Rowan before this. I'm pretty sure it would be genetically impossible for a child with a Korean parent to look like Rowan.
The conversation basically petered out after that. I was, however, proud of the fact that I did not once have to say, "I don't understand" or "I don't know," phrases which I find myself uttering all too often in Korean.
I'm still scratching my head over the question of whether my boys are half-Korean, though.
*The podaegi (also spelled podegi and pronounced po DEG ee with a long "o", a hard "g" similar to the "g" in "golf" or "go" and a long "e") is a Korean carrier with a medium to large rectangle of fabric hanging from a very long strap. Traditionally the rectangle is quilted for warmth and wraps around the mother's torso, while the straps are wrapped snug under the baby's bottom and tied around to the front to support and secure the baby on the mother's back. Western interest in the podaegi style has led to new wrapping methods which do go over the shoulders, and to narrower "blankets". (Definition courtesy of Wikipedia article: Baby sling.)
I was at the playground with the boys, actually waiting for my friend to come down with her children. A woman sat down beside me on the bench after removing the baby boy strapped to her back with a podaegi.* She also had a little girl a bit older than Liam. She looked at Rowan in the stroller beside me and pronounced the usual expressions of cuteness. She was soon joined by two men (husband and brother-in-law would be my guess) with another little girl around the same age. The two little girls ran off to play and the men began conversing with the woman. The man I assumed to be her husband asked her if Rowan was a boy. I replied that he is, at which point she decided to start a conversation with me, since I obviously understand and speak a minimal level of Korean.
The following conversation took place almost completely in Korean, except she did say "teacher" and "January" in English, although I know those words in Korean.
KW: How old is he?
Me: 6 months. Your son?
KW: 7 months, born in December. Your son was born in January?
Me: No, December. December 30. Your son?
KW: December 13. Do you live in Buyoung? (That's the name of our apartment complex.)
Me: Yes. (gesturing vaguely at my building)
KW: You speak Korean very well.
Me: No, just a little. I don't speak well yet.
KW: Are you a teacher?
Me: Me? No. My husband is a teacher.
KW: Korean? American?
Me: My husband?
KW: Yes.
Me: American. (Amazingly, I said this without laughing.)
Now, maybe she hasn't seen many babies with mixed Korean and Caucasian parentage. I have. They're almost all absolutely gorgeous, and they have very definite Asian features. She had looked closely at Rowan before this. I'm pretty sure it would be genetically impossible for a child with a Korean parent to look like Rowan.
The conversation basically petered out after that. I was, however, proud of the fact that I did not once have to say, "I don't understand" or "I don't know," phrases which I find myself uttering all too often in Korean.
I'm still scratching my head over the question of whether my boys are half-Korean, though.
*The podaegi (also spelled podegi and pronounced po DEG ee with a long "o", a hard "g" similar to the "g" in "golf" or "go" and a long "e") is a Korean carrier with a medium to large rectangle of fabric hanging from a very long strap. Traditionally the rectangle is quilted for warmth and wraps around the mother's torso, while the straps are wrapped snug under the baby's bottom and tied around to the front to support and secure the baby on the mother's back. Western interest in the podaegi style has led to new wrapping methods which do go over the shoulders, and to narrower "blankets". (Definition courtesy of Wikipedia article: Baby sling.)
everybody farts
Monday, June 8, 2009
뿡뿡이 (Bboong Bboong Ee) is a popular Korean children's show, which Liam has been, um, fortunate enough to watch at his friend's house. Both boys are fascinated by the show and JunMin even does some of the little dance moves. Part of the appeal? Fart humor. Lots of it.
The general gist of the conversation in this clip is that Bboong Bboong Ee (the orange guy) ate too much ice cream. His blue friend has mosquito bites. (I can totally sympathize!) Apparently the human character is "General Fart." Actually, if anyone with better Korean language skills can explain more, I'd be delighted!
The general gist of the conversation in this clip is that Bboong Bboong Ee (the orange guy) ate too much ice cream. His blue friend has mosquito bites. (I can totally sympathize!) Apparently the human character is "General Fart." Actually, if anyone with better Korean language skills can explain more, I'd be delighted!
poop, police & physical exhaustion: a night from hell
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Liam took a nap yesterday. This violates one of my unofficial rules, "Don't let Liam take a nap," but I was exhausted after two nights of Rowan waking up every two hours to nurse. There are two reasons for this rule: he wakes up in a horrible mood and then he stays up late. Both of those proved true...and, of course, I didn't get much sleep while he was napping. That's the back story that leads up to the night from hell.
9pm: Liam freaks out because I put on Baby Signing Time instead of more Open Season, which I take as a sign he's ready for bed. He wants to sleep in our bed, which I consent to because I just want to go to bed myself.
9:15: Matthew gets home from work. Liam is still awake, so is Rowan. We both try to get Liam to go to sleep, while I try to get Rowan to nurse to sleep. No luck.
10:30: Matthew decides to take a shower. Liam decides to "sleep" in his own bed. Rowan takes such a massive poop that it results in his first shower. I hold him while Matthew hoses off the entire bottom half of his body. Liam gets out of bed to watch this circus.
10:45: Rowan finally nurses to sleep.
11:00: Matthew, Liam & I all fall asleep in the big bed.
12:00: I wake up to the sound of Matthew yelling in English and [Korean]. Liam is sleeping with his head on my chest. After a few moments, I piece together that Matthew is yelling at some drunk who is trying to get into our apartment. "Not your house...[my home]...Go away...[Go! Go!]" (He also said our building and apartment numbers, hoping that would register with the guy that he was at the wrong place.) The guy is yelling, pounding on our door, ringing the doorbell, yanking on the door handle, and trying to use our keyless entry.
Matthew asks me what police telephone number is. I only know 119, which is apparently the fire department. He tries that, asking for someone who speaks English. He tries to communicate what is happening. Who knew that the word "drunk" would be useful to know? Finally, he gets someone to send a police officer to our place. Throughout the entire phone call and for a minute or two after, the guy is still trying to get in. Of course, by the time the police officers arrive he's gone.
Then Matthew is stuck trying to explain the situation to two officers who do not speak English. They call someone who supposedly does and give the phone to Matthew. He has to explain that no, HE is not drunk, some drunk Korean was trying to get into the apartment. No, he doesn't know who the man is, he didn't open the door, etc. The officers seem to understand. They will hang around for a few minutes in case he comes back. He doesn't. At this point, we're both wide awake, although the boys managed to sleep (although fitfully) through it.
The rest of the night was a blur of attempts at sleep, punctuated by Rowan waking up every 2-3 hours to nurse, and Liam tossing and turning, occasionally crying out for no known reason.
9am: Rowan & Liam are both up. Matthew & I drink coffee. It's going to be a very long day.
9pm: Liam freaks out because I put on Baby Signing Time instead of more Open Season, which I take as a sign he's ready for bed. He wants to sleep in our bed, which I consent to because I just want to go to bed myself.
9:15: Matthew gets home from work. Liam is still awake, so is Rowan. We both try to get Liam to go to sleep, while I try to get Rowan to nurse to sleep. No luck.
10:30: Matthew decides to take a shower. Liam decides to "sleep" in his own bed. Rowan takes such a massive poop that it results in his first shower. I hold him while Matthew hoses off the entire bottom half of his body. Liam gets out of bed to watch this circus.
10:45: Rowan finally nurses to sleep.
11:00: Matthew, Liam & I all fall asleep in the big bed.
12:00: I wake up to the sound of Matthew yelling in English and [Korean]. Liam is sleeping with his head on my chest. After a few moments, I piece together that Matthew is yelling at some drunk who is trying to get into our apartment. "Not your house...[my home]...Go away...[Go! Go!]" (He also said our building and apartment numbers, hoping that would register with the guy that he was at the wrong place.) The guy is yelling, pounding on our door, ringing the doorbell, yanking on the door handle, and trying to use our keyless entry.
Matthew asks me what police telephone number is. I only know 119, which is apparently the fire department. He tries that, asking for someone who speaks English. He tries to communicate what is happening. Who knew that the word "drunk" would be useful to know? Finally, he gets someone to send a police officer to our place. Throughout the entire phone call and for a minute or two after, the guy is still trying to get in. Of course, by the time the police officers arrive he's gone.
Then Matthew is stuck trying to explain the situation to two officers who do not speak English. They call someone who supposedly does and give the phone to Matthew. He has to explain that no, HE is not drunk, some drunk Korean was trying to get into the apartment. No, he doesn't know who the man is, he didn't open the door, etc. The officers seem to understand. They will hang around for a few minutes in case he comes back. He doesn't. At this point, we're both wide awake, although the boys managed to sleep (although fitfully) through it.
The rest of the night was a blur of attempts at sleep, punctuated by Rowan waking up every 2-3 hours to nurse, and Liam tossing and turning, occasionally crying out for no known reason.
9am: Rowan & Liam are both up. Matthew & I drink coffee. It's going to be a very long day.
job security
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Several times each week Matthew brings home essays and diary entries to correct. Some are from his advanced classes and are well written. Most of them are assigned by his Korean co-workers and those can be the most entertaining. I often help him correct them because (a) I might as well use the degree we're still paying for and (b) they're entertaining.
It's good to know that Matthew's skills as a native English teacher will be needed as long as we choose to stay here.
Here are a few of the...um...good ones.
It's good to know that Matthew's skills as a native English teacher will be needed as long as we choose to stay here.
Here are a few of the...um...good ones.
#1: Subject: My characterist!
Feb/21 (토요일)
My mom called me.
"[Girl's name]! 2 Socks gave down on street."
but, I gave down one box socks.
So, My mom said, "You're foolish."
"umm...maybe".
And, I come back home.
I thought for foolish.
"[Girl's name]"
#2: Untitled
Today, I went the kumdo academy. And I start kumdo. Today I had worn hogu. After about 10 minutes. Suddenly, I felt the call of nature. So I had tried to go. I nearly taken bamboo knife in bathroom of forgetand. In bathroom, someone turn off the bathroom light. But, my friend is turn on the light. After about 40 minutes, I went home. But, I nearly taken bamboo knife in home. I may be amnesia.
#3: Sunday, Feb. 22nb
Today I ate a hamburger. It is very delicious.
However...my embryo was very very sick. So I go to the bed.
I think, 'I may have a stomachache.'
But, no It was Ok.
I will not eat hamburgers...
The hamburger may have spoiled.
Feb/21 (토요일)
My mom called me.
"[Girl's name]! 2 Socks gave down on street."
but, I gave down one box socks.
So, My mom said, "You're foolish."
"umm...maybe".
And, I come back home.
I thought for foolish.
"[Girl's name]"
#2: Untitled
Today, I went the kumdo academy. And I start kumdo. Today I had worn hogu. After about 10 minutes. Suddenly, I felt the call of nature. So I had tried to go. I nearly taken bamboo knife in bathroom of forgetand. In bathroom, someone turn off the bathroom light. But, my friend is turn on the light. After about 40 minutes, I went home. But, I nearly taken bamboo knife in home. I may be amnesia.
#3: Sunday, Feb. 22nb
Today I ate a hamburger. It is very delicious.
However...my embryo was very very sick. So I go to the bed.
I think, 'I may have a stomachache.'
But, no It was Ok.
I will not eat hamburgers...
The hamburger may have spoiled.
a picture is worth...?
Sunday, February 15, 2009
W10,000 to the first person to explain this to me.
(Location: the waiting room outside the nursery at JoongAng birthing hospital)
(Location: the waiting room outside the nursery at JoongAng birthing hospital)
Lowan, I mean Rowan
Saturday, January 17, 2009
Rowan with his hospital cart tag:
More recently:
Step 1: Give birth.
Step 2: Obtain hospital birth certificate.
Step 3: Return to hospital to request that father and baby's names be added to birth certificate. (First copies only identified baby as 2nd child of Catherine.)
Step 4: Have employer translate certificate.
Step 5: Ask employer to change name translation (로웬) from Lowan to Rowan.
Step 6: Take 10-day-old baby, assorted official documents, copies, pictures, and money to U.S. Embassy in Seoul.
Step 7: Wait one week.
Step 8: Receive baby's Consular report of birth and passport via courier. Pay courier W10,000.
Step 9: Take baby, passport, etc. to local immigration office. (This is the next step that we need to complete. We need to apply for a visa for Rowan before he is 30 days old.)
More recently:
Step 1: Give birth.
Step 2: Obtain hospital birth certificate.
Step 3: Return to hospital to request that father and baby's names be added to birth certificate. (First copies only identified baby as 2nd child of Catherine.)
Step 4: Have employer translate certificate.
Step 5: Ask employer to change name translation (로웬) from Lowan to Rowan.
Step 6: Take 10-day-old baby, assorted official documents, copies, pictures, and money to U.S. Embassy in Seoul.
Step 7: Wait one week.
Step 8: Receive baby's Consular report of birth and passport via courier. Pay courier W10,000.
Step 9: Take baby, passport, etc. to local immigration office. (This is the next step that we need to complete. We need to apply for a visa for Rowan before he is 30 days old.)
Magical Mystery Card
My magical card, which was issued to "Cather," along with a somewhat explanatory note written by my doctor.
Sometimes, living in Korea is like a puzzle. I receive one piece after another, until I'm finally able to understand something.
At my 36 week appointment, my doctor gave me a "prescription." It was a form that he had signed, which he told me I should take to the bank. He explained that the bank would give me a card I could use to pay for prenatal appointments. The total value of the card is W200,000 and W40,000 can be used towards each appointment. He wrote down a few things in Korean and told me to ask a Korean friend about it.
I asked one of Matthew's co-workers, the same woman who graciously translated my birth plan. She hadn't heard of the program, but translated the form for me, then did an internet search and got back to me with what she'd found. Her understanding was that it was only good for prenatal care. As I'd assumed, it's another government-funded program to help raise the very low birth rate. Also, she told me that it would take a week after I turned in my form for the card to be issued.
I took the form to NongHyup bank where we have our accounts. The teller who always helps me placed a phone call, since no one there seemed to know anything about it. She told me I needed to go to Kookmin Bank (KB) downtown. The KB teller seemed familiar with the program and told me I needed to open an account there to have a card issued. After filling out multiple forms, she said my card would arrive in one week. Later that afternoon, she called to tell me that she forgot to have me sign a form and needed me to come back in. I took care of that two days later. My card arrived the very next day via courier.
In the meantime, I visited my pregnant Korean friend. She already had her card, even though her due date was two weeks after mine. This irritated me, because we have the same doctor AND he had given me the form at the same appointment when he'd run several (relatively) expensive, and in my opinion unnecessary, tests. I figured that he'd forgotten to give it to me when he was supposed to and cost me an extra W40,000. My friend did say that the card could be used for 15 days after giving birth. She planned to swipe her card each day at the hospital until it was used up.
I was able to use W20,000 for my 38 week appointment the week before Christmas, then had Matthew swipe the card the two days I was in the hospital, which took W80,000 off my bill (bringing the total bill to about $200). I also used it for my one-week postpartum appointment, but that was less than W3,000. It was at that last appointment that I noticed a poster on the wall. I recognized my lovely pink card and saw the date at the top: December 15, 2008. It's a brand new program, which explains why the doctor didn't give it to me earlier.
my new t-shirt
Sunday, December 7, 2008
It was a birthday present from my friend, Kelsey. For those of you who don't read Hangul (Korean), it says "Mul ba?!" As I mentioned before, that's the gangsta way of saying, "What are you looking at?"
I don't know if I'll have the nerve to wear it in public, but it totally cracks me up. (She bought it from Babo Shirts.)
Note to self: stop falling down
Friday, November 28, 2008
Some women get clutzier when they're pregnant. I guess I'm naturally clutzy enough that I can't get any worse. I never tripped or fell when I was pregnant with Liam. I blame Liam completely for the fact that I've now fallen twice, in public, in the past month.
The first time, I was walking with Liam on a rainy, dismal day. I remember that it was the day of my friend Aubrey's birthday party and we were returning from the stationary shop where I'd gotten a card and ribbon for her gift. We'd also picked up Liam's favorite little fish-shaped, custard-filled (shuga-cream in Konglish) breads. Liam was tired, which he proved after we got home by throwing a stupid fit (over the fish bread) and then falling asleep on my lap. So, on the way home, he wanted me to carry him, something I've been doing less and less lately. Because of the toddler perched on my protruding belly, I couldn't see the curb very well, came down on my ankle wrong, and fell, dropping my child and the bag with the fish bread.
Why is this worth blogging about? Because there was an older woman walking by who saw the whole thing, saw that I was obviously pregnant, saw that I dropped my child who was then crying, and did NOTHING. She was not feeble-old or helpless-old, just grandmotherly. She didn't even ask if I was okay. She just stared at me for a moment and then kept walking, before I was even collected and off the ground.
Yes, I added this to my "list of slights," an imaginary list that I invented once in conversation with my friend Jen. I'm taking back what I previously said about old people in Korea being extremely courteous. Apparently that only applies when others are around to see them being nice to the foreigners.
This past week, I was walking down the sloped sidewalk in front of my apartment with Liam. He was holding my hand and started running, then fell down. He somehow took me down with him. So there we were, sprawled on the sidewalk, checking out our scrapes, and I looked up. A girl was standing at the end of the sidewalk just staring at us. In Korean, I said to her, "What? What are you looking at? Go!" Then in English, "What are you looking at? Foreigners fall down, too." She looked surprised and walked away. (She might have been surprised because I yelled at her. She might have been surprised because I spoke Korean. Or she might have been surprised because I said, "Mul ba?" which is the way gangsters in Korean movies ask "What are you looking at?")
I know that I'm a cranky pregnant woman. I understand that's just the way Koreans are in general, and specifically around foreigners who don't really fit into the social strata. That doesn't stop me from getting very, very, very irritated. So obviously, I just need to stop falling down. That will solve the problem. (And I still say it's all Liam's fault.)
The first time, I was walking with Liam on a rainy, dismal day. I remember that it was the day of my friend Aubrey's birthday party and we were returning from the stationary shop where I'd gotten a card and ribbon for her gift. We'd also picked up Liam's favorite little fish-shaped, custard-filled (shuga-cream in Konglish) breads. Liam was tired, which he proved after we got home by throwing a stupid fit (over the fish bread) and then falling asleep on my lap. So, on the way home, he wanted me to carry him, something I've been doing less and less lately. Because of the toddler perched on my protruding belly, I couldn't see the curb very well, came down on my ankle wrong, and fell, dropping my child and the bag with the fish bread.
Why is this worth blogging about? Because there was an older woman walking by who saw the whole thing, saw that I was obviously pregnant, saw that I dropped my child who was then crying, and did NOTHING. She was not feeble-old or helpless-old, just grandmotherly. She didn't even ask if I was okay. She just stared at me for a moment and then kept walking, before I was even collected and off the ground.
Yes, I added this to my "list of slights," an imaginary list that I invented once in conversation with my friend Jen. I'm taking back what I previously said about old people in Korea being extremely courteous. Apparently that only applies when others are around to see them being nice to the foreigners.
This past week, I was walking down the sloped sidewalk in front of my apartment with Liam. He was holding my hand and started running, then fell down. He somehow took me down with him. So there we were, sprawled on the sidewalk, checking out our scrapes, and I looked up. A girl was standing at the end of the sidewalk just staring at us. In Korean, I said to her, "What? What are you looking at? Go!" Then in English, "What are you looking at? Foreigners fall down, too." She looked surprised and walked away. (She might have been surprised because I yelled at her. She might have been surprised because I spoke Korean. Or she might have been surprised because I said, "Mul ba?" which is the way gangsters in Korean movies ask "What are you looking at?")
I know that I'm a cranky pregnant woman. I understand that's just the way Koreans are in general, and specifically around foreigners who don't really fit into the social strata. That doesn't stop me from getting very, very, very irritated. So obviously, I just need to stop falling down. That will solve the problem. (And I still say it's all Liam's fault.)
Konglish
Monday, November 24, 2008
As I mentioned in the previous post, Konglish is the term used for words borrowed from English, but usually with their own uniquely Korean pronunciation.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Konglish
Ironically, Konglish can make it easier for foreigners to communicate outside the classroom, and yet frustrating to communicate within the classroom.
Case in point: my middle school listening/conversation class several years ago. The text I was using contained thematic units with completely random vocabulary. One of the listening activities is to choose from several sentences the one which best describes a tiny black-and-white photograph in the book. I think the sentence in question was, "The woman is reading the label." Students didn't recognize the word, "label." After I explained it, one girl said, "Oh, LA-BELL." Of course, la-bell.
Same class, this time the word is "matinee." I explained that it's a movie showing or theater performance in the afternoon. No recognition. I looked it up in the English-Korean dictionary. The first Korean entry was met with blank stares. The students didn't understand. I carefully sounded out the second entry: mah-tee-nay. I almost slapped myself in the forehead as I reitterated, "Come on, guys, mah-tee-nay." "OH, MAH-TEE-NAY!" my class replied.
The biggest slap-myself-in-the-forehead moment was when an elementary school student corrected MY pronunciation of Hawaii. "No, teacher, ha-wa-ee!" Now I realize that her pronunciation is probably closer to the original, but being corrected by a ten-year-old on the pronunciation of a state in MY home country is a little ridiculous. American teachers are hired to teach American English, and if we want to mangle the pronunciation of our states, then so be it.
My friend Sara tells a particularly hilarious story (as all of Sara's stories are) of explaining, drawing, even pantomiming a parachute with no recognition from her students. Finally, she looked it up in the dictionary: Pah-lah-choot. Her students swore they didn't understand any of her attempts, but she suspects they were just toying with her.
Outside the classroom, if I don't know a word in Korean, I often try to Konglishize it: z becomes j, f becomes p, compound consonant sounds are separated (i.e. bl become bul), and often extra vowels are added at the end. It's amazing how well this works.
Some Konglish words, written as they sound:
ice cream: eye-soo-cu-reem-uh
cheese: chee-juh
pizza: pee-jah
hamburger: hame-buh-guh
steak: suh-tay-ee-kuh
coffee: cah-pee (sounds like copy -- so my students were always confused when I said I was going to make a copy during class)
vitamin: bee-tah-mean
bus: bu-suh
taxi: take-shi
motorcycle: oh-toe-bah-i (supposed to sound like "autobike")
cell phone: han-duh-pone (supposed to sound like "handphone")
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Konglish
Ironically, Konglish can make it easier for foreigners to communicate outside the classroom, and yet frustrating to communicate within the classroom.
Case in point: my middle school listening/conversation class several years ago. The text I was using contained thematic units with completely random vocabulary. One of the listening activities is to choose from several sentences the one which best describes a tiny black-and-white photograph in the book. I think the sentence in question was, "The woman is reading the label." Students didn't recognize the word, "label." After I explained it, one girl said, "Oh, LA-BELL." Of course, la-bell.
Same class, this time the word is "matinee." I explained that it's a movie showing or theater performance in the afternoon. No recognition. I looked it up in the English-Korean dictionary. The first Korean entry was met with blank stares. The students didn't understand. I carefully sounded out the second entry: mah-tee-nay. I almost slapped myself in the forehead as I reitterated, "Come on, guys, mah-tee-nay." "OH, MAH-TEE-NAY!" my class replied.
The biggest slap-myself-in-the-forehead moment was when an elementary school student corrected MY pronunciation of Hawaii. "No, teacher, ha-wa-ee!" Now I realize that her pronunciation is probably closer to the original, but being corrected by a ten-year-old on the pronunciation of a state in MY home country is a little ridiculous. American teachers are hired to teach American English, and if we want to mangle the pronunciation of our states, then so be it.
My friend Sara tells a particularly hilarious story (as all of Sara's stories are) of explaining, drawing, even pantomiming a parachute with no recognition from her students. Finally, she looked it up in the dictionary: Pah-lah-choot. Her students swore they didn't understand any of her attempts, but she suspects they were just toying with her.
Outside the classroom, if I don't know a word in Korean, I often try to Konglishize it: z becomes j, f becomes p, compound consonant sounds are separated (i.e. bl become bul), and often extra vowels are added at the end. It's amazing how well this works.
Some Konglish words, written as they sound:
ice cream: eye-soo-cu-reem-uh
cheese: chee-juh
pizza: pee-jah
hamburger: hame-buh-guh
steak: suh-tay-ee-kuh
coffee: cah-pee (sounds like copy -- so my students were always confused when I said I was going to make a copy during class)
vitamin: bee-tah-mean
bus: bu-suh
taxi: take-shi
motorcycle: oh-toe-bah-i (supposed to sound like "autobike")
cell phone: han-duh-pone (supposed to sound like "handphone")
I killed the voices
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
We live in probably the biggest apartment complex in Sokcho, which we sometimes refer to affectionately as "the projects." Buyoung Apt ("ah-paht" in Konglish) was built 10-20 years ago, depending on who you ask. The complex stretches about a mile, parallel to, but about one block off, the main road through Sokcho. It's divided into smaller areas by various streets which are scattered with restaurants and other businesses. Some small businesses, like daycares, are housed within apartments. The buildings are each about 15 stories high and our floor (which is about average) has 8 apartments. In some ways, it's almost like a little city within itself.
Our apartment isn't fancy, but it's comfortable and fairly spacious. All the buildings (at least in our section) were repainted inside (interior hallways) and out this summer, which makes them look much snazzier than when we moved in this spring. There are lots of playgrounds, which are gradually being updated. We have easy access to a large grocery store, a dry cleaner, a stationary/craft store, restaurants, etc. The only drawback is the voices.
On the wall in our main room (kitchen/dining/living) is a phone, which we never use. We assume it would connect us to an ajashi (doorman), who probably can't speak English anyway. Above that is a small speaker. The size is deceiving, considering the volume of the announcements that come from that speaker. There is no volume control. On average, once per day, anytime from 8am to 9pm, random announcements are made, by various people, through this speaker, always book-ended by a series of dings, somewhat similar to our doorbell.
Of course, if we understand a few words from the rapid spiel, we're doing well. Sometimes, we can deduce the content of the announcement from events that follow, such as the time our water was shut off shortly after an announcement, or another time when we lost power for a few hours. Overall, these announcements do us no good. The last three evenings, after Liam was already in bed, the same man's voice made lengthy announcements which included the word "piano." Piano is Konglish (a recent addition to the Korean language taken from English). Not being able to understand the majority of the message, I can't be sure, but I'm very suspicious that he is advertising (among other things) a piano school.
My first attempt was to muffle the voices. I used thumb tacks to affix a terry cloth dish towel over the speaker. It was completely unsuccessful, but did draw questions from several guests, both Koreans and foreigners. Last night, I finally had enough. I removed the cover and then the actual speaker unit from the wall. Matthew disconnected some wires and replaced the rest of the unit. Now we wait. Hopefully, I will never hear the voices again.
Update: IT WORKED! During Liam's nap today there was an announcement. I know that because I could hear our neighbors' speaker. That's how loud it is! It wasn't loud enough to disturb Liam, though. Hallelujah!
Our apartment isn't fancy, but it's comfortable and fairly spacious. All the buildings (at least in our section) were repainted inside (interior hallways) and out this summer, which makes them look much snazzier than when we moved in this spring. There are lots of playgrounds, which are gradually being updated. We have easy access to a large grocery store, a dry cleaner, a stationary/craft store, restaurants, etc. The only drawback is the voices.
On the wall in our main room (kitchen/dining/living) is a phone, which we never use. We assume it would connect us to an ajashi (doorman), who probably can't speak English anyway. Above that is a small speaker. The size is deceiving, considering the volume of the announcements that come from that speaker. There is no volume control. On average, once per day, anytime from 8am to 9pm, random announcements are made, by various people, through this speaker, always book-ended by a series of dings, somewhat similar to our doorbell.
Of course, if we understand a few words from the rapid spiel, we're doing well. Sometimes, we can deduce the content of the announcement from events that follow, such as the time our water was shut off shortly after an announcement, or another time when we lost power for a few hours. Overall, these announcements do us no good. The last three evenings, after Liam was already in bed, the same man's voice made lengthy announcements which included the word "piano." Piano is Konglish (a recent addition to the Korean language taken from English). Not being able to understand the majority of the message, I can't be sure, but I'm very suspicious that he is advertising (among other things) a piano school.
My first attempt was to muffle the voices. I used thumb tacks to affix a terry cloth dish towel over the speaker. It was completely unsuccessful, but did draw questions from several guests, both Koreans and foreigners. Last night, I finally had enough. I removed the cover and then the actual speaker unit from the wall. Matthew disconnected some wires and replaced the rest of the unit. Now we wait. Hopefully, I will never hear the voices again.
Update: IT WORKED! During Liam's nap today there was an announcement. I know that because I could hear our neighbors' speaker. That's how loud it is! It wasn't loud enough to disturb Liam, though. Hallelujah!
things that make me chuckle
Saturday, October 18, 2008
1. Yes, that's "ROCK THE OTE" (downtown clothing boutique)
2. Advertisement in children's boutique window
3. "I Did Blow with Kate moss And all i Got Was this Lousy T-shirt." (This is actually one of Matthew's students. She still wears the shirt, even after he explained the meaning to her.)
4. From our mattress: "Glaring sunshine is deeply sprayed at room which is cotton. Dreaming a romantic vision, awaken life by freshing morning air. Feel the comfortable Bed-room culture which can feel own mood."
5. I'll let you read it for yourself. This was the back of a jacket prominently displayed at a vendor booth at the Yang-yang Pine Mushroom festival. The vendor showed me that it came in another color, too. After I asked to take a picture, Matthew tried to explain the meaning to her. She didn't seem very shocked. Huh...
a head wound, a domestic disturbance and infernal itching
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
No, these things are not really connected. Maybe someday I'll write a story in which they are.
The head wound is actually part of the continuing (even though I said it was over) saga of Bossy Grandma. She struck again.
I met up with Min Jeong, my Korean mommy friend, at the playground one evening. I was sitting on a bench, feeding Liam a snack -- and therefore captive -- when Bossy Grandma sat down beside me. She had the nerve (THE NERVE!) to touch my belly and start telling me AGAIN that Liam is too young for me to be having another baby. She used her concerned face and everything. In English, I told her, "Yes, you've already told me that. And it's none of your business." I tried to ignore her after that, although the kids who were watching Liam eat his fruit leather kept translating for her.
Perhaps 10 or 15 minutes later, Liam started one of his favorite pastimes: jumping off a bench. His friend Jun Min quickly followed, and so did Little Chunk (grandson of Bossy). Liam probably made a dozen successful, unassisted jumps before his foot caught and he went down headfirst onto the gravelly sand. Of course, Bossy Grandma jumped on him before I could take the two steps between us. I had to practically push her off my child so that I could comfort him. I was cuddling him and heading for the nearest empty bench to assess the damage when Bossy Grandma started talking to me. Of course, I ignored her, but then one of the kids started saying "pee, pee," which means "rain" or "blood" in Korean, and pointing to Liam's head. At that point, I pulled him off my shoulder and looked at his head. Sure enough, there was a patch of bright red blood in his white-blond hair. I quickly said goodbye to Min Jeong, grabbed my bag, and headed up to the apartment with Liam, shooing away the future ambulance-chasers who tried to get a good look at Liam's head.
The conclusion of this story is that once I cleaned the blood up, the wound obviously wasn't very serious. We ran into Matthew's pediatrician friend the next day, who said it was just a "surface abrasion." He has a little scab that his hair mostly hides. I haven't run into Bossy Grandma since then, but I'm sure when I do, I'll get an earful about my poor child and why I shouldn't let him jump off benches. Oy vey.
The domestic disturbance occurred last night. Liam went to bed early and I was checking e-mail and otherwise wasting time, when I heard a man's angry voice. After a few minutes, a woman started yelling back. I realized it was our next door neighbors. The windows to the hallway were open, so I could hear (but not understand) every word they were saying. I wasn't trying to understand. Then their son (about three or four years old), started crying. I shut the windows. I find this incident worth writing about not because it's that unusual. The same thing could happen in any apartment complex in the U.S. But I didn't know what to do. In the U.S., I would either stick my head out the door and ask if everything is okay, or call the police, depending on the severity of the argument. Other than the raised voices and tone, I don't know how serious it was. I could ask if she's okay, but would I understand her reply? Is that socially acceptable here? I could call the police, but what would I say? Matthew took some fresh-baked cinnamon rolls over this evening and said the mom and son were home and seemed fine. (Hopefully they split the third cinnamon roll before the husband came home!)
And, finally, the infernal itching. Liam and I have about a brazillion mosquito bites each, including on our faces. They don't seem to bother Matthew much. He is either not as sweet as we are (very possible), doesn't visit the playground as often (but I'm positive we get most of the bites while we're sleeping) or drinks enough alcohol to keep them at bay. ("Move on! This one ain't tasty!") I cannot wait for a nice dry autumn. Death to all mosquitoes!
Photo documentation of my poor little man's bites:
And thus ends my whining. Until next time.
The head wound is actually part of the continuing (even though I said it was over) saga of Bossy Grandma. She struck again.
I met up with Min Jeong, my Korean mommy friend, at the playground one evening. I was sitting on a bench, feeding Liam a snack -- and therefore captive -- when Bossy Grandma sat down beside me. She had the nerve (THE NERVE!) to touch my belly and start telling me AGAIN that Liam is too young for me to be having another baby. She used her concerned face and everything. In English, I told her, "Yes, you've already told me that. And it's none of your business." I tried to ignore her after that, although the kids who were watching Liam eat his fruit leather kept translating for her.
Perhaps 10 or 15 minutes later, Liam started one of his favorite pastimes: jumping off a bench. His friend Jun Min quickly followed, and so did Little Chunk (grandson of Bossy). Liam probably made a dozen successful, unassisted jumps before his foot caught and he went down headfirst onto the gravelly sand. Of course, Bossy Grandma jumped on him before I could take the two steps between us. I had to practically push her off my child so that I could comfort him. I was cuddling him and heading for the nearest empty bench to assess the damage when Bossy Grandma started talking to me. Of course, I ignored her, but then one of the kids started saying "pee, pee," which means "rain" or "blood" in Korean, and pointing to Liam's head. At that point, I pulled him off my shoulder and looked at his head. Sure enough, there was a patch of bright red blood in his white-blond hair. I quickly said goodbye to Min Jeong, grabbed my bag, and headed up to the apartment with Liam, shooing away the future ambulance-chasers who tried to get a good look at Liam's head.
The conclusion of this story is that once I cleaned the blood up, the wound obviously wasn't very serious. We ran into Matthew's pediatrician friend the next day, who said it was just a "surface abrasion." He has a little scab that his hair mostly hides. I haven't run into Bossy Grandma since then, but I'm sure when I do, I'll get an earful about my poor child and why I shouldn't let him jump off benches. Oy vey.
The domestic disturbance occurred last night. Liam went to bed early and I was checking e-mail and otherwise wasting time, when I heard a man's angry voice. After a few minutes, a woman started yelling back. I realized it was our next door neighbors. The windows to the hallway were open, so I could hear (but not understand) every word they were saying. I wasn't trying to understand. Then their son (about three or four years old), started crying. I shut the windows. I find this incident worth writing about not because it's that unusual. The same thing could happen in any apartment complex in the U.S. But I didn't know what to do. In the U.S., I would either stick my head out the door and ask if everything is okay, or call the police, depending on the severity of the argument. Other than the raised voices and tone, I don't know how serious it was. I could ask if she's okay, but would I understand her reply? Is that socially acceptable here? I could call the police, but what would I say? Matthew took some fresh-baked cinnamon rolls over this evening and said the mom and son were home and seemed fine. (Hopefully they split the third cinnamon roll before the husband came home!)
And, finally, the infernal itching. Liam and I have about a brazillion mosquito bites each, including on our faces. They don't seem to bother Matthew much. He is either not as sweet as we are (very possible), doesn't visit the playground as often (but I'm positive we get most of the bites while we're sleeping) or drinks enough alcohol to keep them at bay. ("Move on! This one ain't tasty!") I cannot wait for a nice dry autumn. Death to all mosquitoes!
Photo documentation of my poor little man's bites:
And thus ends my whining. Until next time.
I'm done.
Friday, August 22, 2008
This is the final chapter in the Bossy Grandmother saga, because I've dealt with her for the last time.
When Liam and I got into the elevator early this morning (en route to the beach), she was there. She suddenly realized that I'm pregnant, although I swear she asked me the first time I encountered her. Maybe she thought I hadn't lost my baby weight from Liam, or maybe she pesters so many foreign women with toddlers that she has me confused. (That was sarcasm, as I think I'm the only foreign woman in town with a toddler.) At any rate, she proceeded to tell me that Liam is too young for me to have another baby. I said he's 20 months now. The new baby isn't due until January. They'll be 25 months apart. I don't know why I bothered. She kept insisting that they're too close together. "Whatever," I said in English as I fled the elevator.
What an evil, toxic woman. She has never said a positive word to me, other than to refer to my son as "friend" (chingu) when talking to her grandson. (All Koreans seem to do this when they have a toddler anywhere near Liam's age.)
So I'm done. When I see her from now on, I'm going to ignore her. I don't speak or understand any Korean when she's around. That's one perk of being a foreigner.
When Liam and I got into the elevator early this morning (en route to the beach), she was there. She suddenly realized that I'm pregnant, although I swear she asked me the first time I encountered her. Maybe she thought I hadn't lost my baby weight from Liam, or maybe she pesters so many foreign women with toddlers that she has me confused. (That was sarcasm, as I think I'm the only foreign woman in town with a toddler.) At any rate, she proceeded to tell me that Liam is too young for me to have another baby. I said he's 20 months now. The new baby isn't due until January. They'll be 25 months apart. I don't know why I bothered. She kept insisting that they're too close together. "Whatever," I said in English as I fled the elevator.
What an evil, toxic woman. She has never said a positive word to me, other than to refer to my son as "friend" (chingu) when talking to her grandson. (All Koreans seem to do this when they have a toddler anywhere near Liam's age.)
So I'm done. When I see her from now on, I'm going to ignore her. I don't speak or understand any Korean when she's around. That's one perk of being a foreigner.
new friends
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
Liam & JunMin share JunMin's ride on an outing
One morning a few weeks ago, Matthew, Liam and I met MinJeong and her son, JunMin, at the playground. JunMin is one month older than Liam. As the boys were playing together, we adults conversed. MinJeong's English isn't perfect, but she's very willing to try. We made plans for her to come over for tea (basically, a play date) the next day, then realized that we are both pregnant with our second child, due in January.
Since then, we've gotten together at least a few times a week. With the help of the dictionary on her mobile phone (Korean "hand phones" come with accessories, to say the least), we're able to discuss all kinds of topics. If I ever actually study, she's willing to help me learn Korean. (I have a CD/book set, but just haven't found the time.) Mostly, it's great just to hang out with another mom and have a playmate for Liam. The boys have similar temperaments and get along pretty well.
One day, we went to a play date at her friend's house. She knows a group of moms that all have children around the same age. There were two little girls there, one a few weeks younger than Liam and another two months older. Strangely enough all four moms (including me, of course) are due with their second child in January. MinJeong's friends don't speak English as well as she does, but with her help in translating, we were able to commiserate about nausea, etc.
We usually get together in the afternoon, after Liam's nap, since JunMin is on the normal Korean toddler schedule of staying up until 11p.m. or midnight, and then sleeping in until nearly noon. (Also, we like to spend family time before Matthew goes to work after lunch.) The drawback for Matthew and everyone else at A.P. is that Liam doesn't always make his evening appearance at the school.
one big happy family
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
Coming from a big family (mom was one of six kids, dad was one of seven), I've never liked the whole "honorary family" system. I have 22 legitimate aunts and uncles, plus 31 first cousins. I certainly don't need extra aunties & uncles. Now I live in a culture that uses the honorary system for everyone.
Take for example the terms "aunt" (ajuma) and "uncle" (ajashi). Although some Koreans have tried to tell me that it's actually a different word, any woman over a certain age, especially one who is married and/or has children is an ajuma. (There are specific terms for a maternal aunt, paternal aunt, etc.) While having lunch with some of our high school students, I was a bit horrified that the girls kept calling the waitress over with, "A-juu-mmmaaa." (She didn't mind at all, of course.) Likewise, the middle-aged man who works at our apartment building is commonly referred to as "ajashi."
Last time we were here, I protested against all attempts to label me an ajuma. Now that I have a child, it's just something I have to accept. At the children's birthday party we attended recently, one birthday boy's mother instructed him (in English) to "thank auntie" for the gift we brought, even though that was the first time we'd met.
The honorary labels extend to older people and children. People clearly old enough to be grandparents (men with grey hair and women with short, permed hair, whether grey or not), are called "grandfather" (haraboji) and "grandmother" (halmoni). Children's relationships with each other get complicated. There are separate terms for a boy's older brother, boy's older sister, girl's elder brother, and girl's elder sister. All younger siblings are "dongsaeng," which is what the three-year-old boy Liam played with last week called him. There are some little girls at the playground that act like Liam's big sisters, so I've started referring to them as "nuna," (boy's elder sister).
But the ultimate illustration of how far this "one big family" philosophy truly extends came yesterday. We went to a restaurant near our first apartment, which we used to visit often. The owner remembered us and was delighted to meet our child. I asked for a small, empty bowl to put some of my rice in for Liam. When she realized what I wanted, she brought me a separate bowl of rice for him, then instructed me to add some of the broth from the cold soup served as a side. Matthew and I started to feed Liam, until "auntie" pulled up a chair and told us to eat. She would feed the baby. (I should mention that we were the only customers in the restaurant.) So she stuffed Liam full of good rice, and scolded Matthew when he gave Liam too large of a piece of food.
Sometimes it's nice to have an auntie around.
Take for example the terms "aunt" (ajuma) and "uncle" (ajashi). Although some Koreans have tried to tell me that it's actually a different word, any woman over a certain age, especially one who is married and/or has children is an ajuma. (There are specific terms for a maternal aunt, paternal aunt, etc.) While having lunch with some of our high school students, I was a bit horrified that the girls kept calling the waitress over with, "A-juu-mmmaaa." (She didn't mind at all, of course.) Likewise, the middle-aged man who works at our apartment building is commonly referred to as "ajashi."
Last time we were here, I protested against all attempts to label me an ajuma. Now that I have a child, it's just something I have to accept. At the children's birthday party we attended recently, one birthday boy's mother instructed him (in English) to "thank auntie" for the gift we brought, even though that was the first time we'd met.
The honorary labels extend to older people and children. People clearly old enough to be grandparents (men with grey hair and women with short, permed hair, whether grey or not), are called "grandfather" (haraboji) and "grandmother" (halmoni). Children's relationships with each other get complicated. There are separate terms for a boy's older brother, boy's older sister, girl's elder brother, and girl's elder sister. All younger siblings are "dongsaeng," which is what the three-year-old boy Liam played with last week called him. There are some little girls at the playground that act like Liam's big sisters, so I've started referring to them as "nuna," (boy's elder sister).
But the ultimate illustration of how far this "one big family" philosophy truly extends came yesterday. We went to a restaurant near our first apartment, which we used to visit often. The owner remembered us and was delighted to meet our child. I asked for a small, empty bowl to put some of my rice in for Liam. When she realized what I wanted, she brought me a separate bowl of rice for him, then instructed me to add some of the broth from the cold soup served as a side. Matthew and I started to feed Liam, until "auntie" pulled up a chair and told us to eat. She would feed the baby. (I should mention that we were the only customers in the restaurant.) So she stuffed Liam full of good rice, and scolded Matthew when he gave Liam too large of a piece of food.
Sometimes it's nice to have an auntie around.
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