For my Phoenix

To the sound of you breathing,
I fall asleep tonight.
In silent awe of this moment,
I feel your chest rise
and fall with perfect rhythm
that lets me know you sleep;
easy catching up tonight,
knowing it's of me that you dream.

(I love you)
------------------------------------

With each day of teaching, I realize more and more what a ridiculous language English is. I feel bad for my Ajumas (the older women I teach) when I can't explain why certain phrases and word usages are the way they are. "That's just how it is" doesn't seem like a fair explanation, but I find I have to use it far too often. Some lessons, I leave class feeling like I've only created more questions than provided answers, but sometimes--like with many aspects of life--things have to get messier before they're cleaned up. And it's in those moments, the moments where I see the proverbial lighbulb switch on, that I feel a giddy sense of accomplishment at knowing we're making progress. Sure, I know there are other teachers out there who could provide the same thing I do, but I also like to think I'm forging a deeper relationship with my students than most would bother to. I'm building a trust with them, and it makes every day totally worth it.

It's the simple things: the "you the best teacher" comments from the Ajumas, and the "I love yous" from my little angels, accompanied with goobery kisses on the cheek. The way my little class of 5-year-old macho men challenges me to arm-wrestling, or how little Wendy can turn the story of how she found a pencil into a 20-minute epic full of wizards, shrimp biscuits, monsters, and pigeon-rabbits. The getting punched in the balls on a daily basis--wait, that sucks. Teaching is not all fun and games, and there are a fair share of days that I leave class wanting to strangle a puppy, but so far it's been manageable.

Today, like every Friday, I have to go teach at my other school in Gwangali, which I think makes Fridays my least favorite day of the week. It's not that there's necessarily anything bad about it, but I don't like only having an hour per week with each class. The class sizes are all much bigger than at CBS, so I can't really get to know the kids; shoot, I'm yet to learn even half of their names. The school is more about business and disciplined learning, which causes class to feel more like detention than anything. I have two English-speaking Korean "co-teachers" always in the room, but all they're really good for is answering the questions I pose to the students before the students have a chance to think. "Thank you, Chloe, I know YOU know that this is a triangle, but I was asking finger-up-his-nose-Charlie." And sometimes I feel like they only come to class for the sake of getting English lessons themselves (they seem to have trouble with many of the two-syllable words in the reading books), or for ruining my pronunciation lessons. "Okay, everyone repeat: BALL. BAHLLLLL." And then Chloe, louder than everyone else: "BOOORRR. BOOOOORRRR." Thanks a lot. Do you want me to be here or not? Because I'd be much happier twiddling my thumbs with the bum down the road.

This is a work constantly in progress. I don't know if it even exists on paper anymore, so I feel like it's different every time I "re-conjure" it. I'm kicking myself about not being able to remember a couple stanzas, but oh well. When I think of them I'll add them back in.

I haven't thought of a name for this poem, but basically it's just a metaphor for how things--all sorts of things--change. The relationship you have with any kind of thing--a person, a food, an idea--can change, just like that. And while you might think that the death of a relationship is bad, you also have to consider that with the death of something there also arises new life and opportunity:

A perfect gold world, and nothing could pry
at the happiness shared by the two;
Boy and Girl, both young and naive,
had the "far too good to be true."

But, as everyone knows, the way life runs
is never the easiest track;
sometimes it heads south, they quickly found out
when they were forced to take separate paths.

"I promise we'll be okay," she said,
"no distance can tear us apart.
Even though it'll be tough, our love is enough;
just promise to take care of my heart."

So new lives they lived, all the while staying true,
for the goal never slipped out of sight.
Of the future they'd think, oh what was in store!
for the couple, could they last through the nights...

After long months distant, it finally arrived:
the moment to which they'd counted down days.
Once again together, as they'd hoped for forever,
Boy and Girl locked in embrace.

Yet something was different--missing, evasive;
only half of the pair felt the change.
"Should I feel wrong?" the boy thought, "Am I at the fault
for what once was there's been replaced?"

Near eternity followed as the boy tried to swallow
guilt and pain gnawing inside.
But after obsessing over losses and opportunity cost
he chose the wrong, but the "feels the most right."

The breath he drew in, the beginning of the end,
what would follow, he'd planned on being hard;
the speech he'd recited was delivered, as planned,
to her face, but went straight to her heart:

"I'll find who I am, and then the us will rebirth,
things will be perfect, you'll see;
I'll give you my all if you'll take it in full,
but until then, forget about me."

Irreversible hurt from the terrible words
caused her pain to where she felt free,
the passing on wasn't hard, though her insides were scarred,
and she fell to a beautiful place.

The boy's sight grew softer, his heart beat dry,
for where she'd gone to, the gods only know.
Still, he smiled as he died, when her face lit the inside
of his eyelids, the last time they closed.

At the place of his grave, the memory stayed
locked up and awaiting the chance
to haunt, if let out, the ones without doubt
who believe that a good thing can last.

I ate pig intestine last night and it was gross.

Cleaning out one of my backpacks, I came across some of my writings that I'd brought here in case I ever needed some reassurance that coming here was a good idea. I hadn't felt the need to read them yet, but after doing so I'm confident that Korea has been the best decision I've ever made. I had to find change. And it's funny: it seems like most of the other teachers I meet here have come to escape something, even if they don't know exactly what. I'm right with them--I think I just needed to get away, to be on my own and not have the pressures I'd grown so accustomed to accepting as normal life. I'm so happy here; life is easy. I have great coworkers at a great job, I have minimal financial worries, I have an amazing girlfriend that I love and see in my long-term future, and I have lots of intelligent friends that I have so much in common with--even though we're all from different parts of the world. The food is great, the people are great, the scenery and weather are great, and my outlook on life is great. For the first time since--wow--maybe as long as I can remember, I don't feel a certain weight of depression or anxiety every day. I wake up, not dreading the day like I'd become so used to, but rather excited to discover what sorts of adventures and encounters I'll stumble across. My students bring me incredible delight--they're always so fascinating and happy--but even the simplest of things, like going to a new restaurant, provides a certain entertainment that I feel is filling a void left alone for far too long.

Anyways, here are the few writings. I think I need to start putting up more of what I've done over the years, because I guess my work doesn't do much good just sitting unread in a notebook.
--------------------------------
The air outside helps me stay chlorinated.
An ugly tactic, having to suck on chemical-laden air
as a last defense to the pollutants I'm obligated to call friends.
Jealousy, perversion, addiction: somehow
they add up to represent a supposed necessity
to a life I'm growing tired of calling mine.
So the sky keeps me standing,
the river keeps me running,
the grass keeps me growing--
all the company I need when the monotony
of the indoors threatens to collapse my lungs:
this place can be so suffocating.
---------------------------------

"Hospital Scene in Grey"
Hear the cry of this town tonight:
they're weeping and pleading for you.
Stay with us.
We're scared and the wait is too cold.

Nurse, I think I misheard;
the splash of eye's tear drowns you out,
echoes off these pained cement walls
as the unmistakable words drift from down the hall:
"I'm sorry, we did everything we could..."

A good fight on both sides to a checkmate
no one deserved, yet they found.
The remains: a body and battered heart,
unrecognizable to all but the boy,
the culprit.

The weapons, he hides behind his back.
The hands, thought harmless had taken
such great care 'til he broke.
Now one's left dead, with the other feeling worse,
and trust to blame for everything.
----------------------------

That's it for now.

Woof woof.

Last night, I ate dog. It's one of those things that--even though I think I'm totally against it--I had to try. Some friends and I, all understandably apprehensive on the walk, went to a restaurant a couple blocks away that specializes in Boshingtang: dog stew. Dog, as I found out today, is technically illegal to serve in Korea, but apparently there are some 5000+ restaurants in the country that serve it; I guess the supposed "health benefits" are too supreme for people to give it up. But now, a day later, I'm still unsure what I really think about it, because it wasn't either terrible or incredibly delicious. However, definitely better than the bondegi (silkworm) that I ate a couple weeks ago. Kind of like a super-tender, rather fatty, beef-lamb hybrid of sorts. And I'll probably eat it again if an apporopriate occasion arises, though after researching it a bit today I feel pretty guilty, having learned the ways they go about slaughtering the dogs. Electricution, beating, fire torture, etc is the norm, because (supposedly) the more a dog suffers before it's killed, the more tender the meat. Am I a bad person?

Anyways, it's been too long since I've updated my blog. Though so many interesting things are happening daily, it's hard to put them in words; they can't do the actual experience justice. Regardless, I'm going to make it my goal to post more often, even if it means shorter (and less eventful) entries.

We just started a new semester and curriculum at my school. I think I've now taken over "head teacher" duties, as John (the other foreign teacher) had to leave suddenly for reasons I didn't care to pry into. So I've now taken over his classes, giving me about 12 new students: all ajumas, meaning "older woman." Now, the age range of my students at CBS is from 3 to 67. Ridiculous. I was pretty nervous to start teaching the adults, but after the first five minutes of the first class, my apprehension faded. "...So that's Tyrel in a nutshell," I said, "any questions?" The oldest woman raised her hand. "Yes, are you single?" The other women were all quick to nod, as though that was the most pressing issue of the semester. Needless to say, I'm thinking adult class shouldn't be that tough. Thanks for the genes, Mom and Dad.

My other new students, 3-to-10 year-olds, are all really good. Our school enrollment went down due to the terrible economic conditions (many parents can't afford to keep their kids in private schools) but it's a lot easier on me, even with a fuller schedule. Class sizes are small, and the kids are generally smarter; parents are more willing to invest the tuition money when they know their kids are bright. So this equates to an extremely enjoyable school day. And I just realized I have access to guitars in my school; my boss was thrilled when I asked her if I could take one into the room to add a little more "pizzaz" to singing time. It's going to be a bit tough to play chords AND do the hand motions to the Itsy Bitsy Spider at the same time. So good thing I was born with four arms. Thanks for the genes, Mom and Dad.

I just got a scooter yesterday! My friend is leaving Korea, and didn't know what to do with hers because she couldn't find a buyer for it, so she gave it up to me. Booya! I've only spent about 15 minutes on it--Lauren clinging to my back with her eyes closed ("please don't kill us baby")--but I can tell it's going to be really fun come summertime. I'm scared to death to drive in the traffic here, and plan on going out of my way to avoid busy intersections, but I'm just happy I'll have a quick way to get to the beach once the weather warms up. Plus, I look really good in a helmet twice the size of my tiny cranium. Thanks for the genes, Mom and Dad.

Alright. Though it feels really refreshing to be typing again, I've gotta cut myself off and hit the hay. Dentist appointment early tomorrow. Ooh, on one last note, I love the dentist here. Incredibly modern, cheap, in my apartment building (6 floors down), and they've been doing a great job at fixing/whitening my dead tooth. Tomorrow is the last "session" for the tooth, though I might continue to go in just to hang out with the staff. They think I'm David Beckham's brother, and we've been doing a sort of language exchange for the past month's worth of visits I've made. I gotta say though, it's rather hilarious that they always offer fresh coffee to people coming in for visits. Rather counterproductive, I would think, but maybe it has whitening in it?!

Okay, now for real. Time to travel to sleepyland.

I hope anyone and everyone reading this is well--much love! Annyong!