That’s kind of how it feels, anyway.

I’m back in Texas after living in Korea for a year, and Brazil a year before that. Happy to be back. Ready to enjoy and re-acquaint myself with my home country.

I don’t want this to turn into a rant, because it won’t solve anything and certainly [...]]]> That’s kind of how it feels, anyway.

I’m back in Texas after living in Korea for a year, and Brazil a year before that. Happy to be back. Ready to enjoy and re-acquaint myself with my home country.

I don’t want this to turn into a rant, because it won’t solve anything and certainly won’t do me any good. I’ll sum it up this way: when I fell seriously ill in Korea, I was well taken care of. My insurance made it possible for my husband and I to live there for over half a year comfortably while paying my medical bills, even after I lost my job due to being bed-ridden.

Now we’re back, and it’s him who’s having health problems. We have insurance here in the U.S. But we’re not well taken care of. Not by a long shot.

I’m not ignorant – the situation here is something I’ve known about for a long time. I’ve watched people I love suffer because of it. And my situation could be so much worse – I’m actually very fortunate it’s not.

But it feels sour. Like finding out someone I trusted lied to me. Why did a country that owed me nothing treat me so well, but the place where I was born, where I grew up and got married and paid my taxes and tried to give back to my community, why can’t it take care of me? Take care of all its people?

No new thoughts, here, I know. Sometimes it just hits harder than others.

I know I shouldn’t, but when I’m leaving a place, especially someplace where I’ve spent a significant amount of time, I obsess over the “lasts”. Last time at my favorite kimbap restaurant. Last time walking Adi around the lake. Last time on the subway. (Well, I’m not too torn up about that one.)

Despite [...]]]> I know I shouldn’t, but when I’m leaving a place, especially someplace where I’ve spent a significant amount of time, I obsess over the “lasts”. Last time at my favorite kimbap restaurant. Last time walking Adi around the lake. Last time on the subway. (Well, I’m not too torn up about that one.)

Despite being excited about coming home, these things make me a little sad. But I realized something today that helps- passing on a bit of what I’ve found to others.

Today Josh and I ate at our favorite restaurant- a Turkish kebab house. Our friends, who live just a few towns away, came to meet us. We had an amazing meal of curry, tandoori chicken, dal makhani, and of course, na’an, and our friends seemed really excited about coming back.

And it was easier to leave after that, easier to say goodbye to the restaurant and the kind owner who I’ll probably never see again. Because now I know they’ll be going back, and maybe they’ll introduce some others to the place just like we showed them and another long-gone foreigner showed us. It’s like we don’t really leave anything behind, but rather we’re just part of a chain, still connected.

Silly thing to think about a restaurant, but it makes me feel better.

Since I can now officially say “next week, when I’m back in the U.S.”, I thought I’d go ahead and list what I’ll be pining for about seven days from now.

The obvious is the food; it’s hard to imagine not eating kimchi every day. I’ll miss the deliciousness, healthiness, and affordability of kimbap [...]]]> Since I can now officially say “next week, when I’m back in the U.S.”, I thought I’d go ahead and list what I’ll be pining for about seven days from now.

The obvious is the food; it’s hard to imagine not eating kimchi every day. I’ll miss the deliciousness, healthiness, and affordability of kimbap restaurants. I’ll miss the great public trans, especially considering I’m heading to Texas, the Land of Truck.

But something just happened that made me realize what, by far, I’ll miss most.

I’m currently sitting in a cafe in a subway station, a huge one that’s also a mall. I’m not to far from the door, at a little table. It’s crowded. I’ve got a bag, my macbook, my cell, and a drink all set up. A few minutes ago I got up to use the restroom, leaving the cafe, heading down the escalator and around the corner. I was gone for about three minutes.

I didn’t even think twice about leaving all those goodies just sitting at my table.

When I got back? All there, of course.

That’s Korea. I’ve really gotten used to the amazing lack of crime here. When I first arrived, fresh out of a year living in Brazil, I’d have never in a million years considered leaving my precious mac just sitting out in the subway station. But here, it’s just not a risk.

I’m really, really, really going to miss this naivety, this feeling that everyone’s trustworthy and nothing bad could possibly happen.

~This is my assignment for Chapter Three of MatadorU, which, by the way, is completely awesome. Comments and critique are very appreciated!~

“Wanna go for a walk?”

Freezing in mid-gnaw, tennis ball protruding from her mouth, my chocolate lab eyes me for a brief second. I reach for her leash, and she [...]]]>

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~This is my assignment for Chapter Three of MatadorU, which, by the way, is completely awesome. Comments and critique are very appreciated!~

“Wanna go for a walk?”

Freezing in mid-gnaw, tennis ball protruding from her mouth, my chocolate lab eyes me for a brief second. I reach for her leash, and she leaps from the bed, ball instantly forgotten.

After just a few blocks, Adi is panting heavily and my shirt is stuck to my back. Korean summers are hot and humid, and it feels as if the low, gray clouds and puddles on the street are releasing waves of moisture.

I step around the globs of spit on the sidewalk, and Adi jumps over every grate in a superstitious doggie ritual.  Ahead I see a group of teens lounging in front of a PC Bang, laughing and shoving one another. One of them spots me almost a block away- blonde hair tends to stand out in Suwon. I brace myself for the inevitable.

“He-llo–” he begins, but cuts off with a comical gasp when his gaze falls on Adi. At only 65 pounds, she’s actually a runt, but to Koreans she’s apparently a beast. The girls whimper in fear as we pass, and the boys keep their mouths shut, eyes wide. Adi glances at them, tongue lolling. The boy who called hello presses himself against the wall, and I smirk.

Children here were never taught to fear strangers. Without Adi, I have been followed by kids who seem intent on rattling off every English phrase they know to me. “What’s your name?” “I love you!” “What are you doing?” All this, of course, is followed by howling laughter. Suwon may be close to Seoul in distance, but there’s no comparing the two cities in worldliness. Foreigners in Suwon are common, but not normal. A blonde haired, blue-eyed stranger with a brown dog is a sight to behold, even after almost a year of daily walks in this neighborhood.

Farther down the street, we pass the pharmacy and a few kimbap restaurants and see a woman seated on a mat, oversized visor protecting her from the nonexistent rays of sun. She is leaning against the wall of a clothes boutique, surrounded by a variety of vegetables in plastic bowls. Her fingers continue peeling garlic, but her eyes follow Adi suspiciously as we grow closer.

The door of the boutique flies open and two fashionably dressed girls exit, shopping bags and cell phones in hand, chatting happily. One sees Adi and shrieks, stumbling back into the boutique and pulling the other girl with her. Adi watches them, teeth bared in a squinty-eyed grin, tail wagging hopefully. They wait until we pass, hands pressed to their hearts.

Adi has adapted to her new home faster than it has adapted to her. For the first few months she jumped every time a pizza delivery motorbike would zoom by. The narrow streets and crowds of shoppers made her skittish, and she often mistook grown men leaping to the side upon seeing her as an invitation to play.

But now she knows Suwon. She leads the way into the park and heads for the little bit of grass where she does her business. She doesn’t blink at the buses releasing their exhaust in a loud hiss when they pull away from a stop. She heads straight for the piles of color coded trash bags on the corners, sniffing at the small yellow ones filled with food. She doesn’t notice the cries of surprise and fear anymore.

“Ah-dee!”

We both pause, alert at the sound of her name. The large, smiling owner of a nearby fish restaurant is outside, hosing down tanks filled with crabs. He drops the hose, squats down, and pats his knees.

“Ah-dee!”

Scrambling, claws scratching the ground, Adi drags me down the sidewalk. When we get near enough she pounces, licking his rubber apron, his neck, his face. He laughs, wrapping his arms around her in a bear hug, and greets me too.

For a moment, at least, Suwon feels like home.

There’s subjectivity in the topic of music, but objectivity as well. As a music lover, I appreciate the fact that different types of music touch people in different ways.

But the part of me that spent five years getting a music degree from a university notorious for it’s “weed-out”, ass-kicking curriculum, I have to [...]]]>

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There’s subjectivity in the topic of music, but objectivity as well. As a music lover, I appreciate the fact that different types of music touch people in different ways.

But the part of me that spent five years getting a music degree from a university notorious for it’s “weed-out”, ass-kicking curriculum, I have to say some places have it much better than others in regards to what’s popular.

I’m a percussionist. I like drums. No surprise that I’m drawn to music that has a lot of drums and rhythmic diversity.

Here’s the subjective part: in my own opinion, I’ve just gone from the country with the world’s best pop music (Brazil) to the world’s worst (Korea). I’m exaggerating here; I listen to a wide variety of music, but I can’t claim to know about every countries pop music.

Anyway, to each his own- I’m perfectly willing to accept that someone can adore The Wonder Girls and detest Daniela Mercury. That’s fine.

(Although physically painful to type.)

But the trained musician in me insists that there’s objectivity here as well. I can say one building looks cooler than another, but if an architect says the second is poorly designed, who am I to argue?

From what I can see, Brazil is slaughtering everyone with the quality of music that is categorized as “popular” in that country. From the raw power of samba reggae groups like Olodum to the Grammy-nominated (and freaking amazing) CéU, the fact is that these musicians are more trained, more knowledgeable about music, and posses more shear talent than what tops the pop charts in other countries. Are female Brazilian singers hot? Of course…they’re Brazilian, after all. But they can also sing. Sing well. They can sing during a live performance, no synched stuff here. Oh, and they dance at the same time, so no blaming that.

Korea can’t really say the same- the rise to musical stardom here seems to consist of plastic surgery and a generic eighties pop beat with a drill-into-your-brain chorus. Not much about music there.

Honestly, I don’t see it being too much better in the US. The musicians that back up solo artists, even the blonde, ditzy, extremely untalented ones, are bad ass. They’re also hidden in the background, and never seen in a music video. And as for many of the bands, their sound is so altered in the studio that the CD doesn’t bely the fact that they can’t keep a steady beat, nor do they know more than 10 chords.

Again, generalizing. But I have to say, in Brazil there is an unmatched consistency in high-quality musicianship in the top 100 that doesn’t exist anyplace else.

The subway system in Seoul is regarded as one of the nicest in the world. Clean, safe, reliable public transportation.

Many of the trains have flat screen TVs, which run commericals as well as indicate what stop is coming. One of the commercials is a cute cartoon that appears to be on subway [...]]]>

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The subway system in Seoul is regarded as one of the nicest in the world. Clean, safe, reliable public transportation.

Many of the trains have flat screen TVs, which run commericals as well as indicate what stop is coming. One of the commercials is a cute cartoon that appears to be on subway etiquette.

The first part features an innocent young girl standing at the doors, ready to exit the subway. The doors slide open, and she is plowed over by (interestingly enough) a massive group of large American football players, in full gear. And I mean she is, quite graphically, stomped into the ground.

The next part shows a man taking a seat, and a much older man approaching. The seated man pretends to be asleep, and a giant cartoon hand picks him up and tosses him so the older man can sit down. (Respect for your elders is a big thing here.)

Other cartoons show people yakking on cell phones, elbowing each other…typical stuff.

The funniest one to me is the first, because it’s so true to life. When a train is approaching, tension starts to build. Everyone hovers near the yellow line, eyeing the windows as they flash by, estimating how many seats are open and what their chances are.

The train stops, and people are pushed up an inch from the door- inside and out. The doors open, and chaos ensues- those inside push their way out, and the mad pack of football players rush in, shoving, pushing, each with his or her eye on the prize.

In that moment, nothing on earth is more important than placing butt in chair.

Within seconds, the shuffle is over. Those on the bench wear smug expressions, supremely satisfied. Those left clinging to the overhead rail are bitter, their eyes already roaming over the others, waiting to pounce as soon as someone starts to stand.

I’ve seen some pretty good examples of bad karma, mostly from middle aged men, who will cut off everyone from pregnant women to their own grandmother to get a seat. Honestly; I’ve seen grown men in business suits literally elbow old women out of the way as they were bending over to sit. The teenagers and young adults are much, much more polite than the 30-50 crowd.

This isn’t my first rail experience, but it is the first time I’ve used the subway anywhere on a regular basis (3-5 times a week). I’m assuming it’s like this pretty much everywhere…am I right?

The subway system in Seoul is regarded as one of the nicest in the world. Clean, safe, reliable public transportation.

Many of the trains have flat screen TV’s, which run commericals as well as indicate what stop is coming. One of the commercials is a cute cartoon that appears to be on subway [...]]]>

177168272_00306e51f5_m.jpg

The subway system in Seoul is regarded as one of the nicest in the world. Clean, safe, reliable public transportation.

Many of the trains have flat screen TV’s, which run commericals as well as indicate what stop is coming. One of the commercials is a cute cartoon that appears to be on subway etiquette.

The first part features an innocent young girl standing at the doors, ready to exit the subway. The doors slide open, and she is plowed over by (interestingly enough) a massive group of large American football players, in full gear. And I mean she is, quite graphically, stomped into the ground.

The next part shows a man taking a seat, and a much older man approaching. The seated man pretends to be asleep, and a giant cartoon hand picks him up and tosses him so the older man can sit down. (Respect for your elders is a big thing here.)

Other cartoons show people yakking on cell phones, elbowing each other…typical stuff.

The funniest one to me is the first, because it’s so true to life. When a train is approaching, tension starts to build. Everyone hovers near the yellow line, eyeing the windows as they flash by, estimating how many seats are open and what their chances are.

The train stops, and people are pushed up an inch from the door- inside and out. The doors open, and chaos ensues- those inside push their way out, and the mad pack of football players rush in, shoving, pushing, each with his or her eye on the prize.

In that moment, nothing on earth is more important than placing butt in chair.

Within seconds, the shuffle is over. Those on the bench wear smug expressions, supremely satisfied. Those left clinging to the overhead rail are bitter, their eyes already roaming over the others, waiting to pounce as soon as someone starts to stand.

I’ve seen some pretty good examples of bad karma, mostly from middle aged men, who will cut off everyone from pregnant women to their own grandmother to get a seat. Honestly; I’ve seen grown men in business suits literally elbow old women out of the way as they were bending over to sit. The teenagers and young adults are much, much more polite than the 30-50 crowd.

This isn’t my first rail experience, but it is the first time I’ve used the subway anywhere on a regular basis (3-5 times a week). I’m assuming it’s like this pretty much everywhere…am I right?

Last night my husband and I were out to dinner with a few friends. The waitress asked, in Korean, if we liked the food, and my husband responded “mah-she-soyo” (delicious). Eyes wide, the waitress ducked down near our Korean friend and whispered to her. Our friend laughed and said, “She asked how many years [...]]]> Last night my husband and I were out to dinner with a few friends. The waitress asked, in Korean, if we liked the food, and my husband responded “mah-she-soyo” (delicious). Eyes wide, the waitress ducked down near our Korean friend and whispered to her. Our friend laughed and said, “She asked how many years you’ve been here- your Korean is very good!”

We’ve been here for about ten months. It’s definitely not the first time Josh has been complimented on his language skills, but it led to a conversation between us about impressing people when you speak their language. Josh thinks it’s silly when people assume he’s fluent based off one simple word or phrase (he’s not fluent in Korean), but I think it’s the fact that he says everything with a really authentic accent that surprises them.

My example was this: Koreans hear foreigners butcher “thank you” all the time. The phrase “cam-sa-ham-ni-da” often comes out blurred; “cam-SAM-ni-da”, missing a syllable and with emphasis in the wrong place. Josh may only know a few words, but when he says them he sounds like a native.

I wrote an article for EduBook about this recently- I really think this is where music training comes in handy. As musicians, we’ve been conditioned to listen carefully for tuning, tone, intonation, little inflections, and accents on tons of instruments. The difference between “cam-sa-ham-ni-da” and “cam-SAM-ni-da” seems to be unnoticeable to many foreigners, but to me it sticks out just as much as a trumpet not throwing out his third valve slide on a D while the rest of the section is perfectly in tune. (D’s on trumpets are naturally sharp, hence throwing out the slide- sorry, I’m a band dork!)

When I stopped teaching band two years ago, many ESL students were being pulled out of band to be placed in more English classes instead. This angered me then, and now even more I realize what a bad decision that was. My school had a high percentage of Hispanic students who wowed me with their ability to be successful in all of their classes when English was their second language. I had quite a few students who loved band and were quite talented, but were pulled out by a panicky administration who wanted to shove extra English and standardized test related classes down their throats. Music training really can go a long way to developing a language student’s listening skills.

So a suggestion…if you’re trying to learn a new language, consider taking lessons on a new instrument as well! The ear training can make all the difference in the world when you’re trying to understand and be understood.

I really admire people who live in the moment.

I’ve noticed that I have a habit of looking ahead, no matter what I’m doing. Living in Brazil, I started imagining life in Korea. Now in Korea, I’m wondering what life in New York will be like.

I do it with everything. When I was writing [...]]]> I really admire people who live in the moment.

I’ve noticed that I have a habit of looking ahead, no matter what I’m doing. Living in Brazil, I started imagining life in Korea. Now in Korea, I’m wondering what life in New York will be like.

I do it with everything. When I was writing the first draft of my book, I couldn’t wait to finish so I could edit. When I started editing, I wanted to start querying agents. Now that I’m in that process, I just want to fast-forward and (hopefully) get published!

I’ve read a little bit about the Buddhist principles of only thinking of and appreciating this moment. From eating, to walking, even while doing the dishes. What good is “right now” if we’re only thinking about the future?

Where I’m going is where I am. I need to appreciate it more.

(Okay, the hookers didn’t have much to do with the actual festival.)

The 9th semi-annual HBC Music Festival this past Saturday boasted eleven bars, seven stages, over thirty bands, and countless satisfied foreigners from all parts of the world. The main strip, in a neighborhood near Itaewon called Hae Bang Chon, was crowded with [...]]]>

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(Okay, the hookers didn’t have much to do with the actual festival.)

The 9th semi-annual HBC Music Festival this past Saturday boasted eleven bars, seven stages, over thirty bands, and countless satisfied foreigners from all parts of the world. The main strip, in a neighborhood near Itaewon called Hae Bang Chon, was crowded with drunken revelers at 2pm and only saw an increase (in numbers and drunkeness) over the following twelve hours.

HBC is an interesting neighborhood; it’s not “foreigner friendly” by way of McDonald’s and Starbucks, but with a mix of eclectic restaurants, clubs, and people that give it a more “international” feel than other parts of Seoul. In fact, the laid back, outdoor grill, plastic chairs on the curb, beer in hand atmosphere reminded me strongly of Salvador.

As a member of two performing bands playing three shows Saturday, I think the festival was generally well-run. The bars were pretty divey, but that’s not always a bad thing. The equipment situation was pretty bad- I understand not everyone can afford stellar speakers and mics, but a drumset with a too-high bar stool rather than a throne is a bit annoying. But things seemed to generally run on schedule until after ten, and even then a few bars were just an hour or so behind.

In my opinion, the nicest bar was Stompers, which was off the strip in Itaewon, at the top of Hooker Hill. After the upward schlep, dragging our instruments and equipment past whore houses where half-naked Korean girls lounged in the doorways, we weren’t expecting much from this venue. But Stompers was fantastic, and the crowd for that show was great.

I blogged about the full experience on my website, but one thing that did strike me was how lonely people must get living overseas. Sometimes I’m quick to judge the folks I see that finish their last ESL class and head straight to the bar, but then I remind myself that I’m here with my husband. In the end, these guys and gals were just looking for some companionship, and whether it was on the strip or on the Hill, they found it Saturday night.