infusion volume 7, issue 1

8/12/2019 Infusion Volume 7, Issue 1

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The Tree of Life. Allen Zaruba. Watercolor. November 2013.

Allen Zaruba (exhibiting as Alzaruba)

Allen Zaruba is a senior Fulbright interdisciplinary visual artist who taught at Sung Kyun Kwan Univer-

sity (03-04), researched early Korean sculpture and its impact on Japan, lectured extensively and took part

in several international art events.

This is the ninth in a series o watercolors, which began in Korea. Inspired by the colors o Gyeong-

bokgung Palace, the ship shapes represent conceptual thresholds or windows shifing through alternate

moments and states o time in the universe. In the center is a small circle showing the Tree o Lie rom

Revelations 22:2. The small boat offers us crossing into His glory.


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Books Festival.Sarah Chen. Naju.


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CONTENTS

LETTER . 02 . JAI OK SHIM

FOREWORD . 04 . KATELYN HEMMEKE

WHERE DO I BEGIN? . 06 . HELEN LI

THE BALLADEERS OF JUNGMA . 09 . JOSH WOOD & STUDENTS

08.18.13 . 13 . ANDREW CHENG

ANCESTORS, FAMILY AND THE MEANING OF CHUSEOK . 16 . HOLLEE MCGINNIS

THE GARDENER . 23 . PRESTON NANNEY

THE KOREA QUESTION . 28 . COURTNEY MCLACHLAN

. 34 . KRISTEN BIALIK

WE HAVE LOVE AND THE GOD OUTSIDE . 41 . KALEY CURTIS

THE FULBRIGHT KOREA

VOLUME 7, ISSUE 1INFUSION


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STAFFPUBLISHING ADVISER

EDITOR-IN-CHIEF

MANAGING EDITORS

DESIGN EDITOR

ASSISTANT DESIGN EDITOR

PHOTO EDITORS

WEB MANAGER

MONITORS

STAFF EDITORS

COVER PHOTO

Jai Ok Shim

Katelyn Hemmeke

Kristen BialikJennifer Law

Ashley Park

Meredith Howard

Andrew ChengNeal Singleton

Rachel Lim

Teresa BaikPhung Nguyen

Mimi Cagaitan

Sarah ChenConnor DearingHector Ramos FloresClara KangJohn KarayannopoulosJosephine ReeceJon RiceChristina SocciSophia Zhang

Beopjusa Morning. Neal Singleton.Beopjusa, Songnisan.

The Fulbright Korea Infusion

E-MAILFULBRIGHT WEB

FACEBOOK

INSTAGRAM

[email protected]://www.fulbright.or.kr/fulbrightkoreainfusion

fulbrightkoreainfusion

The Fulbright Korea Infusion is published by the Korean-American Educational Commission.


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Seoul Back Alley. Helen Li. Seoul.

Seoul Back Alley. Helen Li. Seoul.

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LETTER FROM THEEXECUTIVE DIRECTOR

Dear Readers,

It is my distinct honor to present Volume 7, Issue 1 of The

Fulbright Korea Infusion. For the rst time in the history of the

magazine, we are publishing separate winter and spring issues.

We hope this winter issue demonstrates the impressive work our

grantees have already accomplished, and that the spring issue will

reveal even further growth. I would like to extend my thanks to all

the grantees and alumni who have contributed to this issue of In-

fusion, for it could not have happened without their tireless effort.

Since its inception seven years ago, Infusion has grown expo-

nentially in its content and reach. Every year, the magazine builds

upon its former success in presenting a glimpse into the Fulbright

Korea experience. As a compilation of photographs, essays, po-

ems and more, Infusion represents the tremendous diversity of

experiences, perspectives and lives that comprise the Fulbright

Korea community.

With a community of over 5,000 active grantees and alumni,

Fulbright Korea has reached the furthest corners of the country

in education, scholarship and cultural exchanges. Since our earliest

days, Fulbright Korea has sought to improve cross-cultural con-

nections through a diverse array of educational programs. Every

grantee has left his or her mark on this country and commission.

The accomplishments of those grantees are reected within Infu-

sion, a representation of the character of our Fulbright community.

Sincerely,

Jai Ok Shim

Executive Director

Korean-American Educational Commission


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03

Gyeongbokgung Palace Guard. Helen Li. Seoul.


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Katelyn Hemmeke, Editor-in-Chie

As Fulbright grantees, we take on the formidable challenge of

leaving behind home, family and friends to live in a foreign country

for one year (or two or three!). Whether its your rst time in Korea,

your rst time ever abroad, or one trip in a string of many, its a

daunting task to dive into a life that is new and unknown. But when

does the strange, the foreign, the unknown cross the line and become

something familiar? And what does it take for that shift to occur? It

is this contrast between the familiar and the unfamiliar that threads

through this issue of The Fulbright Korea Infusion.

For the rst time, Infusion is releasing two issues within one

grant year: a winter issue and a spring issue. We are so pleased to

expand this outlet for Fulbright Korea grantees English Teach-

ing Assistants and Junior Researchers, past and present to further

share their diverse experiences and talents. And perhaps it is tting

that the theme for our very rst winter issue is the exploration of the

(un)familiar.

FOREWORD


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Even in a foreign country where grantees are scattered nation-

wide and no two experiences are alike, there are some things that

strike a familiar chord with us all. ETAs can recognize the vivacious

quirks and personalities of Helen Lis beloved students. The warmth

of a mothers home-cooked food and handmade scarf, so lovingly

described by Josh Woods student Seung Hui Yang, resonates with

anyone living away from home. The immense familial love that drives

Hollee McGinniss piece is echoed in the ties between grantees and

their own families thousands of miles away, as well as in the bonds

they forge with their host families and new communities in Korea.

But familiarity is not always easy or comforting, nor is unfamiliar-

ity always difcult or upsetting. Twists of tragedy, new languages and

cultures, even something as simple as a new blanket of fresh snow

can render a place or person familiar or not into something

completely different. Sometimes this shift creates discord or sorrow;

sometimes it is a delight, causing us to crave more. Our writers and

artists in this issue of Infusion explore the emotions and complexities

that arise within such experiences of the new and known.

My students often ask me whether or not I know something:

Teacher, do you know kimchi? Suneung?1G-Dragon?2As you take in

the written and visual work within these pages, ask yourself: What is

familiar to you? What do you know, and what do you want to know?

Please enjoy Volume 7, Issue 1 of Infusion.

Beokpjusa Stacking Stones. Helen Li. Beopjusa, Songnisan.

05

1. The Korean SAT2. An iconic K-pop star


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Helen Li

WHERE DO I BEGIN?

A few months ago, he asked you if you were happy. With

that smile on his face, there was no space for you to say No.

Im in a race against the backspace button. Im afraid one

day Ill win and compose that shameless message to your name.

They say acceptance of your problem is the rst step

to recovery.

But thats for waiting room trifold brochures and post-

ers in clean, bright doctors ofces. The rst step is actually

wanting a recovery because sometimes the dark, shifting hole

youve dug for yourself is the only place you can see the

whole of your history. Stretched out from the moment you

met to the last time you sat side by side. Fragile to the point

that saying the word Recovery means opening your eyes

and watching that timeline vanish. So you lingered in your

dark, shifting hole, replaying old tapes and projecting them

onto the backs of your eyelids.

Then something changed for you. You moved to a place

where surviving meant pretending that you could survive,

and somewhere in the middle of pretending you realized that

you could survive. Slowly, you opened your eyes and found

a world where his silhouette didnt need to be in your pe-

riphery. You stopped turning to chase brown and blue in the

corners of your eyes. You found students who followed the

direction of your gaze so you looked only forward.

You were so thankful. For Geon Yeongs shy smiles

and Do Kyeongs boisterous grins. For the diversity of

insa1, Su Bins 2, Hyo Seons Hello Teacher, Tae

Ohs BROTHER. For Shin Hongs shoe kleptomania and

Seung Chans outrageous lies. For Jeong Hyeon the Mouth

Fighter and Ji Won the General. For Yeon Seobs innite

face contortions and the creases on the edges of Yoon Uis

eyes. For Jong Woos quiet humor and Jeong Woos confused

expressions. For break time so your boys could yell and pre-

tend-ght in the hallways and your girls could buy snacks and

share them with you throughout the day.

Somewhere in between First and Finals Week, between

teaching your impossible 2-43boys and your wild 2-2 girls,

you found happiness. You found it in the little balls of awk-

wardness and enthusiasm that soon became your prescrip-

tion for keeping the walk-ups from turning into mountains

and the fall-downs from turning into cliffs. Repeated in the

cinema on the backs of your eyelids were images of won-

1. Greetings, traditionally in the orm o a bow2. Literally sounded out, Ar- reo-byu (I love you)

3. The moniker or a homeroom class. The irst number represents the grade; the second is the class number. 2-4 is aclass o second grade high school students (the equivalent o U.S. high school juniors).


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derful chaos in 2-9 and sweet cooperation in 2-1. Every

laugh, every giggle, every stumbling conversation became a

soundtrack that echoed in your head from rst to last period,

bouncing off the walls in a mind that had been cleared of

self-doubt and lled with a renewed sense of self-assurance.

You can be kind for them. You can be brave for them. You

can be happy for them.

Yesterday, Hwa Jeong asked if you were happy in Korea.

You couldnt give her a convincing answer, so you decided

to write a reection dening happiness. Happiness is not

wondering, Am I happy? Happiness is not being able to

fathom an answer to the question, Are you happy? You

never thought it was up for debate. Happiness is every sec-

ond you spend trying to put more stars in their eyes, win-

dows that show you an achingly beautiful horizon with every

remembered name and promises of a Game. Happiness is

Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday,

Sunday. Happiness is walking home and hearing farewells

shouted from the third oor. Happiness is ending class early

for an impromptu snowball war. Happiness is losing

4and buying the winner a 700 won drink from the

vending machine. Happiness is notebook doodles and chalk-

board art. Happiness is 867 brilliantly frustrating, sweet and

courageous individuals that make every day worth the start.

Youre not afraid anymore of writing to him. If he asks

you if youre happy, youll say,

Where do I begin?

Helen Li is a 2013-2014 ETA at Changpyeong High School in

Changpyeong, Jeollanam-do.

4. Rock-paper-scissors

07


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Untitled. Judy Her. Seocheon.


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Hero

Insecure to intend something

That had never been imagined,

Faithless to face something

That had never been fought for,

She was that sort of silent sheep.

One day,

Unintentionally, inevitably,

And irrecoverably,

She saw the salvation in her solitude.

She resisted to retrieve the right,

Eliminating her limits,

Struggling to set a re

Revealing her rebelliousness.

At length, she won a war with herself.

Now,

She is worth a warm welcome

Waiting for her.

Seung Hoo Song

Josh Wood & Students

THE BALLADEERS OF JUNGMA

The following three poems were submitted by individual students for their nal speaking exam at Jungma High

School in Gwangyang, Jeollanam-do. Josh Wood is the ETA at Jungma High.

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My Winter

The sun sets so early.

Cold air touches my face.

Winter is around the corner,

And everyone is bustling around preparing for winter.

My winter is colder than that of others.

I have no one to hold my hands,

I have no one to hug me,

I have no one to warm my cold cheeks.

My winter is warmer than that of others.

With the handmade food,

The hand warmer worth ve hundred won and,

The scarf my mom made for me.

The sun sets so early.

Cold air touches my face.

Winter is around the corner,

And everyone is bustling around preparing for winter.

Seung Hui Yang


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The Tree

When I walked on the street

Saw many fallen leaves

Yellow, orange, brown and charcoal...

Seemed as if they were whispering in my ear

Do not mash me!

Do not stamp me down!

Do not hurt me anymore!

I am sad enough

As I was abandoned from this tree

Looked like just what I was

I was already mashed out

I was already stamped down

I was already hurt by this world

Nevertheless, look at me now!

I am still alive

Getting older, getting taller, getting wiser

Than last year oh!

Want to whisper in the ear of the leaves

You are not abandoned

Because of you

Because you were here

This tree will be here forever

Like I will be in this world forever

Cha Lui Park

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Surviving. Thomas Owens. Donghae.


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Dear Tony,

I decided to take a walk tonight and, since I now live quite close,

my feet led me toward the school. Your school. Our school. When

the dormitory came into view from behind the new apartment build-

ings, I realized, to my shock, that it was the rst time that I had been

back since July 12th, the day you died. The day I was supposed to go

home with happy goodbyes and see-you-in-Augusts but instead left

in hurried confusion and sadness. The day youwere supposed to go

home but never did.

The buildings looked exactly the same as they always have: grand,

silent, with brightly-lit windows. It being Sunday evening, most stu-

dents had already returned to their dormitory rooms and were prob-

ably preparing for the start of classes tomorrow.

I thought about what I would say and do when I arrived on cam-

pus in the morning, one silent month of summer vacation behind me.

Ought I to speak openly of the tragedy and let the school community

know that I still cared? Ought I to ask my students personally if they

were coping healthily? I wondered if I should talk about you at all,

even mention your name. I could waltz into class with the same fa-

miliar smile and vigor and begin to teach as if nothing had happened.

As if real life had no bearing on the classroom environment. Its been

difcult to come to grips with your death, Tony. I havent told a single

person about you.

If I did, I would say rst that you were an exceptional student.

That you were almost relentlessly positive, and that the only times you

werent happy were when you were lost in thought and concentrating

very hard on how to formulate a sentence in English properly enough

to make your point understood. You volunteered to speak up in class

every single week and did so purely from self-motivation, because you

were actually paying attention to the discussion and wanted to give

your earnest input, even if it wasnt a popular opinion. Sometimes,

you stayed after class to clean the whiteboards without being asked.

It gave you an opportunity to chat with me as I packed up, not even

because you wanted more English practice but because you simply

wanted to chat with me. Tony, you deserved your Class MVP

award, and although it was just a piece of paper, it meant so much

more than that, at least to me. I actually wish I could impart even

more meaning to it now, to shower you with verbal praise, to do any-

thing in my power to afrm your intrinsic value as a human being.

But its too late.

Do you remember our last conversation? It was over lunch ear-

lier that week. The subject of the Korean education system came up

yet again and I went on my usual rant about how stressful and

unfair it was for a students entire potential to be governed by a few

arbitrary exams. You agreed and added that schools were not doing

their students any good. Prophetically, you became a victim of the

system just a few days later. No one even realized the pressure you

were under, and for that I am so, so sorry.

Tony, Im going to miss you in my classes this semester. I still

dont know what I will do when I have to face your peers, or how it

will feel. Whatever happens, we must all move on, right? But for me,

moving on will not entail forgetting. For you, Im going to strive to

be the best teacher I can be. For you, Im not going to let a minute go

to waste on anyone else. I will let my students talk to me as much as

they want, whenever they want, and encourage them always to speak

their minds. When they do occasionally say something brilliant, it will

remind me of you.

I hope that you are resting in well-deserved and long-awaited peace.

Always,

Andrew

Andrew Cheng is a 2012-2014 high school ETA in Changwon, Gyeongsang-

nam-do.

Andrew Cheng08.18.13

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Seoraksan Cairn. Neal Singleton. Baekdamsa, Seoraksan.


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A Walk in the Park. Neal Singleton. Cheonan.

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I have a family three families in fact. I have my American

family by adoption, my husband and son, and my Korean biologi-

cal family with whom I reunited in 1996. Yet being in Korea during

Chuseok for the rst time lled my heart with sadness. Chuseok is the

traditional Korean harvest festival, a time of thanksgiving, spending

time with family and honoring ones ancestors. However, my Korean

family did not invite me to celebrate this holiday with them.

Despite all the family in my life, I felt like the orphan I once

had been.

My dissertation, supported by Fulbright and the Korean Foun-

dation, explores the experiences of adolescents in adoptive families

and orphanages in Korea and the stigma associated with not being

raised by blood kin. I had thought celebrating Chuseok with my birth

family would give me insight into Korean blood kinship. Instead I

experienced the keen pain of knowing you have blood family, but are

rejected or worse, ignored by them.

I tried to console myself, thinking maybe if I stayed until next

Chuseok, maybe I would be invited and would perform the intimate

family ritual of charye1with my Korean blood family. Maybe I would

be included as part of their family. Maybe then I would feel a part ofa family that I had lost when I was 3.

I especially wanted to perform charye for my haraboji, my bio-

logical paternal grandfather, who had searched for me when I was

15 years old, but who died before I reunited with the family again.

Like the Koreans I read about, I wanted to go to my grandfathers

burial ground, clear it and bow deeply and thank him. For what? For

remembering me. For trying to nd me. For loving me as part of the

family. Despite the fact that I was sent away for adoption, he never

forgot me. He searched for me. Although I will never know, I feel he

may have longed for me as much as my child heart longed for him.

I also wanted to honor my dad, my adoptive father, who died

suddenly ve years ago, six months after the birth of my son. For

what? For his unwavering love and labor that transformed me from

an orphan in a foreign country to his daughter. For always honor-

ing my roots and encouraging me to follow my heart and pursue my

dreams. I had always imagined he would come with me to Korea one

day, but that day was taken away when he died.

The notion of honoring ones ancestors deepened when I visited

Bukchon Hanok Village in Seoul, one of the few areas where tradi-

tional Korean houses still stand in the city. The woman working there

explained the design of the traditional Korean house, or hanok: how

one room was warm in the winter and another cool in the summer.

She said with pride and humility, I think our ancestors were verysmart. And I appreciated two things. First, that she said our, as in me,

my husband (who was also adopted from Korea) and our biological

son. In that simple word, she acknowledged that we too are Korean

Hollee McGinnis

ANCESTORS, FAMILY AND

THE MEANING OF CHUSEOK

1. Charyeis a memorial service that Korean amilies traditionally perorm at Chuseok and the Lunar New Year. Koreanshonor their ancestors by perorming bows, offering ood, ruits and wine, and visiting tombs to trim the grass.


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and these are our ancestors.

Second, her words made me realize that honoring our ancestors

is also about celebrating all who had lived and created Korean culture

and society. They are our ancestors too. Their presence still endures

in Koreas traditional architecture, dress and food. And by the simple

fact of being of Korean descent, we are also a part of this lineage. So

honoring our ancestors is as much about honoring our direct blood

descendants as it is about revering those who built Korean culture.

Despite this insight, I could not shake my sadness. Instead of

being with my Korean family, I traveled with my son to a party orga-

nized by a group of overseas adoptees residing in Seoul. Was it any

consolation? In my 20s I started an organization for adult overseas

adoptees in New York City, Also-Known-As, Inc., and found a sense

of belonging and connection to the adoptee community. But on this

Chuseok these connections felt empty because they were not my kin.

As I got off the bus holding my sons hand, I was distracted by

a stream of people heading into Jogyesa Buddhist Temple in Insa-

dong, an area known for its traditional Korean goods. I was curi-

ous. I looked up at the temple gates and saw beautiful oating pa-

per lanterns painted with delicate images of gold, red and pink shswimming among lotus blossoms. Beyond them were larger lanterns

shaped like owers that were tagged with Korean inscriptions writ-

ten on gold and red paper. The beautiful white oating paper sh,

suspended on an aqua ribbon of cloth between the earth and the sky,

beckoned me.

I followed the people and oating sh into the crowded temple

grounds. There was a queue of people waiting to buy drinks, and a

stand where tteok2was being handed out. There were people sitting

at shaded tables chatting and drinking. Above the crowd, a school

of paper sh swirled in crescent arcs, swimming to a single point: a

large lotus-shaped lantern near the main temple doors. Smaller gold-

colored sh dangled from the lanterns and ashed in the warm late

September sun.

As I watched the people milling about the grounds and going

into the temple, I felt their energy and I realized they were all gath-

ered on these grounds for Chuseok. My body tingled with excitement

as I realized I could honor my harabojiand my dad, even without my

Korean family, just as these people had gathered on these temple

grounds to do.

I took my sons hand, walked up the stairs into the main temple

hall and found a spot to put down two cushions. I performed deep

kowtow bows, a tradition of Korean Buddhism, my son following

along with me. My body felt light and natural, swinging to the rhythmof the bows.

The monk then began the Buddhist chants with the klok klok

klokof the hollow wooden drum. Not knowing the words to chant,

172. Sweet rice cake


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I sat with closed eyes and let the sounds of the drum and voices

wash over me. In my inner darkness, the klok klok klokof the drum

merged with my heart. As the pain of never getting to see my haraboji

or dad again pressed my heart, a tear ran down my cheek. The tear

was followed by another and then another. And as each tear emerged,

the sadness in my heart slowly lifted, until I was left with an over-

whelming feeling of love throughout my being.

I felt my ancestors had gently pushed me this way, to stumble

into the temple at the right time to be with other Koreans who were

there to pay homage to their deceased loved ones. I honored you

today, dad and haraboji. And I felt your incredible love.

After the ceremony, we went into the gift shop on the temple

grounds. I wanted to buy a token to remember this Chuseok day. My

son picked out a bracelet of heart-shaped pale pink quartz stones,

saying, Buy this bracelet because this is how much I love you.

At rst I did not want it because I am not a fan of heart-shaped

jewelry, but then I realized it was the perfect bracelet for the moment

because it reected the tremendous love I had felt in the temple. It was

as if my son knew what I was looking for. After I purchased it, my son

pointed to each stone and said happily, This is love from me, Mom-

my, Daddy, Nana, Grandpa, Poppy, Nene, Uncle Phil, Aunt Karen,

Uncle Tim I smiled and said to my son, There is so much love!

And indeed there was. On this little heart bracelet were all the

hearts all the love from the members of my family: by blood,

heredity and choice.

We are all a part of this human family, each swimming like the

beautiful paper sh in the ethereal air between heaven and earth,

owing in the stream of life from which we all arise and will return.

Those beautiful swimming sh are our ancestors, spirits and

guides. They too swim beneath the surface of the waves of eternity.

They glint and gleam in the sunlight showing us the way. We will

follow you soon. But not today. My heart and mind oat up to you

longingly. My mind can only grasp you in the form it knows, your

beautiful faces lost to me now. But soon we will all be together again,

swimming in the oceans of heaven.

Hollee McGinnis, MSW, is a PhD candidate and 2013-2014 Junior Research-

er afliated with the Graduate School of Social Welfare at Hallym University.

We are all a part o this human amily, eachswimming like the beautiul paper ish in

the ethereal air between heaven and earth,

lowing in the stream o lie, rom which weall arise and will return.


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Patience. Andrew Cheng. Changwon.

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21

Gyeongbokgung Garden. Helen Li. Seoul.


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Jido Smile. Neal Singleton. Jido.


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A garden is rolling down the street

Plastic bags blossoming from soiled cardboard

Vines of tape and rope incubating

In a seedbed of Styrofoam nuts

The afterbirth of a world she reared,

This gardener behind her pushcart

Like a wind-battered tree she leans

Over her disjointed legs and

Into the rusty tumbrel, the whinnying wheels of which

Drown the click of her steps,

Hide the tick of the seconds and the minutes marked

By this timekeeper behind her pushcart

Her overgrowth of refuse groans to our bus stop

As the timetable tolls for the 705

Its all zippers and snaps and straps and

Commuters bracing, standing raptly at the curb

A specious ovation for

The old lady and her pushcart

Preston NanneyTHE GARDENER

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With a shriek of axles and brake pads

The bus lurches to a stop behind her

It howls in righteous disdain

For her stoppage in the right lane

To say there is no room in the margin

For this planter and her pushcart

She does not hasten

She does not look back

But somnambulates ahead and

Turns instead to look at me

Among the vesper glow of handheld screens

Under a Plexiglas canopy

Me, herald of the west and young

Sowing an unknown language on her ground

She, sunk-eyed watcher, leather-handed grower

With her tree bark face and harrow gait

The forgotten forebear of this new world

This gardener behind her pushcart

Preston Nanney is a 2013-2014 ETA at Jeonmin Co-ed Middle School in

Daejeon.


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Autumn at Communal Vision. Judy Her. Seocheon.

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Working Man. Neal Singleton. Mullae.

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Why Korea?

A simple, innocuous question that has plagued me for seven years.

If you have a simple answer to this question, I applaud you. No,

really, I do. Because here I am, going on my seventh year of the in-

evitable question and I still dont have a perfect answer. I still cant

quite put into words why it had to be Korean that I took my fresh-

man year of college, why I insisted on continuing it, even though it

meant transferring schools. Theres no simple way to make people

understand all that is Korea.

My challenge stems from the hierarchy that has formed in the

American perception of East Asia.

Theres China. If you study Chinese, most people will assume

youre going into business or the Foreign Service. You might get a

few why China?s here and there, but without too much perplexity.

These days China, Chinese, makes sense.

And then theres Japan, a country that has been the bane of my

Korean Studies existence.

Realistically, neither Korean nor Japanese quite make sense to

study in the way that Chinese does. China is business and politics

and opportunity. But neither Japanese nor Korean magically become

golden tickets to riches in your future, or even to steady employment.

They both garner a puzzled why? from anyone and everyone to

whom you ever confess your major. Choosing either of them will

require explanations for the rest of your life.

But there is one key way in which they differ. Japanese culture

made it big in the U.S. in the 90s; many people know anime, manga,

Sega, Playstation, Nintendo, karate, sushi, ramen, Sony, Toyota - this

list can go on. Why Japan? is usually asked with assumptions in

mind, a list of easily digestible reasons the answerer can pull from.

By contrast, there is very little collective, mainstream perception of

Korea. Korean isnt in.

Freshman year, my Korean class (only one section) had ten stu-

dents. Beginner Japanese had four sections and fty students. There

was kind of an us-versus-them mentality, an air among the Japanese

students that the Korean kids had chosen the wrong language.

, , 1... Suddenly, raucous applause and cheer-

ing ripped through our Korean classroom. My professor jumped, as did

the rest of us, cutting our repetition off into gasps or yelps of surprise.

The source of the cheering was Japanese 103 in their room

across the hall. We sat awkwardly waiting as our professor stomped

over to beg for some silence.

After class, as we all streamed into the hall, I asked my Japanese

class friend what all the ruckus was about.

Oh, we were just watching Princess Mononoke you know,

by Miyazaki.

Another student butted into our conversation: Hes one of the

THE KOREA QUEST IONCourtney McLachlan

1. Basic Korean conjugations o the verb to do


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most famous directors in the animation world.

Sorry if we were too loud; our class is just so exciting! You

really should have taken it with me. My friend regarded me with

some mixture of pity and amusement as she spoke. I couldnt help

but roll my eyes.

During club week, among the rows of student organizations

there were an anime club, a manga club, a para-para club and a Ken-

do club. The Japanese class students, all fty of them, swarmed the

tables and soon the sign-ups were lled. Circling the auditorium twice

left me with only one Korean option: the Korean-American Students

Association with six members. Since I am quite obviously not Ko-

rean, I passed on joining.

By second semester, every time the class across the hall erupted

into yelling, cheering and/or applause, I imagined my class kicking

down their door and breaking into some sort of battle (epic Yakuza

vs. Busan Kkangpae2style). It never happened, but that odd inferior-

ity complex stuck with me.

My complex was only made worse by a certain phenomenon

among Westerners in Korea.

Many Westerners aim for Japan and if they dont make it they

choose Korea as though the two countries are somehow inter-

changeable. I noticed this the rst time I visited Korea, as part of a

conference that had a Japanese sister conference.

I actually applied to go to Japan, since it seems to be much cool-

er. One of my fellow American delegates was talking to me about

going to Korea for the rst time. But that conference is so popular

that I got wait-listed. Luckily the deadline for Korea hadnt yet passed,

so I just re-purposed my app and got in.

A chorus of me too!s erupted from seven of the other partici-

pants. The conversation dissolved into a discussion of other ways to

go to Japan after our conference ended - despite the fact that it had

hardly even begun.

This trend is larger than my 25-delegate conference. It has re-

sulted in a special type of visitor (short-term or long-term) to Korea.

They begin many sentences with in Japan. They end others with

would never happen in Japan.

As an ETA, I continued to hear almost daily comparisons of

Korea and Japan, complaints about areas where Korea differed.

Why does all of Korea smell? I never had this problem in Japan.

Korean ramen is seriously weird, where can I nd r eal ramen?

Hashtag Japan does it better!

I thought that this was only my complex, that I was simply too

sensitive about it.

Until I learned from my students that I was far from alone in this

sentiment. Despite the fact that they knew I spoke Korean, many of

them would still ask if I could speak Japanese, which always gave me

29

2. Japanese and Korean maias, respectively


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pause until one of my students, Seok In, enlightened me as to why.

3, why is it that foreigners who come to Korea always speak

Japanese and never Korean? He sprung the question on me one day

after class.

What do you mean? I asked, genuinely stumped since I had

never heard of this generalization from a Korean.

Well, most times if you ask a foreigner if they speak Korean

they say, No, but I can speak Japanese! And I always wonder why

they come to Korea if they like Japan a lot. Its embarrassing; why

would they study Japanese but come to Korea?

Well, they probably want to experience Korea too, was my

lame excuse for a phenomenon that even I couldnt quite wrap my

head around.

Well, were impressed with you, . When we mention Korean

history, you know what were talking about; we feel comfortable with

you. Youre the rst foreigner Ive met who cares about Korea. You

must be unique in America.

Unique? Why?

Because everyone else studies Japan.

The shame hit me hard; I was still stunned when Seok In ran off

to his next class. This isnt just a passing curiosity for him. He, along

with the rest of Korea, has had years of history classes to remind him

that the darkest period in Korean history was courtesy of Japan. It

was Japan that colonized Korea for forty years and sought to rewrite

Korean history on its own terms. It was Japan that left Korea in 1945

tasked with redening Korea and Koreanness. It is no wonder that

today Korean nationalism burns as intensely as it does.

Korea has spent years climbing out of the shadows to carve its

own culture into the Wests imagined landscape of East Asia. Nin-

jas have no place there; neither does kung fu, nor communism for

that matter.

And yet, even as Koreans try to splash their unique qualities

(Dynamic Korea!4) across the globe, Westerners continue to ock to

Korea and ask for Japan. They leave disappointed by how boisterous

Koreans are (the Japanese are so orderly), how spicy the food is (Japanese

food is so much healthier), how nationalistic Koreans are (Japan doesnt need

to brag about itself).

And Koreans notice. Even my rural-area students somehow know

that many foreigners see Korea in terms of Japan. They feel the same

inferiority that I myself struggle with but for them, its personal.

Despite leaving Korea, I still have to listen to Korea-Japan com-

parisons at least once a week.

Dude, Korea is hella boring! A week into my new job, a group

of my co-workers had just returned from an Asia trip.

I perked up, despite my newbie status. No it isnt? I replied, won-

dering if this was some sort of running joke. My co-worker rolled his eyes.

Korea isnt the wrong choice. Theres a reason Koreanactors and directors are breaking into Hollywood,

Michelle Obama is making kimchi, and Google is nowhosting Korean pop concerts in the States.

3. A amiliar term or teacher 4. A Korean tourism slogan


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Hell yeah it is, they dont have arcades or gambling or anything

worth buying. They dont even have toys; Korean kids just study. Tell

me one thing that Korea makes that I actually want to own? I spent

200,000 yen in Japan. In Korea, I spent like nothing. He had spent all

his money on arcade games, collectibles, DVDs and books things

that Japan is well-known for. The guys he had traveled with nodded

their heads in agreement, eyes on me. Why does anyone even go to

Korea? Whats it good for?

You see, I actually knowingly applied to work in an ofce of

Japanophiles at a streaming-media company that provides almost ex-

clusively Japanese content: anime, manga, Japanese dramas.

The timing worked out just right that they decided to branch

out into Korean media and needed a Korean brand manager at the

exact same time that I was desperately job-hunting for anything, never

expecting to nd a job that would actually allow me to use any of my

Korea-related knowledge.

I am now the Korean brand manager and one-woman Korean

media team. I have to prod the people around me (who mainly focus

on Japan) to help me when they have time. This also means that in

a company of 60 people, I am the only person who focuses solely

on Korea.

As I meet more and more people from the other sideof the ofce,

I have to explain and defend my interest in Korea nearly daily a

side effect of both the company environment and the fact that Im

white and in charge of the Korean brand.

But my answer to the why Korea? question has gradually im-

proved. My responses are no longer wavering and self-deprecating.

Korea isnt the wrong choice. Theres a reason Korean actors

and directors are breaking into Hollywood, Michelle Obama is mak-

ing kimchi, and Google is now hosting Korean pop concerts in the

States. Korea rose out of the Korean War and grew into an economic

and cultural powerhouse, spreading inuence throughout Asia and

the world. Why Korea? Its only a matter of time before Korea

answers thatquestion on its own.

Courtney McLachlan was a 2012-2013 ETA at Naju High School in Naju,

Jeollanam-do. She is now the Korean brand manager at Crunchyroll.

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The school of my dreams

A light on a dark river

Floats gently away

Andrew Cheng. Jinju.


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33


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1

I saw it with my own eyes

The hunched backs and bowed legs of ajummas,

backs that carry entire families.

The 108 prostrations of a congregation in repentance,

stationary steps on the long path to truth.

The grey hairs of 17-year-old boys who smile with nostalgia

at thoughts of the good old days.

2

to be blind in one eye

One eye to the immediate

One eye to the West

Home rests always in the peripheries

Clouding nows rounded corners

3

to be dizzy

/ Right / Left

/ East / West

/ Moving forward / Looking back

// To be strange // To be familiar

: Constantly calculating the time difference between my past and their future

Feeling disoriented

and yet

feeling wonderfully at home

Kristen Bialik

Note: (pronounced noon) means both snow and eyes in Korean.

EVERYT HING I SAW WAS NE W TO ME


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4

with ones eyes shut

/ I am afraid of the eyes of the people

Eyes that stare

Eyes like laser beams

Eyelashes that bat in whispers

Pupils pointing out the obvious:

/ Foreigner

5

with ones eyes open

To lower ones gaze is to lose ones sight

Where tongues fail, eyes connect

Shared gazes in a shared humanity

Look!

Raise your eyes to meet the stares

Smile.

Say hello in local tongue

6

dazzling, glaring, blinding

Glaring: My otherness

Dazzling: The warmth with which Ive been welcomed, in light of blinding otherness

7

snowakes that come riding on the wind

Each new fact, new Korean word, new custom I learn is a snowake

A small crystallization, distinct in form

refracting light in a urry of culture

It is a particle of water, singular in form

but of the same water that spans its ancient history

It melts on my tongue

I cannot hold its shape

Can only wait for it to snow again

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8

The snow is staying

Words crystallizing on a frozen tongue

Sticking as the ground beneath my feet feels

harder, more stable

/ snow-covered

Language and culture falling

blanketing, like a dazzling mound of snow

9

//

the rst snowfall // love at rst sight

It was warm November when I looked up the road to Halla mountain

And in the distance saw the rst snow-capped peaks

Snow with origins in the sea to my back

And I laughed in delight

/ in the twinkling of an eye

falling in love with this place all over again

10

to be awakened

To know Ill never fully understand

To know I understand more than when I rst arrived

That, in truth, Ive never understood more

about the illusion of difference,

that our eyes have seen the same things:

Visions of pride and pain

Visions of heartache and love

Visions of people lost in a blinding blink of snow

Kristen Bialik is a 2012-2014 ETA at Seogwipo High School in Seogwipo, Jeju-do.


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Persimmon Season. Judy Her. Jeongeup.

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Beach. Sarah Chen. Sinan-gun.

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Little Buddha. Katelyn Hemmeke. Haeinsa Temple, Hapcheon-gun.


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Kaley Curtis

WE HAVE LOVE AND

THE GOD OUTSIDE

I live in the small moments. I do not remember the details of

my rst date or that trip to China my family took sometime in high

school. But I can tell you about the exact moment when I was 6 years

old crossing the L.A. River on Pacic Street and my sister said her

rst word (uh-oh) as she heard sirens in the distance. I remember

sitting under a crooked tree in Providence, opening my Fulbright ac-

ceptance packet with a friend. The comfortable familiarity of having

sat together exactly like this countless times before, suddenly inter-

rupted by the realization that my college days of midnight walking

and ninja gardening were coming to a close. Why do people leave

after theyve found providence, when theyve woven scraps of family

into a blanket to fold around them on cold nights?

I came home to L.A. before leaving for Korea. I went to my dads

softball game for the rst time and saw seals and dolphins at Zuma

Beach with my mom too-fast summer memories like fragmentary

glimpses between speeding trains. I remember reading after everyone

was asleep and banging my shins on the furniture in the dark. Think-

ing this is what I get for having twin lives on two coasts, and nding

one answer to that nagging question what is home? A place you can

navigate in the dark.

Korea began sticky and sweaty at a marble university tucked ingreen mountains and rice elds. Orientation like summer camp: dorm

rooms, after-school clubs, excursions out of town. And then one day

camp was over and it was time to start new lives with homes and

families, and this was also Korea. The rst night I asked my host

parents what I should call them. Unsure, they looked at each other

and laughed until my host dad nally suggested, King and queen?

So I put them in my phone as and and called them that

for months. And so my rst semester passed in a blur of resolving

awkwardness with humor, guring out what to call people, when to

bow, how to stumble through Korean, how to teach, how to deal

with crying and bleeding and yelling children, how to be a sister and

daughter and teacher.

Small moments teased from the tumble and tangle of home and

family in Korea: My host siblings asking permission to pull blonde

hairs from my head, running around the house yelling We found

gold! Were rich! The kindergartener who does a full insa2 to each

lunch lady reaching to pat my head and say Merry Christmas. A con-

versation with a rst grader: Does Spiderman really live in Ameri-

ca? Yes. Really? For real? Yes. Having the same conversation

the next two days. Taking a break from New Years cooking to lie

under warm blankets with my host mom and aunts, gossiping about

husbands, food, beauty. Thinking I could learn to love these women,

love this life.

I dont know what you call a place you never expected to call

home, where none of your oatmeal banana chocolate chip pancakefriends can follow you. Leaving home for a country town where time

moves slowly along the riverbank on the way home from school,

pausing for a ower, ice fractaling across a puddle, leaving the nam-

ing country.

1. From the poem The Diverse Causes by Michael Ondaatje2. Greetings, traditionally in the orm o a bow

41

1


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Why do people leave afer theyve ound providence,when theyve woven scraps o amily into a blanket to

old around them on cold nights?

Ive written so many letters to friends, trying to explain my life

here. Dear friend, let me prepare a feast for you. To your right is the

soup, usually ocean-derived and salty, reminding me of the California

coast and family I am missing back home. In front is the rice, pre-

cisely measured by my Korean mother based on how hungry I am

that day. She makes the most delicious rice in Korea, a careful blend

of sticky rice, dry rice and red beans. Before you are the side dishes:

radish and cabbage kimchi, dried sh in caramelized peanuts, sesame-

dipped beans, boiled radish leaves, whole poached sh lovingly pre-

pared by our grandmother. We nibble bits and pieces throughout the

meal and I have come to love:

All these twin truths, love spilling from so many countries. These

are the pieces I have of them here tonight, little moments tied to my

wrist with string, pieces of home bobbing across continents.

Kaley Curtis is a 2012-2014 ETA at Cheonan Yong-So Elementary School in

Cheonan, Chuncheongnam-do.

This bird-like way of eating,

kimchi stew, country life,

this Korean family who loves me,

the host mother who carries

happiness like sunshine

my American family

stupidly steep Providence hills

musical pirates, friends sipping

late-night Dark and Stormies

on unsound porches


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Headed for Hongseong. Neal Singleton. Cheonan.

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infusion volume 7, issue 1

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