Amanda Takes Off...

We talked to Mother and Sister over video chat today. Mother gave us a list of things she wants us to buy. So I just bought $150+ worth of vitamins online. Mother wanted three Centrum Silvers and five bottles of Vitamin C. I added some Viactive chocolate calcium chews. She also wants ten pounds (!) of honey powder as well as pine nuts. They have pine nuts in Korea. Apparently she wants American pine nuts. I asked if there was some 암시장 (black market) for honey powder.

I bought a trio of Clarins lip glosses for Sister and 사모님 (Master's wife). I also bought a baker's box of spices and herbs from Penzey's because Sister's been baking a lot lately.

Our Korean trip schedule is starting to take shape. 12/27 and 28 we're going to Jinju to visit Good Man's grandfather's grave. I'm not clear on whether or not we're all staying in a hotel or just Good Man and I are staying in a hotel. 1/4 we're meeting Diana.

I told Mother I want to go to the green tea fields and bamboo forest. I've been there in May and in August, so I'd like to see it in the winter. We'll probably take a tour together (Mother, Father, Sister, us) because a tour would be more comfortable than cramming us into one car.

Finally, I posted an essay about studying Korean on my Cyworld page and Mother read it. She's going to buy 삐삐. I completely understood what she was saying, laughed and thanked her. Good Man kept telling me, "No, she will read it."

"Yes, I know."

He pointed at the screen. "No, my mother will read it."

"Yes, I know."

"How did you know?"

I laughed. "I wrote the essay!"

"What essay?"

Oh, Good Man!

The Korean Embassy hosted an essay contest about taekwondo. I entered and didn't place (I got the "thanks for entering, loser" letter today). Long-time readers might recognize this story, which took place in December 2006.

I rushed to the studio, weaving around the Korean street vendors. Tonight I would be tested on the entire tae guek series. In eight weeks I would test for my black belt in Korean, a language I barely spoke. And this would be my last class at my studio for one month; I would have to train on my own. I was nervous and didn’t want to be late.

As I reached the top of the steps, someone called my name. I waved through the window and put my shoes on the shelf. I faced the studio and looked around in surprise. Master, his daughter, and sixteen students sat in a circle on the floor. In front of them I saw a chocolate cake, pizza boxes, soda, and chopsticks.

"Sit down," Master said, grinning and pointing to the empty spot next to him.

"I need to change." Everyone else was in their doboks.

"No, not now, last day of the year. Sit down. Then test." He handed me chopsticks and said, "We have party, Amanda.” He pointed to a pizza, “American pijja?"

"Yes, pizza,” I emphasized the z-sound.

He tried again, “PIZ-JA. This," he pointed to a dish of pajeon, “Korean pijja.” He pointed to another student. “His mother do."

I nodded and reached for some pajeon. Why didn’t anyone tell me about this party? I always knew about the activities. No matter how long it took, in our blend of simple English and Korean, Master always made me understand. I would have recognized “party.” And why was everyone from our class? During tests, people from all of the classes came together. The very young students always stared at me.

I looked around at the people I’d come to know over my six months of studying taekwondo in Korea, where I was an English teacher. The younger boys were roughhousing. Master’s daughter waved at me, "Annyeong hasaeyo!" One student quietly greeted me in English. I said something slowly in Korean, using a grammar structure I’d recently learned and Master gave me a high five. Someone started joking around in English, "Korean pijja! Yes, yes, Korean pijja!"

I breathed deeply, waiting to test. Was I ready to do eight forms? I had studied my forms book on the long subway ride across Seoul. I had mentally practiced each form?especially the problematic yuk jang?several times.

Master had us do pal jang together. "Back stance!” he yelled in Korean. That was directed at me.

When we finished, Master spoke to each of us individually. “Slow down” and “more power.” He nodded at me. "Amanda! Fighting!"

"Nae!" Yes.

Master addressed the entire class. I didn’t understand most of it, so I assumed he was talking about philosophical aspects of taekwondo. Finally, Master called me to the front.

I stood, ready to test, and sensed movement behind me. I glanced to the sides, hoping to see my classmates seated against the walls. Instead, they were tearing down the testing materials. Master told me to remember back stance and use double knife-hand strike on one of the moves.

"Test? Test today? What are we doing?" I asked in Korean.

He grinned. "No test today. Your test yesterday. Today. Tomorrow. Every day."

I punched him on the arm and cried in Korean, “Yesterday I practiced at home!” He hadn't told me to, and I hadn't said I would. But I had.

"I know. Good. Every day is a test. You come here with cold, test. You train alone, test. You call me when you're late. Good. Test. Every day. Yesterday, today, tomorrow, here, home. Korean. All."

I blinked at him incredulously. Nobody else was testing. Nobody else was surprised. Master had set up the entire studio to fake my test, and my studiomates were in on it!

Tears rushed to my eyes as a wave of understanding passed over me.

In the time I’d been training at Tong-Il, I had come to depend on “my little brothers and sisters,” Master, and his family. They taught me about Korea’s culture and language. They took care of me, and I needed them.

I had always thought I was a burden. I was the foreigner who couldn’t communicate, who was only a color-belt, who asked for numerous demonstrations of the same techniques, and who stayed late asking Korean language questions.

But I wasn’t only a burden. If I said “thank you” in English when offered Pepero sticks, my studiomates said “thank you,” too. When I left the studio, I said goodbye in Korean, but my studiomates replied in both Korean and English. One day a teenager greeted me excitedly, “Amanda! I?get university! I?am so happy!” I’d taken the high school boys out to dinner after class.

I realized that outside of their English classes, I was the only foreigner my classmates had regularly interacted with. I was also Master’s first foreign student. Just as I thought of my studiomates as my “little brothers and sisters,” they thought of me as their “big foreign sister.”

Master knew I was homesick. He knew I was worried about my black belt test and about having to train alone. Master knew that my spirit had needed some strengthening. So he planned this trick, and my studiomates had kept it a secret. For me.

Now I could learn the philosophical aspects of taekwondo from Master. I had thought the language barrier would hinder us, but I was wrong. It had never been about not speaking English or Korean fluently. Master had always been willing to teach me; I had not been ready to learn. The heart had to be open, not the ear.

Finally, I understood what jeong meant.

I told Master I’d study hard for my black belt test. Master simply nodded and smiled.

Spirits lifted, I walked back to the subway station. I was ready for my black belt test. My body was ready, and my heart finally was too.

Good Man: You're making me crazy because you're upset that I'm crazy!

Me: What does that even mean? I don't understand.

Good Man: Me either!

We both started laughing uncontrollably.

Good Man: 웃음보가 터지다! You touched my funny spot!

Me: Do we need to do laundry today? When did we last do laundry? It wasn't Friday, was it?

Good Man: We did it on day we don't have to do it.

Me: Huh?

Good Man: We don't have to do today. Quit worrying.

Good Man: You know, even when you are whiny and trying to be angry at me, you are soooooo beautiful.

Me: Stop it. I'm trying to be angry at you.

Good Man, singing: 얼레리 꼴레리~ 아만다는요, 굿맨을 사랑한대요, 사랑한대요~

Me, laughing: I wish I didn't know Korean! Then your silly song wouldn't make me laugh.

Good Man, shocked voice: It is not silly song. I did not make it up. It is kid's song. And see? You study Korean and speak Korean! True or false?

Good Man found two recent articles detailing the number of Korean-Not-Korean marriages in Korea.

For non-Korean speakers, the left column is the number of foreign men married to Korean women. The five nationalities in order from greatest to least are American, Japanese, Chinese, Canadian, and German. The right column shows the number of foreign women married to Korean men and the top five nationalities in order are Chinese, Vietnamese, Japanese, Filipino(a), and American.

Three of the top five countries for men are considered Western countries. Only one of the top five for women is considered Western.

And that trend only continues.

외국인 남성을 국적별로 보면 미국이 7만3천512명(51.3％)으로 가장 많았고 일본(3만9천900명)ㆍ중국(1만7천493명)ㆍ캐나다(3천369명)ㆍ독일(2천894명)ㆍ영국(1천596명)ㆍ오스트레일리아(1천 532명)ㆍ프랑스(1천143명)ㆍ파키스탄(836명)ㆍ대만(832명) 순이었다.

[...]

외국인 여성의 국적별 분포는 중국이 7만878명(52.5%)로 가장 많고 베트남(3만621명)ㆍ일본(1만2천355명)ㆍ필리핀(6천355명)ㆍ미국(3천572명)ㆍ캄보디아(2천913명)ㆍ태국(2천762명)ㆍ 몽골(2천405명)ㆍ우즈베키스탄(1천555명)ㆍ러시아(1천415명)가 뒤를 이었다.

For men the 6-10th nationalities are English, Australian, French, Pakistani, and Taiwanese. For women married to Korean men the 6-10th nationalities are Cambodian, Thai, Mongolian, Uzbekistani, and Russian.

Again. Compare.

So it's not just a stereotype to say there are very few couples like "us." There are very few couples like us. (Yes, yes nitpickers, we live in America and these stats are for people living in Korea, but the trend holds true.)

Good Man and I both had pretty stressful Fridays. Good Man was harshly scolded for something by Mother over the phone. He called back several minutes later to explain why he shouldn't've been scolded. Mother was out (really?) but he talked to Sister.

With a voice full of care and sympathy, Sister said "어, 형..."

When Good Man hung up, I asked him why his sister called him "hyeong." Hyeong is the term men use with older brothers; obba/oppa is the term Sister should use.

He shrugged, "I don't know. Ask her."

So I sent Sister an email. Here is it (complete with typos!).

시누이, 정에 [굿맨이] 널 전화했어. 그리고 [굿맨] 마음이 앞았어, 그리고 시누이는 "어... 형" 라고 말했어. 왜 "형" 말 했어? 남자 아니야. [굿맨]한테 물었지만 몰라 라고 말했어.

대답해 줘. ^^

아만다

Sister replied Saturday afternoon.

아하! 형이라고 부른건,
어릴 때 부터 그냥 오빠에게 형이라고 가끔 불렀어요ㅋㅋ

옛날 (1980년대?)에 대학교 여학생들이 친한 남자 선배들에게 '형' 이라고 불렀어요.
물론 지금 2000년대에는 그렇게 안 불러요..^^

저는 그냥 가끔 오빠에게 형 이라고 불러요ㅋㅋ
마치 미국사람들이 hey man~ or hi guys 라고 인사 하듯이요ㅋ

조금 이해 됐어요?? 크 크

Sister's reply was that in the 80s on college campuses girls would often use 형 with male friends (it's not as common now). Ever since she and Good Man were young, she'd occasionally call him 형.

Well, that makes sense... I guess.