Amanda Takes Off...

Kwanjangnim looked surprised to see me at taekwondo today. I'm not sure why. I greeted him in Korean.

He replied in Korean, asking if I was well. I said yes and he followed up like he always does, asking if Good Man is well and if I'm feeding him. (No, I'm letting him starve to death.) He told me I looked tired.

"아, 네. 바뻤어요. 늦아요. 미안합니다. 하지만 오늘 안 오면, 내일, 모레, 글피, 못 와요." Ah, yes. I'm was busy today. I'm late. Sorry. But if I didn't come today, then tomorrow, the day after tomorrow, two days after tomorrow, I wouldn't come.

Kwanjangnim nodded his head, "That is black belt spirit. Good job."

Master's Daughter

Thursday, Good Man and I met with Master's family again. We had dinner and we had plans to see Sherlock.

Master's Daughter

The kids came with us to the movie and Master's Daughter sat next to me. At some point she wouldn't stop whispering, even when her mother told her to. I dragged her onto my lap and whispered in her ear. "We can't talk..."

She nodded. "OK, Amanda, but [??? request]."

I didn't know what she'd requested, but I sort of recognized it as something Good Man sometimes says. I started patting and scratching her back. Master's Daughter lifted us the back of her shirt and I scratched her back. Every once in a while she'd whisper "위에" or "밑에." Higher, lower.

Turns out that the thing I didn't understand was "scratch."

Master's Son

Before we went to the movies, Master said, "Amanda, you know 윷놀이? 화투?" I said that I knew both yut nori and hwa tu (go stop) but that I wasn't good at either.

He asked which one I wanted to play. We decided on yut nori. "Next time, Amanda, we play hwa tu."

"Next time, Master? When will that be?"

He paused and thought for a moment, "I don't know, but we will meet again!"

I grinned. It is true.

Playing Yut Nori (Photo Taken by Daughter)

Master and his wife were one team, and Good Man and I were another. The first game, Master's team won. Drats! We had a popcorn bet going on the game.

Master, Winning

The second game, Good Man scored four yut noris in a row. Go, Good Man!

Master, Losing

We had a third game to break the tie and! We lost.

Next time! Next time, we will win!

Yesterday, we went to register our marriage at the gov't office. Good Man wasn't sure that we had to do it, but I thought we should. In fact, before our legal wedding in America, I argued that I was sure there was something he needed to do at the Korean Embassy and he (and I!) searched the Korean Embassy website, as well as others, but couldn't find any information.

Well, it's a good thing we decided to register the marriage because it was supposed to be done within 90 days of marriage! Obviously we're way past that, so he has to pay a 50,000 won fine. If he pays it before the 14th, he gets a discount and it's only 40,000 won. Minor problem: we can't transfer funds because both of us left our bank cards at home. Oh well. His parents will pay it for us.

We filled out the Korean form, using the sample instructions they gave us. The sample instructions were intended for Koreans marrying foreigners in Korea, and in their sample, the groom was automatically the foreigner. An American, in fact. Good Man needed his father's birth address and he was supposed to be able to write the birth city of his father in Hanja. What? Is that like the Korean version of "Mother's maiden name?"

It took forever to get the marriage registered because he needed to translate the entire American wedding certificate. By hand. On A4 paper. Poor guy.

When we finally finished, the clerk was concerned that the wedding certificate wasn't valid because it said "copy." Yeah, it says copy from the court and has the county clerk's signature and a raised, embossed seal on it. I made that clear and luckily, the clerk's boss agreed.

They had a sign up that they do "Traditional Korean Wedding Photograping." (Yes.) The sign said they only did it on Tuesdays and Thursdays. It was Wednesday, but I asked if we could do it, since I'd seen two foreigners have it done twenty minutes earlier.

Then we were told that it's only for marriages where both people are foreigners, because there are too many Korean-Non-Korean marriages.

I patted Good Man's chest and said, "하지만 제 남편의 마음 속에서 미국 사람이에요." But in my husband's heart, he is an American.

She laughed and said since it wasn't busy, she'd do it. So they took us over to a corner with a traditional Korean screen and put traditional Korean wedding hanbok costumes on us (one size fits all!) and took our picture.

I was thankful. A gov't official bending on two rules? Taking a photo of a Korean and American on a Wednesday? Thanks, lady!

So now we have legal wedding photos where I'm in a cotton dress and Good Man is in jeans, family wedding photos where we're wearing hanboks, and Korean registration photos where we're wearing traditional wedding costumes. All that's missing is a white dress and tux photo, which you can get done at photo studios in Korea. Maybe for our anniversary. ^^

Good Man asked if I would be put on his family registry. Nope. Because I'm foreign. So I'm not family.

Sigh.

Korea.

Good Man and I met Master's family last night. Of course, on all counts, it was great.

On the way to the studio I passed two of my studiomates. They walked by, not immediately recognizing me, and I turned. They turned their heads, too, and sort of slowed down. "Hey! Do you remember me?" I called out in Korean.

They looked surprised and starting hitting each other. I said, "It's Amanda!" They nodded quickly, bowed deeply and said hello and we chatted for a few minutes. It was cute. They're in middle school now.

We brought some small gifts for Master and his wife and some for the kids. I decided to put them in three separate gift bags. We gave the kids their gifts (a pajama set and top for each). In Korean culture it's rude to open gifts in front of the giver so they ran into their bedroom, opened them, and brought them back out.

Master's Son in His New PJs

Master's Daughter in Her New PJs

He gave me a gift and asked me to open it. I did and it was another gorgeous box made out of hanji (traditional Korean paper). His mother made it. Inside? Korean socks!

We went out for samgyupsal and had soju (of course). Master hasn't had soju in ten days because he's been so busy. He told me that and I said, "I don't believe it!" (I really didn't believe it because I misheard him and thought it was ten months!)

Then we went out for patbingsoo (Korean shaved ice) and had coffee at his house.

His son didn't remember me (of course, I wasn't expecting him to) but apparently his daughter checks out my Cyworld all the time, so she remembered me (which was a nice suprise). At first they were both sort of shy, but they warmed up really quickly.

In fact, his daughter was hilarious. When we were eating patbingsoo, she wanted the exact same spoon I had. She looked at my spoons, looked at the rest of the spoons, and chose the one with the same handle decoration. Then she took both spoons and compared them very carefully to make sure they matched.

When I ordered a chocolate banana patbingoo, she whispered, "Amanda, we will share, OK?" (Of course...it's Korean culture!) She wanted to sit next to me (and made me switch seats with her since she's left handed and I'm right handed), she wanted to hold my hand, she wanted to chat and chat. She learned (sort of) how to use my camera and wanted us to take photos of each other taking photos of each other.

It was wonderful. It was like nothing had changed and I'd never been gone.

Nothing except Son and Daughter are so tall! And Daughter can write in Korean! (She wrote me a little Christmas card telling me she loves me.)

We spoke a ton of Korean (and a little English) and reminisced about different things. I was finally able to tell him how much I hated the octopus (squid?) I ate really early on in Korea after mountain climbing. He laughed and asked why I ate it. I said I didn't want to be rude. He said he and his brother kept giving me the biggest pieces because they didn't want to be rude. We all got a good laugh out of it.

He told me that my Korean was really good and he could tell I'd been studying in America. When random Koreans tell me my Korean is good, I know they're just being polite. But I trust it coming from him. And in traditional form, the more soju we drank, the less Korean I spoke and the more English he spoke! I really enjoy speaking Korean with Master and his family. It's so easy with them.

We also talked about my studio in America and I told him why I'd been refusing to test. (Too expensive, owner makes up tests to make money, not in any hurry to get another belt, etc.) He said as long as I plan on testing in Korea again one day, I can put it off. I sort of needed to hear that. Despite being at my new studio for a year and a half, still feel, in my heart, that Master is my instructor and Tongil is my home. I don't want to disappoint him, so getting permission to put off testing was nice.

I found out some bad news. A new studio moved into the neighborhood—right at the end of the block. That's why he hasn't been drinking. He's been spending his time renovating the front of the studio to compete.

We spent about four hours together and it just reaffirmed that I will always be friends with Master and his family, no matter where we all live and how long it is before we meet again.

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 mnight 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.