Of Love & Other Lessons

"Since love is work, the essence of nonlove is laziness." -The Road Less Traveled- 

I remember the first time I read this quote. I was sitting on top of Mr. Knightley (my car) at City Lake enjoying a golden, green, summer day. Korea was a month away and I had very little to do except teach some piano lessons and bid long farewells to all my friends. That day at the lake, I watched ducks in the pond, listened to men with trucks fishing to my left, and felt so certain that I understood this idea of love being work. I didn't. I don't know that I still completely fathom its implications, or am properly acting on the knowledge of what it means to really love. I am learning, though, and that is a good thing.

I have been thinking about this quote a lot as it pertains to teaching. My fellow English teachers and I work 50+ hours a week, teaching 11 classes three days a week and 10 on the other two. Every day is full of moments and decisions that are surely defining and worth thinking about later in my journal or at a piano. If only I had the time. Most of these decisions are small and consist of one of two words: yes or no. More often than not, the answer is no. Teacher, can I color? No, you need to do extra vocabulary practice. Teacher, punching, punching, punching, kicking, kicking, kicking. No, Sean, you need to stop that. Teacher, can I go to the bathroom? No, you went ten minutes ago. Somedays seem to be an endless stream of negative responses. Those little decisions add up, though, and I hope they add up to love. I hope that the students know I love them, and that that is my reason for saying no. I have to be hard and responsible and not let them get their way all the time because that is what real love does. Real love makes us work and doesn't let us stay where we are comfortable and lazy.

This is just one lesson out of many smaller lessons. Not all of them are this philosophical. For example, this past month I have learned more than ever how very difficult it is to do trash in Korea. At home in my apartment, it is relatively simple. There is a pile by the door for recycling which I take downstairs every couple of nights and sort into colored bins. Then there is a white bag with blue letters for tissues which I can get at the grocery store. Food trash is not recyclable, but they don't sell trash bags like they do in the States so I save any bag I get at the grocery store or when I'm out shopping. My food trash attracts fruit flies, so in an effort to diminish the cloud of disgusting roommates I've acquired, the bag of food trash is placed in the freezer. When it is full, I take it downstairs with my tissue bag and lay it gently by the front entrance after 8 pm, thanking God for all those beautiful people who deal with trash. Simple, right? Well, you might disagree until I tell you that out and about there are no trashcans. None. Even in a public place, like a park or the subway, there are no trashcans to be found, at least not that I've seen. If I buy a snack, I have to hold onto the trash until I get home. Maybe the trashcans' location is a national joke and all of the foreigners are making complete fools of themselves carrying trash around all the time.

There are other lessons too. The Korean language sounds impossible to my Romance language influenced ears. Even German was easier to decipher than this. The syllables are entirely confusing. It can be learned, but it will take some time and a lot of practice to master even basic sentences.

Also, everyone loves KPop, but the grocery stores almost always play classical music. It caught me off guard in the best way when I walked into one and they were playing Vivaldi's Four Seasons over a loud speaker. Ah, such good taste, I thought. This is one of the most soothing things after a long day of standing and bending over students. It's more of a gift than a lesson.

When crossing the street, it can sometimes be confusing as to which side people will choose to pass you on. There are little arrows painted on the side of the street, but everyone ignores these. For someone like me, who can feel a little shy and self-conscious in a crowd, having to pass multiple people who may or may not suddenly change direction midway is a little stressful, particularly when I'm in a hurry. I've gotten better at this crossing business, but sometimes I still use what I call a crossing guard. This is someone who looks very confident and is crossing the street from my side. I fall in behind them, match their stride, and they help me get through safely, albeit unknowingly. There are two groups of people who make good crossing guards: teenage boys and ajummas. Teenage boys have a bit of swagger to them that makes them very reliable crossing guards. Even when the little light for walking hasn't turned green, they usually just go and I follow, which means we beat a lot of the rush.They also are usually in a group of three or four, so I feel very safe. Ajummas are older, married women in Korea who are very independent, bold, and won't take crap from anyone. They are easily recognizable by their short, permed haircuts, and their ever present lipstick. Using an ajumma as a crossing guard is perfect because absolutely no one will get in her way, lest they summon her wrath. I was yelled at one time by two ajummas because I took up too much space in a special elevator and believe me, it was terrifying.

I don't always feel that I fit here, but I don't want to let my loneliness or my doubts prevent me from learning good lessons. When I decided to do this, I think I thought that it was a bold stroke of independence (as if I've ever been that dependent) and that I was really going out on my own this time. It is definitely a very independent endeavor everyday. I have to make decisions about how to spend my time and how to react to my students. At the same time, though, it is making me realize how much I need people and how often I have to ask for help, advice, or even encouragement. It is so much work, but I am learning that a lot of work can inspire love because I become so invested in that which I invest my time.