Palmtree Contemplations

One need not cry out very loudly; He is nearer to us than we think.”  -Brother Lawrence, The Practice of the Presence of God- Bronchitis is, strictly speaking, a nasty disease. No matter how you look at it, the whole fact of nasty mucus coating your throat, lungs, and nose cannot be avoided. Days spent in bed, which should be happy times of required rest, are not happy at all, just dreadful and exhausting. After all, how are you supposed to sleep when you're coughing every twenty minutes? Along with bronchitis, another cold and cough have settled in, or perhaps they are just cousins visiting the bronchitis and will soon have to leave. Regardless, I am a bit worn out from all their familial merrymaking. As a result of said bronchitis, I have now officially taught kindergarten and elementary students with no voice. It was a bit like practicing silence, though in this case it was under the duress of teaching 10 hours a day, not during one of those weekends at college when we al...

First and foremost, my Lyme is acting up, which means that the entire bus trip and subway ride to Hongdae are both discomfiting. Lyme comes in waves sometimes, and it makes me wants to stay in bed nursing my aching body into some sort of equilibrium. The hair appointment has been made, though, and I can't stand to cancel and keep looking like the same me for another week. It's a funny thing. With everything around me and inside me maintaining a state of flux, it follows that something physical and semi permanent needs to change, too. Hence, the hair appointment and the 50 minute subway ride to Hongdae. When I arrive, I cannot find the hair salon. I walk up one side of the street, then cross and walk up the  otherside. No luck, even with directions a friend gave me. A clown on stilts smiles down at me, holding out an orange balloon flower. I smile back, take the flower, and proceed to get directions. The Hair and Joy salon is full of other expats, which is a good sign. My ha...

"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 wort...

Whose idea was this? Kids are hard enough to interest as it is. Try making them sit in class and communicate in another language. I've never taught full classrooms before. It's exhausting. There's this one kindergarten kid who hates me. I know because every day in class he screams at the top of his lungs just to make me jump. This is a common occurrence. He spits in my face at least once a class period when I kneel down to try and help him. He hits me in the chest with his little fists, and climbs on or under the table constantly. He calls me "poo" in English and in Korean every ten minutes. The hours are so long there is no time to figure things out. I meant to get a phone within my first week. I've been here for almost a month and still don't have a phone. So that's really working out. Whose idea was this again? I'm living with the Lyme disease diagnosis and it's awful. I can't eat anything with gluten, dairy, or sugar in it. I a...

I am off to see a friend from high school who lives in Gubeundari. The bus takes me to the subway station, and I'm late catching the first train of the trip. No problem. I wait ten minutes, and another train comes. It is a little crowded as I board. Everyone is headed towards Seoul and its environs. Glancing up and down the car, the realization comes that I am the only foreigner. At Sangbong, I get off to transfer. This is when the first mistake happens. My Subway app tells me to get on the green line going towards Myeonmok. I find some tracks that have Myeonmok written in small letters, Sangbong in big letters, and Junghwa in smaller letters next to that. Great, this is exactly what I want. This whole subway thing is so easy. About five minutes later, we pull into Junghwa. I check my map and realize this is not the direction I want to be going. Just before the doors close, I jump off. I need to get back to Sangbong. How do I do that? I can see the people on the other side of t...

All the way across the ocean, my window had to be shut to help create a dark, sleep worthy environment for the other passengers. Every few hours, when the flight attendants were busy elsewhere, I snuck quick, blinding glances at the blue white world outside. Once, I thought I saw an island, but it may have just been a glare. The rest of the time, when I wasn't eating some of the best airplane food I've ever tasted or watching the inflight movies, I tried to nap, albeit unsuccessfully. How could I sleep on such a flight? After twelve and a half hours, we landed in Seoul, and my driver, Mr. Lee, picked me up outside customs. I was a little worried we wouldn't be able to find one another, but he was waiting for me with a huge handprinted sign that said simply "Rachel". I needn't have worried. When we reached his van, he began checking things off on a to-do list on his phone, and from the back seat I noticed a picture of me. He smiled and showed it to me when ...

The ladies in the library can't believe me at first. "You're going where?" South Korea. "Why would you go there?" To teach English and pay off loans. "Do you know anyone over there?" No, not really. "Do you speak the language?" I can say thank you. The librarians are shocked. In this moment, they resemble a group of wizened cats, cocking their spectacled faces in curiosity as they consider me. They share a glance before asking, "How do your parents feel about this?" Oh, they're fine with it.  The bookish ladies shake their heads at me, grey hair swaying behind their ears as they exchange looks again. I try not to laugh. The JBU librarians' reaction does not surprise me. After being their workstudy for three years in college, I suppose they feel a certain sense of protective instinct. I am used to their questions, truth be told. Everyone has the same ones, and I sometimes wonder if people are worried I haven...