the science of gratitude

I'm feeling a little inspired this week. I'm not sure the cause specifically, though I can point to a few possible suspects. First of all, I witnessed possibly the most amazing natural event of my life this past week: a sunrise. Sure, sure, you're thinking, this is going to be one of those "I saw something mundane in a new way and it changed my perspective" moments, but uh... yeah, it is. From the railing of a Buddhist temple in Busan, I saw the sun rise -- the actual physical sun rising from the sea into the sky.


Whenever I've tried to watch sunrises before I've always sort of missed it. Maybe this is appropriate because I think I've always missed the point, too. Maybe it's been too cloudy or I've been too impatient, or maybe the universe has just been withholding the revelation of this daily routine until now: this very Saturday, September 25th, at 6:17 in the a.m., when it all fell - or rather, rose - into place. That seemingly perfect orange ball appearing to originate, if falsely so, from some point on the horizon, discloses itself so amazingly and yet also relievingly in its clockwork predictability. How interesting that we should gather at this little steel railing to observe something that happens every single day, often without us. We don't consider the immense rotation of our planet, the work it must humbly suffer every single day to face the sun, turning and turning again until it is dark for us and bringing light to someone else. Instead, we consider how it affects our busy lives: the sun in our eyes, the period of remaining daylight, the heat, the glare, the morning, the passing of our precious schedules, etc etc. But Saturday, on the edge of a railing overlooking a cliff pointing out into the sea across a vast expanse of earth, I considered my gratitude for the sun and the stability it provides me. This is the same sun that has watched me forever, and it is the same sun I will see for the rest of my life.

I've thought a lot about gratitude because currently my students are working on an essay called "The Science of Gratitude" in their reading class, about an experiment asking people to compose lists of things in their lives for which they are grateful. Apparently, if done every day, this is proven to not only reduce stress, but also improve mental processes like problem solving, bolster immune response, and generally make people feel happier. What a concept. In addition, one of my co-teachers is encouraging me worry less about making my class "English conversation instruction" and more about just teaching what I want to teach... using English. What a concept. I'm wondering if I can use this story on gratitude to encourage my students to generate and share their own lists of thanks -- thereby crafting a lesson that is not only utilizing English, but also playing on those good old Essential Questions that my grad school compatriots will agree are really the whole point (not to mention the fun) of working in education. What a concept. I've been struggling with how to make this teaching -- which often feels pointless as it is so de-emphasized by the administration and so un-prioritized by the overworked students -- feel meaningful. If I can't make the learning of English meaningful in itself (hey, I tried...) then at least I can attempt to change the content and make that more meaningful, hopefully improving the students' ability to use the language as a means to a much greater end. Now that's a concept I can get behind.

I would be well advised to begin my own practice of Gratitude Lists.

Today I am grateful for:

1. my co-teachers, who not only inspired me today to put more emphasis on my own interests in the classroom, but also help me set up my online ex-pat banking, and are generally lovely people
   
2. my apartment, which is clean and mostly quiet, and a fine place to call home for a year, inspiring me to recharge my batteries, live with simplicity, and recognize what essentials are truly essential
   
3. my family, who continually inspire me to look for goodness and to maintain perspective -- without the support of them, I doubt that I would be so determined to seek gratitude in the first place
   

This is a good list for today. Perhaps inspiration comes from gratitude -- reflecting on all that's good motivates me to move forward and create more good. Looking at the beautiful sunrise, and thereby being grateful for it, inspires me to take a picture so I can not only remember that moment and reflect on its significance, but also to remind myself that I must actively appreciate the beautiful moments that surround me every day. Taking a picture is not only a momento of whatever thing you are photographing, but it is also a practice in appreciating whatever and whoever is around you. By recognizing these moments, I am inspiring myself to be positive and to be grateful. I am thankful for that.

I really need to start tape recording the conversations I have with people. As another EPIK teacher has pointed out, "Why do you always get to have these conversations? What is it about you?" Good question... good question.

A couple of days ago I got into a ridiculous discussion about prostitution with one of my co-workers. We had gone on an excursion to obtain my Korean cell phone, and while we were waiting for it to be "programmed" at the store, we had a [complimentary] dinner at the school cafeteria.

Sidenote: I actually prefer the school's dinners to its lunches. Dinners are objectively more western, usually featuring a solid protein like a meat patty of some kind, or sausage, with a substantive vegetable to accompany the standard white rice. There's even an occasional fruit like chopped apple for dessert. Lunches are more exotic and acidic, with an inexplicable chopped produce product (you can never have too much pickled radish) and more subtle protein like shredded tofu in soup or half of a fish body that is so full of bones it's impossible for me to eat successfully, especially with chopsticks. Also don't forget the kimchi, which is, with no exaggeration, part of every single meal.

Anyway, prostitution. We were walking to dinner when my co-teacher pulled a pamphlet out of his pocket. Before I could even get a close look, I could see the half-naked Korean woman winking at me through the glossy paper. In bold letters at the top of the page: KISSING ROOM (in English) with some flashy neon explosions clip-arted in. "You know what this is?" he asked me, laughing. Um... Yeah I can see what it is pal. Actual response: "Oh, where did you get that?" He shrugged, "Someone leave it, left it on my car yesterday. You have in United States?" Well, yeah, I wanted to tell him, if KISSING is a euphemism for something else. How do you explain to a Korean co-worker how the sex-industry works in America? And should you? Mission abort... there is no way I'm having this conversation with a co-worker in the school cafeteria on a Thursday night. He ultimately defended the pamphlet, explaining that prostitution is probably necessary because a) it's the oldest profession in the world and b) the women get paid really well here in Korea so it's not so bad for them. Uh yeah it's the same in America do you know the word exploitive? "Mmm yes, high risk, high pay-off, yes?" Not exactly the type of conversation I expected to have after school while sipping yogurt milk.

On another occasion I was asked if Jews are considered white people, which led to the question, "Emerie, you are not a racist?" Not the last time I checked, no. And golly you sound so surprised -- guess that rave review of Americans is making its way across the planet. But I stupidly added, "In America, even people who are racist don't admit to being racist." Why did I have to say that? Long pause. "But you don't discriminate against people based on their race?" No I don't think so, as that is the reigning definition of the term "racist." "So Jews... is right word, Jews?" I took a deep breath. "You should probably say Jewish people. It's a little, um... more correct." "Ahh yes, Jewishie people." Yeah, exactly. You're practically a westerner now.

Speaking of religion, I spent today going food shopping and microwave shopping with another English teacher from my school. Even though she's not one of my co-teachers, her English is by far the best in the entire department. I learned today that she studied in San Antonio for a year during college, and also her parents currently live in Alabama. Not sure why, but they do. I was having a nice enough time wandering around with her and eating italian food at the mall this afternoon. But after she brought me back to my apartment and showed me how to cook soy bean paste soup (yum!), I made the mistake of asking her what else she had planned for the weekend. "Oh, well tomorrow I'm going to church." Oh, interesting -- I didn't realize that so many non-Buddhists worked together at our school, but cool, that actually makes me respect it even more. She added, "I'm a Christian, Presbyterian actually."

I think my response was "Ok, neat," because I never know how I'm supposed to respond when people share their religious preferences with me. I put religious tendencies in the same category as sexual tendencies -- I mean, if you want to tell me and teach me something then that's cool, since I love to learn from people and I think I'm open to pretty much every possible breed... but I don't need to know if your plan is to just unload your superior preferences onto me and shake your head at my difference of opinion. I'm all for listening, learning, and ideally having a good discussion about these topics, but with co-workers it feels a little like a trap. Like, we're "just talking" about it, but to what end? She asked me if I am religious, which I have already been asked several times in Korea, especially since I work at a Buddhist school. My response is always the same: Well not really because my dad's family is Christian and my Mom's family is Jewish, so I was just basically raised to learn about and appreciate all religions and choose my own if I like. But I never really felt committed to any religion so I don't practice anything, no.

That answer usually does it for people, who are mostly just asking out of curiosity and not with any deeper intentions. This, on the other hand, had a different stench. Before I could really finish my little schpeel, she added, "I just don't understand people who don't have the same faith as I do. I mean, to me it is just so obvious -- so much is beyond human capability. When I look at the trees I see Jesus, I mean, we cannot make a leaf, right? And we are just so amazing as humans, you know, like I don't even understand how my body works, it just does. But you don't believe in God, really?"

Well... no, not really. I mean, I don't disbelieve or anything... it just doesn't click with me or resonate with me or even, in many cases, make sense to me. So, no I don't really. Actual response: "Umm... I don't know. Maybe not?"

She nodded. "Yeah, I just don't understand that. I mean to me it is so obvious. I'm not even trying to believe, I just believe because it is so natural to me." I tried to explain that yeah, I understand that beliefs are beliefs because they are what jives with people -- what helps you process and make sense of the world around you. You shouldn't have to separate yourself from what you believe if it's not hurting anyone and it helps you deal. I was also thinking that by that same logic, you shouldn't be able to rub your beliefs onto other people either. Unfortunately, you do. And as much as I do think that I understand where she's coming from and how integral that thinking is to her (as integral as my thinking is to me, of course), it just doesn't resonate with me. And like the prostitution conversation, though utilizing totally different content, I felt just as trapped. How am I going to engage in a real discussion around this with you? Realistically, I'm just not. And she just kept talking about God and the design of the universe, and how the earth rotates because of God, and humans are so amazing because of this amazing creator that built us, because our lives are not in our control. And I just smiled and nodded, as she sat there on my bed, the smell of soy bean paste soup lingering between us. But sadly, at that moment, that's all there was between us. The smell of soup.

Several minutes later she sighed and smiled at me, "I think God must love you a lot because you are so great and you are surrounded by so many people who love you." I laughed a little, I think because, this time, I was uncomfortable. And I nodded again, "Well thank you. I am a lucky person." She carefully collected her parasol and purse, pulling out a little compact to powder her nose. Then I walked her out like a good hostess. Thanking her again for everything she helped me with today, I smiled warmly, "See you Monday," because I knew I wouldn't be seeing her at church.

customer satisfaction

School got out early today for a Buddhist ceremony in the temple room down the hall from my office. No one I asked seemed to be able to tell me the occasion for the ceremony, only that "Dongguk is part of Buddhist organization, you know? Like middle school and high school and university is Buddhist." So without any context, I was invited to be that blond girl who doesn't know what's going on in the temple for about an hour. You know, the usual.

At first I was really enjoying myself -- there was a lot of chanting and singing that I didn't understand, but it was fun to bow in time to the traditional music, and it was relaxing to get out of the classroom for a few minutes on a cushy little floor pillow. Nevermind that I had no idea what anyone was saying; I'm here for the experience. After about fifteen minutes of singing and chanting in Korean, a monk was invited to speak... and forty minutes later my left foot was so painfully asleep I was twitching like a fish to keep the blood flowing. One of the English teachers, who was seated beside me on the floor, mouthed, "are you okay?" to me during the speech. I was too embarrassed to admit that sitting indian-style on the floor for an hour was not actually my fave position, especially when only an hour before the ceremony, one of my co-teachers had informed me, "You know for ceremony today you must sit indian-style for whole time. Is that okay?" At the time, I was tickled and confused by his question. He added, "I heard that many Americans cannot sit this way." Oh psh - I think was my response - I've never met an American who can't sit that way. I'll be fine!

It seems I should meditate more often to alleviate the strangeness. Despite my discomfort, I did enjoy hearing the monk speak. It occurred to me every so often amidst his apparent "jokes" (discerned to be so thanks to the polite chuckles of my co-workers) that I had absolutely no idea where I was. For all I knew, this man could be giving a speech on how foreigners are idiots. He could be saying, in perfectly clear Korean, "See that girl over there with the blond hair? She has no idea what I'm saying!" [hahaha] "Let's laugh at her secretly." [hahahaha] But then periodically I would hear a word that I recognized: "Palestine" "Israel" "Cambodia." Also a couple words in Korean that I don't know how to spell correctly in English, roughly translating to "Thanksgiving" "America" and "I am." At one point, he paused, and I could see his mouth warping into a strange shape. He took a quick breath before carefully articulating the words "customer satisfaction" in the middle of a seemingly long sentence. I was the only one who laughed at that. Politely, of course -- but it reminded me that finding humor is easier when the content is recognizable. No, I don't know what he meant by "customer satisfaction," but it engaged me, so I laughed a little as a release. In these situations, like the bigger situation I'm adjusting to right now, it can be difficult to laugh when so much is overwhelming and new. But at the sight of something familiar, a smile just collapses into place, right there where it's always been. Relief.

After the ceremony, one of my co-teachers asked me what I was thinking about. I told her that I enjoyed the speech even though I couldn't understand what was said. She nodded a little, and hesitated, because I know her English is the weakest among all my co-teachers. After a moment, as we made a pile of the little cushy pillows and stacked the prayer booklets on a table, she said, "I'm wondering if all American open like you." Another smile. Relief.

it's a texture thing

Things are becoming more normal here. My natural reaction when someone hands me change in the convenience store is to thank them in Korean. As I walk down the hallway at school I feel my neck bend at a slight angle, bowing slightly to passersby, without even my own awareness. When I speak to anyone, my voice slows to a 1-2-3 tempo, carefully calculating intonation and emphasis because I just feel, automatically, that English is not understood. When I hear English on the sidewalk (which is rare -- I must be in someone else's neighborhood, of course) I am startled and I flip around as if my name has just been called. Hearing Korean all day at school is normal, in a way, and hearing my name interjected between those Korean mumblings is also normal, if slightly unsettling.


You can probably imagine, just from this one photo, how foreign I appear in this setting. But my neighborhood is beautiful, there's no other way to put it. I could fill this paragraph with all kinds of sensory words for you -- the smells, the sounds, the flavors! etc etc.... but all I can say is that a month ago I was graduating from Northwestern and I had no sense - none - of what "Korea" would be like. Indeed, "Korea" was the concept of something that I might do, not someplace real full of somebodies and somethings. A month later I can't imagine the inability to imagine Korea, because - like it or not - that's where I live. I'm home. It's not comfortable yet, no. It's not luxurious, hell no. It's not even magical or anything like that. It's a place. A place where I live. And that's becoming normal.

Friday night I went out to dinner and drinks with two of my male co-workers. I feel weird about writing names of people that I work with, so I'm just going to avoid it. They are lovely, kind, and generous people (who occasionally stare at me with big blank eyes and auto-nods), who until recently have just been two of the voices murmuring in Korean in the background of my day. But Friday night I had a totally different experience, as they invited me, out of the blue, to join them for sushi. Sushi, I thought, yeah sure I like sushi. California rolls, right? I mean, probably some straight-up raw stuff too, but like... rice and all that, right? I'm sure you can see what's coming.

I have to give these dudes major credit. If they were much older than they are (around 30ish) this would be a very different story. But thankfully, being of the younger generation, I only suffered some slight teasing and head shaking when I politely rejected their numerous offers to eat the still-twitching octopus legs chopped up on the table. Instead, they nodded and smiled, and said, "Is too much?" To which I bit my lip, sucked up my foreigner guilt, and nodded adamantly, "Yeah. It's just too much for me. I'm sorry." Eying the octopus tentacles as they wrapped around each other, squirming towards the edge of the plate, I asked the elder of the two co-teachers, "Don't you feel it moving in your mouth, too?" To which he paused, mid-chew, and scrunched his brow, "Of course." I looked again at the violently seizing legs of that poor creature, who only moments before smiled at me a little as I entered the restaurant, floating around contently in his aquarium at the front door. Now, here he was: brainless and dislocated, wrapping his little legs around each chopstick prod, inching into huddles with his compatriots before being scooped up towards digestion. Noticing my bewildered stare, the same co-teacher, still chewing the same bite of desperate octopus leg, offered, "You might not like it, but it has such good... how is word... it is the texture. Texture of movement - very good." I nodded politely. My old friend Texture: back again, with a vengeance.

I suggested that later in the year we might try again, after I've been here a while. Maybe if I prepare myself for this situation, I thought, now that I've seen what it's going to look like, I can build myself up toward it. Perhaps that twitching octopus is a symbol of my Korean life itself: it's really not so bad, I was just unprepared for its strangeness. And now that I know what I'm expecting, I can become more adjusted every day. For now, I congratulate myself for eating the raw sea cucumber and ocean earthworm. And the chef was kind enough to put the fish head in MY bowl of soup -- so that's right, kids, I'm a special girl. The other co-teacher reminded me that I was "having good luck for getting it with eye still attached." Yeah, that's how I get it done.