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Last Friday was the day before Chusok - Korean Thanksgiving - and most of the kids arrived at school dressed to the nines in silky clothes. The boys looked like little Kung Fu masters and the girls had beautiful satin dresses with long hemlines that they kept tripping over. Instead of class, we all made little roly-poly dough pastries and got ourselves covered in flour (although the kids had fancy baking aprons). Apparently making roly-poly dough pastries is Traditional and the shape of your roly-poly pastry is said to resemble your future lover. Since most kindergarten kids are completely inept in that "Help me, teacher!" kinda way, I ended up forming most of the pastries myself. My baking efforts were hideous: misshapen doughy monstrosities with powdered sugar and beans leaking out of every split seam and gaping crevass. If the Traditions ring true, I have damned these poor children. They will all marry Donkeys and Zombies and Fishmen.

There are ups and downs to teaching ESL. The ups are very high and the downs, well, they aren't really too too bad. The kids will jump all over you if they sense weakness, but if they respect you they can be sweethearts if they feel like it.

Some days I take lunch with the kids and just today I made an ogre of myself. I told a little boy to eat a spoonful of green seaweed-stuff, just one, before he could scrape his little bowl and go play with the other kids. He wept pitiably (man that seaweed stuff looked sick) but I was feeling surly and wouldn't budge. Weep weep weep. He definitely hates me now. Later on, I couldn't help but think, "Man, why did I make such a big issue out of one little mouthful?" Because, seriously, I couldn't really give a fuck if he eats gross seaweed or not. I sure wouldn't eat it. But then again, I don't especially care if Weeping Boy hates me. It's a zen balance of indifference, though it's hard to be indifferent when kids bring you little presents of candy or stickers, or make you proud when you can see that they're straining as hard as they can to understand. Sometimes my heart melts, just a little, and it takes a while to freeze back up.

Mike and Cindy (one of the Korean teachers) hooked me up with a private earlier this week. A private is a private lesson, which is technically illegal but a sick way to make a lot of supplementary cash. My private consists of a mother - who works as a professional calligraphy artist - and her two kids, none of whom speak English very well but are all serious about learning. I oblige them and we sit on the floor, drinking jasmine tea and talking about how much Vespas cost back in Canada. Three hours of these lessons per week equals 105 000 won, which basically covers (modest) living expenses all on its own.

By far my favourite student is a 12 year old named Sally. She can carry on a conversation with ease although she sometimes has to reach for appropriate words, and it's nice to talk and not necessarily teach. She is the poster child for Korean over-education, taking parentally chosen classes in English and Art and Music and God Knows What until late at night and then studying well into the early hours of the morning. She yawns a lot and rubs her eyes while we talk about racism in South Africa, but she can grasp the concept of irony which already makes her superior to most English majors I knew back at Wilfrid Laurier. She reads violent comic books about exorcists and magical girls and likes watching Lost.

Sally's parents and teachers have entered her in a speech-making competition this weekend, and she's not particularly nervous or apprehensive - she's tired. She's always tired. I'm proud of her and scared for her at the same time. She has never had time to be a child and this is why people die wondering Why, because they were always chasing the future.

Posted by Chris at 09:03 AM >> Commentations (8)