Korea: Month 1

I live on a small rocky island just off a peninsula that dangles precipitously off the eastern edge of the Asian continent. There’s relatively little arable land on the peninsula, but the people live off what there is and farm the sea for what there isn’t. In this way, scarcity in South Korea breeds purpose, not only for the land — which must be divided and allocated appropriately — but for the people that live on and off it.

Less people farm or tend to livestock now, and the sea is much more conduit for wealth than it is provider, but purpose still hovers around in the aether; it’s moved and pushed around like real physical things, and it seeks boys and girls out at a young age.

I‘m a month into my third year here, the previous two having also been spent as one of the many English teachers that are graciously welcomed as something of a high-end import, generally on a one-year basis.

We English teachers are part of that system, shifting purpose balls around, helping children of all aptitudes move up and along their ordained trajectory. Well, maybe ‘we’ specifically are not — my girlfriend and I are teaching kindergarten this time around.

At times it’s hard to pin down the purpose of a non-Korean-speaking adult looking after and talking to 3-year-olds in a foreign language. Some of the hope appears to rely on the learning of English through a sort of osmosis that native Koreans — even the ones who speak English quite well — cannot provide.

These are doubts I’m sure every ESL teacher must have as they stand before a sea of eyes and watch them blink confusedly, slowly glazing over with every desperate, incomprehensible oration.

But it takes a naive brand of cynicism to think we’re powerless in our efforts. It underestimates our own ability to prepare lessons that circumvent these obstacles; to express ourselves physically; to connect with human beings on unspoken levels. We’re in the privileged position of being able to cultivate understanding in an environment that’s superficially devoid of it, with each day a chance to both sow and reap once again. What more could we ask for from our winsome year abroad?

Boats leave the shores of our little rock well before we’re awake and return long after we call it a day. And while they labor so shall we.

We are here to sing, dance, play and educate these babies however we can! For at least 11 more months.