When Christmas Isn't Christmas

This isn't the first time I've spent Christmas away from home. It's not even the second. This is in fact the fourth Christmas in my life spent in another country, away from my family and friends. It is, however, the first time that it has felt like a big deal.

In the past, the holidays coming and going while out on my own didn't really bother me that much. Perhaps it was because I still had some solid Christmas traditions (albeit not my own) to act as an anchor for my Christmas spirit. In 2002, while traveling around Europe with Tina and Adam, we spent the week of Christmas in Niort, France, with the Mamerts, Tina's former host family from the year of high school she studied abroad. Having a family with which to spend the holiday, as well as two of my best friends, while also experiencing the holiday traditions of a foreign culture, made the fact that I wasn't at home not only tolerable but exciting. Despite the language barrier and the need for Tina to translate everything Adam or I wanted to say to the family, and vice versa, it felt homey and cozy and, well, like Christmas. Just a different version of it. The three girls, Vanessa, Emilie, and Marion, included us in all their celebrations, and their parents, Alain and Francoise, treated us like their own children, which I came to fully appreciate after the oysters (yes, oysters) at Christmas dinner gave me horrendous food poisoning and I spent the 3 days immediately following in bed puking my guts out. Even still, in spite of the vomitorious conclusion of the holiday, it was great to have a break in our travels and spend the morning around a Christmas tree and eat a legit, crazy huge Christmas dinner, and even get some presents (Alain and Francoise gave us each a pair of our own house slippers). Christmas simply felt like French Christmas.

The Days You Want To Scream

For only the second time since I came to Korea, I yelled at some students in one of my classes yesterday. It probably wasn't the best move, since they are now guaranteed to ignore me even more when I am in their classroom, but I had just had enough of their total disrespect. A large part of my impatience stemmed from the fact that I have been so frustrated with this job lately, and just feel so over it. So it felt rather miraculous to stumble across another expat's blog entry this afternoon that perfectly and brilliantly summed up so many of the issues that come with working in a Korean public school. It actually helped remind me that these things happen to everyone and it's just the culture of work and education in this country. (If only I could use the cultural justification to excuse the terrible behavior of my students, but unfortunately I know that my school, when compared to other Korean high schools, is particularly and awfully unusual in this regard.)

I want to include the link to this girl's blog entry so that I can always remember that I am not alone in this sea of intercultural confusion/frustration, and so that anyone who is curious about what it is like to teach in Korea can have at least some vague point of reference. Here are "ten things you need to know to survive at a Korean public school."

Edit: Oh yeah, and one other thing this blogger fails to mention: if you are working at a public school in the wintertime, prepare to freeze. I don't think I will ever understand the need for half the doors and windows in school to be open when it is 10-20 degrees below freezing outside!!! I can see my breath in the hallways and the bathrooms and every teacher wanders the halls in full triple-layers, winter coats and scarves. I guess this could be categorized under # 9, about Common Sense meaning something completely different in Korea. My god it's cold!!!!