Kids and the darn things they say

I would discourage budding narcissists from teaching English in South Korea. And as a practiced narcissist, I feel my advice should be heeded.

My first day to teach a class by myself, I had been in the country less than 24 hours. I was jet lagged. I was overwhelmed by the newness of things. And I was faced with students to whom I wanted to be an inspiration. I pictured them breathlessly telling their parents about the first day with their new teacher.

Kid: (in Korean) I don’t know, Mom. I just get it now. English is clearer to me than it’s ever been. Here’s a sonnet I’ve composed to capture my feelings about this incredible woman.
Mom: (in Korean) Gee.

So imagine my disappointment when, at the end of my last class that first day, my student Julie (who had appeared highly impressed with my teaching methods) said, “Teacher seems nervous.”

Nervous?! I think you mean poised, you little bitch. I just got off a plane! I had no training! Nervous? Your mom seems nervous.


Meet Julie.
(I was pretty sure a visual would make the “bitch” comment twelve times funnier. Now lighten up. I forgave her.)

Then there’s my other Julie. She was in middle school and was intensely hesitant to speak. I would often try talking to her as if we were a couple of girlfriends hanging out over coffee in hopes I might coax some complete sentences out of this very sweet girl. It tended to do the trick and one day I was rewarded with the following dialogue:

Me: I like boots.
Julie: Me too.
Me: Tall ones?
Julie: Mmmm...
Me: Like (lifts leg and indicates just below the knee) this tall?
Julie: Oh. Not so high. My legs are too thick.
Me: They’re not!
Julie: (wistfully) I wish I had teacher’s legs.
Me: (flips hair) Oh, Julie. (flips hair) Don’t be silly. (flips hair) They aren’t that fabulous.
Julie: .....
Me: (flips hair)

Now, I know what you’re thinking. “Finally! Korea is beginning to catch on to the wonder of Sarah’s beauty.” Yeah, that’s what I thought. Until I met Betsy.

Betsy is five years old. The first day in her class, I was meeting all these darling little bitty ones. They were so sweet and seemed infatuated with me and my hair. Everything was going great. I was sure I was glowing. Then Betsy, from the back of the class yells, yells, “You have a fat face. You are fat!”

Did the other children rally against her in my defense? Shout, “Betsy, are you mad? Have you seen the woman’s legs?!”

Not quite. The three or four girls nearest her started chanting, “You are fat! You are fat!”

I blinked. I tried to smile. But this small person had just knocked the wind and its accompanying pretension right out of me.

And I felt my remarkably large face go bright red.

Connected

I lost my job.

But I’m getting ahead of myself.
Allow me to provide a little background.
When one moves to Korea to teach English, one is required to go through a somewhat lengthy process to attain a visa before leaving America. This visa is sponsored by one’s employer, in this case, the school. Also, most schools provide housing for their foreign teachers.
So, two weeks ago, I got to work and was informed that my school (7’s English Academy) had been bought out and would be closing its doors the following day. Which meant I was losing my job, visa sponsor, and apartment all in one day. And after having been in this country exactly two weeks. Have I mentioned I don’t speak the language? Well, now I don’t want to exaggerate. I can say “hello” “goodbye” “thank you” “I’m sorry” and “meat”. I say “kogi” (Korean for meat), make what I imagine to be an expression of mixed terror and disgust, shake my head and then smile sweetly. Sometimes I get blank stares.
But, I digress. The point is I was homeless, jobless, visa-sponsorless and across the world from people sensible enough to use English to communicate and not to add pork and/or beef to everything. (and I do mean everything)

Lucky for me, I immediately began getting rescued right and left. There is a network of expatriates, recruiters, and Korean haegwon employees here that is not unlike the mafia. Really. I kept turning around to find someone shrugging and saying “Ehh, I know a guy.”
By the end of that week, I found my biggest problem to be choosing between five job offers. Good ones.
I chose last week and signed a contract with my new school on Thursday. I start this Monday at Eby’s Talking Club. I’m staying in my current apartment until the middle of November then moving to my new place. Eby’s is not only in the same building as 7’s, it’s on the same floor and down the hall.

This shift is, I believe, a good one. For a couple reasons. I made some friends at 7’s, with whom I plan to remain in contact and I taught some great kids. But it didn’t really feel like a good fit. At Eby’s I already feel more at home than I did at 7’s.
There’s also nothing like being without a job in a foreign country to shake cobwebs from the ole noodle. (sorry for the mixed metaphor. I hope you're not eating) I was approaching my new life in Korea in typical Sarah fashion: “What does it all mean? Who am I now? Oh, look at the way the light is hitting that tree. Now, that girl is wearing some fabulous boots.” I guess I’m trying to say I feel a little more focused. A little more connected to the ground, now that I’m on the other side of such a sobering adventure. Which also means I’m feeling more like myself. And for that, I’m deeply grateful.

Incidentally, if you’re thinking of moving to Korea, gimme a call. Cuz, uh, I know a guy.