We are family!

Today I’m 35.

Sometimes counting the years hits you in weird ways. For me, it’s usually been when one of my kids had a birthday and turned from an age I was used to, to an age that my mind apparently associated with other things than my children. Since Benny is my oldest, and therefore usually the first one to do something new and strange, I’ve experienced more shocks from him than anyone (as long as we’re still talking about growing up!) I remember being particularly traumatized when he turned five – it just didn’t seem possible.

So here I am, as Steve so generously put it: halfway to seventy.

There’s only one way I could be happier, more content, or more excited about my life right now, and that would be if my family were here with me, instead of us being separated. Here I am, following my dreams, and not only that, but catching up to them and walking hand in hand with them. I'm doing what I have wanted to do ever since I can remember. Who gets that? March 17^th finds me inexpressibly grateful, not only for today, and now, but for all the days that led to here.

I made it!

Haha, I can’t stand it ;)

 Feels like I’ve been smiling non-stop for a month.

The decision I made to pursue the Intensive Korean Course turned out to be one of the better ones I’ve made in my life, for several reasons. First of all, I really am learning Korean, and it’s possible that I will be able to speak it passable by the end of four months. I’ve spoken with several of the students who’ve been in the regular classes for up to several semesters, and they are envious because they did not experiencing the same level of teaching, and therefore, understanding.

Mainly, though, it’s because of my friends. My Chinese friends have adopted me as their family, and I am whole-heartedly in love with them. We had a magical moment about a week ago, and things have been different and even more wonderful since then.

It was break time, and the teacher had left (probably to sag against the wall and cry – it must be so hard to teach this class, what with the language barrier and all). We were chatting the best we could, given their English and my Chinese, while we shared snacks. Someone gave me a stick of gum that tasted exactly like chewing up a menthol cigarette. The teacher had been trying to elect a class leader, and they voted unanimously for me, because they think I’m the best student. (It’s not true, but it’s fun to hear ;) Evidently it has to be a boy though, so that brought about a rowdy discussion once she left the room. One of the boys, Yang Che-u, was teasing me about both going out with him, and I believe – the conversation was difficult to follow – adding to his repertoire of English off-color words, if he got elected.

This is Yang Che-u

I protested, but he didn’t understand what I was saying. This caused everyone to get involved, and so I decided to tell them my story.
 I get tears in my eyes when I think about it. Their precious faces were all gathered around me, and they paid rapt attention the whole time I spoke. I talked about meeting Steve when I was a child, getting married and having my family. How I waited to go back to school, and once I did, how I found out about the Study Abroad program. I talked about how we five, Steve, the kids and I,  deliberated over whether it was a good idea for me to come here, and then how unconditional the support of my family and friends has been in holding us all up on their strong shoulders when we decided to go for it. I talked about how long I’ve waited to travel and see things, how long I’ve waited to be able to go back to school and learn things. I talked about my hopes for the future, what my majors are, and how I want to work for the government. And I cried some, because talking about how loved I am does that to me.

They were shocked speechless. They had no idea that I wasn’t just a regular American teenager. (It’s so strange, and I suppose flattering - until I actually tell someone my age and situation, they think I’m an 18 year old student, just like everybody else.) They could hardly believe my age or that of my kids. Plus, telling the Chinese that you have three children is like telling an American that you have ten. It’s mind-boggling to them. They all sat holding their breath for a long minute, and then there was a frenzy of digging through purses and backpacks, and talking a mile a minute in Chinese. (I normally don’t really know what they’re saying, but I sure like listening to them speak – their language is beautiful.) They pulled out their pocket translators and had a discussion, and then they picked a presenter. She came and stood in front of me and bowed deeply, and said that they all worship/adore me. (It’s the same word in Chinese.) She said they will be my family while I’m away from my home, and that when I come to China I will be their family. They all nodded while she spoke, and chastised her a few times if they didn’t think she’d gotten their words right. They said they understand now why I study and try so hard, and they’ve redoubled their efforts to help me in class if I need it.

Here is Wang Chok-pom (left) and Quahk Ja-ohk

This is Wi Chu-sahk

Here are Choo Chun-chun and Sol A-nam

I love them! I wake up in the morning excited to go to class, and last week, the four hours went by like they were nothing, compared to the agony of the first week. When they found out yesterday that today was my birthday, we learned how to sing Happy Birthday in Korean, Chinese, and English. They wanted to take me out,  and so we celebrated. 

They bought me dinner at a Korean barbecue place after school, and we laughed our way through some hours of good food. Oh my goodness, some of the meat is so unbelievably yummy, and when you wrap it in lettuce and add all the fixings...to die for! We kept taking photos, and I noticed that they were big on pictures of themselves taking bites of food. They would put a bite half in their mouth and pose, waiting for someone to snap the shot, which I thought was very funny. I asked one girl why she would want a picture of herself with her mouth wide open, and she explained that it exemplifies happiness. I completely agree.

They insisted on cooking, and were very attentive to my plate and glass. They gave me a birthday present, and promised that they would sing to me. When we were full, we left the restaurant and went to a bar, where the eight of us drank a few pitchers of beer over the course of maybe four hours. 

We played a drinking game where at any time during the night, anyone could shout, “1, 2, 3, Woodman!” in Chinese, and we all had to freeze, and our teeth couldn’t be showing. You could move your eyes, though, and it’s the hardest thing in the world not to laugh! Everyone was always stuck in the funniest position. The loser (me) had to drink half a glass – either for not freezing or for moving first. They realized that I just couldn’t catch the Chinese phrase, so they started trying to say it in English, which a few of them couldn’t catch either. It was pretty funny.

I insisted on buying, which they protested violently, until one of the girls, Quahk Ja-ohk, gave them a lecture in which I think she explained that it was a cultural thing with me, and that they were all supposed to say, “It is my honor.” So they did, which was charming, and then one at a time, they composed a birthday wish on the spot and sang it to me in English. I was in tears. I sang them Edelweiss, and explained that it was what I used to sing to my kids when I put them to bed, and the bond of our friendship was cemented.

When we decided to call it a night, we sang ourselves home, up the hill, through the rain. When we made it inside, I almost got us all penalized by my rendition of “My Heart Will Go On” – sung at the top of my lungs in the lobby before we parted ways. Everyone hugged me and wished me happy birthday again, and I confess, it was my favorite so far. 

A toast: may all our birthdays be our favorite so far!

Spanked

Today I ate my first Glutinous Rice Ball. It’s a - well, it’s a ball – of fried dough surrounding pounded sweet rice and red bean paste. My word. All I know is, in heaven, (the one I’m going to, anyway) they just sit around eating Glutinous Rice Balls and watching Ellen. And that episode of Lost where Hurley drives the blue Volkswagon bus blaring Three Dog Night from an eight track player.

So I’ve recovered from my massage, and I feel more amazing than I ever have in my life. Inside and out. Didn't I tell you about that? Oh my goodness. It’s this whole thing…

I still don’t understand it, but I seem to be scared to take trips by myself. I find myself in my room before I leave, procrastinating by trying to understand the map, or decide what to wear, or what to pack. Since I’d been to the spa before, I knew that this time I should bring some toiletries, like shampoo and face wash. Once I get ready and going, the scariness goes away, and I was excited this time, because I knew how to do this: where to go, what to bring, how much it would cost, and what I would find.

Part of the trek down the hill to get to the food, the bus, or the station.

The station at Onyang Oncheon - the train is just leaving.

I took myself by subway to Onyang Oncheon, and from there to the Paradise Hot Springs Spa. I stopped on the way to get chestnuts, and the old man selling them was so cranky! I have no idea what I was doing wrong, but he wasn’t going to sell them to me. I was doing exactly the same thing I had last time, I’m sure of it, but it wasn’t getting me anywhere. His wife ran over from chatting with the neighboring vendor and made him give me some, but that made him madder. He ended up taking my money, putting about four chestnuts in a bag, and tossing them at me. I thanked them both and bowed, and was more determined than ever to figure out this dang language. It’s so frustrating to constantly feel like I don’t know what’s going on! I might as well have been in class…

The view to the right as you exit the station in Onyang.

Anyhow, I made it to the spa, got my key and its wristband, got my locker and ordered my massage – all in Korean, thank you very much! I went to the bathroom to take my makeup off, and apparently that was a mistake. I’ve thought it over for several days, and I think I know what happened. I was supposed to walk straight from the front desk to the massage lady, but I didn’t know that, see, because last time, when I inquired about massages, there was a forty minute wait. This time I figured I would shower and soak while I waited for my time slot to come up. 

So in the middle of my face washing an angry old woman, back as straight as a ramrod, more clothed than I (she got to have on the better half of a two piece swim suit), marched in and demanded to know if I was the one getting the massage. (I don’t know exactly what she said, but I got the point.) She scared me so badly I forgot all my Korean for the rest of the night. I stuttered and stammered, and ended up just running after her as she speed-walked through the double doors, around the corner, and into the secret, sacred massage corner, which is blocked off from the hot springs by low rock walls.

There are several massage tables in a row, specially made for this situation. They have vinyl covers and neck pillows, and are very low to the ground, compared to normal ones. The floor is made of the kind of cement that has whole pebbles in it, and the air is hot and steamy. Everything is wet and dripping. She took a basin, dipped it in a barrel of water, and threw it on me, surprising me to the core. She then threw some water on the table for good measure, and gestured for me to lie down. I assumed I would be face down, and I was wrong. She gave me a good hard slap on the butt, once I got situated, and between that and other good communicating, I understood I was to be face up. 

Awkward. 

Not only was she mad (for reasons I couldn’t fathom at the time) and strong, but I was naked, and her underwear was missing one of the two pieces. (I was afraid to close my eyes though, for fear of another missed cue and a slap.)

With no further ado, she started at my feet and gave me a lightning fast, whole body scrub. I really didn’t have time to protest. I could only stare at the ceiling and pray that I wouldn’t bleed through my pores. Another slap, and I turned over, which was treacherous business, given the wet vinyl. After scrubbing that side she whacked me again and sent me out of the massage area. I went and sat down in a hot pool, which stung because of the scrubbing, and did some thinking.

I had just paid about thirty dollars to be yelled at, scared half to death, drenched, and scrubbed like a black kettle. This was not my idea of a massage. Mentally, I ran through my Korean vocabulary to try and compose my protest, but in the end, I decided I would deliver the whole thing in English, complete with cuss words and yelling. That would teach them. And the chestnut guy.

About that time, the masseuse came over and tapped me lightly on the shoulder and smiled, motioning me back to the massage parlor. I was a little wary, and expecting to be sent away again at any moment. It reminded me of the bus driver in Suwon, who was just trying to point things out and I kept thinking he was telling me to get off. 

I paid close attention to her every move though, this time, trying to determine what I was supposed to do, and we began to be able to communicate. She was able to see that I was trying, I wasn’t stupid and was able to be taught. I was able to see that she was very skilled, very kind, and just unused to dealing with foreigners. 

Sigh. 

I wish there were words I could write that would deliver to you what the next hour plus felt like to me. She washed my hair and massaged my head. This was a bit rough on me, at first, because I didn’t understand what was going on. She was using a technique where she lifted up different body parts and dropped them. I'm not used to people doing that with heads. I thought at first that she was still upset, or careless, but I realized, after paying attention both to her and how it felt, that she was doing something. I could feel the buzzing you get when your chi has been blocked and starts flowing. Her fingers were like machine gun fire – she would pick up my head, feel the back of my neck in two places, drop my head, be at my feet, press specific points all along my body, and be back at my head before I could count to three. She was checking something on the back of my neck, and it wasn’t ready. She put some kind of lotion on it that smelled like peppermint and burned a bit, but it wasn’t unpleasant. Apparently, she needed to let that do some work before it could be massaged.

There were many steps to what she did, with many scrubs, lotions and oils. I recognized some of the scents, like ginger and peppermint, but others were completely foreign to me. They smelled so good, and it was so strange not to be able to even guess what they were. She scrubbed me in earnest this time, and didn’t miss a square centimeter. She soaped me up and rinsed me off. I was on my back, stomach, sides, sitting up, lying down, arms out, arms in. I was pounded, beaten, scrubbed, and slapped until I am but a vestige of my former self. At one point she climbed on top of me – me who was precariously perched on slippery, oily, vinyl! – and walked up and down my entire body.

At last the places on my neck that she kept checking were satisfactory, and she massaged my shoulders until you would never know that I have been walking up and down stairs with a backpack non-stop since I left home.

She gave me a face massage and mask, a hot towel treatment, pumice stone on my feet, until I was practically purring. That I liked it all so much made her happy, I could tell. She was very warm with me by the time I left, leading me to wonder if I'd passed some kind of Korean strength test.

Her looks would have deceived you, but, circumstances being what they are, I can’t elaborate. Just listen to me - in order to avoid tangling with secret ninja masters, simply follow this rule of thumb I’ve recently written: 

Whenever you meet an elderly Korean woman, or are just near one, or know someone who has seen one, all parties involved should bow deeply and give her whatever she wants. Even if it is to agree that you’ve sat on top of her and stolen her seat, or to let her communicate by slapping you on the ass.