While the U.S. may celebrate its diversity with such monikers as "the Great American Melting Pot" (I can still hear the School House Rock song in my head), this principle is not a universal constant. For that matter, it is not even truly a constant within the U.S. as anyone who has ever lived in the state of Iowa can attest. Nevertheless, diversity is a concept that is at least viewed with some merits in the U.S. and individuality is a prized possession.
This is not so for life in Korea. I realized this tonight as I went to get my haircut, which has become a bi-weekly, 5 dollar, no-tip-necessary-or-expected ritual. Due to the recent departure of the previous stylist who had grown quite accostumed to cutting a head of hair that was neither black nor completely straight, getting my haircut has become a much more difficult affair. This is where homogeneity is quite beneficial. Displayed on the wall at the barber shop is a set of pictures numbered 1-10. No Korean language is necessary or needed to explain my desired style. Now admittedly, my hair type does not match any of the 10 heads displayed, but I also don't particularly care for any of them. So be it. Anyhow a thought struck me, would a thing such as this ever pass muster in the U.S.? I can hardly imagine walking into any salon where you order your haircut as easily as a Big Mac extra-value meal (yes, these tasks are of equal difficulty in Korea). The problem, however, is not in the shameless similarity of men's hairstyles. Having worked with middle and high school aged students for 5 years tells me that many young adults prefer to blend in rather than stand out and I have seen far too many shaggy, bleached heads of hair attached to an untucked polo shirt, extra-long shorts with a pair of flip-flops to boot. The problem is that in the U.S. people rarely like to advertise that they have chosen to go the way of the many. Imagine the conversations, Person A: "Hey, nice haircut." Person B: "Thanks!" Person A: "Did you get the number 10?" Person B: "No, I did that 2 weeks ago. I went with the number 3 today." Person A: "Hey, me too!"
In reality, most of us choose not to take the less worn path of Robert Frost's traveller. May we find comfort and safety in our anonymity.
Friday, July 21, 2006
Monday, July 17, 2006
Fear Factor Korea
I am an unashamed fan of the television show Fear Factor despite the relentless teasing from my wife when I watch it. I don't know why, but whenever it is on I find myself drawn to it. I have always been a fan of competition and I particularly enjoy the "mind over matter" types of competition. When there was a "quiet contest" as a young child, I would rarely be the first to open his mouth. My wife can also attest to my high tolerance for intentionally annoying behavior (though my children might disagree). When it comes to annoying and being annoyed, I can take it just as well as I can dish out. It is for these reasons that I think I am drawn into the show.
I have often commented that I would like to be a contestant on the show. Although I don't have the six-pack abs displayed by most of the young bucks on the show, I think I do have the will-power and stamina to succeed. After all, 50g is a lot jack to win. However, there has always been one thing holding me back. Those of you who are familiar with the show and its format (and I know almost all of you are, whether or not you are willing to admit it) know that the middle "stunt" usually involves the ingestion of some type of very foreign and twice as disgusting creature. It's not that I don't think I could do the eating thing, but it requires that you keep it down and there in lies the rub. I don't know that even my mental powers are enough to control the will of my stomach under such duress. What I do know, however, is that nearly any Korean would not so much as bat an eye at such a challenge. These types of challenges are regular dietary choices for Koreans. Just last night as Beth and I were scanning the channels trying to find info about the current flooding in Korea, when we turned to one of the many Korean Home Shopping-type channels. The woman was displaying the amazing capabilities of a top-of-the-line juicer. This machine was effortlessly juicing whatever contents she added. A pile of grass became a green milk shake in seconds. Oversized anchovies, no problem. This machine could churn out "healthy drinks" as fast as watching this disgusting display could churn my stomach. And then I had a thought. Perhaps my whole mission here is really just an extended preparation for my future. Someday I may stand alongside Joe from Fear Factor listening proudly as he proclaims to the world that "Adam, fear is obviously not a factor for you." I better start doing more sit-ups.
I have often commented that I would like to be a contestant on the show. Although I don't have the six-pack abs displayed by most of the young bucks on the show, I think I do have the will-power and stamina to succeed. After all, 50g is a lot jack to win. However, there has always been one thing holding me back. Those of you who are familiar with the show and its format (and I know almost all of you are, whether or not you are willing to admit it) know that the middle "stunt" usually involves the ingestion of some type of very foreign and twice as disgusting creature. It's not that I don't think I could do the eating thing, but it requires that you keep it down and there in lies the rub. I don't know that even my mental powers are enough to control the will of my stomach under such duress. What I do know, however, is that nearly any Korean would not so much as bat an eye at such a challenge. These types of challenges are regular dietary choices for Koreans. Just last night as Beth and I were scanning the channels trying to find info about the current flooding in Korea, when we turned to one of the many Korean Home Shopping-type channels. The woman was displaying the amazing capabilities of a top-of-the-line juicer. This machine was effortlessly juicing whatever contents she added. A pile of grass became a green milk shake in seconds. Oversized anchovies, no problem. This machine could churn out "healthy drinks" as fast as watching this disgusting display could churn my stomach. And then I had a thought. Perhaps my whole mission here is really just an extended preparation for my future. Someday I may stand alongside Joe from Fear Factor listening proudly as he proclaims to the world that "Adam, fear is obviously not a factor for you." I better start doing more sit-ups.
Saturday, July 15, 2006
Almost English
For those of you who don't already know, my daughter attends a kindergarten in Seoul, South Korea. While her first two classes each day are English speaking classes (which she naturally excels at given her rather large advantage over the Korean children), for the rest of the day everything is conducted in Korean.
They have many songs that they sing and she has learned most of these songs quite well. A few days ago, Emma was singing one of these songs. It is a Korean version of the song, "I'm a Christian". As she was singing it, she suddenly stopped in the middle of a verse and commented to my wife, "Hey Mommy, that almost sounds like English." The fact of the matter is that it actually is English. At least, it's supposed to be. The verse "I'm a Christian, I'm a Christian" is sung in English. There are at least two things we can learn from this:
First, when living in a different culture you grow so accustomed to expecting the foreign and strange that you somehow lose your ability to identify even the familiar when you are confronted with it.
Secondly, the "familiar" as it is replicated by a different culture is sometimes such an imperfect representation of the original that we can't even identify what it is trying to copy.
They have many songs that they sing and she has learned most of these songs quite well. A few days ago, Emma was singing one of these songs. It is a Korean version of the song, "I'm a Christian". As she was singing it, she suddenly stopped in the middle of a verse and commented to my wife, "Hey Mommy, that almost sounds like English." The fact of the matter is that it actually is English. At least, it's supposed to be. The verse "I'm a Christian, I'm a Christian" is sung in English. There are at least two things we can learn from this:
First, when living in a different culture you grow so accustomed to expecting the foreign and strange that you somehow lose your ability to identify even the familiar when you are confronted with it.
Secondly, the "familiar" as it is replicated by a different culture is sometimes such an imperfect representation of the original that we can't even identify what it is trying to copy.
Thursday, July 06, 2006
Underestimating
Since moving to Korea, there have been many things I have underestimated. For example, I underestimated the difficulty of learning the Korean language. It is quite challenging. Nor did I understand the difficulty in adjusting your tastes to a new diet (see my last blog). I also underestimated my wife Beth's ability to adjust to such a foreign culture so far away from friends and family. She has been amazing and God has blessed me far beyond what I deserve in having a wife such as her.
And just when I was beginning to feel comfortable with my life in Korea and feeling that I was really starting to understand and enjoy the culture and way of life here, I underestimated the feelings of homesickness. This point was punctuated with an exclamation point today as my family and I took my mother-in-law and niece to the airport. They had been visiting for the past 2 weeks and it was such a great blessing to have them here. But watching Sarah and Karen cross through the gate as tears streamed down the cheeks of my wife and daughter, I found myself envying them. I realized that they would soon be home. Tomorrow, they will be riding through familiar places, reading signs in a language they can easily comprehend, and eating foods they have been enjoying all their lives.
I do not regret being here. This is our home, even if only for a time. I know that this is God's will for our lives as a family and we truly take pleasure in living our lives in the shadow of his wings. He is our shepherd in good times and in bad. And I am certain that the one thing it is impossible to overestimate, is his sufficiency for all of our needs.
As I reminded my daughter tonight, one of the greatest blessing of God's creation is that a day never last longer than 24 hours (except for the occasional intervention of God through one of his prophets). Tomorrow the sun will rise again on a new day. God will still be God. We will still be his children.
And just when I was beginning to feel comfortable with my life in Korea and feeling that I was really starting to understand and enjoy the culture and way of life here, I underestimated the feelings of homesickness. This point was punctuated with an exclamation point today as my family and I took my mother-in-law and niece to the airport. They had been visiting for the past 2 weeks and it was such a great blessing to have them here. But watching Sarah and Karen cross through the gate as tears streamed down the cheeks of my wife and daughter, I found myself envying them. I realized that they would soon be home. Tomorrow, they will be riding through familiar places, reading signs in a language they can easily comprehend, and eating foods they have been enjoying all their lives.
I do not regret being here. This is our home, even if only for a time. I know that this is God's will for our lives as a family and we truly take pleasure in living our lives in the shadow of his wings. He is our shepherd in good times and in bad. And I am certain that the one thing it is impossible to overestimate, is his sufficiency for all of our needs.
As I reminded my daughter tonight, one of the greatest blessing of God's creation is that a day never last longer than 24 hours (except for the occasional intervention of God through one of his prophets). Tomorrow the sun will rise again on a new day. God will still be God. We will still be his children.
Sunday, July 02, 2006
Blessed Ignorance
"...(Y)ou will know the truth, and the truth will set you free." John 8.32
I was reminded at lunch today that there is a certain blessedness in ignorance. Not the type of ignorance that stems from a lack of understanding or so often takes root in the postures and attitudes of zealots, who exclude all other ideas without reason. Nor am I speaking of that adolescent ignorance found in children, which is too often confused with innocence. I am speaking of a willful ignorance resulting from our own latent sense of self-preservation. Since coming to Korea, I have found this type of ignorance to be most useful, especially at the dining table (you should not necessarily envision a table and chairs complete with napkins and place settings).
Willful ignorance is the ignorance that I employ when I stroll through the market by my house taking in the smells. The sources need not be identified. When running in the mountains, willful ignorance keeps me from aksing "Why is that man repeatedly banging his back against that tree trunk?". The answer would not make sense anyway. When finishing a meal at a Korean style restaurant, willful ignorance prevents me from asking the nagging question, "What will they do with all of these half-eaten side dishes?". And willful ignorance is what has carried me safely through many a meal arrayed with bowls brimming with colorful, yet unidentifiable (or worse too easily identified) culinary creations. Foods that may be enjoyable in their consumption, but utterly unpalatable in my consciousness. Many such foods I have already come to appreciate. The anguish displayed by the open mouths and bulging eyes of fish does not necessarily betray a rather delicious taste. Raw and uncooked does not have to mean "fishy", although "slimy" seems to be standard.
However, there are still several such foods that the mental bar is still set too high for my westernized senisbilities to clear. Squid and octupus sit at the top of this list. Today, while taking lunch at the company cafeteria, I broke this covenant of willful ignorance. I was enjoying a dish consisting of breaded and fried fish with a coconut/pinapple sauce. When I first put the food on my tray, it most closely resembled the chicken found in Chinese sweet and sour entrees. Although slightlly disappointed to find it was fish, I nevertheless enjoyed the taste. Being a bit chewy though, I quickly became suspect.
And then my mouth trudged forward against my reason.
I asked the man sitting next to me, "Is this fish?" "I think it's squid," he replied. I will not elaborate further because I don't currently wish to relive this moment in my life. But I will be more jealous in the future of protecting my ignorance, as well as my appetite.
I was reminded at lunch today that there is a certain blessedness in ignorance. Not the type of ignorance that stems from a lack of understanding or so often takes root in the postures and attitudes of zealots, who exclude all other ideas without reason. Nor am I speaking of that adolescent ignorance found in children, which is too often confused with innocence. I am speaking of a willful ignorance resulting from our own latent sense of self-preservation. Since coming to Korea, I have found this type of ignorance to be most useful, especially at the dining table (you should not necessarily envision a table and chairs complete with napkins and place settings).
Willful ignorance is the ignorance that I employ when I stroll through the market by my house taking in the smells. The sources need not be identified. When running in the mountains, willful ignorance keeps me from aksing "Why is that man repeatedly banging his back against that tree trunk?". The answer would not make sense anyway. When finishing a meal at a Korean style restaurant, willful ignorance prevents me from asking the nagging question, "What will they do with all of these half-eaten side dishes?". And willful ignorance is what has carried me safely through many a meal arrayed with bowls brimming with colorful, yet unidentifiable (or worse too easily identified) culinary creations. Foods that may be enjoyable in their consumption, but utterly unpalatable in my consciousness. Many such foods I have already come to appreciate. The anguish displayed by the open mouths and bulging eyes of fish does not necessarily betray a rather delicious taste. Raw and uncooked does not have to mean "fishy", although "slimy" seems to be standard.
However, there are still several such foods that the mental bar is still set too high for my westernized senisbilities to clear. Squid and octupus sit at the top of this list. Today, while taking lunch at the company cafeteria, I broke this covenant of willful ignorance. I was enjoying a dish consisting of breaded and fried fish with a coconut/pinapple sauce. When I first put the food on my tray, it most closely resembled the chicken found in Chinese sweet and sour entrees. Although slightlly disappointed to find it was fish, I nevertheless enjoyed the taste. Being a bit chewy though, I quickly became suspect.
And then my mouth trudged forward against my reason.
I asked the man sitting next to me, "Is this fish?" "I think it's squid," he replied. I will not elaborate further because I don't currently wish to relive this moment in my life. But I will be more jealous in the future of protecting my ignorance, as well as my appetite.
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