Oh, Those Kids

It's been quite interesting to see how the kids perceive us foreigners, especially in terms of family matters. I've had a number of odd conversations and interactions regarding my family situation, or in many cases, my lack thereof.

A few months ago I was talking to the kids about what happens on Christmas, and I went through my family's routine, which involved mentioning going to different houses to have Christmas with each parent. This really confused the kids, so I had to explain that my parents are divorced. They were barely aware of this concept, as it's pretty rare and strongly discouraged in this culture. In fact, several of my students told me it's illegal in this country, but I've checked and it's not. I explained to the class what divorce is, having to explain it as if they were three (they were all 11-12), what with the somewhat limited English understanding compounding the fact that the idea of married people separating is inconceivable to them. I actually spent the entire class explaining it, because the kids kept asking questions. I knew it was mostly just a ploy to distract me from the lesson, but I never shy away from teaching them Western culture in addition to English, because I know it makes them learn something, even if they don't realize it. This conversation reminded me a lot of the divorce conversation I had with my host brother in Kenya, in which he suggested I bring my parents on Queen Latifah's talk show to get them back together. That was awesome.

In addition to the alien idea of having parents who aren't either happily married or pretending to be, I am also a few months from age 30 (by THEIR count) and unmarried. Bizarro. Kids are constantly asking me why I'm not married, or why I don't even have a boyfriend (whom they would assume I'd be married to within three months, as that seems to be the custom here at this age). When I say I oppose marriage, they say, but babies are so cute. Don't you want babies? And I say, you don't have to be married to have babies. And they get confused, the younger ones at least.

My first graders have lately been pretending I actually am married for some reason. They got on my case a few days ago when Leon (the new teacher) came in to get a book and they all said you LIIIIIKE him, you're MARRRRRIED, because for them it's natural that the only foreigners they know must get together. Back when Steven was around and he was the only other foreigner at our branch of Kate LA, they used to ask me if I liked him and all that. I just told them he's already married, and that shut them up, thank god. I can't do that with Leon, though. Leon, why aren't you married?

Then the day after this happened, one of my second graders was patting my stomach because it's not perfectly flat and I was wearing a form-fitting sweater. He said something about there being a baby in there, and the other boy in the class latched onto the idea and started giving me pretend medical exams with pens and erasers and stuff, talking about my baby. The girls picked up on it, too, and they all started naming my baby. They named it Blia Q. because B comes after A and Q comes after P, and the baby has to have my name, but with different letters at the beginning. That's a rule they made up on their own, of course. Then Danny, the one giving the "exam" wrote this message on a post-it note and posted it on my stomach:

After that, Danny "found" another baby in my stomach and the twin ended up being named Chalia Q. Haha. They also said that Kent was the father because I have a picture of us riding an elephant in the room.

A few days before, the same boy, Danny, was asking me if I got married and had a kid, would it be Korean? And I said that would depend on the father. I think half my kids are assuming I'm going to get married to a Korean guy while I'm here. The other half assume it will be Leon. The pressure. Anyway, Danny said what if I married a Korean man, and I said the baby would be a hybrid. Then he started talking about if I had the baby in London, and I was like, what are you TALKING about? He defended: for example, for example. Then I said the baby would be the same no matter where it was born. Then he said could I have a baby that was totally Korean, and I said, no, because I'm not Korean. And he conceded, but he said when I have a baby, I should say it's Korean and say "America is bad" and teach it only Korean and not English. He's a nationalist.

Names

In Korea, the family name comes first, which is not surprising given the group-centered culture. My first Korean language teacher in LA told the class that about 40% of Koreans are named Kim (김), Lee (이--the "L" is added in romanization), or Park (박--the "r" is added in romanization), due to the abundant progeny of the kings of old. Wikipedia says it's more like 45%. The fourth and fifth most popular names are Choi (최) and Jung or Chung (정). There are only about 250 family names for Koreans. A family name usually consists of only one syllable.

Given names generally have two syllables. Their romanization can be made into one word, a hyphenated word, or two words, depending on personal preference. There are no middle names. Until about ten years ago, it was common for each generation of a family to share a specific syllable in their names, but recently parents have largely discarded that practice in favor of more individual names. This seems to be one of the ways the country is slowly assimilating Western practices, beyond fashion and food.

Given names are influenced by Chinese names, and can be written in Chinese hanja or in hangeul. Only in the last few decades has naming involved using native Korean words, but it doesn't seem to be very popular. I don't think I've heard a Korean name yet that meant anything in Korean, and they certainly wouldn't mean anything to me even if I had, my Korean vocabulary being so minimal.

When married, Korean women keep their own names, and the children take the father's name. Due to so many people with the same three names, people with the same family name often get married (my boss' parents are both named Kim, for example). One of my other Korean language teachers told me in cases like this, there is an inspection of the family tree to ensure the two aren't actually related before they start dating.

Oddly, it's rude to call anyone just by their name in this culture, except among children and close friends. When referring to or talking to someone with a job title like "principal" or "manager," the title is added to the family name, usually with the suffix "nim" (님). "Nim" can be used without the title, too, though I'm not sure if it's actually for the given name or family name. Whenever I go to the doctor or something, they call me Alia-nim, but I'm not sure if they do that only for lack of a last name, as my boss usually fills out the paperwork for me and she can't remember how to pronounce my last name and just leaves it out. Haha. For people of similar age or rank, the suffix "ssi" (씨) is added to the full name. In addition to suffixes and titles, people are also referred to in relation to other, as opposed to by their names. For example, a woman might be referred to as "Jiho's mother."

Children who are learning English and teachers and staff who work at English language schools in Korea usually adopt Western names for the benefit of us foreign teachers. I've never had a problem pronouncing Korean names, but I guess some foreigners do. It's also fun for the kids to get to choose their own names. They frequently name themselves after movie characters or famous people: Jack Sparrow, Britney Spears, Jessica Simpson, and especially Harry Potter are some examples. Children like to change their names sometimes, too, but I don't allow it in my classes except in cases of two kids having the same or too similar names. Steven, the Canadian teacher who just left, let his kids change their names every month, but I think that's just stupid.

Koreans have a rough time with my name, and with other names Westerners have. Not that my name is really Western. Instead of calling me "uh-LEE-uh" they usually call me "AL-ee-uh," the first syllable sounding like the first syllable in Albert. Due to the lack of certain sounds in their language and restrictions on consonant combinations, some names get mutilated worse. Steven becomes "seu-t'i-ben" (remember, the apostrophe indicates aspiration), Kate becomes "k'e-i-t'eu" and Scott becomes a three-syllable word: "seu-k'eo-t'eu."

Beyond having trouble saying the names, they also have trouble spelling them when they choose their own names. I have one student named Annie, but she spells is "Any." One of the Korean teachers who has just left the school to get married and become a housewife called herself Christine, but she spelled it "Kristen." It's really weird. I also have a boy named Pam in one of my classes. I didn't have the heart to tell him that's a girl's name. No one except his English teachers will ever know, anyway.

Sseokso

Sseokso is a term the kids throw around a lot, and I've been noticing it the last few months. One time a few weeks ago, I was looking somewhat slyly at the kids and all of a sudden they gasped and pointed at me, shouting, "Aw, sseokso, sseokso!" So I finally asked what it meant. They defined it as a dark or evil smile. (Update: I've now learned that it's a blend of the word for "rotten" and "smile." It's "sseogeun" plus "miso." The "g" sound becomes a "k" sound when it's put before the "s" sound.) Most of the kids are obsessed with the term and the idea. They draw it all the time. Here are some of their drawings of it from our imaginary window:

I find it a little odd that most of the pictures don't even have a mouth, considering the definition, but I guess it's mostly about the expression (or lack thereof) in the eyes. When they do draw a mouth, it usually has kind of an uplilting half smile. It really doesn't seem dark to me. It seems nonchalant. Interesting cultural differences.

Now that I know about it, I'm able to mention it to the kids when I see it, or express my understanding of what they're saying or drawing, and they seem to enjoy that.

A New Job Site

My school, Kate LA, moved a couple weeks go. Originally it was two branches, each with a few teachers (ours had four, I think the other one had three), about a half mile away from each other. I was in the first branch.

Here's what you see walking into the first branch. The four classrooms are on the right, and two offices, the restrooms, and the resource room are on the left. You can't really see it, but that decorative glass back there has the No Child Left Behind name and symbol, which is kind of Kate LA's platform. It's kind of ironic and appropriate, since the school's ideal is to make sure everyone gets an opportunity to get a quality education in English, but there are still a number of classes that are geared toward just teaching the test. This seems to be half of the Korean education method; the other half is rote memorization.


Our old resource room:



This was my old classroom, the smallest of the four, since I was the newcomer:


The kids below are from my youngest/lowest class. They're first graders. All monsters.

Wendy and Lucy:


The peace sign is pretty much obligatory for Koreans posing for pictures.
Wendy, Lucy, and Albert:


These two are real hams:


Albert, Wendy, Lucy, Martin, and Erin:


All the pictures I make the kids draw:



The only one not yet named is Celina, sitting at the desk in the middle:



Because the second branch is bigger, and Heather was straining herself too much trying to maintain a principal presence at both branches, she and her brother decided to move the whole operation over to the second branch. It's big enough to fit all of us, and it has a big teachers' office and a computer lab. Plus there's a hot chocolate machine, where you can get a tiny amount of hot chocolate, but it's only 100 won (at the current exchange rate, about 8 cents).

Here is the much slicker entrance to my new worksite:



And the teachers' office, pretty much the only room with windows, unfortunately:


Next door, the computer lab:


Here's the entrance from the hallway. That's the teachers' office behind the glass, and the big desk is to the right, out of view.


The resource room, regrettably smaller than the last one, but the other photocopier is in the computer lab, so that's cool:




Outside the resource room is a hallway that leads to most of the classrooms. I hate stupid motivational signs like these:



Then the hallways takes a left turn and you get another hallway. My classroom is the last one on the left, which you can't really see. That's Albert again, in his Taekwondo uniform.


Here's my new classroom:



There's no window, so last week I had all my classes make pictures of things they might (or might not) see outside for our imaginary window:


All these papers you see all over the wall are my learning tools--The 8 Parts of Speech, Irregular Verbs, Useful Sentences (that they always screw up), Regular Past and Present Tense. I try to teach the kids as little as possible and let the wall do most of my work.





Except for having no window and having to walk a lot longer to work (I have a tight schedule on yoga mornings and every minute counts now), I'm pretty happy with the move. The teachers from the second branch are all cool, and it's nice to have a little more room to move around. I also have my own AC in the room. Boo ya.