"Hiking" doesn't mean what I thought it did

This doesn't come as a shock to most of you, but I'm from the midwest. Born and raised in Ohio, I call it pop and never soda, carry an umbrella, sunscreen, and mittens year-round, and hate the colors blue and yellow. This weekend, I learned that I also misunderstood the word "hiking."

My family used to go "hiking" when I was younger, and my friends and I went "hiking" all the time in college. "Hiking" for me meant walking along a relatively flat trail in some tree-filled location, occasionally climbing over a fallen tree branch or medium-sized rock. I loved going "hiking" out at Houston Woods when I wanted to hang out in nature in Oxford, and I frequently met friends at Winton Woods in Cinci to explore the "hiking" trails. As I understood it, "hiking" was fun, relaxing, and peaceful.

Enter Korea.

Earlier this week, my friend Jay asked if I wanted to go hiking this weekend at Bukhan Mountain. Using the definition I just described, I determined that hiking was, in fact, something I wanted to do with my friends. A few days later, Jay emailed me some details of the trip, explaining that the peak we were going to ascend was rated an "intermediate level" climb and checking to be sure we were all up for the task. Never one to overestimate my physical capabilities, I emailed Jay back to ask what exactly an "intermediate level" trail might look like. He replied that as an American girl who grew up playing sports and is in shape, I should have absolutely no trouble climbing up the mountain.

Let's all take a moment to laugh about the fact that Jay assumed I'm in shape and have ever played a sport in my life.

After an email like that, I couldn't hardly respond and say I'm too out of shape for the climb; my pride is much, much stronger than my laziness. I happily agreed to the challenge, assuming "intermediate" climbing was as challenging as "intermediate" Dance, Dance Revolution: harder than I'm used to, but still entirely doable.

Do any of you see where this is going yet?

We met at the subway station at 9:20 in the morning, and we headed out for the trail. Our group consisted of four guys and four girls, and everyone seemed pretty chipper despite it being before noon on a Saturday. The entrance to the trail was up a set of stairs, but the ground leveled out fairly quickly after we reached the top. All was well.

Our group chatted happily and enjoyed the trees for a while, but sooner than I expected, we came to a bit of a climb.

My friends and I jokingly referred to it as "level 1" and headed to the top. After each set of rocks, the ground would level out again and we'd resume our cheerful banter, sometimes stopping to be annoyingly American.

On one of our stops, someone hilariously commented that a nearby monstrosity (Baekundae Peak) was actually our planned destination.

"Sure," I said. "That's pretty and all, but you can't actually climb that part."

"Yes you can, and we are! See those little dots? Those are people climbing!"

I started to get a little nervous. And by "a little nervous", I mean, "it's a good thing I was sweating so much or else I'd have peed my pants."

Much sooner than I'd have preferred, our dainty nature hike turned into actually climbing a frickin mountain.

Every time we would get to the top of a particularly treacherous part, I'd feel a little rush of adrenaline, and an overwhelming sense of accomplishment, only to realize we had another stupid chunk of rock to climb up.

There were tons and tons of people doing the very same climb we were, and most of them were much older than our group, but they still all managed to be handling it far better than I was. In fact, they were quite amused by the fact that I always appeared one misstep from tumbling to my death.

I mean, really, look how delighted that man is by my imminent demise.

After three hours (THREE HOURS) of walking straight into the sky, we finally reached the top. The peak was beautiful, and in theory I should have been praising God for the majestic view I was witnessing. Unfortunately, all I could think about was how if I lost my balance even a little bit, I'd have fallen half a mile. Okay, I probably wouldn't have fallen the whole 2700+ feet; I bet a tree or something would have stopped me. Nonetheless, when your legs are shaking and everything around you is made of smooth rock, you're much more concerned with the placement of your feet than the pretty view.

If the way up was panic-inducing, the way down was flat out terrifying. On top of trying to maneuver across the slippery rocks at a downward angle, my legs were shaking like mad. A bunch of ajusshis (older men) snuck in between the rest of the group and me, and I had a little panic attack knowing I couldn't grab hold of any of my friends should I start to slip. Just when I realized this, my foot slid a little down the rock, and the ajusshi behind me grabbed my hand. They all used their limited English to encourage me to "take it easy" and "please be very cautious" as I tried desperately to get back to my friends. Now that I'm safely sitting on my apartment floor, I can look back and declare it precious and kind of amusing. In the moment, it wasn't much fun.

We stopped a little ways down to have lunch, and that was my favorite part of the climb. We sat on a mostly flat area that still had a great view of the mountains around us, but there wasn't really any risk of falling. Although we were all exhausted and covered with sweat, sitting on the side of that mountain eating lunch with my friends is going to be one of the best memories I have of my whole year here.

It took nearly as long to climb down as it did to climb up, and I would say it was actually harder on the way down (shaky legs and lightheadedness don't make for an easy climb). Luckily, my friend Stephen was fantastic. He made sure to place himself between me and another girl who was also terrified out of her mind, and he bounced back and forth, grabbing our hands and lifting us down off the rocks. Honestly, I wouldn't have made it up or down the mountain without his hand to hold onto. He always seemed to know exactly where we would slip and was ready to grab us when we did. At one point, he was a little ways ahead of me and I got stuck between two rocks. He realized I wasn't behind him and started climbing back down to find me; I made it out before he got there, but seriously, what a great friend.

When we finally got to the bottom, I was still feeling lightheaded, so people kept offering me water. Every time I drank more, I'd feel sicker, and I nearly passed out on the subway ride home. After I finally made it back to my apartment, I immediately fell asleep, and when I woke up, I still felt really dizzy. I ate a handful of M&M's and voila! I felt better almost instantly. I suppose if you climb a mountain for seven hours and only eat an apple, your blood sugar, um, tanks. Lesson learned: when climbing a mountain, everyone else needs to bring water. I need to bring candy.

It's been over thirty hours now since the mountain trek, and I can say with 100% certainty that my muscles - every last one of them - all hate me with a vengeance. Muscles I didn't know I had are screaming out in pain every single time I move.

And it was totally worth it.

The third and final wedding of April

The month of April was full of wedding bliss, and if you're just tuning in, you can check out Katey and Jaywon's wedding here, and Polly and Kelly's wedding here.

Introducing: Wedding Number 3 - Jungmin and Mark!

My last weekend wedding excursion was to celebrate my lovely friends, Jungmin and Mark. Mark leads the bible study I've been attending, so basically the wedding was a day to dress up all fancy and hang out with all my closest friends. Doesn't get much better than that!

Jungmin's family is from outside of Seoul, so the happy couple rented a bus to get us to the church. Since the church was quite far away, we stopped during the journey at a rest area. Most of you already know this, but American rest stops look like this:

Not so in Korea. Korean rest areas look like strip malls. In fact, I had to take four pictures to get the entire rest area. I'll only post one, but imagine it times four.

When we pulled up, I had no intentions of getting out of the bus. I had to wake up at the same time I do for school on a Saturday, and that meant I wanted to spent every minute I could asleep in the back corner of the bus. Marlene's husband, Augustine, stayed on the bus with me. A few minutes after everyone disembarked, Augustine asked me if I'd ever tried jwipo. When I told him I hadn't, he hopped up and insisted we go get one. Now, I didn't know what jwipo was, so I bet you don't either. It's this:

Basically it's a flat piece of dried fish that's been briefly cooked on the grill. And you've been buying M&M's at rest stops all this time.

Although it wasn't my favorite Korean food, it wasn't bad since it was pretty much just fish jerky. It did, however, leave an awful taste in my mouth that I had to suffer through for the rest of the bus ride there. It makes a little more sense now why Koreans brush their teeth fifty-six times a day.

Jungmin and Mark's wedding was the first I have attended in Korea that took place in a church, and it looked lovely. When we arrived, we hurried downstairs to eat before the ceremony started. The combination of the fish jerky, the bus ride, and looking at pictures on Polly's computer screen combined to make me a little motion sick, so I ended up just snacking on strawberries. I did eat a ton of them, so I think it all evened out in the end.

We rushed up to the sanctuary just as the ceremony was beginning, and an usher handed us headsets. Mark and Jungmin knew that many of their guests were only English-speakers, so they asked one of our friends to translate the whole wedding for us. It was an awfully sweet gesture, and since the pastor was hysterical, I'm really glad I was able to understand his jokes.

Mark memorized a lot of Korean for his part, and we were all really proud of him throughout the whole ceremony. Near the end, his dad gave a little speech (translated by Jungmin's dad), and the way he whole-heartedly tried to pronounce the handful of Korean words that had been sprinkled into the speech made all the girls tear up just a little. It was so sweet to hear him trying so very hard to speak his daughter-in-law's language (and his accent was just plain precious).

Mark and Jungmin bowed to their parents and presented them each with a bouquet of flowers to wrap up the ceremony. Afterward, they pulled up groups of people to take pictures (as they do at all the weddings). When the "friends" group arrived, Jungmin tossed the bouquet. She had selected the girl who would catch the bouquet in advance, but it ended up being quite a struggle getting the flowers into that girl's hands. By the end, a few roses had dropped out of the bouquet, and my friend Suji and I each snagged one.

I didn't catch the *whole* bouquet, so I'm pretty sure this doesn't make me next in the nuptial line, but seeing as Suji's getting married in October, I feel like this rose has to be at least a little lucky for me. I'll let you know the second someone proposes. Dad, start practicing "annyeonghaseyo", just in case.

Look how lovely she is!

Things I will not be including in my wedding in the States:

- Again, no kissing of the bride. That's a must for me.

- A pre-selected bouquet-catcher. Let every woman have a fair chance, eh?

- Nasty fish taste in my mouth.

Things I'm totally going to have at my wedding in the States:

- A friend translating the entire ceremony into another language, preferably pig-latin (Friends, decide amongst yourselves on whose shoulders this important duty will fall).

- A hilarious preacher because weddings should be cheerful events.

- My dad speaking Korean.

This wedding had a sword and games (but not games with a sword)

So it's been almost a week since I talked about Katey and Jaywon's wedding, and about a million things have happened in the meantime. Korea celebrated Children's Day on Thursday last week and my school went on a field trip (during which I was forced to hold a frog) on Friday. Obviously I have tons of pictures and stories from both of these events, yet my annoying preference for chronology prevents me from writing about them until I've finished the series on weddings. Luckily for me, today is Buddha's birthday and I didn't have to go to school. I'm debating throwing on my rainboots and heading to a coffee shop... but... so much effort...

Introducing: Wedding Number 2 - Polly and Kelly!

Kelly is Korean, and Polly is Norwegian. In fact, his actual name appears to be just a series of consonants, so he lets us call him "Polly" so our American brains don't explode. Quite kind, if you ask me.

Like for Katey and Jaywon's wedding, the weather was beautiful. The ceremony took place outside under a canopy, and it almost - almost - felt like we were in a garden instead of in the middle of a huge city. Kelly's family had invited everyone in Seoul to the wedding, and since the wedding hall didn't seat 12 million people, Polly and Kelly had to narrow down their personal guest list. There was one table (seven seats) designated for our small group, and I'm pretty sure I was only invited because they wanted to see their wedding on my blog. (hehe)

The wedding itself was adorable because the pastor translated for himself. His English was leaps and bounds better than my Korean, so I can't make fun of him in the slightest, but it was still so precious. It's been weeks, so I can't remember most of what he said, but I do remember that at the end, instead of pronouncing them "man and wife" he proudly declared them "a couple!" I'm pretty sure they've considered themselves a "couple" for a while now, but it's good to know it's official.

After the ceremony, Polly and Kelly stuck with the tradition of cutting the cake and feeding it to each other (which I totally thought was American, but I guess it's just Western). However, no offense to the countless American weddings I've attended, but this cutting of the cake was by far the most awesome I'd ever seen.

They cut the cake with a sword.

Unfortunately, they didn't treat the cake like the formidable foe it actually was, and they sliced it quite politely, causing minimal damage to the structure. You can rest assured that I'm going to demolish the crap out of my wedding cake, and my brand new husband will be backing away slowly to ask the preacher if he actually has to sign the paperwork.

They followed the cake-cutting with a first dance, another tradition I've been sad to go without in Korea. Although in the States, the first dance is traditionally just for the newlyweds and no one else participates, at this wedding, not a lot of people were even watching. Korean weddings are kind of all about the food, and since most of the guests were eating during the ceremony (not rude; normal), many people had left by the time the dancing began. This was actually okay since Polly kept sneaking his hand on Kelly's butt, and Korea wouldn't have approved.

My favorite part of this wedding was at the end. Since receptions aren't really done here, the wedding is usually over once you feel you've eaten your money's worth. Being Western, however, Polly wanted people to stick around and enjoy themselves, so they hired an entertainer to come play games with us.

You know how much I love games. I was elated.

The entertainer only spoke Korean, so the Korean speakers at our table had to translate everything for us. Therefore, our table lagged a little in understanding the games, so we usually took a little while to pick up on what was going on. The first game involved a rolled up napkin, rhythm, and my friends looking like dorks.

It was a little like hot potato and a little like that clappy game you play at camp. The picture above is a reenactment; we were all much more focused during the real game.

We played another game where three songs were played on top of each other, and the audience had to try to guess what songs were being played. Since my knowledge of kpop is limited to "Sorry, Sorry" and "Nobody But You", I was decidedly unhelpful during this game and instead took pictures of all my friends listening intently.

Oh yeah, Marlene doesn't know a lot of kpop either.

We headed inside when the weather started to get chilly, and continued the games there. Polly and Kelly thanked us all for coming and told us how much we mean to them, which was a sweet and thoughtful gesture on a day that should have been about just the two of them.

At the end of the ceremony, Polly was supposed to sing a song for Kelly, but they couldn't get the music to play. While we were inside, they piped the music through the speakers and he serenaded his bride.

It reminded me, of course, of this:

Didn't know I had that video, didya?

As with Katey and Jaywon's wedding, I'll summarize the important points for you.

Things I will not be including in my wedding in the States:

- People my parents invited but I've never met.

- Chaos (Polly will tell you Korean weddings feel ridiculously unstructured compared to Western weddings).

- Lack of other people dancing.

Things I'm totally going to have at my wedding in the States:

- GAMES!

- A preacher who self-translates into another language. My entire audience will likely speak English, but won't that be fun?

- Slashing the cake with a sword.

A whole lot of people got married

This post has been removed at the request of the bride. Sorry! You can read my other wedding posts here and here!

I think Saturday heard me

Earlier this week, I posted about how Monday has rapidly been becoming my favorite day. I love working with Taesun, and more than one member of my family (Lolly, this includes you obviously) gave me the green light on international child abduction. Or adoption. I'm thus far unclear as to how exactly I will get Taesun back to America with me, but it's nice to know I have a lot of support in my corner should I need to hide from the federal government any time soon.

I think Saturday read that post and designed a counter attack. Yesterday rocked.

The day began as all good Saturdays do: I slept until noon then ate pancakes while I watched tv. I had all these great intentions of getting ready early and running a few errands before heading to Jehovah Jireh. Of course, none of those errands were actually accomplished, and yet I still managed to arrive at Jubilee five minutes late.

After prayer and chatting, we headed off to Seoul Station. As we walked, I discovered that I wasn't the only non-Jubilee-er in the group, and I started talking to another girl who attends Onnuri. Kate works with my friend Shauna, but the most exciting thing was that she's from Dayton! It never ceases to blow my mind when I stumble across people who know how great Yellow Springs is or can commiserate over missing Skyline.

I talked with Kate much of the way to Seoul Station. After we dropped off our coats and bags, we walked back toward the soup kitchen (which I always refer to in my head as the "kimchi kitchen" for alliterative purposes). Seoul is a busy city, and everyone who lives here has gotten very accustomed to dodging others on the sidewalk. As we walked, we wound in and out of oncoming foot traffic and talked about how much we love Korea yet for some reason miss Ohio. The girls in front of us stepped around a man walking in the opposite direction, and we moved to the side to also let him pass. Unfortunately, calmly walking past wasn't his plan; where I swerved, he swerved; where I dodged, he dodged... all with his lips proudly pursed to kiss. I twisted past him and back over to Kate, who was looking on in complete shock, before we both burst into hysterical laughter. Yesterday was the first time I was extremely grateful to have been significantly taller than Korean people; if my face hadn't been so far above his, I think he may have actually achieved his directive.

We arrived at the kimchi kitchen, helped set up the food, and started serving. The hour and a half we spend serving food is always hectic in the most beautiful way, and it usually passes in a blur of smiles, bows, and waves. A pastor and his wife run the kitchen, seven days a week, and various ministries pop in and out to help them serve the meals. They speak almost no English, and most of our team speaks very little Korean, yet every month, I'm astounded at how efficiently we serve swarms of people without being able to linguistically communicate. Eight months ago, I'd have thought it impossible to volunteer with an entirely Korean ministry serving an entirely Korean population, but it doesn't really matter. It's almost as if love speaks a whole different, but universal, language.

(I wish that last sentence didn't sound as cheesy as it does. Oh well.)

In the midst of passing out trays, a man came to the counter and tapped me on the shoulder. He started talking in rapid Korean, but I caught the letters "US" in the middle. I smiled and said, "ne, megook" (yes, American). He looked me right in the eyes and said, "I'm sorry." He walked away, and the team cracked up.

A while later, I was talking with my friend Shauna (who is also stereotypically Western) about how much attention we get in Korea, and a man walked up behind her. She turned around to greet him, and he waved his hands in a curvy, figure-8-ish shape at Shauna's figure. Oh Korea. So inappropriate, yet so perfectly timed.

I left the kimchi kitchen before the rest of the team to go see my friend in the Vagina Monologues. I'd never seen the show before, probably because it has the word "vagina" in the title and most conversations that involve... that... make me indescribably nervous. Basically, I was the target audience for the show, and knowing that, I gladly attended.

On the way there, I had to transfer subway lines. I've done this a million times and can usually accomplish it in record time, but this time, I walked past this:

Curiosity won out over my desire to meet my friends on time, and I loitered in the station for a while, hoping to figure out why these girls were dressed in gold. My waiting paid off!

I couldn't stay for the whole show because I did have to get to the VM's, but I was amused and delighted to have stumbled across some random dance troupe in the subway station. Way to go, Saturday.

When I finally met up with Chris and JoAnn to go to Michelle's show, we bought our tickets then headed out to pick up some kimbap for dinner. On the way to the kimbap place, Chris said that every time he heard the word "kimbap", he started singing "mmmbop".... which inspired me to pull up some Hanson on my iPod. Who doesn't love dancing on the street?

After we picked up our kimbap, it occurred to me that I had never shown my family and friends back home what the Korean equivalent of a PB&J looks like. Therefore, I became "that foreigner" who takes pictures of her snacks (not that I haven't been her before) and took this picture for all of you. JoAnn's going to teach me how to make this, so get excited. Y'all are eatin' some kimbap when I get home.

The Vagina Monologues was, in a word, fantastic. I'm not going to lie; a little of it made me uncomfortable, but I think that was actually a good thing. If you haven't seen the show, I'd highly recommend it. Everywhere it's performed, the money it raises goes to support women in the community. This show in particular gave its proceeds to the Korean Unwed Mothers Families Association. They work with unwed mothers who choose to keep their babies, which is a painfully low percentage of those who conceive. In Korea, 94% of unwed women who get pregnant choose abortion. 94%.

Let that sink in a minute. 94%.

Of the 6% that choose to carry the child, 70% will give that baby up for adoption in the end. 30% of 6% of unwed mothers keep their children.

That's less than 2%.

Korean culture places a lot of stigma on unmarried mothers, and that's what KUMFA is striving to change. But honestly... how do you go about changing an entire culture based on thousands of years of tradition?

God, help us.

메리 크리스마스!!

Circa June, 2010:
Me: "Will I be able to come home for Christmas?"
Ben: "You're not going to want to. You're going to love Christmas in Korea."

It's Christmas evening here in the ROK. My family will be waking up in about an hour and a half to celebrate Christmas morning, but I've already had more Christmas in the past forty-eight hours than it's fair for any one person to have. I'm currently sitting in my new Christmas jammies listening to National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation (because it's tradition). I just packed a suitcase full of sundresses and flip flops; JoAnn and I are leaving in nine hours for Indonesia, but I wanted to document my Christmas before any of it slips out of my mind.

Christmas started on Thursday night. After school, I headed with JoAnn up to Seoul Station with people from her church to feed some homeless people and spread Christmas cheer. We met at Lotte Mart (the Korean version of Wal-Mart) to pack up little bags of food before heading out into the station. I met about two dozen people whom I immediately adored, and we set up an assembly line to stuff the food bags. In no time, we were ready to go back out in the station.

Last time I went to Seoul Station, it was still warm outside. We handed out vitamin drinks to people who were hanging out around the station and went back home. Despite the fact that it was below freezing outside, I, for some reason, assumed the activity would be exactly the same. After we packed the bags, however, the group leader started us off in the direction of one of the exits. When we turned the corner, I kind of lost my breath. Right in front of us, in a freezing cold subway exit, was a line of cardboard boxes. Cardboard boxes that were people's homes. The team marched up the middle, preparing to distribute food from the coldest end first, and I numbly followed along. I knew I had signed up for a homeless outreach, but my upper-middle-class suburban mind wasn't ready for what I saw. I know, theoretically, that poverty exists... but I've never actually seen it. I've volunteered at soup kitchens and grocery hand-outs and mitten and glove distributions, but I'd never actually looked at the raw emptiness of being without a home. For me, living in Seoul is a huge blessing. I'm well-paid and I have access to an entire continent that I've always dreamed of exploring. I guess it didn't really occur to me that not everyone in Korea is living out their greatest dreams. We get so consumed in our own problems and concerns that we forget how much we truly have to give thanks for. I'm typing this blog post on a computer that cost more than most of those people will see in half a year; I'm leaving tomorrow for a week of snorkeling and elephant-riding. And people right here in my city are falling asleep tonight in homes made of cardboard on tile floors. God have mercy.

Christmas Eve morning, I woke up embarrassingly late and finally finished my grad school application. After taking ages to get moving, I finally met JoAnn at the GS with noble intentions of running to the bank to exchange our won for... Indonesian moneys. Unfortunately, we arrived at the bank about an hour after it closed, so we instead decided to head to Kyobo and pick out books to take on our trip. In case you're keeping a really strange record of the things I read, I bought Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy (I know; I'm in for some deep philosophy). I headed down to the church to practice our Christmas morning play, for which "hilarious" is a gross understatement, before the Christmas Eve candlelight service.

My mom's side of the family celebrates Christmas on Christmas Eve, so my Christmas Eve traditions include a White Elephant gift exchange followed by my uncle and cousin reciting all the lines along with Chevy Chase in Christmas Vacation. I've been to one Christmas Eve service that I can remember, but it was a midnight service and all I recall is trying desperately to stay awake. I was actually really excited to participate in a candlelight service with my family at Jubilee, and it was every bit as wonderful as I dreamed. Not being with my parents, sisters, aunts, uncles, cousins, and grandparents on Christmas is impossibly hard, but knowing that I'm surrounded by the body of Christ makes it so much easier. Trying to describe it won't do it justice, I'm sure, so I'm not going to taint the experience by assigning it insufficient words. Just know that Christmas carols sung by candlelight while wrapped in the arms of a family of believers is a truly beautiful way to celebrate the eve of our Savior's birth.

I finished the evening at a little restaurant with my fabulous friend Angie, where we each ate an entire pizza and made fools of ourselves by treating a couple of napkins as if they were legitimate magic. I could explain that better and make us sound less crazy, but I kind of like it the way it is.

This morning, I woke up early to make a skype-appearance at my family's Christmas Eve festivities. My bag of random Korean crap was a hit in the gift exchange; my cousin was thoroughly disappointed that my dad stole his "solar-powered monkey on a toilet," but I promised him that I'd send another one when he graduates from grad school in May. I had to leave my family behind and rush to the subway to get to the Geon Children's Home for what turned out to be my favorite part of Christmas. Jubilee sponsors the home every year for Christmas, buying a gift for each of the seventy-seven children who live there. I purchased my gift a few weeks back and signed up to be on the team that delivered them, a team that turned out to be the biggest one who has ever served there on Christmas morning.

The chapel was so packed that most of the Jubilee members who came had to stand along the walls. The kids were stuffed along pews and piled in on people's laps; it was amazing to look out over the room and see so many lives colliding for just a brief moment on a freezing morning in December. My group performed their skit (which got a lot of laughs and strange looks - I'll post some of it for you later), and we set out distributing presents. The volunteers lined up on the stage, each clutching the gift they brought, and the children's names were called out over the microphone. The older kids casually walked to the front, too cool to be excited about presents, but the little ones were overjoyed. When it was my turn at the mic, a little tiny guy, smaller than any of my students, flat-out ran to the front of the room. He threw his hands out and whispered "kamsamnida" before disappearing back into the crowd. By the time I had grabbed my camera and located him in the mess of wrapping paper, he was surrounded by his friends, yanking the ribbons and paper from his gift. I stood off to the side, taking pictures and deeply appreciating the moment.

As soon as he got the wrapping off, he frantically tried to open the plastic on the book. I had been told he wanted a children's picture book, but I picked one that had a toy truck attached to it because what five-year-old just wants a book for Christmas? Everything in that little boy struggled to get at that truck, and when I warily slid into the pew beside him, he handed it over to me for help. I'm pretty sure that truck was better guarded than the crown jewels, but I eventually got it open and handed it to him. He rolled it up and down the pew a few times then used it to "get" my nose. I took it back and drove it across his shoulders to the top of his head while he giggled and curled down in his seat. He grinned at me and said something in Korean, but I couldn't answer him. A precious little girl beside us leaned over and translated for me: "He wants to know if you can speak Korean." My heart broke, and there was nothing I wanted more in that moment than to be able to say yes. I shook my head no and stared down at my feet; he frowned and drove the truck into my nose again. We flipped through the pictures in the books I gave him, laughing at the green noses of the Wemmicks. When the director of the home announced that it was lunch time, Min-Ho thanked me in English and said Merry Christmas before running off, but he didn't make it far before coming back to give me a hug.

I said before I left that the only thing keeping me from bringing home a Korean kid was my aversion to being a single mom... suddenly even that doesn't sound so bad... I know logically that now is a completely impossible time for me to adopt a kid, I mean seriously... but it tore me up to leave that precious little boy there. Mark my words: one day, there will be tiny Korean feet pattering around my house. No child deserves to be without a mom or dad. God, please give Min-Ho a family for Christmas next year. Please.

After we left the Children's Home, our group headed out to the subway. We rode to the part of town where the giant church service was being held, and when we got there, we stopped in a little restaurant for lunch. There were so many of us that we took up almost the entire place, and yet again, I rejoiced in being surrounded by family on Christmas. We rushed through lunch and marched out in the cold to the church, where over fifteen hundred English-speaking Christ-followers had gathered to celebrate our Lord's birth. Just like at the Christmas Eve service, I was overwhelmed with gratitude at the opportunity to worship with people from all over the world, and I'm afraid again that my words will be insufficient. Since my family will be waking up soon, and I'm dying to share Christmas morning with the people I have been missing all day long, I'm going to leave you with this:

"Suddenly, a great company of the heavenly host appeared with the angel, praising God and saying, 'Glory to God in the highest heaven, and on earth peace to those on whom his favor rests.'"

Rejoice! The Savior has been born in Bethlehem! Glory to God in the highest heaven! Our lives are truly blessed.

Amen.

A few of my favorite things

Because tonight was our Christmas concert, the kids and I didn't have to be at school until 3 PM. I slept in, watched a few episodes of Community, then talked to Smelly on Skype. Thus far, I've done an incredible job of pretending to not be homesick on camera. I've cried for a few other reasons, but I always make sure to never show even an ounce of regret over my decision to move to the ROK. Today, however, I failed miserably. As Michelle told me about her plans for New Year's Eve and other events going on at home, I just couldn't handle pretending to be happy anymore. In that moment (and thousands of others these past few weeks), I just wanted to be at home, and I knew I couldn't be, and that tore me to pieces.

Fortunately, I didn't have a lot of time to be homesick. I had to pull myself together and get ready for work so I could look like the cookie-cutter white American the parents pay good money to parade in front of their children. I got dressed, stopped at my favorite Paris Baguette to get a snack, and headed in to see my babies.

The kids arrived shortly after I did, and my new co-teacher and I got them all set up for their final dress rehearsal. They look crazy-cute in their costumes, so I snapped a few pictures of them before we headed down to the gym.

And then when we got to the gym, I, uh... went a little crazy with the pictures. I won't make you look at all of them; I know that they're my munchkins and therefore I'm the only one who really wants to look at a hundred pictures of them standing on a stage, but I'm still going to make you look at some because it's my blog and I do what I want.

After the rehearsal, the kids and I returned to the room to kill time while the parents arrived and took their seats. I had set out some pictures for the kids to color in case the parents came in to check on them, but it quickly became apparent that no one really cared what we were doing. So we did this:

When the time finally came to herd my tiny people down to the stage, we lined up and marched to the gym. They took the stage while I manned the music, and they performed their concert so very well. I made videos of, um, all the songs, but yet again, I know that no one else is as obsessed with them as I am, so I'll only post one.

In case you're curious, they're signing along to Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, courtesy of yours truly (and some help from Rosie since I'm not actually that good at ASL). We've been practicing it for the last three months, and they were spectacular. They did a wonderful job on all their songs, and I was so ridiculously proud of them.

After the concert, the parents provided food and drinks, and we all stood around to "mingle." I don't know if you've ever tried to mingle with a room full of people who don't speak a lot of English, but it's a tiny bit challenging. Basically, Kelly and I stood huddled together, watching the kids stuff their faces with sugar then run laps around the building. In the middle of the dinner, the mommies presented me with a present. They gave me some crazy expensive shampoo and conditioner, a gift certificate to a mall I can hardly afford to stand next to, and a hand-made card from the kids. The card contained a message from each of my babies...

"Ms. Nikki sorry for not listening to you. Robin"

"To. Ms. Nikki, I wish you could have a merry christmas. I love you. from Sun"

"Nikki Teacher Merry Christmas I love you Nikki. Because, I love present and singing to. from: EunYool"

"Dear Miss Nikki, you great and I presheted (translation: appreciate) you and Merry Christmas. evelyn"

"To Miss Nikki, can you wear red coat that I will be really happy and I will say wow to you. Brian"

"Dear Ms. Nikki. You are a good American and you are a good teacher. from David"

Can you guess which present I loved the most? I might have started crying. Okay, so I cried a lot. You would have too.

Warning: this post is about to get stupid sappy. Stop reading if you have a weak stomach.

As you've read in my last few posts, I've not been having the best time the past few weeks. I still love my life here (for the most part), but things have gotten kind of hard. I didn't expect to have to defend my character to the woman who hired me. I didn't expect to get to the point where seeing "Procter & Gamble" on my toothpaste tube would make me tear up. And I didn't expect to have to have an evacuation bag packed just in case we got bombed. When I look ahead to my future, I always see it as a movie montage of all the high points, but I forget that real life is a lot messier than the movies. Sometimes you get really sick, and sometimes you're in a bad mood, and sometimes you get your heart broken, and sometimes you forget why you're doing any of the things you're doing at all. And then you crack a joke and one of your kids responds, "Teacher, are you being facetious?" - because you taught him that word! - and it suddenly all seems worth it.

Teaching is really hard. I knew that when I was in the thick of student teaching, and that's why I gave up on it. If you look back on my journal from that semester, you can literally watch my spirit die as the weeks progress, and there's a letter at the end to the Eaton High School class of 2008 that blames them wholeheartedly for killing my dream of wanting to be a teacher. Aside from clearly being too melodramatic for my own good, I truly thought that would be the end of my attempt at being an educator. I've known a lot of people to judge teachers for having such "easy" jobs, but being responsible for the psychological and emotional well-being of dozens of children is a ridiculously daunting task. Unless you've actually spent time in a classroom, I don't think you can really know how frustrating and maddening and discouraging it can be to listen to yourself say the same things over and over and over and over until you're not sure if "getyourfingeroutofyournose" is actually a sentence.

But teaching is also the most rewarding job I could possibly imagine.

When the kids were on the stage, every parent in the audience had a camera zoomed in on one individual kid, but I stood in the back and watched them all. I knew which ones shimmied the best during "Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree" and which ones would giggle when they tried to say their lines. I knew which ones couldn't keep their costumes from falling off to save their lives and which ones always slipped in their tap shoes. The parents each had one child to be proud of, but I had eleven. Every single one of those kids on that stage made me so ridiculously proud tonight, and I can't imagine ever dedicating my life to anything other than this. I'll say it again: teaching is hard. It's harder than you can possibly imagine to give every part of yourself to a room full of typically ungrateful little kids. It's frustrating to spend weeks trying to convince your kids it's a "quarter" not a "quater" then have to defend your own credentials to someone who has never spent even a full minute watching you teach. But the high I'm on from watching those kids tonight could get me through a dozen unfounded accusations from my crazy boss. Yeah, I deal with a lot of crap here. But this is what I see every morning when I come in:

and that makes it all worth it.

One last thought. People always talk about how you don't fully understand God's love for his children until you have children of your own. I kind of always put that in the "I'll experience that later" file in my mind, hoping that one day I'd understand what people meant by that. Tonight I think I got a little glimpse of it. If the way I love these children isn't even close to how much their parents love them, and in turn that's insignificant compared to how much my God loves me... then I'm humbled beyond words at how much I'm adored. If looking at those little faces can literally bring joyful tears to my eyes, then how much more am I loved by the God who designed and created me? It'll take a whole lifetime to understand it, I think, but I know it's beautiful.

Peanut butter, Potter, and the Pacific

This week has been nothing short of an emotional disaster. North Korea attacked us, my principal threw me under the bus in a confrontation with a psycho mommy, and one of my closest friends is leaving very unexpectedly in about four hours. But in the face of chaos and frustration and fear, I also was able to enjoy Thanksgiving evening with two fantastic American friends at an American steakhouse, Hana's face immediately after I talked her into trying eggnog ("Is this made of toothpaste?!"), and late-night hot chocolate with one of my absolute favorite Canadians. Life is just like that sometimes, I guess. The highs and lows all bundle themselves up together until I can't figure out if I'm laughing or crying or some strange combination of the two.

After the detours of the week, I'm going to jump back into my Japan Saga. We left off with me trotting down the sidewalk in Fukuoka with only one directive:

I asked the people at the hostel how to get to the Hawks Town Mall, and I had already accumulated three city maps, so I was completely confident in my ability to locate Potter. Fukuoka is a big city by most standards, but after living in Seoul for the last three months, it felt comfortable and quaint. It reminded me a little bit of Dayton, if Dayton ever built a subway and imported an alarming number of Japanese people.

My favorite thing about Fukuoka was that there were trees along the streets. For a girl who just six months ago spent multiple nights a week wandering around the park after work, nature has been something I've had an incredibly hard time not encountering on a regular basis. You can take the girl out of the corn fields, but you can't take the corn fields out of the girl... or something to that effect... Anyway, I took a lot of pictures of trees because I was so daggone excited, but the vast majority of people reading this blog can look out their window and see something green, so I doubt you really want to look at a bunch of pictures of Japanese trees. I'll show you one picture just to prove I saw some.

Yep, these are trees.

The mall was precisely where the map said it would be, and my first goal was to find the theater and purchase my ticket. The mall, however, was uber-distracting, and it took me nearly half an hour to remember where I was supposed to be heading.

I'm the one on the left.

Japan knows what I like.

When I got to the theater, I again assumed that there was no way I'd encounter an English-speaker, and I was fully prepared to mime out "Harry Potter." I approached the counter and said the name of the movie very slowly because in my head that magically translates my English into whatever language I'm currently needing. The teenage kid behind the counter smiled at me and politely asked if I'd like to see it in English. I considered this delightful new development. American movies in Korea are shown in English, and I had assumed that that would be the case in Japan as well. But seeing the movie dubbed over in Japanese pretty much guaranteed hilarity... until I found out the ticket was $23. I bought my ticket for the only English showing all day (not even IMAX!), and headed back out into the city for two hours.

Although I wanted to shop around the mall, that could be done after dark. The beach, however, was best experienced during daylight; I made a bee-line for the sand.

One of the reasons I chose that particular mall to see the movie was because it was located right along the beach. Technically, the waters belong to the East China Sea, but I think that's stupid because it's the same water as the Pacific Ocean. I'd never seen the Pacific Ocean, and I'm not going to consider this a failed attempt due to a technicality. I ate lunch with my feet in the Pacific, thankyouverymuch, and no silly map is going to convince me otherwise.

I approached the beach cautiously. There was no one else on the whole stretch of land, and it was entirely possible that the signs I passed on the way in said "Radioactive shark-infested waters ahead! Do not enter!" No one came running off the street to stop me, though, so I made my way toward the sand. It was a little chilly outside, but I wanted to say that I had at least touched the water, so I went right up to the edge. For some reason, touching the water with my hand didn't even occur to me; I kicked off my shoes and stuck my toe in. Then my whole foot. Then the other foot. Then I ran through the sand and splashed water all over my pants. Whoops.

I spent an embarrassing amount of time jumping and trying to take a picture of my flying shadow. I'm sure I looked like a complete fool, and I have photographic proof of about a dozen failures. If any of you can successfully complete this task, please let me know. I'll post the picture on here, even if I don't know you.

While I was playing, I noticed a pier jutting out into the water with a few fishermen on the end of it. Naturally, I needed to be there. The pier was covered in signs, but my desire to walk to the very end of it outweighed my concern for obeying the law, so I skipped to the end and pulled out my lunch: a peanut butter sandwich and Disney Princess fruit snacks. 

This moment, eating my sandwich and looking out onto the water, was the highlight of the entire trip. Although I was super-excited to go to Japan on my own, I was a little sad about it all. I love being spontaneous and adventurous, but sometimes life just isn't as much fun when there's no one around to play with. The day before I left, all my friends back home had status updates about seeing Harry Potter at midnight (and my friend Kirsten participated in this, which makes me more envious than you'll ever know), and I was worried that my trip to Japan was going to end up a terribly lonely choice. But as I sat along the water, with no one around to break the silence, I was so glad I'd made the trip alone. I felt like that beach existed in that moment just for me, and I genuinely enjoyed my own company. I was actually quite sad to see the time run out, and I knew as I left the beach that those few hours splashing in the water are always going to be some of the best hours I've ever spent for reasons I don't have enough words to adequately explain.

As the clock counted down the time until the showing, I knew I had to abandon my little paradise and head back to the mall. Fortunately, leaving something that makes you happy for something else that makes you happy isn't too difficult of a transition, so I skipped back to the mall just in time for some cinematic bliss.

My blog isn't really the place for movie reviews, but I will say that this Potter was, in my opinion, the best one yet. I don't say that every time; I left Order of the Phoenix feeling disappointed and a little seasick (who the heck directed that one? a drunk on roller skates?). But this one... oh my goodness. David Yates, you're my hero. The second that movie hits Korea, you can bet I'll be in line to see it again. And again. And again in 3-D. Amazing.

After the movie, I shopped in the mall for a while, visited Fukuoka Tower (which has a floor called "The Lovers' Sanctuary" that's lit in pink and filled with cozy little love seats. It's like all of Asia gets a kick out of constantly reminding me that I'm single.), and headed back to the hostel to call it a night. Up next on the blog: a living room full of adorable accents and fat guys in diapers. I know - you can't wait.

A thankful post

Thanksgiving is already half-over here in the ROK, but you wouldn't know it. I'm at work, just like any other Thursday, and there was something in my soup that looked like tiny brains. My five-year-olds are discussing the current political affairs ("Teacher, did you know four people died? And thirteen more got hurt? It is North Korea's fault!") while they practice Christmas songs and color pictures of what they hope Santa brings them. I'm sitting at my desk, refreshing the google newsfeed every five minutes. My hands are shaking as I type this, but I don't know if I'm cold, scared, or sad. Maybe all three.

Yesterday was one of the worst days of work I've had in the three months I've been here, and I stayed up until one in the morning crying to Carie about how things are just not the way I hoped they'd be right now. It's impossible to not imagine what I'd be doing at home right now; fighting with my family over which Thanksgiving dinner to attend and reading the Black Friday ads to map out our 5 AM shopping plans. It's my first Thanksgiving abroad, and it's harder than I thought it would be. It doesn't help that one of my kids just suggested playing "bomb shelter."

I could write a post about all the things that feel like they're falling apart. I'm sure quite a few of you are curious about my exchange with the principal yesterday, and I probably have more information than the American media is providing you regarding the bullies up north and their not-so-secret uranium plants. But today is a day for being thankful, not miserable, and I firmly believe in the theory of "fake-it-til-you-make-it" during circumstances such as these. And thus, here is a list of things I am thankful for today.

I'm thankful that I have a job to hate. This time last year, I was unemployed and couldn't afford to buy groceries, and now I have a job where I get to listen to "Butterflies in the USA" while watching some really adorable kids try to sing and sign along. Sure, my boss pissed me off yesterday, but doesn't that happen with any job?

I'm thankful that I'm American. I'm not the sentimental, patriotic type, but in light of current affairs, I'm so proud that my passport has an eagle on it. Yes, you could say that the US just has its hands in everyone else's business, but it's because of America's willingness to assist countries who need it that I am safe right now. One of my Canadian friends posted something yesterday about how he was waiting for Obama to send more troops over, and I felt a little rush of pride. No matter how much you hate the US, most foreigners here are trusting America more than their own countries to stand beside South Korea, and that makes me so thankful.

I'm thankful for adventure and the ability to chase it. It's mind-blowing that I'm in a geographic location where I can hop to Japan for a weekend just to see a movie, and I'm so incredibly blessed that I had the opportunity to follow this crazy dream of moving to Asia alone. Life is a bit surreal when you're literally in the middle of living out your dreams, and I'm just so grateful that all of this is possible.

I'm thankful for skype and the people who have made time to talk to me on it. It's remarkable that I have the technology to talk to my friends and family on the other side of the world whenever I need them, but in some ways, it's even more remarkable that I have so many people to talk to. I haven't been able to keep in touch with all the people I care about as much as I would like, but that's one of the best problems I've ever had to deal with.

I'm thankful for my family, and it's been far too long since I've seen them in person. I'm so grateful for the way my family has handled this ridiculous adventure of mine, particularly now that things are kind of dangerous. Even though my parents hated the idea of me moving to Asia (and my mom even threatened to put a box-cutter in my carry-on so that I wouldn't be allowed on the plane), they supported my right to make my own choices and dream a little too big. My parents, sisters, aunts, uncles, grandparents, and cousins have been so great these past few months, sending me packages every few weeks, talking to me on skype all the time, and reading this blog religiously. Thanksgiving's really hard without you, but I hope you're enjoying the seaweed paper I sent home especially for this occasion.

I'm thankful for the family I have here. I'm thankful for the other teachers who commisserate when the school makes me want to pull my hair out and for the people at Jubilee who have listened to me cry more times than I'm comfortable admitting. I can't believe I've only known you all three months, and it already devastates me to think about the fact that we'll all be going our separate ways far too soon. Without you all, I'd be heading home right now for sure.

I'm thankful for forgiveness and grace and God. His faithfulness and blessings are completely undeserved, and they are the reason everything else on this list exists. All good things come from God, and I have more good things than I ever thought I'd have.

Wow, that worked amazingly well; I'm much more peaceful and grateful than I was an hour ago when I started typing this. Happy Thanksgiving, fellow Americans. We have a lot to be thankful for.