8 weeks. 

 

 ~ Out of all of the words the Korean tutor taught me this summer, the one that I’ve never forgotten since I first learned it is “시원섭섭해” (siwonseobseobhae), or having mixed emotions. I guess the English translation would be something similar to bittersweet. As the end of our time in Korea has gotten closer, this is the word that most matches how I feel.~

Written the Sunday before we left Korea.

Now, after returning to the US, all I want to do is go back. Regardless of the stress, near mental breakdowns every late Sunday night as we wrapped up lesson planning, and the unabiding nervousness before I entered the classroom, all I have are good memories. 

 

In the pre-departure surveys we were given, I vaguely remember typing all my expectations. I expected to grow as a person. Vague, but check. I expected to learn a lot more about teaching. Check-ish: 8 weeks later and I learned how hard it is to teach and why there are actual degrees and licenses required (there’s a lot more to it than just having lesson plans and a load of activities). I don’t remember what else I typed, but I know I personally expected to struggle a lot. But that comes later.

 

Quick Wrap-Up of the Last Week

Monday and Tuesday were spent in Gwangju, a city in Southwestern Korea best known for its pro-democracy protest in 1980 after a military coup. 

DukeEngagers on one of the peaks of the hill near Unju Temple, a temple famous for its plentiful Buddha statues.

Soswaewon Garden

Taking a short break walking through the stream at Soswaewon

An anecdote from a 5.18 protester

5.18 National Cemetery Entrance

Reading epitaphs on 5.18 protester graves

On Thursday, we had a day trip to Ganghwa-do, an island with countless hilltop temples and a close view of the North Korean border.

Jeondeung Temple

On Friday, Shey, Leandro, and I went on the optional field trip to Seoul National University, where we explored the campus physically and historically and spent an hour walking through the university’s archives. 

 

Before entering the archives area, our tour guide explained the history of Gyujanggak and led us through important historical texts

 

Final Thoughts

LANGUAGE USE AND EDUCATION

When asked what my greatest worry for the program was, I replied “Language.” From past experience, I know that it’s entirely possible to form emotional connections without a shared language (games are magical). This summer has only further proved to me that even without being able to understand others verbally, there are hundreds of other ways to enjoy socialization and become more comfortable with people. However, the power of language cannot be overlooked, something that became incredibly apparent as we taught the Jiguchon middle schoolers. 

 

Although I had more experience with Korean and Chinese than others on the program, I still felt completely overwhelmed at times from not being able to understand, let alone communicate or translate. It felt that every other conversation was cut short by lack of understanding, and I felt like I made communication processes a lot longer sometimes (oh, sorry say that again…. What??? One more time… uhhh Emily/Erin helppp). At one point in the middle of the program, my frustrations reached the point where I didn’t want to open my mouth at all…something I saw reflected in the students. 

 

I discussed in an earlier blog post of mine that the lack of motivation in our classroom came from a lack of connection and not necessarily a lack of wanting to know. This was something I related to a lot over the course of the trip, and in turn helped me to connect better with my students over our shared struggle with language. Some students were much more open to me after I stumbled through instructions in Korean (an attempt is better than nothing), and Chinese students at Wooridul would instantly light up whenever I tried speaking to them in Chinese. While communicating non-verbally, or even through a shared second language helps create bonds and can allow for general comprehension, speaking in someone’s first language hits their heart.

 

I think that another great power of this program (besides mixed language background, diverse experiences, native English speakers teaching, etc. the whole shebang) is sheer numbers. We had the unique ability to split ourselves up as we saw fit and had the opportunity to speak with, play with, and simply spend time with individual students and get to know them on a deeper, more personal level. While regular teachers still can form individual connections with students, it’s much harder, and it’s so much more difficult to teach. There are no satellite teachers walking around the classroom to make sure kids pay attention, and if a couple kids finish an assignment too fast, or if others are struggling, there is only one person who can help at a time. As the summer progressed, we all learned the power of this one-on-one interaction, which, I think, is desperately needed in the education system (especially with younger students) as a whole.

 

IDENTITY

Even though I’ve been to Korea before, I never really comprehended how my appearance factored into people’s expectations of me until this summer. Living in a country with a homogeneous population and being very not Korean-looking really put identity into perspective.

 

When I came to Korea last year, looking foreign was met only with curiosity and confused conversations with people on public transportation. Since I was in Jeonju at the time — a city with much less of a foreign population, and therefore less standardized English usage, I was required to speak in Korean regardless of my appearance and felt much less outsidery. However, while in Seoul, I sometimes became painfully aware that I was a foreigner. Whether it be someone staring a little too long to be comfortable on the subway, a hurtful comment by a passing stranger, or a cashier who would call a coworker over so they wouldn’t have to speak English to me, I understood that their expectations for me were defined simply by my outward appearance. 

 

I wouldn’t say this was a problem for me (people were still very kind and helpful, and it was cool seeing people’s reactions whenever I surprised them by speaking in Korean), but it was something I grew to be aware of largely because of our students. Our students, most being ethnically mixed or non-Korean, largely identified as Korean. Regardless of what other languages they spoke, or what their ethnic backgrounds were, they felt like they were the same as any other Korean. But they will probably have to spend their lives constantly trying to convince people and prove that they are Korean. Identity is incredibly malleable and isn’t dictated by any one element of a person, but for these students (and us non-Koreans on the DukeEngage team), everything is assumed by just a look. Their capabilities, experiences, and thoughts are decided for them. 

 

I talk about these lessons in the context of our students because I feel like I was pushed to experience life more actively for their sakes. Relating to and learning about my students helped me to move past bouts of stress and hopelessness, and their optimism despite all obstacles was so encouraging for me, it’s impossible not to intertwine them with my personal growth on all levels.

THE END

I have so many more things to say — there’s no real way to encapsulate everything I’ve learned from this experience and from the people I’ve met, and I definitely could write a novel (or memoir, or something) — but time to finish.

 

Thank you to the Kim 선생님s for treating us like your own children. When we were sick, you bought us medicine and Vitamin C pouches, and regularly checked in to make sure we were okay. Every week, you bought us different fruits, snacks, and ice creams for break times and reflection meetings, all from the kindness of your hearts. When I wasn’t getting to eat as much (vegetarians in Korea, wooo!), you took me to restaurants I could eat at and bought me separate meals. Thank you for being concerned for our mental and physical wellbeing and giving us so much advice about teaching every time we hit a metaphorical wall in the classroom.

 

To the seven friends I spent 24/7 with: I think you all know how much I care for and appreciate you guys (I cried enough, ew). Our last night in Korea, we all sat by the Han River eating our sad bowls of ramen for our final meal and asked each other what word or phrase we would use to best describe the entire trip. While I don’t think we got a serious answer from anyone, all of the responses (“naiseu”, “rheeee”, “don’t smile because it’s over, smile because it happened”), and shared jokes are reminiscent of the hundreds of memories we’ve made together. Each of you have made me laugh (and made my day) a countless number of times, and your advice is A+. You guys have taught me so much about true friendship and trust (and helped me figure myself out a lot too hehe), and I feel like I’m a better person for knowing you all. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. I will miss our crazy dynamic in Korea, but we’re going to still see each other at Duke (I’ll make sure of it!!!) so until next time. ~

 

Korea and my DukeEngage team: I love you 1400. **

 

** to quote one of the best lines from Avengers: End Game, the movie that all of our students loved so much. The line “I love you 3000” references the total number of minutes in the Marvel movies, to symbolize the end of the era. As this is another end, one that matters so much more to me than my childhood movie universe, I thought it was only fitting to end with the approximate number of hours we’ve spent together.

-Nikki

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