Reflections on four years in Korea
Sentimental person that I am, I cannot help looking back on what brought me here and, more important, what has kept me here. In September 2007, less than three weeks after returning from the Philippines to meet my erstwhile fiancée, Helen Litrada, the human resources director at the law firm where I worked called me into his office and informed me that I was being laid off. Truth be told, I did not like that job and was somewhat happy to leave.
I was ripe for a change. I had been in my comfortable duplex in Travis Heights for 16 years. It seemed that I knew the neighborhood and the entire city of Austin a bit too well. I had a number of dear friends, followed UT football closely and ran in a couple dozen 5K and 10K races each year, but I knew it was a big world and I had to go. My final two weeks there were bittersweet, with numerous goodbyes and lots to do. I did not hesitate, nor did I fear what awaited me in Korea.
Now, about Korea. I had been here once before, in February 1994, to interview Dr. Soo-Gon Kim for my book Coming to Texas/International Students at the University of Texas. Our interviews were in Jeonju, but I also spent 36 hours in Seoul. I vividly recall standing at a busy intersection, glancing at an ancient stone monument and thinking how great it must be to live in this historic and immense city—never imagining I would have such an opportunity. Korea seemed exotic, much like other places I went in the course of my book project, such as Egypt, Bahrain, Costa Rica, Bolivia and Taiwan.
I reminisce and ponder what Korea meant to me then or what I knew about it. The answer is “not much.” I was aware of the Korean War, of which the Americans were a major part, and the division of the peninsula around the 38th parallel. Seoul was the capital. My ignorance was almost complete, which is richly ironic in that I have lived—not merely existed—here now for four years.
Let me take a moment to consider some of the things that have turned me into an American Korean. It started even before November 14, 2007 when I flew to Chicago, then to Hong Kong, and on to Seoul and finally to my destination of Daegu. In those last weeks in the USA, I read a book entitled The Koreans / Who They Are, What They Want, Where Their Future Lies by Michael Breen. I also took a quickie online course in teaching English as a second language, the better to be prepared for stepping into a classroom as a teacher at LIKE. I have already written extensively about the 14 months I spent at a pair of hagwons in Daegu—the non-stop noise, chaos and students ranging from despicable to pure sweetness. It was a very intense period, but it was driving me crazy.
I simply had to find a more suitable job, and that is what happened on the last day of 2008. I took the KTX to Seoul and then a taxi to Yeoksam-dong to meet Kyu-Pal Choi, founder and president of Hansung International Patent & Law Office. After a most enjoyable 90-minute conversation, he asked me to join the firm and I agreed to do so. It was a position, to be completely honest, for which I was well suited—having more than 25 years of experience as a writer, editor and proofreader. At one of my previous jobs, I had handled hundreds of documents pertaining to patents.
My home, on the third floor of an officetel, is almost next door to our office, and what could be more convenient than that? Still, I cannot say that life in such a crowded area is soothing to my soul. Tall buildings, heavy traffic, and eating and drinking establishments are everywhere. This is not a neighborhood, at least not according to my understanding of the term. I do not, cannot and must not complain, however. In many ways, I am in the midst of the most worry-free time of my adult life.
I regret to say I have only a token ability to use the Korean language. I can read the letters and syllables, and I use certain words and phrases daily. But when people ask me whether I can speak Korean—and it’s a fair question—I have to say for the most part, no. I have tried and failed with two online courses. This is frustrating, and it undoubtedly prevents me from being able to partake more deeply in what is going on around me. I admit it, it’s a fact, and if people want to criticize me they are welcome to do so.
On the other hand, I have to a large degree immersed myself in Korean history and culture. To wit: in addition to the above-cited Breen book, I have read Atlas of Korean History; Eating With the Enemy / How I Waged Peace with North Korea from My BBQ Shack in Hackensack; Everlasting Flower / A History of Korea; Nothing to Envy / Ordinary Lives in North Korea; Pop Goes Korea / Behind the Revolution in Movies, Music and Internet Culture; Seoul / A Journey Through 2000 Years of History; The Hidden People of North Korea / Everyday Life in the Hermit Kingdom; The United States and the Division of Korea, 1945; This is Paradise! / My North Korean Childhood; and Under the Loving Care of the Fatherly Leader / North Korea and the Kim Dynasty. An abbreviated list of the places I have traveled to would include: Wan-do, Sangju, Cheongsong, Buyeo, Jeju-do, Dok-do, the Demilitarized Zone (thrice), Busan, Uljin, Sokcho, Samcheok, Daebu-do, Janghowon, Pohang, Eumseong, Changwon, Gyeongju, Mokpo, Jeung-eup, Dangjin, Mallipo, Anmyeon, Jochiwon, Okcheon, Yeongdong, Haein-sa, Andong, Yeosu and Gwangju, along with numerous places of historical interest in Daegu and Seoul.
I have not stayed inside my apartment, nor have I socialized much with other expats. I prefer meeting and talking with the natives. I could not count the times I have been on a busy street, in a restaurant, a wedding hall or some other setting and realized I was the only foreigner around. This tends to have contrary effects. Occasionally, I am given special attention, but other times I am coldly ignored, excluded and left on the outside. (It happens at my own office, where I am not always invited to informal pizza-and-Coke gatherings in the break room.) I do not begrudge the Koreans for their closeness. On the contrary, I envy them. There are few things I like more than seeing two, three or sometimes four Korean women walk down the street, arm in arm as they chat; this is an intimacy to which I am not privy due to culture and gender. Life here is better in many ways than in the polyglot USA with its competing and largely antagonistic ethnic groups.
I have run in four marathons and a half-dozen 10Ks. I have attended piano recitals, weddings (both modern and traditional), political gatherings, winter festivals and baseball games. I have savored an abiding and loving relationship with a group of children in Daegu. I have climbed mountains and witnessed ancient ceremonies. I have written four books—on the history of the Detroit Tigers, Los Angeles Dodgers, Chicago Cubs and Kansas City Chiefs. I have danced in the middle of an Insa-dong street with a Pungmul musician. With the help of a Canadian named Sean, I have put together this web site which is far better than the previous two I had. I have listened to Buddhist monks chant in incense-filled temples. I have grieved along with the families of the ROK sailors killed by the North Koreans in 2010 and celebrated the birth of babies. I have become somewhat proficient in using chopsticks and stood in absurdly overcrowded Seoul subway cars.
This is where I live now. I hold an E-7 (job specialty) visa, which did not come easily. At this time next year, I may apply for an F-5 (permanent resident) visa. In other words, I do not see why I would leave Korea anytime in the foreseeable future. My skills are in demand here.
The last four years have sometimes been difficult and stressful. The life of a foreigner in Korea would be daunting to many people I know back in the USA. I did not come here expecting perfection or any kind of ideal setting. What I have found, for the most part, has been a country with beautiful mountains, and the same can be said of its people. I am not of them, but I am among them if you see the distinction. There are children and adults, all descendants of the fabled Dangun, whom I have loved. I deeply respect every one of my Hansung co-workers, many of whom have an IQ much higher than mine. I am grateful for the curious circumstances that brought me here. In fact, I shudder to think what I would be doing now I had I stayed in Texas.
Nevertheless, I do not feel lucky to be here. "Fortunate" is a more suitable word. Luck is finding a winning lottery ticket on the sidewalk. I took some chances, showed initiative, suffered and struggled in getting to this point in time. If it was not easy, neither was it impossible. Na num hangbok habnida (I'm happy).
