Another large Korean spider. These guys hang out between the trees that border the rice fields.
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
Another Monster Spider
Another large Korean spider. These guys hang out between the trees that border the rice fields.
Friday, October 10, 2008
Weekend in Seoul
Chuseok weekend was coming up after only my second week of work. From what my co-teachers were telling me, the Chuseok holiday is equivalent to American Thanksgiving. It's the one time of year when everyone goes home to spend time with their families. It's also a time whenKoreans go to the grave sites of their ancestors to tend the grass around the tomb. One of my co-teachers had gone the weekend before to 'cut the grass' of his parents burial mound. I asked him exactly how he had done this, laughing to myself as I imagined him walking over his parents grave with a gas powered lawnmower. In reality he just used a pair of hedge clippers. Having no family in Korea and no burial mounds to tend, I had a three day weekend to look forward to.
Up to that point I had been keeping my activities pretty low-key. The previous two weekends I stayed inside to set up my apartment or just went for a bike ride around the city. It was time for a change and for something a little more exciting. I called my friend Eric who lives in Seoul and he offered to show me around the capital city for the weekend. I was hoping to collect some stories to post on this blog but as it would turn out, my time with Eric would give me much more than I would want.
I hadn't seen Eric since my last trip to Korea two years ago. He's an awesome guy to travel with and I knew it would be a good time when he said he'd show me around. Eric, like myself, is an American who teaches English in Korea, only in the much more exciting capital city of Seoul. I was looking forward to the visit because he always boasted how cool his neighborhood was. Like any major city Seoul has its collection of immigrant workers. Eric's neighborhood near Dongdaemun Stadium was it, and it was full of Russian, Uzbeck, Mongolian factory workers and Korean prostitutes that catered to them. As my subway train approached Dongdaemun Station I noticed more and more hairy, dark skinned, Asiatic men boarding the train. I figured I was heading in the right direction. Strangely enough, they had the same look as the Indian computer engineers you can find anywhere in Silicon Valley. I exited the train and found Eric waiting for me at Exit #5.
We had dinner in his neighborhood and you could hear at least 4 different languages being spoken at any one moment. The whole street in front of his apartment building was a crowded mess of lights, karaoke bars, taxis and unusual mix of Central Asians speaking Russian, Uzbecky, Mongolian and Korean. The whole scene reminded me of Paul Popes' comic 100%.
The plan for the night was to head to Itaewon, the nightclub district of Seoul, to meet a few of Eric's friends and hit the bars. If you've ever seen a 70's Japanese action film, the kind Quintin Tarantino loves, where the hero has to go undercover to catch a heroin dealer at a foreigner bar filled with American G.I.'s and strippers, Itaewon is that in Korea. Itaewon is also the place in Seoul where you can find the usual group of Africans selling imitation hip-hop gear that you'll find in any major city. At night foreigners from all over the world crowd into Itaewon, including the Russians and Uzbecks from Eric's neighborhood, to visit the bars, clubs and special “business clubs.” Koreans hate the place though, so you won't see any locals except for the bar staff and prostitutes on Hooker Hill. Additionally, the G.I.'s have to clear out at 11pm because of a newly imposed curfew. Around 10:30, when Eric and I were at our second bar, 4 huge MP's in full uniform and carrying sidearms strolled through the crowd looking for guys to send back to the base. Eric and I took this as our cue and moved on to the next bar.
There was nothing eventful about bar #3 except for a cute but rude bartender who got really heated when we started talking about Dokdo island.
It was at the fourth bar that the shit went down and why the weekend deserves its own blog entry. Outside of the third bar, a drunk Uzbecky man from Eric's neighborhood recognized him and demanded that we join him and his friends at their favorite bar across the street. Between the 5 of them, they spoke 6 words of English and while none of us spoke any Uzbeck, the alcohol did a lot to bride the language gap that night. It was around 1am and I was probably 9+ drinks deep. So when they invited us to join them I thought, ... well, I don't remember what I thought but we went along anyways.
They took us to what was probably the most popular, if not the only, Uzbecky club in Korea. The place was filled with groups of dark skinned central-Asian men and single Korean women. I'm guessing they were on the job. The DJ was blasting middle-eastern music remixed with a club beat and on the dance floor groups of guys danced in circles showing off their moves to one another. Eric sat down at a booth with his neighbor and I dragged a girl out to the dance floor.
Eric later told me that he was sober enough to be cautious of our situation. Immediately after sitting down the Uzbeck man called a Korean girl over and had her sit between them. Eric recognized his neighbor from his apartment complex but had never said anything more than hello. He got a little concerned when the girl appeared, fearing that he was really some kind of pimp and was trying to find a customer in Eric. As it turned out, he just wanted her to translate. She spoke English and translated for both Eric and his Uzbeck neighbor. They had a pleasant conversation over a few beers.
As for myself, I was neither sober nor aware of how cautious I should have been. The Korean girl eventually ran off, I guess she didn't care to dance, but I stayed on the floor and enjoyed the bad music. After a while I noticed a crowd forming on the other end of the dance floor. Some of the lights had also been turned on, though the music didn't stop. I was plastered but I could still recognize the signs of a fight. Immediately I began shoving and pushing my way through the crowd, hoping to catch a glimpse of two Uzbecks throwing punches over a Korean prostitute. I was disappointed when I got to the middle and didn't see a fight. Instead, the circle of people stood strangely silentl around a man lying on the floor holding his hands over his face. I looked down at him and at first thought that someone had spilled pink cool-aid on his white shirt. I kept staring and realized that there was a pool of blood growing behind his head. I stared at the others and they had the same dumbfounded look of awe and surprise. The man had been stabbed and here he was, on the floor in front of us. He was still alive but no one had any idea of his condition or even what to do.
Two men broke the silence by yelling at each other from opposite sides of the body. This was the fight I had been hoping to see and it was breaking out right in front of me. However, and I still can't explain it today, for some strange reason I thought it would be a good idea to break up the fight. Of course I was drunk and couldn't see the problem with this idea but I went with it anyways. I grabbed one of the men from behind in a bear hug underneath his arms and began pulling him backwards. I walked him back to the other end of the dance floor, about 8 feet, while he continued to throw punches and yell at the other man. His friends eventually showed up, pushed me off and grabbed him. Thankfully they showed up when they did because I didn't know how long it would be until he turned his aggression to the man holding him.
I backed off and suddenly felt a hard jerk to my right shoulder. It was Eric. He looked at me and said, “It's time to go.” Right, I thought, definitely a good idea.
We tried to make our way out of there as quickly as we could, beccause at this point so was everyone else. We made it out to the the street you would have never guessed that there was some kind of emergency going on inside. Despite all the people pouring out of the club they only flowed into an even larger group of drunken foreigners outside. Eric and I jumped into the closest taxi and made our way home.
Eric looked at me and asked, “what the fuck were you thinking”? Finally, I realized what had really happened in that club. A man had been stabbed and I tried to break up a fight around it. That's when I realized how bad of an idea it was and how much trouble I could have gotten into. I sat quietly the rest of the cab ride and sobered up by the time we paid the cab fair. I was hoping to see a little action this weekend and I got much more than I asked for.
Note:
True, I did not actually see a stabbing. I did see a man on the floor bleeding heavily and it could have been for a million other reasons that he was bleeding. Also, I was drunk. A few days later Eric told me that another friend of his who was with us at the bar had called the Military Police and saw the injured man being escorted out of the club. His shirt was covered with blood and he was holding his abdomen, still alive and capable of walking. Hopefully he is alive and well today. I checked the news and did a google search, but couldn't find anything. I did learn of another, much more famous, stabbing incident in Itaewon involving two American servicemen. Check out the article here.
Up to that point I had been keeping my activities pretty low-key. The previous two weekends I stayed inside to set up my apartment or just went for a bike ride around the city. It was time for a change and for something a little more exciting. I called my friend Eric who lives in Seoul and he offered to show me around the capital city for the weekend. I was hoping to collect some stories to post on this blog but as it would turn out, my time with Eric would give me much more than I would want.
I hadn't seen Eric since my last trip to Korea two years ago. He's an awesome guy to travel with and I knew it would be a good time when he said he'd show me around. Eric, like myself, is an American who teaches English in Korea, only in the much more exciting capital city of Seoul. I was looking forward to the visit because he always boasted how cool his neighborhood was. Like any major city Seoul has its collection of immigrant workers. Eric's neighborhood near Dongdaemun Stadium was it, and it was full of Russian, Uzbeck, Mongolian factory workers and Korean prostitutes that catered to them. As my subway train approached Dongdaemun Station I noticed more and more hairy, dark skinned, Asiatic men boarding the train. I figured I was heading in the right direction. Strangely enough, they had the same look as the Indian computer engineers you can find anywhere in Silicon Valley. I exited the train and found Eric waiting for me at Exit #5.
We had dinner in his neighborhood and you could hear at least 4 different languages being spoken at any one moment. The whole street in front of his apartment building was a crowded mess of lights, karaoke bars, taxis and unusual mix of Central Asians speaking Russian, Uzbecky, Mongolian and Korean. The whole scene reminded me of Paul Popes' comic 100%.
The plan for the night was to head to Itaewon, the nightclub district of Seoul, to meet a few of Eric's friends and hit the bars. If you've ever seen a 70's Japanese action film, the kind Quintin Tarantino loves, where the hero has to go undercover to catch a heroin dealer at a foreigner bar filled with American G.I.'s and strippers, Itaewon is that in Korea. Itaewon is also the place in Seoul where you can find the usual group of Africans selling imitation hip-hop gear that you'll find in any major city. At night foreigners from all over the world crowd into Itaewon, including the Russians and Uzbecks from Eric's neighborhood, to visit the bars, clubs and special “business clubs.” Koreans hate the place though, so you won't see any locals except for the bar staff and prostitutes on Hooker Hill. Additionally, the G.I.'s have to clear out at 11pm because of a newly imposed curfew. Around 10:30, when Eric and I were at our second bar, 4 huge MP's in full uniform and carrying sidearms strolled through the crowd looking for guys to send back to the base. Eric and I took this as our cue and moved on to the next bar.
There was nothing eventful about bar #3 except for a cute but rude bartender who got really heated when we started talking about Dokdo island.
It was at the fourth bar that the shit went down and why the weekend deserves its own blog entry. Outside of the third bar, a drunk Uzbecky man from Eric's neighborhood recognized him and demanded that we join him and his friends at their favorite bar across the street. Between the 5 of them, they spoke 6 words of English and while none of us spoke any Uzbeck, the alcohol did a lot to bride the language gap that night. It was around 1am and I was probably 9+ drinks deep. So when they invited us to join them I thought, ... well, I don't remember what I thought but we went along anyways.
They took us to what was probably the most popular, if not the only, Uzbecky club in Korea. The place was filled with groups of dark skinned central-Asian men and single Korean women. I'm guessing they were on the job. The DJ was blasting middle-eastern music remixed with a club beat and on the dance floor groups of guys danced in circles showing off their moves to one another. Eric sat down at a booth with his neighbor and I dragged a girl out to the dance floor.
Eric later told me that he was sober enough to be cautious of our situation. Immediately after sitting down the Uzbeck man called a Korean girl over and had her sit between them. Eric recognized his neighbor from his apartment complex but had never said anything more than hello. He got a little concerned when the girl appeared, fearing that he was really some kind of pimp and was trying to find a customer in Eric. As it turned out, he just wanted her to translate. She spoke English and translated for both Eric and his Uzbeck neighbor. They had a pleasant conversation over a few beers.
As for myself, I was neither sober nor aware of how cautious I should have been. The Korean girl eventually ran off, I guess she didn't care to dance, but I stayed on the floor and enjoyed the bad music. After a while I noticed a crowd forming on the other end of the dance floor. Some of the lights had also been turned on, though the music didn't stop. I was plastered but I could still recognize the signs of a fight. Immediately I began shoving and pushing my way through the crowd, hoping to catch a glimpse of two Uzbecks throwing punches over a Korean prostitute. I was disappointed when I got to the middle and didn't see a fight. Instead, the circle of people stood strangely silentl around a man lying on the floor holding his hands over his face. I looked down at him and at first thought that someone had spilled pink cool-aid on his white shirt. I kept staring and realized that there was a pool of blood growing behind his head. I stared at the others and they had the same dumbfounded look of awe and surprise. The man had been stabbed and here he was, on the floor in front of us. He was still alive but no one had any idea of his condition or even what to do.
Two men broke the silence by yelling at each other from opposite sides of the body. This was the fight I had been hoping to see and it was breaking out right in front of me. However, and I still can't explain it today, for some strange reason I thought it would be a good idea to break up the fight. Of course I was drunk and couldn't see the problem with this idea but I went with it anyways. I grabbed one of the men from behind in a bear hug underneath his arms and began pulling him backwards. I walked him back to the other end of the dance floor, about 8 feet, while he continued to throw punches and yell at the other man. His friends eventually showed up, pushed me off and grabbed him. Thankfully they showed up when they did because I didn't know how long it would be until he turned his aggression to the man holding him.
I backed off and suddenly felt a hard jerk to my right shoulder. It was Eric. He looked at me and said, “It's time to go.” Right, I thought, definitely a good idea.
We tried to make our way out of there as quickly as we could, beccause at this point so was everyone else. We made it out to the the street you would have never guessed that there was some kind of emergency going on inside. Despite all the people pouring out of the club they only flowed into an even larger group of drunken foreigners outside. Eric and I jumped into the closest taxi and made our way home.
Eric looked at me and asked, “what the fuck were you thinking”? Finally, I realized what had really happened in that club. A man had been stabbed and I tried to break up a fight around it. That's when I realized how bad of an idea it was and how much trouble I could have gotten into. I sat quietly the rest of the cab ride and sobered up by the time we paid the cab fair. I was hoping to see a little action this weekend and I got much more than I asked for.
Note:
True, I did not actually see a stabbing. I did see a man on the floor bleeding heavily and it could have been for a million other reasons that he was bleeding. Also, I was drunk. A few days later Eric told me that another friend of his who was with us at the bar had called the Military Police and saw the injured man being escorted out of the club. His shirt was covered with blood and he was holding his abdomen, still alive and capable of walking. Hopefully he is alive and well today. I checked the news and did a google search, but couldn't find anything. I did learn of another, much more famous, stabbing incident in Itaewon involving two American servicemen. Check out the article here.
Sunday, September 28, 2008
Views of the room
Some drawings of my room. You can see the bed in both views. Check out my earlier post for a more complete description
Koreans love to eat together
One of my biggest difficulties here so far is not having anyone to eat with. Here's a drawing of all the fun i'm missing out on
Golden Orb Web Spiders
I was looking for a place to store my brand new bike and decided that behind the building was the best location. It was dark and I had to walk through a narrow pathway between lots of bushes. Good thing it was dark because the next morning I came back and saw that I was surrounded by these guys:
for more info, check out Nephila Clavata
for more info, check out Nephila Clavata
Korean Folk Villages
Korean's love their cultural history. For a better source of information, check out this website. Sunday at Orientation was field trip day to one of these villages. Here's a few pages from my sketchbook.
One of the popular performances is tight rope walking. This guy was old, but strong and a talented entertainer
One of the popular performances is tight rope walking. This guy was old, but strong and a talented entertainer
Saturday, September 06, 2008
New Apartment
Orientation in Seoul is finished and now I am finally settling into my permanent residence in Gangneung City. My contract stipulates that my employer will provide an apartment and furnishings, in unspecified quality and quantity. My apartment is not bad but it's not great either. Actually, it's a shoe box. Even by Korean standards it's small. Because it is the beginning of the semester at the local university there weren't many other places available, my employers assure me. In spite of the size, it does have some quality amenities. The 27” HD flatscreen TV isn't too bad, and neither is the fiber-optic, 50Mbps internet connection running to my laptop. However, there is one problem with my apartment.
It's haunted.
My co-teacher showed me the apartment earlier this week. Upon first entering I could immediately feel the negative energy in the room. I couldn't say it was anything in particular. I didn't hear any voices and the TV didn't turn on by itself, but there is something about it that's unnerving.
It's easy to scare yourself in the dark with your own morbid and paranoid thoughts. While alone in the apartment, my head spins with all the terrible things that can go wrong. At first, I was afraid that my own ignorance or clumsiness would do me in. Maybe I would slip in the shower, or accidentally electrocute myself, or slip and fall on a knife. To deal with this I resolved to be extra careful and more conscious of my movements around the apartment. I would move cautiously and be sure not to run with scissors.
But that's when the completely irrational fears set in. Before I would open a shelf or drawer my mind would flash an image of something terrible and grotesque hidden and waiting to surprise me: a bloody corpse or even just an explosion of some kind. While sitting at my computer I constantly felt the need to look over my shoulder, expecting to see someone or something there. I couldn't stand too close to the bed because of the witch's clawed, decrepit old hand that would reach out to grab my ankles. The mirror was particularly intolerable because I was afraid of the monster I would see standing behind me.
Maybe it's the claustrophobia. It's amazing how the floor plan can evoke an emotional response. There is a small walkway down the middle of the room that's about 2 ½ feet wide and the rest is taken up by furniture. To save space the furnishings are stacked up to the ceiling. Perched on top of two short cabinets, the TV hovers above me. I have to sit on my queen size bed with my back against the wall to watch it comfortably. The bed is another problem. I have to sleep alone on a bed that's meant for two in an apartment that's not big enough for one.
More than anything else it is the isolation that's haunting me. So far, I have zero understanding of the language. I cannot read the signs around me or understand the language and somewhere in the back of my mind it all feels like a big joke. If suddenly every Korean person on the street where to turn in my direction at the same time and say “GOTCHA!” I wouldn't be surprised. I have no friends to share my secrets and experiences with and no place to call familiar. The same part of my mind is building up an Apocalypse Now-Martin Sheen style freak-out. With every minute Charlie is getting stronger out there while I'm getting weaker in here. I've been avoiding purchasing any alcohol.
My first week in Korea was spent in Seoul at Konkuk University. The EPIK program was hosting a week long orientation for all 400 incoming EPIK teachers. I did well to socialize and became friends with the people I liked and snubbed the people I didn't. In the later category, there was a small group of people who enjoyed going to a particular bar at night after classes had finished. It irritated me that they would only go to that particular bar, despite being in one of the biggest cities in Asia. Never mind exploring or trying something new. Couldn't they at least walk another block and try to find something else? Just once?
In another instance at Orientation, there was an aging, creepy white guy with an Asian fetish. The repulsion and awkwardness he generated in those around him was easy to see. He very quickly picked up an unfavorable reputation and became a part of everyone's gossip. On the last day of orientation, before we were bussed off to our separate locations throughout Korea, we were treated to one last meal in the school cafeteria. A group of us sat down together and I found myself sitting next to him. He began to make a joke about the fishball soup, repeatedly stating that it was “fish-ball-soup”. Despite no one laughing, with complete seriousness he explained that they were not actually fish testicles, but only made of ground fish. Following the awkward silence he looked over to the uneaten bowl of soup next to me and asked if anyone was going to claim it. My friend across the table couldn't contain her irritation. With palpable sarcasm, she shot off, “Why, are you still hungry (you fat bastard)”? He caught her drift and fell silent. I didn't think it was funny, but I did take pleasure in her retort shutting him up. After another uncomfortable silence he sighed, his shoulders slumped and with the voice of a reprimanded child explained that he did not know where or how he was going to find his next meal.
Sitting here alone in my apartment in this city and in this country I know nothing about, I now understand why that group would go to the same bar every night. It must be nice to call something familiar when you're a world away from home. Writing this journal entry, afraid of ghosts and phantoms and wondering when I can feel safe and comfortable in my apartment, I feel like my friend from orientation who just wanted to make sure he would not have to go hungry.
It's haunted.
My co-teacher showed me the apartment earlier this week. Upon first entering I could immediately feel the negative energy in the room. I couldn't say it was anything in particular. I didn't hear any voices and the TV didn't turn on by itself, but there is something about it that's unnerving.
It's easy to scare yourself in the dark with your own morbid and paranoid thoughts. While alone in the apartment, my head spins with all the terrible things that can go wrong. At first, I was afraid that my own ignorance or clumsiness would do me in. Maybe I would slip in the shower, or accidentally electrocute myself, or slip and fall on a knife. To deal with this I resolved to be extra careful and more conscious of my movements around the apartment. I would move cautiously and be sure not to run with scissors.
But that's when the completely irrational fears set in. Before I would open a shelf or drawer my mind would flash an image of something terrible and grotesque hidden and waiting to surprise me: a bloody corpse or even just an explosion of some kind. While sitting at my computer I constantly felt the need to look over my shoulder, expecting to see someone or something there. I couldn't stand too close to the bed because of the witch's clawed, decrepit old hand that would reach out to grab my ankles. The mirror was particularly intolerable because I was afraid of the monster I would see standing behind me.
Maybe it's the claustrophobia. It's amazing how the floor plan can evoke an emotional response. There is a small walkway down the middle of the room that's about 2 ½ feet wide and the rest is taken up by furniture. To save space the furnishings are stacked up to the ceiling. Perched on top of two short cabinets, the TV hovers above me. I have to sit on my queen size bed with my back against the wall to watch it comfortably. The bed is another problem. I have to sleep alone on a bed that's meant for two in an apartment that's not big enough for one.
More than anything else it is the isolation that's haunting me. So far, I have zero understanding of the language. I cannot read the signs around me or understand the language and somewhere in the back of my mind it all feels like a big joke. If suddenly every Korean person on the street where to turn in my direction at the same time and say “GOTCHA!” I wouldn't be surprised. I have no friends to share my secrets and experiences with and no place to call familiar. The same part of my mind is building up an Apocalypse Now-Martin Sheen style freak-out. With every minute Charlie is getting stronger out there while I'm getting weaker in here. I've been avoiding purchasing any alcohol.
My first week in Korea was spent in Seoul at Konkuk University. The EPIK program was hosting a week long orientation for all 400 incoming EPIK teachers. I did well to socialize and became friends with the people I liked and snubbed the people I didn't. In the later category, there was a small group of people who enjoyed going to a particular bar at night after classes had finished. It irritated me that they would only go to that particular bar, despite being in one of the biggest cities in Asia. Never mind exploring or trying something new. Couldn't they at least walk another block and try to find something else? Just once?
In another instance at Orientation, there was an aging, creepy white guy with an Asian fetish. The repulsion and awkwardness he generated in those around him was easy to see. He very quickly picked up an unfavorable reputation and became a part of everyone's gossip. On the last day of orientation, before we were bussed off to our separate locations throughout Korea, we were treated to one last meal in the school cafeteria. A group of us sat down together and I found myself sitting next to him. He began to make a joke about the fishball soup, repeatedly stating that it was “fish-ball-soup”. Despite no one laughing, with complete seriousness he explained that they were not actually fish testicles, but only made of ground fish. Following the awkward silence he looked over to the uneaten bowl of soup next to me and asked if anyone was going to claim it. My friend across the table couldn't contain her irritation. With palpable sarcasm, she shot off, “Why, are you still hungry (you fat bastard)”? He caught her drift and fell silent. I didn't think it was funny, but I did take pleasure in her retort shutting him up. After another uncomfortable silence he sighed, his shoulders slumped and with the voice of a reprimanded child explained that he did not know where or how he was going to find his next meal.
Sitting here alone in my apartment in this city and in this country I know nothing about, I now understand why that group would go to the same bar every night. It must be nice to call something familiar when you're a world away from home. Writing this journal entry, afraid of ghosts and phantoms and wondering when I can feel safe and comfortable in my apartment, I feel like my friend from orientation who just wanted to make sure he would not have to go hungry.
Thursday, August 21, 2008
Departure Date
It’s 2am and my flight leaves in twelve hours. I’ve been up all night wrapping up loose ends and my bags are still unpacked. I want to sleep for a bit, but the possibility of oversleeping scares me enough to keep me awake. My nerves are getting worse as the hour of departure approaches. All day I’ve felt hungry but at dinner I couldn’t finish half of my meal. I still wonder why I’m going. I’m leaving just as things were getting good in the Bay Area. Saying goodbye to my friends and family has only intensified the feeling.
A year from now when I return, I’ll have a new nephew, one niece will be talking and the other will be running around. I wonder if they’ll remember me. Will I remember them? Will I remember my friends? In my last conversation with Andy I asked how his relationship with Omer had changed after he went off to serve in the Israeli Army. What he said was smart but frightening. Andy said that when Omer was in town, their discussions were limited to the good times they had, and not about anything new. Their friendship became a friendship of history instead of one of activity. In leaving for Korea my relationships, by default, become relationships of history. I can still keep up through e-mails, but it’s not the same as participating in the adventure.
Things were just getting good with Jasmin, too.
Working as a storyboard artist wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t great either. On some days I would have the sinking feeling that it was a dead end and that my cubicle was slowly suffocating me. On other days I felt great about the job and the things it could lead to. The trouble with going to Korea is that I have no idea where it’s going. Maybe if I was going for some kind of illustration gig, being commissioned to travel and create work, I would feel better about the whole trip. I’m concerned about the actual teaching part of this trip. Perhaps my work ethic and work quality will suffer because I know it’s not my real purpose here. Then again, I’m still not really sure why I’m going.
The laundry’s finished and it’s time to pack the last of my clothes. Still a million things to do before I go and it has yet to really sink in that I won’t see this place for another year.
A year from now when I return, I’ll have a new nephew, one niece will be talking and the other will be running around. I wonder if they’ll remember me. Will I remember them? Will I remember my friends? In my last conversation with Andy I asked how his relationship with Omer had changed after he went off to serve in the Israeli Army. What he said was smart but frightening. Andy said that when Omer was in town, their discussions were limited to the good times they had, and not about anything new. Their friendship became a friendship of history instead of one of activity. In leaving for Korea my relationships, by default, become relationships of history. I can still keep up through e-mails, but it’s not the same as participating in the adventure.
Things were just getting good with Jasmin, too.
Working as a storyboard artist wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t great either. On some days I would have the sinking feeling that it was a dead end and that my cubicle was slowly suffocating me. On other days I felt great about the job and the things it could lead to. The trouble with going to Korea is that I have no idea where it’s going. Maybe if I was going for some kind of illustration gig, being commissioned to travel and create work, I would feel better about the whole trip. I’m concerned about the actual teaching part of this trip. Perhaps my work ethic and work quality will suffer because I know it’s not my real purpose here. Then again, I’m still not really sure why I’m going.
The laundry’s finished and it’s time to pack the last of my clothes. Still a million things to do before I go and it has yet to really sink in that I won’t see this place for another year.
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
First Entry!
Hello, and welcome to the first post of my travel blog!
In March 2008 I applied for a year long English Teaching position in South Korea. When I broke the news to my friends, family and employers, the two most typical reactions were: “Why” and “You don’t mean… North Korea, do you”?
No, I’m not going to North Korea. But “why” is a good question and a suitable first entry for this blog. Hopefully in the writing process I’ll come up with an answer that’ll satisfy. It’s about time I sat down and recorded exactly why I’m going and what I hope to accomplish.
To be honest, at this very moment, I don’t really know. Things were going very well for me back home in the Bay Area. I had a decent job with benefits, a nice place to live, and lots of great friends. Now I’m actually here in Korea and I’m still asking myself, “why”?
In the search for an answer I wiki’d the subject on Teaching English in Korea. The article used the term “economic migrants” to describe the teachers. As unappealing as that sounds, I have the sneaking suspicion that that’s really why I'm here. I graduated with a BFA in Art, so why go overseas to teach English? Shouldn’t I be working on my career? Paying taxes? Leading society? Instead I’m overseas in a country I know nothing about, doing a job I wasn’t trained for and for a country with which I have no affiliation. Perhaps economic migrant is the best term to use.
Wow, suddenly I realize how old I sound. In reality, the above two paragraphs only describe my current mood, and currently I depressed about leaving home. However, in looking back a ways I think I can find a better answer.
The truth is, I’ve already been to Korea.
Two years ago a friend and I went to the Republic of Korea for a month to travel and teach at an English summer camp. In that month we taught English to kids, traveled the country, ate lots of kim-chi and got to hear about the experiences of other English teachers throughout Korea.
That was in August of 2006. The trip was short but left a lasting impression and gave birth to a small but unique idea. That September I would return to begin my final year of school at San Jose State University. After graduation I would have no obligations except to myself and my student loans. I thought that by teaching English, perhaps I could self-finance a multi-year trip through Asia, starting with Korea and ending in Australia.
I was a very young man and this idea sounded totally sweet. In the two years since I have graduated and had a small taste of the adult world. As a young man plus two years, this idea still sounds awesome. The effects of the working world were beginning to sink in, however. Hence the earlier pessimism and self-doubt. I felt that maybe this opportunity was too good to be true and that I should be suffering in a cubicle and paying taxes like everyone else. However, my friends and family have been very supportive, understanding and even encouraging. Almost all of them think I'm going to return home with a Korean wife. Maybe some kids, but definitely no wife.
So what do I hope to accomplish while here? Well, I am in artist by training and keeping a sketchbook has always been a part of my life, serving as a visual diary, journal and easy place to write to-do lists. What better place to keep a sketchbook than on an adventure through Asia? This blog will serve as the online component of that sketchbook. These written entries are condensed, revised and edited versions of my handwritten journal entries to update my friends, family and anyone else I can interest with this blog. Hopefully I can keep it entertaining enough to keep you all coming back. As such is the case, please comment on the writing as well as anything of which you would like to see more or less. Unfortunately I do not yet have a digital camera, but I’ll be getting one soon and I’ll post some pictures a.s.a.p. To all my friends who could care less about the writing and just want to see pictures of beautiful Korea women: sorry guys, you’ll just have to wait.
Thank you for reading and please come back!
August 20, 2008
-Ian Wing
Friday, June 13, 2008
Pen Sketch from the DeYoung Museum
The view from the observatory deck in the DeYoung Museum of Art. The sales clerks didn't like me standing in the stairwell so I had to make it quick.
-Summer '07
Summer Figure Drawings July '07
Some figure drawings from the Summer '07. I go once a week to classes in Palo Alto. Every once in a while I'll get some nice ones.
Thursday, June 12, 2008
Summer Figure Drawings August '07
The model was a very large woman, but when she laid on her side, her skin flowed in the most beautiful way. It reminded me of flowing water.
Friday, October 12, 2007
Storyboards and Animatics
Here are a few examples of storyboards I created for a feature length animated film titled "We Bombed in Baghdad". It is produced and directed by Scott Sublett of the SJSU Film and Theater Dept. The humor is irreverent and sometimes downright offensive as George W. Bush and Osama Bin Ladin compete for the attention of the world through the power of television!
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Monday, October 08, 2007
Black and White Short
A live-action short about a criminal returning home after a job. Three classmates, Sarita Kolhatkar, Chris Palmer, Josue Portillo and myself brainstormed, boarded and shot this film in under 3 days.
Bixby and Billingsworth
A short animation my friend Micah and myself put together for the final of our Intro to Flash Animation class.
Monday, October 01, 2007
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