Why I'm Still in Korea

People often ask me why it is that I'm still here after almost three and a half years. I usually say I like it here and it's good for now, and I leave it at that. But a few things happened recently which were perfect examples of why I am still here. 

A couple of weeks ago, I saw that there was a small desk being given away for free on a Facebook page for people in Daejeon. I asked if I could have it, but I never heard back from the owner. A friend of mine, Jennifer, later told me that I could have the desk. But since I was sick that day and couldn't pick it up, I figured the desk would be given to someone else. The next morning I got up, opened my front door, and lo and behold, the desk was sitting right outside. Jennifer had picked it up for me because she knew I needed it but was way too sick to go get it myself. ♡ 

A few days later, I had mentioned to my friend Darren that I was trying to put this desk together but I couldn't figure it out. So what did he do? He came over to my place and put the thing together for me. Now, there were a couple of screws missing from the desk and I didn't have any extra, so he wasn't able to completely finish it before he had to go. This was ok because I could very easily walk down to the hardware store and get a couple of screws for it, which I did. 
I walked to the hardware store and asked the owner if he had some single screws like the one I took as a sample and he quickly found the right matches. He didn't speak English, but he mimed and used his minimal English (and I used my minimal Korean) to ask if I had a screw driver. "Opsoyo." "I don't have", I said. I had figured I could borrow one from school the next day, but he pulled one out from his tool box and motioned for me to take it. I looked at him in confusion and he summoned up all his English knowledge to say, "Come on! Come on!", waving his arms  in a motion suggesting that I would come back. He was letting me borrow his screw driver and trusting me to bring it back. This man, who I had never met before in my life, took his Phillips screw driver out of its humble toolbox and entrusted it to me, the weird waygookin ("foreigner") with washed out purple hair... Were I to still be in Pacoima, none of that would've ever happened. Well, maybe the part about a friend helping me put it together, but people are so busy that it would've taken forever. 

I grew up in South Central L.A. and then in Pacoima. Pacoima was definitely the nicer one of the two. And yet, it was not a good place. My neighbors on one side were 3 guys, 2 were in gangs and the other one was on hardcore drugs. On the other side, there was a family with one son. He was the type of kid who liked to torture animals. And I'm not talking about ants and a magnifying glass... Down the street, there was a guy who I always thought seemed cool, until he got arrested multiple times for I-don't-know-what and his face started showing a LOT of wear and anger. Across the street there was a family that was... how should I say this?... their idea of "playing" made me and my sister very uncomfortable despite our young age and lack of understanding. A couple of houses down from that house, in either direction, there were two rival gang families. 

So... needless to say, we didn't get to make friends in our neighborhood in Pacoima. We just kept to ourselves. We didn't trust many people and we didn't talk to them. Not because we weren't friendly, but because it wasn't smart to do so. To be fair, my family and I did have a really awesome group of people in San Fernando and other neighborhoods. They were great, but they were not in Pacoima.   

So, why am I still in Korea? You tell me. 

I will eventually return home, I know that. Not all of L.A., particularly Pacoima, is bad. Pacoima has actually seen a lot of positive change in very recent years. There are many wonderful things about L.A. in general. And not everything in Korea is perfect. There are many frustrations that come with living here, too. Yes, it's a really good learning experience. Yes, the money is good. Yes, it's very easy to travel from here. Mainly, I feel much safer, much more relaxed, living here. But I will eventually go back to L.A. and hopefully I can help make the place a little better somehow.

Health Care Costs in South Korea

So, I finally got real vacation time while working here in South Korea. I went to Busan and Jeju Island last week, so the next couple of weeks, I will spend going to different doctors and specialists that I've been putting off for most of the time I've been here. In the last 3 days, I have been to the allergist, the acupuncturist, and the dentist. I have really good private health insurance through the university, so the cost to me is minimal, especially when compared to the cost of health care back in the States. However, I would like to point out that national health insurance is almost the same, if not the same, as my private insurance, when it comes to the cost when I visit any doctor. 

Allergist checkup: ₩ 6,300 ($5.66) [versus $20 co-payment through Kaiser Permanente in California back in 2010]
Allergy meds: ₩1,900 ($1.71) [versus $10 co-payment through Kaiser Permanente in California back in 2010]

Acupuncturist first time visit: ₩5,700 ($5.12) [versus an average of $75 - $125 for first time visits in the U.S.]

Dental checkup: Free [I think these were about $100 with my insurance, but I can't remember]
Dental Scaling: ₩13,300 ($11.96) [versus an average of $1,000 back in the U.S. I don't know how much it would cost with my insurance, but I usually had to pay 20%, so maybe $200]

I'm gonna have a couple of fillings replaced in the near future. What I have now are the metal fillings and I'm getting them replaced with tooth-colored fillings because I don't like the look of the metal ones. Those are not covered by my insurance because it's considered cosmetic. Those are going to set me back ₩150,000 ($134.85) each. I just read online that those can cost up to $300 each. 

I love the affordability of medical and dental care here in South Korea! AND I can choose to go to whatever doctor I want to go to! It's awesome!

Naptime Stretching for the Young and Gimpy

After being at this school for 2 months, I have come to this conclusion: My work schedule seems pretty easy, and for the most part, it is (for me). I love working with little kids. I have a sort of goofy and weird personality that sometimes only pre-k to early elementary kids seem to understand and appreciate. The most difficult part of my day for me seems to be nap time. Sitting quietly in a room with 22 sleeping kids can be torture. I don't mind putting them to sleep. Do any of you have 3 year old kids? Or if your kids are older, do you remember when they were about 3 years old and how difficult it was to get them to sleep? They have too much energy to go down gently. They squiggle, squirm, and fight the sleepies. They even try to hold upen their eye lids with their tiny fingers. It's funny to watch them and a challenge to finally get them to sleep. I don't mind that. What I DO mind is the quiet time while they're all sleeping. If I could, I would use the time to continue preparing my art lessons. But I can't do that because they're all very light sleepers and any tiny little noise wakes them up. So, what have I chosen to do with the quiet time? Stretching. My body has not been as flexible as it used to be since my motor bike accident in Taiwan and I've decided to use this time to work on my flexibility. So far, so good. I still can't bend my right knee properly and I think my rib cage was thrown out of whack when I slammed into that taxi cab (it now does a weird cracking/snapping sound when I stretch), but hopefully this will help. Here's hoping!

Score!! The Best Job I've Had So Far.

So, if you know me, you know that I just scored about the best flippin' job that I could hope to get in Korea. I have spent the last two years working for hagwons, which are after school academies like Kumon or Sylvan Learning Center in the U.S., and I was extremely frustrated by the working situation there. I was a "teacher", but I was not allowed to actually teach the kids correctly. 

"But Marisol, you're a teacher! What do you mean you weren't allowed to teach?" Well, there's a huge difference between the Korean school of thought on education and the western one. In the U.S., for example, a good teacher is someone who can get his or her students to think. A good teacher is someone who can get his or her students to not only read and remember facts and dates, but to understand what it all means. Aside from that, a good teacher is someone who can teach his or her students to question everything without being a jerk about it. "Who wrote the book?" "Why did that person write the book?" "What did that person want me to learn?" "Did that person have any hidden agendas?" "What does this mean for me and the rest of the world?" A good teacher is someone who can get his or her students to apply the information they have learned to real life situations. That kind of thing. 

Korea, on the other hand, has a very different definition of education. Korea is all about memorization. They think that the best way to learn is to open a book, read it, and memorize everything that's inside it. It's not necessary to understand it, but it is imperative to remember all the facts within the book and to do it quickly; quick enough to pass all the tests that the schools give to students and with flying colors. It's an absolute information overload for the kids. Because of that, I always felt that I was not allowed to truly teach my students anything. Whenever I tried to teach them anything, I was slowed down by the sheer amount of work that the kids were expected to do. They had, for example, vocabulary books that they had to do as homework every week. In the U.S., kids are also give vocabulary word lists, but they are given usually (for elementary students) about 5 words to learn for every story that they learn. At my last hagwon, however, the kids were given on average 40 vocabulary words to memorize from every story. THAT'S WAY TOO MUCH! Especially because they had about 1.5 to 2 weeks to do it before they were tested on them. It was ridiculous and frustrating. I tried talking to the head teacher and the hagwon owner about it, but they simply told me that the parents wanted us to give the kids a lot of work and since they were paying, we had to do whatever they wanted us to do. "Don't worry about teaching. Just make the parents happy." 

Needless to say, I was miserable at that job. I lost a lot of hair, which has never happened to me before in my life. I got physically sick. My back was full of knots from all the stress. I can't even imagine what it must be like to be a student here. Being the "teacher" was bad enough. 

So, I think the universe (and I) finally decided that I'd had enough of compromising my integrity as a teacher. I was able to get a job at a university where I'm working with preschool students! It's a dream job for me right now. I work with kids, I have my own classroom, I am allowed to actually teach, not just make the kids memorize everything, I get treated with respect by my coworkers, bosses, and the parents, AND I get paid more than the university professor get paid! It's awesome! I'm so happy at this job! My life has gotten exponentially better since I scored this job. And it kinda just dropped into my lap. I had been looking for a university position because I had heard that the working conditions are much better there, but I was having no luck. Then one day I got an email from a guy who said he heard I was looking for a job and he thought there was a position opening up at his university which might be a good fit for me. Turns out that this guy was one of the people in charge of hiring foreign teachers, so I had a good in for the job! I also had a few other friends who worked at the same university and they all vouched for me and I got the job so fast that I didn't even know what happened. 

So, my life is much better now. I feel like a real teacher now. What's the point of me blogging about all of this? If you work hard, even if you are faced with a shitty situation, and you continue to strive for something better, you will eventually get what you want because you've earned it. 

Happy Friday, everyone! ^_^


**Thank you very much to all of those people who submitted my resume into the university and helped me get this job.

Wanderlust - Epiphany in the Mojave

I was driving down the Mojave Desert listening to something staticky on the radio. I was heading towards Los Angeles but was at least an hour away from the nearest town, if you don’t count the few trailers or random shacks that dot the landscape. I had just dropped off a couple of new friends at McCarran Airport in Las Vegas an hour earlier and I was enjoying the red lights that bejeweled the road ahead of me. A random tumbleweed blew across the two-lane highway, narrowly avoiding being hit by the cars. I could hear a lady singing a sad melody, so I switched the station and finally settled on a Spanish one that was playing livelier music that always reminds me of my mom. I looked right towards a sea of darkness. I looked left, same non-view. The only things guiding me through the darkness and solitude of the desert were all those red lights… And yet, I couldn’t help but smile in amusement and self-surprise at my most recent adventure. 

I had been gone from the U.S. for a little over two years. The last time that I visited Los Angeles was six months into my stay in South Korea, so I was really getting antsy to see my family again. I needed time with my mom, I missed my brothers and sisters, and I really wanted to see my friends from my old neighborhood. So, in mid-December, I boarded a plane from Incheon, Korea to Guangzhou, China to Los Angeles, U.S.A. If you’ve ever seen a globe, you’re probably thinking, “Why the hell would she travel backwards before she headed to L.A.?” Well, it was the cheapest flight that my school could purchase, so there you have it. I had a 5 hour layover scheduled in Guangzhou, which sounded like a terribly long time to wait at an airport, but after waiting at the immigration line, it ended up being not such a long wait at the terminal. I was excited when I finally boarded my second flight because I had requested a window seat. But, because I asked for it late, the only window seat left was right by the emergency exit. I took my seat and, since I had a twelve hour flight ahead of me, I decided to be friendly with the two guys sitting next to me. “Hello,” I said, and we began small talk about the emergency procedures. Eventually I found out that they were tourists from Australia. They were going to be in Los Angeles for a week before heading to Las Vegas and then Miami, so I told them that maybe I could show them around L.A. a little bit. 

When we got to L.A., we parted ways and, after visiting my family, I decided to send them a message on Facebook. We ended up having an amazing few days in L.A. These guys were cool and it was really up my alley to meet new people and go have awesome travel adventures with them. We were all over the place! We went to Santa Monica, Universal Studios, and Saddle Ranch. They wanted to see what real LA people do, so I took them Christmas caroling in San Fernando, to the LA Fashion District, to Carney’s in Studio City for chili cheese fries, I introduced them to the Gingerbread Latte at Starbuck’s, and took them to Walmart (a favorite for them). I taught them how to say, “You don’t know me! You don’t know my life!” like an American and they taught me how to say, “Oi!” like an Aussie (or like one of the sea gulls from Finding Nemo. Lol.). On their last day in Los Angeles, as we were sitting at a Denny’s in Hollywood at 3 a.m. after I had helped them with a few glitches in their travel plans, one of them propped up and said, “Come with us to Las Vegas!” I immediately, and reflexively, said, “I can’t go to Vegas with you guys!” “Well, why not?” says the other guy. “What else have you got planned for this weekend?” I paused and finally said, “You’ve got me there.” It was a moment of impulse. I love those moments.

Every time I tell myself that I can’t possibly do something that to other people may seem crazy, a little voice inside me says, “Why not? You’ll regret missing out on the opportunity.” 

So, as soon as we finished our coffee, I took them to their hotel, went home, slept for an hour, jumped out of bed when my alarm went off, took a shower, got ready, picked them up, and headed off with them to rent a car for an epic last minute road trip to Las Vegas with these two awesome Aussies. Now, because they’re from Australia and I’m American, they relied on me a lot to get them where they needed to be. But, because I’ve been away from the U.S. for a while, I got us royally lost on our way to Vegas. We drove around in circles for a little bit somewhere in San Bernardino County, but we did finally get to Las Vegas, albeit an hour later than intended. Las Vegas was amazing! I’d been there before, but it was even more fun this time because I had been away from the U.S. for two years and I was getting to be a tourist, also. Gambling at the Mirage and the Bellagio, free drinks while they gambled, partying at 1 Oak and Tao, champagne brunch buffets, people watching, and SO MUCH SHOPPING!!! It was an amazing two and a half days in Las Vegas. When it was all said and done, I dropped them off at the airport so that they could go on to the rest of their trip, but not before they promised that they’d be back in L.A. in a couple of weeks and that we’d hang out again. And so began my four and a half hour drive back to L.A. through the Mojave. 

I’m sitting in my mom’s living room, now. The fireplace is on and I’m drinking hot Chocolate Ibarra. I’ve been back in the U.S. for almost three weeks and I can see why so many of my family members and friends have been asking me non-stop, “Is it good to be back home?” “Are you glad you’re back?” “Is it hard to get used to living in Korea?” “Do you ever miss home?” “Are you really going back?” I understand where they’re coming from. I can see how it has to seem weird to even think about leaving the place that you’ve lived in your whole life. “Home” is a sacred word. It’s a sacred place. When people think of “home”, they likely think of a place near their family members; a house that they can nest in and make themselves comfortable. But for me, it’s a word that no longer bears that meaning. Not for now. It took the solitude of the Mojave for me to realize that wanderlust has too strong a hold of me. Driving through the desert that weekend made me realize that I am living the life that I want to live. There are many things that I still want for myself, but right now, this is exactly what I love. The freedom to move around - to do what I want and go wherever I want with whomever I want - is exhilarating. Sometimes this life style gets a little lonely and, while it would be nice to have someone to share my life with, it is not something that I want to do if it means having to settle down somewhere and losing this freedom. Home, for now, is wherever I set my backpack down.

Response to "'I Am Adam Lanza's Mother': A Mom's Perspective On The Mental Illness Conversation In America"

    On Friday, as I was on an airplane on my way back home to California to visit my family, a terrible tragedy happened which brought a country into mourning and has gotten many people talking about the issue of gun control. However, I do not believe these problems will be resolved until we look a lot deeper into the real cause, not the means. 

    I used to work with Special Education children. More specifically, I worked with "Emotionally Disturbed" children at the Los Angeles Unified School District, and I agree with Liza Long. It is scary as all hell to deal with them sometimes. There were instances in which I had chairs thrown at me, I was threatened with physical violence, and one time, I was even told that I was going to get raped after school by one of the boys that I worked with. Everything is always reported to the school, to the police, and to Child Protective Services, but almost always, nothing is really done other than a quick visit to the child, maybe removal from their home for 24 hours, sometimes a 72 hour stint at a hospital, and then right back into their homes and into the schools. And it's difficult to really be angry at CPS when they are so majorly understaffed and overworked. 

    Something must be done to help these parents and their children. Some of them are there because of serious issues going on at home while others have illnesses which are not necessarily diagnosed. Even when they're diagnosed, they're thrown into a dysfunctional system and nothing ever gets done until one of them shoots a guy and sparks gang retaliation which then gets his family killed. Or another one holds up a liquor store at gun point because of a STUPID school administrator who kicks him out of the school instead of trying harder to get him help. And then their answer is jail time or "I'm sorry for your terrible loss." 

    I take this all to heart because I lived it. Those were real stories. I saw it and my heart broke into a million pieces. And yet, I cannot begin to imagine what it must've been like for their mothers, fathers, or siblings. 

    The tragedy at Sandy Hook Elementary School is horrendous and it definitely should spark a real debate and a better plan for firearms in the United States. If Adam Lanza had been turned away recently from trying to buy a gun, possibly because of his history of mental illness (*Federal Firearms Licensee Quick Reference and Best Practices Guide "Prohibited Transfers" item 6), shouldn't the gun dealer who turned him away have the responsibility to notify police? And shouldn't the police have the responsibility of launching an investigation as to why this person was trying to buy a firearm and what he was planning on doing with it? Maybe this is already part of the Federal law, but I didn't find it anywhere. This is all something that might get some gun control opponents angry at me, but are we really supposed to sit back and pretend that everything's fine when 20 beautiful children and 6 of their lovely educators are all dead? I don't think so. However, as I had said before, beyond talking about gun control, we should really look more deeply at the root of the problem. 

    "Normal" people do not show up at a busy shopping mall and start shooting. "Normal" people do not go into their university campuses and kill 32 people. And a "Normal" person does not randomly go and shoot up a school full of kids and teachers who did nothing to him. It's time to wisen-up and do something about the real root of the problem: the lack of help for these human beings and their parents to find the right medical/psychiatric help before another tragedy happens.

-Marisol

* U.S. Department of Justice: Federal Firearms Licensee Quick Reference and Best Practices Guide"

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'I Am Adam Lanza's Mother': A Mom's Perspective On The Mental Illness Conversation In America

Written by Liza Long, republished from The Blue Review

Friday’s horrific national tragedy -- the murder of 20 children and six adults at Sandy Hook Elementary School in Newtown, Connecticut -- has ignited a new discussion on violence in America. In kitchens and coffee shops across the country, we tearfully debate the many faces of violence in America: gun culture, media violence, lack of mental health services, overt and covert wars abroad, religion, politics and the way we raise our children. Liza Long, a writer based in Boise, says it’s easy to talk about guns. But it’s time to talk about mental illness.

While every family's story of mental illness is different, and we may never know the whole of the Lanza's story, tales like this one need to be heard -- and families who live them deserve our help.

Three days before 20 year-old Adam Lanza killed his mother, then opened fire on a classroom full of Connecticut kindergartners, my 13-year old son Michael (name changed) missed his bus because he was wearing the wrong color pants.

“I can wear these pants,” he said, his tone increasingly belligerent, the black-hole pupils of his eyes swallowing the blue irises.

“They are navy blue,” I told him. “Your school’s dress code says black or khaki pants only.”

“They told me I could wear these,” he insisted. “You’re a stupid bitch. I can wear whatever pants I want to. This is America. I have rights!”

“You can’t wear whatever pants you want to,” I said, my tone affable, reasonable. “And you definitely cannot call me a stupid bitch. You’re grounded from electronics for the rest of the day. Now get in the car, and I will take you to school.”

I live with a son who is mentally ill. I love my son. But he terrifies me.

A few weeks ago, Michael pulled a knife and threatened to kill me and then himself after I asked him to return his overdue library books. His 7 and 9 year old siblings knew the safety plan -- they ran to the car and locked the doors before I even asked them to. I managed to get the knife from Michael, then methodically collected all the sharp objects in the house into a single Tupperware container that now travels with me. Through it all, he continued to scream insults at me and threaten to kill or hurt me.

That conflict ended with three burly police officers and a paramedic wrestling my son onto a gurney for an expensive ambulance ride to the local emergency room. The mental hospital didn’t have any beds that day, and Michael calmed down nicely in the ER, so they sent us home with a prescription for Zyprexa and a follow-up visit with a local pediatric psychiatrist.

We still don’t know what’s wrong with Michael. Autism spectrum, ADHD, Oppositional Defiant or Intermittent Explosive Disorder have all been tossed around at various meetings with probation officers and social workers and counselors and teachers and school administrators. He’s been on a slew of antipsychotic and mood altering pharmaceuticals, a Russian novel of behavioral plans. Nothing seems to work.

At the start of seventh grade, Michael was accepted to an accelerated program for highly gifted math and science students. His IQ is off the charts. When he’s in a good mood, he will gladly bend your ear on subjects ranging from Greek mythology to the differences between Einsteinian and Newtonian physics to Doctor Who. He’s in a good mood most of the time. But when he’s not, watch out. And it’s impossible to predict what will set him off.

Several weeks into his new junior high school, Michael began exhibiting increasingly odd and threatening behaviors at school. We decided to transfer him to the district’s most restrictive behavioral program, a contained school environment where children who can’t function in normal classrooms can access their right to free public babysitting from 7:30-1:50 Monday through Friday until they turn 18.

The morning of the pants incident, Michael continued to argue with me on the drive. He would occasionally apologize and seem remorseful. Right before we turned into his school parking lot, he said, “Look, Mom, I’m really sorry. Can I have video games back today?”

“No way,” I told him. “You cannot act the way you acted this morning and think you can get your electronic privileges back that quickly.”

His face turned cold, and his eyes were full of calculated rage. “Then I’m going to kill myself,” he said. “I’m going to jump out of this car right now and kill myself.”

That was it. After the knife incident, I told him that if he ever said those words again, I would take him straight to the mental hospital, no ifs, ands, or buts. I did not respond, except to pull the car into the opposite lane, turning left instead of right.
“Where are you taking me?” he said, suddenly worried. “Where are we going?”

“You know where we are going,” I replied.

“No! You can’t do that to me! You’re sending me to hell! You’re sending me straight to hell!”

I pulled up in front of the hospital, frantically waiving for one of the clinicians who happened to be standing outside. “Call the police,” I said. “Hurry.”

Michael was in a full-blown fit by then, screaming and hitting. I hugged him close so he couldn’t escape from the car. He bit me several times and repeatedly jabbed his elbows into my rib cage. I’m still stronger than he is, but I won’t be for much longer.
The police came quickly and carried my son screaming and kicking into the bowels of the hospital. I started to shake, and tears filled my eyes as I filled out the paperwork -- “Were there any difficulties with… at what age did your child… were there any problems with.. has your child ever experienced.. does your child have…”

At least we have health insurance now. I recently accepted a position with a local college, giving up my freelance career because when you have a kid like this, you need benefits. You’ll do anything for benefits. No individual insurance plan will cover this kind of thing.

For days, my son insisted that I was lying -- that I made the whole thing up so that I could get rid of him. The first day, when I called to check up on him, he said, “I hate you. And I’m going to get my revenge as soon as I get out of here.”

By day three, he was my calm, sweet boy again, all apologies and promises to get better. I’ve heard those promises for years. I don’t believe them anymore.

On the intake form, under the question, “What are your expectations for treatment?” I wrote, “I need help.”

And I do. This problem is too big for me to handle on my own. Sometimes there are no good options. So you just pray for grace and trust that in hindsight, it will all make sense.

I am sharing this story because I am Adam Lanza’s mother. I am Dylan Klebold’s and Eric Harris’s mother. I am James Holmes’s mother. I am Jared Loughner’s mother. I am Seung-Hui Cho’s mother. And these boys—and their mothers—need help. In the wake of another horrific national tragedy, it’s easy to talk about guns. But it’s time to talk about mental illness.

According to Mother Jones, since 1982, 61 mass murders involving firearms have occurred throughout the country. Of these, 43 of the killers were white males, and only one was a woman. Mother Jones focused on whether the killers obtained their guns legally (most did). But this highly visible sign of mental illness should lead us to consider how many people in the U.S. live in fear, like I do.

When I asked my son’s social worker about my options, he said that the only thing I could do was to get Michael charged with a crime. “If he’s back in the system, they’ll create a paper trail,” he said. “That’s the only way you’re ever going to get anything done. No one will pay attention to you unless you’ve got charges.”

I don’t believe my son belongs in jail. The chaotic environment exacerbates Michael’s sensitivity to sensory stimuli and doesn’t deal with the underlying pathology. But it seems like the United States is using prison as the solution of choice for mentally ill people. According to Human Rights Watch, the number of mentally ill inmates in U.S. prisons quadrupled from 2000 to 2006, and it continues to rise -- in fact, the rate of inmate mental illness is five times greater (56 percent) than in the non-incarcerated population.

With state-run treatment centers and hospitals shuttered, prison is now the last resort for the mentally ill -- Rikers Island, the LA County Jail and Cook County Jail in Illinois housed the nation’s largest treatment centers in 2011.

No one wants to send a 13-year old genius who loves Harry Potter and his snuggle animal collection to jail. But our society, with its stigma on mental illness and its broken healthcare system, does not provide us with other options. Then another tortured soul shoots up a fast food restaurant. A mall. A kindergarten classroom. And we wring our hands and say, “Something must be done.”

I agree that something must be done. It’s time for a meaningful, nation-wide conversation about mental health. That’s the only way our nation can ever truly heal.

God help me. God help Michael. God help us all.

(Originally published at The Anarchist Soccer Mom.)

Discussing Gay Rights With Korean Middle Schoolers

It's Thursday Society Class and we're discussing the U.S. Constitution and Constitutional Amendments. We somehow moved into hot topic constitutional debates in the U.S. and this is what trips me out:

South Korea is a pretty conservative country. They usually go the more traditional way in most things. Women are still expected to stay at home and be housewives, men are still expected to make all of the decisions for their families, and there are jobs that are "for men" and "for women." [Example: Teachers = women (if you never noticed it, just take a look around at how many male teachers there actually are at your schools) unless they are university professors.]

Anyway, like I said, it trips me out that Korea is a very conservative country, and yet, I was able to have a normal conversation with my 13 year-old boys about the hot-button issue in the U.S. right now; gay rights. Some agreed with equality while the others disagreed. I didn't want to push it too much because I know that I'd probably get in trouble if I did (although, what are they gonna do? fire me? pffft!). But the point of all of this is that we were able to, in a South Korean middle school hagwon classroom, have a civilized discussion in which we didn't always agree with each other, but we talked about our differences of OPINION and how those opinions differ from constitutional rights and freedoms that should be afforded to any human being. 

I'm quite proud of my middle schoolers. Not because I might have changed their opinions (because I don't think I did), but because they were able to understand human rights, rights as citizens, religious/personal opinions, and most importantly, that we can discuss these issues with each other like civilized people rather than yell at each other and try to stomp on each others' beliefs. 

Today is my last real class with them because next Tuesday we will have a snack party and then my contract at this school will be over. I will miss them sooooo much. These little guys (who are not so little anymore) are amazing human beings who will some day change the world. 

Marisol Teacher is sad, but also happy that she got to meet them, teach them, and learn a lot from them, too. 

<3

Fond Childhood Memories

So, it's been a rainy day today in Daejeon and that means that I'm keeping myself entertained in my apartment. I've been listening to a lot of music and one song that I just can't get enough of is Gotye's "Bronte." This song and video just bring back so many memories of when I was a kid. 

"What?!?", you may ask. "Don't be stupid, Marisol. You grew up in the city." Well, yes. You'd be right. But I did hang out at my mom's school a lot when I was a kid and they had a big garden which, to me, might as well have been a giant forest, seeing as it had more trees in it than the average public park near my house. This garden had trees that seemed to be a million years old and towered over everything else on campus. As a kid, I loved going to school with my mom because the classrooms where she studied English and child development were right next to that garden. This meant that I kept myself entertained at the same time that my mom could keep a constant eye on me because the classroom door was always open. 

My sister Nancy and I used to go there and we'd wander around the place. We would pretend that we were in a secret forest and we would spend hours laying on our stomachs or sitting on the rocks, peering over the small pond and staring at the tadpoles. Eventually, another kid joined us. There was a boy there who I think must've been the gardener's grandson. He was mute (or maybe I just never listened to what he said...), but it didn't matter because Nancy, the boy, and I had a lot of fun just running around and pointing at things for the others to come over and stare at. To this day, I have no idea what the boy's name was. All I remember about this boy is that he was white, had silver blond hair, and smiled a lot. Nancy and I had a lot of fun exploring the forest with him. 

Sometimes I remember those days and I long for them. I long for that time of peaceful innocence; that time in which all that mattered were the trees, the pond, and the tadpoles and bugs that lived there. I long for that time, a time of childhood wildness, in which for a few hours a week, I felt like I was part of something bigger; something organic that I had no control over. Nevermind that this wasn't a real forest, but rather a rinky-dink garden that ended at the chain-link fence that separated it from a residential  cul-de-sac, but for at least three kids, it was special. 

Tacos for Korean Kindy Kids!

So, I was able to convince my hagwon to let me do multicultural days with the kindergarteners. I'm really excited about this because I think the kids can really benefit from experiencing other cultures, especially since Korea is so homogenous. Anyway, we kicked off multicultural day with a lesson on Mexico and the most ubiquitous of Mexican foods, tacos. 


Oh! And the kids got to wear "taquero"/"taquera" hats.


:)

The First Tortilla

My students and I have been reading some stories in their American English textbooks that have to do with Mexican culture and therefore mention tortillas. 


They first learned about tortillas when they read, "Mama's Birthday Present," the story of a little boy who plans a birthday party for his mom and is able to get her a piñata, a musical performance, and fresh tortillas made by one of their family friends. 


This week, they just finished reading, "The First Tortilla," the story of a little girl who saves her village from drought and starvation by asking the mountain spirit for rain.Because of the fact that none of them had ever seen or tasted a corn tortilla, which is what this story is about, I searched high and low until I was finally able to get my hands on some of these and bring them to the kids. We didn't have a real stove at the school, so I had to make do with a little oven. They didn't turn out quite the same as if I had used a stove top, but I guess it was good enough. 

^_^

Frustration Rant

It’s happened. I’ve been here for a while now and I’ve been trying hard to fight it, but it seems my attempts have been futile and I’m finally gonna have to cave to the societal pressure and norms here. Let me explain. 


When I got to Korea in October of 2010, I realized that I stuck out like a sore thumb. I knew that I thought, spoke, moved, acted, and LOOKED different from everyone else here. It started on the first day of work at my first school. I got there and immediately everyone stared at me like I was some sort of circus act. All the kids started pointing out how much taller I was than all of the other teachers at the school, how my eyes were just SO BIG, how I have double eyelids, how my face was much smaller than theirs, they all wanted to know if my hair was permed (teach-ah, pama?), they asked me if I was from Africa (apparently all people with dark skin are from Africa), the younger kids kept trying to grab my boobs to know what big boobs were like, and they were all very quick to point out that I was fat. 


I tried very hard to be patient and explain everything about myself. 
“Yes, I’m tall because I’m American and we drink a lot of milk.” 
“Yes, my eyes are ginormous, even by American standards, because my dad’s family has big eyes.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I only have one eyelid per eye.” (Google double eyelids if you want to know what they are.)
“I’m sorry, what?? What are you talking about? My face is not smaller than yours. Your face is fine. You’re gorgeous.” 
“No, I don’t have a perm.”
“No, I don’t have a perm.”
“No, I don’t have a perm.”
“No, I’m not from Africa. I’m American, despite the fact that I don’t have blonde hair and blue eyes.” 
“These are my boobs and you will not grab them or I will smack you!” (Just kidding. I didn’t really say that, although I really wanted to.)
“Yes, I know I’m fat. Thank you so much for pointing it out so bluntly.” 
That last one did not just come from the kids, but from too many of the grown-ups around my neighborhood, as well. 


I’d be lying if I said that it didn’t bother me that so many Korean people used to take the time to stop me while I was walking down the street and tell me that I was very fat. Honestly, it sucked hard. I never really thought of myself as being all that big. Yes, I know I’m chubby and I’ve dieted before, but I really didn’t think I was that big when I got here. I was exactly the average clothing size for an American woman. But Korean people, and especially Korean women, are not at all like American women in that respect. They’re teeny-tiny. As a matter of fact, I was just having a conversation with one of my students yesterday and she told me (very proudly) that her mother is 161 centimeters (5’3”) and 45 kilograms (99 pounds). Now, I’m no expert, but I’m looking at the Rush University Medical Center website and according to their ideal height and weight chart, she’s actually underweight (ideal for 5’3” is anything between 104-127 pounds). By that same token, I know that I’m beyond what my “ideal” weight would be for being 5’9”. I’m also aware that she’s closer to her ideal weight than I am to mine. Still, being my size didn’t really bother me very much. It bothered me that people were so rude about it, but my size and weight didn’t really bug me. 


Actually, I decided to take all of the things that were so “weird” about my physical appearance and own them. I mean, really own them. I decided to stop wearing bigger clothing that would hide my curves (boobs, butt, and hips) and just wear whatever I thought was cute. I decided to stop straightening my hair every day and just let my hair do its thing. I decided that I would flaunt my skin color (I never thought I’d have to flaunt it, since so many people back home either had skin like mine or they paid a lot of money to get a tan like mine) and be an advocate for the, “Just because we have dark skin doesn’t mean that we’re sad or evil” crowd. I decided that I would own my giantesque eyes, but also point out that their eyes were beautiful as well. I decided that I’d strut down the street, proudly, because of the fact that I can see clearly over the heads of the vast majority of the people here and that I never need a stool to help me reach the jars on the top shelf. I even owned the whole “small face” thing, even though I still don’t really know what they’re talking about. But, overall, I decided to really own my size. 


Too many of them seemed to have this idea that because I was chubby, I was automatically ugly, undesirable, lonely, and pathetic. They would make comments like, “Maybe if you lose weight, you will find man to want to be your husband.” My response, at first, was always that I actually had a boyfriend and that I had been engaged twice previously, but I decided it wasn’t for me. After a while, though, I just realized that I didn’t need to explain myself and that I should just be me and enjoy myself regardless of how many rude comments I got. As it turns out, I actually did end up losing some weight because of the difference in life style here compared to what it was back home. It wasn’t a huge amount, but it was nice because I wasn’t even trying.

Anyway, up until today, I am still chubby and I’ve been ok with it. The only thing that has really bothered me is the lack of clothing that actually fits me in this country. It’s bad enough that I already have limited options because I’m so much taller than most of the people here, but another major problem is that pretty much all of the clothing that is sold here is “One Size”. That means, obviously, that they only make it in one size and your choices are limited to either making sure that you remain skinny, or you walk around naked… 

I don’t know about you, but I have a little bit of a problem with the idea of walking around nakers, no matter how much I own my curves. 

I’ve tried ordering clothes from back home, but the problem is that it becomes astronomically expensive and inconvenient to buy clothes from home because… 
A) I’m always running the risk that they won’t fit well because I can’t try them on first. 
B) I have to pay for shipping to get them to my mom’s house and then I have to pay shipping to have her send them to Korea. 
C) When I buy from a website that delivers straight to Korea, the clothes are disgustingly expensive and then Korean Customs holds my package for ransom at Incheon Airport because they ALSO feel the need to charge me import taxes. 
By the way, Korea, we need to have a serious conversation about your lack of logical thinking and consideration when it comes to this. If you were to simply make clothes in a variety of sizes, all of us non-underweight (and I do mean non-underweight, not just chubby) people would be more than happy to purchase our clothes from you and you would get ALL of the business, instead of being bitter about us buying clothing from abroad and then slapping us with a major tax. But I digress…


I recently started looking at other options because buying clothes from home was just completely inconvenient and hugely costly. I decided to try to have a tailor make simple clothing for me, so I went with a friend to buy some fabric and then took it to a nearby tailor to have her make me a skirt…
THE WOMAN WANTED TO CHARGE ME 5O BUCKS TO MAKE ONE SKIRT!!! And she didn’t even have to go get the fabric because it was already there, sitting in front of her!! Maybe If I was back home and a tailor told me that it was gonna be $50 for one skirt, then I wouldn’t be so upset because the cost of everything there is MUCH higher than it is here. 


I’m sorry, but that’s below the belt. How much more difficult can one place make it for someone like me to be able to wear clothes? 
I can’t find clothes that fit me here. 
I can’t order them from overseas because I have to pay for shipping, shipping again, and then import tax. Seriously, my cost for clothes here is astronomical.
And I can’t have my clothes made for me because the tailors take advantage and jack up the prices. It’s almost as if they all got together and thought, “Hmmm… What else can we do to completely destroy their sense of self-worth and dignity? They refuse to look the way we tell them they have to look, so we’ll just f*uck with them until they cave.” 


Well, Korea, you did it. Congratulations to you. I have finally decided that I am going to lose weight so that I can just buy some freaking clothes and try to salvage whatever is left of my dignity. It’s not bad around my foreign friends because I know they get me and that they accept me for who I am. My dignity is still intact when I’m around them. But seriously, Korea! You know, people are different, and that’s ok! Stop trying to make everyone fit into your cookie cutter idea of what everyone should be like. 


Anyway, my friend and I decided to go on a strict diet and work-out program so that we can lose some weight and finally be able to buy some clothes. They may still not fit because I’m so tall, but at least it’ll be easier to buy shorts, t-shirts, and skirts. Shoes are a whole other Oprah that I won’t go into right now. 


*Sigh* You know what, Korea? I love you, but sometimes you drive me nuts when it comes to things like these. I’m going to go ahead and lose the weight, but there are things about me that I refuse to let you change and that you can’t change even if you try. 


Me llamo Marisol Tena. Soy Chicana y tengo la piel morena. No me vengan con sus cremas blanqueadoras, porque yo no las quiero. Tengo el pelo chino y alborotado y no lo quiero controlar. Soy alta, tengo curvas, y si ustedes no las aprecian, creanme que otra gente si lo hacen. Espero que con el tiempo ustedes vean la belleza en otra gente de la misma manera que nosotros hemos visto la belleza en ustedes.

New Year Tripping in Taiwan

Ok. I know it's been about 6 months now since I came back from Taiwan, but I finally finished the video of my trip. I make these long videos mainly for my family back home because I know they're the ones who are most interested in knowing how my life is going and what it is that I do on my trips to other countries. 


If you're not a family member but are still interested in watching my longer videos, congratulations! You're on my list of cool people. Not that it's a requirement for being on the list, but it definitely gives you a leg up. 


=)

We're Gonna Chill...

Some of you may think that teaching English as a second language might be boring. There are a lot of grammar lessons, a lot of vocabulary tests, and a lot of slow-talking involved in what most people think of as ESL classes. Well, not necessarily. 


It doesn't have to go that way. There is a lot of that stuff involved in my classes, except for the slow-talking. I refuse to slow down to a condescendingly slow speech speed. But aside from that, there is a lot of room, I think, to play with the language and have fun with the kids. I do, of course, teach the kids the "proper" way to speak, but we also joke around a lot and they now understand such things as, "Art thou ready, my dears?", which they get is a very old way of speaking. Another thing that I do with them is that I randomly insert different colloquialisms from different places so that they get a sense of how the language is actually used by native English speakers rather than just how it's done by the book. In this case, I inserted one of my own colloquialisms from back home. 


Enjoy!  =)


P.S. Most of these kindergarteners didn't speak or understand any English a couple of months ago. I think their homeroom teacher, Stacey, and the rest of us have been doing a pretty good job (if I do say so myself).