My Pastor is Cooler Than Your Pastor

I'm going to hell. That's the verdict, at least, according to Esther, one of my pastors here in Korea. She likes to say I'm going to hell. But I have a few friends who say they'll see me there, so it's ok. Pierre promised to bring wine. And also I like to think that, given how similar we are, Esther also will soon join me in hell. So you see, it all works out in the end.

She's kidding, by the way, for all you readers who can't sense the thick sarcasm oozing from the lines on your computer and dripping onto your lap. It's one of the things I love about her. Esther is on my list of people whose humor always makes me laugh. Wait, change that; I almost always laugh, regardless. She's on the list of people I find truly humorous. And if you know me, you will know how I love to laugh. This characteristic is hereditary, I believe. Both my mom and dad are eminently witty and find great enjoyment in humor, especially intelligently presented, insightful humor. I like people who make me laugh, so naturally Esther falls on that list.

In my life, I have had a number of pastors. During my formative years living in Valparaiso, we remained at the same church, having four pastors over that span of years. I also went to a Christian elementary and middle school and therefore was surrounded by a number of others in the clergy. Moving to Michigan when I was 16, we floundered for a time, not settling on a specific church. Eventually we found ourselves attending a church much larger than the one we had left behind. Good Shepherd, in Indiana, was small and fostered a quite close community of about 100 members. Calvary, in Grand Rapids, is what is known as a mega-church, defined as a church having over 2,000 worshippers every Sunday. This concept is exceptionally familiar to South Korea; eleven of the world's twelve largest mega-churches are in Seoul. Yoido Full Gospel Church is the world's very largest, consisting of 800,000 members. Calvary's attendance seems paltry compared to that, having an average of 6,000 worshippers every Sunday. That's still very large. It has planted a number of daughter churches in the Grand Rapids area, including Mars Hill Bible Church, pastored by Rob Bell and at one time the fastest growing church in America. The positive part of going to a mega-church is that you usually get a very stimulating service, with good music and riveting preaching. The downside is that you often feel like a sheep being herded in and out of a large corral. You see the pastor from a distance, but there is little difference than watching it on television.

When I came to Korea, I knew that finding an English service was of utmost importance to me. For anyone who does not know, my faith is essential to me. Regardless of how circumstances change around me, this is a very solid area of my life. I may flex and change on exactly how I view certain teachings, but I can never foresee myself apart from my identity as a Christian. Even with this, though, I do not consider myself to be "religious." It is a word that makes me shudder and gag slightly. "Religious," to me, seems a word that connotes a regimented, inflexible set of beliefs. Religion spawns fanaticism and prostrating before large brass gods or clutching talismans to ward off evil. It is a scrupulous conformity that can strip one of individuality. Those are the reactions that course through me when someone hears me identified as a Christian and replies, "Oh, I didn't know you were religious." No, please. Not in that sense.

To me, it is a faith. I may not always be able to logically explain what or why I believe. It is sometimes beyond my understanding and feels somewhat mystical or magical. Therein lies the beauty, though. While I may search for intellectual understanding, I find a certain excitement in reiterating that some things in our world simply pass beyond the ability to be grasped. I like that my faith does not allow me to study it for a time, then claim that I know everything that there is to know. It is intellectually challenging and, furthermore, is experiential. Events in my life will always affect how I cognitively interpret this vast expanse I call my faith.

Given that my faith is so important to me, my relationships with other Christians are equally so. I love to discuss what I believe, regardless of whether the person disagrees or agrees. Regardless of the other person's faith. Many of my best conversations have been with people who believe exceptionally differently from me; their thoughts and personal views are beyond stimulating. I may have some secret Italian blood in me in that way; I will passionately argue for my point, and have at times in the past been accused of being unrelenting and judgmental. But I truly enjoy hearing how the other person views this same subject. Many people simply do not enjoy this sport as I do. They prefer to avoid subjects such as politics and "religion," an aversion which is in no way wrong and is completely understandable; such topics can become uncomfortable. In my family, however, this was typical dinner table talk.

Therefore I deeply enjoy relationships with others who have this similar tendency. When I arrived in Korea, I was introduced to Soo Young Ro, also a mega-church boasting 15,000 Sabbath attendees. It offered a sizable English service, called AIM, complete with our own Pastor. Benjamin Ahn moved to the U.S. at 16; he both studied and pastored there for many years after. He married a lovely Korean-American woman named Diane and they have two beautiful children. I always enjoyed a good relationship with them, but with two children and numerous duties at AIM and the mother church, he was a very busy man.

One the last Sunday of my first year in Korea, a time when I was anticipating my Southeast Asia and India travels, then my return home, then my return for a second year in Korea, AIM invited an American female pastor to speak. She was visiting Korea with her daughter to see where her grandfather, who had long ago been a missionary here, had lived and worked. I joined the throng to shake her hand at the close of the service, then walked away for four months.

While at home, Michael told me in one of his emails that we had hired a new pastor, a woman. This excited my anticipation, as I have long wanted to be under a female pastor. "I wonder," I thought, "if it's that woman who was there on my last Sunday..." Yes, it was. I was told by many people how wonderful she is. Upon returning, I discovered exactly how true this is. Over time, however, I have come to realize that she is so much more than a good pastor and a wise woman. Oddly, almost frighteningly, she is me. Our experiences, our views, our personalities are exceptionally similar. Eventually we tired of yelling out, "Me, too!" at everything the other person says. Lately we've taken to staring hard at each other, looking for signs of cloning. "If not for the blond hair," Esther says, shaking her head.

I was over at her house for dinner the other night. In true sleep-over fashion, the menu prominently featured pizza and brownies. We had a salad to abate our guilt. Conversation ranged everywhere from our family histories to biblical hermeneutics to humor. When Kathleen, Esther's daughter, came home from teaching, we had a blast just laughing and talking. Kathleen also has a superb sense of humor; she is an excellent story teller and has a whip like humorous sarcasm. Throughout the remainder of the evening, they shared deep, spiritual wisdom with me. A great example is All Your Base Are Belong to Us off of the Engrish website. I then shared my profound insights through the hilarious Jib Jab's "This Land is Your Land" and "2-0-5" parodies.

Actually, to describe the conversation is impossible; I'm not very good at recounting discussions. However, we had so much fun that it took me about 20 minutes to get out the door. Every time we would say goodbye, we started talking and laughing about something new, lingering in the foyer.

And I realized when I was leaving the exceptionally special nature of this relationship. I am not sure how many people have friendships with their pastors like this. Considering the uniqueness of all parties, however, I would guess that no one else has relationships like this. But not counting that we're all a bit weird (in a good way), I see this as being incredibly special. I have always viewed the pastors in my life as eminent elders, far beyond understanding me as a child. Later, my pastor was someone who gave excellent sermons and stood very far away on the stage. With none of these people did I ever truly connect on the level of reaching friendship. Never did I consider actually being friends with the pastor of my own church.

With Esther, I respect her deeply for her convictions as a person and a female minister. She is exceptionally smart, exceedingly patient, and beyond generous in the fullest sense of the word. I don't say this to flatter or embarrass her. It is just that I see these qualities in her and hope to emulate them in my own life. That she is so similar in personality to me only compounds this, giving me motivation to garner her qualities.

Both Esther and Kathleen are women that I hope to resemble, ones that I hold up as examples of overcoming tragedy and hardship while retaining humility, grace, and joy. They are the most excellent of women. But moreover, they are my friends.

Swallowed in the Sea

I love my Ipod. Since I have had it, I play it almost continuously, boxing myself into a world of my own creation while reality plays around me unheeded. At times others attempt to break through my little cocoon, happily chatting at me while I obliviously sing a tune in my head with a voice much better than my own. It's such a great little device. Although it is small, it holds a plethora of songs, making it hard for me to become bored with my music selection. I still have songs on here that I haven't yet heard.

Currently my favorite is "Swallowed in the Sea" by Coldplay. It's one of those that I sing repeatedly, both with Chris Martin's sexy voice and with only my own, decidedly less sexy one. The lyrics are such that I assume an acute profundity without ever really considering them. It starts, "You cut me down a tree/ And brought it back to me/ And that's what made me see/ Where I was going wrong." What does that mean, really? Without the music and the Voice, it sounds a little different. But let me sit here with my song and think that it encompasses the full meaning of life in only 3 minutes and 58 seconds.

Here, this is better: "Oh what good is it to live/ With nothing left to give/ Forget but not forgive/ Not loving all you see." This stuff should be canonized.

Oh, and just so I don't go to prison for plagiarizing the Voice, I'll add links to their official website and full lyrics. Can they arrest you for this? It would look quite interesting on my record.

I should say that my choices in favorites are rather fluid. As soon as I tire of one song, I move on to the next. But my all-time favorite never, ever changes. Quite possibly the best song ever to be created in this world. Ok, maybe not, but I sure do like it a lot. Aubrey. I was named after it, so this was somewhat inevitable. Many of my poor friends are forced to listen to it against their will. Pity them.

And why, you may ask, am I writing this very pointless blog post about a current favorite song (among other somewhat disjointed topics)? Well, I answer confidently, apart from the fact that I truly enjoy pointlessness, it's because it relates well to what I got to do on Saturday. Most people know how much I love the water. I was, after all, once both a swimmer and a water polo player. And I continue to prefer activities that place me on, in, or near the water (oh, that was just a nice little cache of prepositions, wasn't it?). I now live in Haeundae, the quintessential beach area of Korea. Not that Korea is known for its beaches, but I'm doing what I can. Lastly, my mom and stepdad, true cottagers from Michigan, live directly on the lake (meaning Lake Michigan, of course). Yes, I am from a waterlogged history.

Pierre, continuing to demonstrate his brilliantly inspired status (he knows, he knows), suggested that we go to Songjeong beach on Saturday to go windsurfing. Now, with all the varied aquatic activities in which I have participated, this is one that has always been neglected (along with surfing, but that is especially because I have long lived in areas that lack the proper waves). Despite the prediction of rain all day, we settled on the plans.

As it turns out, the Korean weather forecasters have proved to be nearly as adept at correctly predicting the weather as our dearly beloved Michigan weather forecasters; we had a beautiful, sunshiny day. You couldn't tell by any change in the pallid color of my skin, but I swear that we did. So Pierre, Saeyeon, Richard, Mennow (a friend of a friend of Richard's. He is from Holland... look, mom, a real Dutch person!) and I headed over to grab our equipment that purportedly keeps you above the surface. After donning our wet suits, we all somewhat resembled a rag tag team of superheroes (spandex and rubber, you get the idea). I am of yet unsure about our specific super human powers. Possibly they remain latent.

The instructor took us to our boards, telling us that we needed to be back in three hours. After that, no training at all, they boys helped us heave our boards into the water and off we were to go. The boys did... Saeyeon and I had a bit more trouble. Please let me emphasize that for both of us it was our first time doing it. Still, I think the boys were returning from reaching the shores of Japan by the time I first was able to even stand up with my sail. Loser!

Actually, Richard did take the time to explain it all to me, but I got all confused with words like "head wind" and "perpendicular sail." No, I really have no idea what he even said. It's that great British accent; it sounds so mellifluous, but you have to remember to actually listen to the words that they're saying. Darn it.

I did manage to eventually drift over to the cove with intermittent moments of sailing. Five feet and fall! Two feet and tip! Head dive after nose dive. Almost literally swallowed in the sea (ah! So there's the connection!). I got so fed up with going absolutely nowhere that I ended up swimming my board back to its point of origin. Interestingly, that was much faster than trying to sail it. I figure that they give you a three hour rental because it takes about 30 minutes to get away from shore (um... if you suck, like me) and then 2 hours and 30 minutes to try to get back to shore. Hence why I swam. I think I also swam it because I knew that was something I was good at, something I could do.

When I got back, I found Saeyeon already there, taking a "break." "Yeah... me too," I agreed, "...a 'break.'" Need I say that we didn't go out again? We did it for two hours and I think that is pretty good. We spent the rest of the time bemoaning the lack of decent conditions for sailing. "It wasn't us, it was (insert excuse here)." (Excuses: lack of wind, first time windsurfing, wrong type of board, constricting super hero wetsuit, etc.) We all ended the day with warm showers (ahh...) and huddled around a plastic picnic table near a snack shop, finishing the last of the day's gimbap. I had a lot of fun. But I always do with these guys.

Perhaps next time I go, I'll attempt to master the ancient Chinese martial art of Wu Xia, which supposedly enables the doer to use the water's surface to jump or fly. This may be easier.

I am... a Super Teacher

The last couple of weeks I've been administering speaking tests to all of my students, which is basically insanely repetitive. It's asking the same three questions a thousand times over. Lock me up now. But it's great for the blog. Oh, what I do for you, my readers.

A few weeks ago, my co-teachers approached me, informing me that I needed to create tests for each of the three grades that reviewed the material we learned this semester. It was fun, actually. I got to come up with such life pondering questions as, "How do we lose weight?", "What can you buy at a garage sale?", and "What should I do if I am sick?" Plato would be proud.

I then spent a couple of weeks going over the questions in my classes, ensuring that they understood the questions, and basically giving the answers I wanted to hear. Then came the time for the test.

My poor kids are all petrified, though. They come into the test fully expecting me to jump on the table, pull on my hair, and taste the precise flavor of their flesh with my razor sharp teeth. But I just sit there and smile, resisting the pressing temptation to mess with their little minds, especially the monsters who gave me so much crap in class. Being a Super Teacher, however, I have astounding powers of resistance. So I smile. I encourage. I repeat. S-L-O-W-L-Y.

And they deliver with stuff like this:

• Geh geh geh geh geh geh geh geh geh... Molayo. Which I am told roughly translates to "The the the the the the the the the... I don't know." Brilliant.
• I... am... different-uh... in... swimming. Different? I think he meant "interested." Or maybe he did mean "different." If so, I'd like to watch some day.
• I fun. Funny (pointing at me). Yeah, thanks.
• "What do we do to lose weight?" Americans fat should hard exercise. It's just an assumption, I guess.
• I lose take stair. I'm not even positive as to which question this was an attempt to answer. Losing weight? Oh, wait. It was my kleptomaniac question: "If you lose your English skills, what should you steal?"
• The pfun the sings. And the pfunny which are pfun which are sings when make laff. This, apparently, is the difference between fun and funny. Quick, write to Webster's.
• Al bite. This isn't funny as much a puzzling. I couldn't count how often I got this answer to many different questions. And they all seemed convinced that it was an English word. Rob, looking for any more new words for homeless definitions?
• "What should we do to lose weight?" Pfat is bad? (Rubbing his stomach, shaking his head.) Pfat is very good.
• I be good at English. And I be a super teechur.
• When the carrot donated blood is the is. Color is the donated blood. The when the carrot donated blood is carrot is the blood color is blood. Do you get it? No, I don't. I really, really don't.
• "Explain fun and funny." I gave them this question, then gave them the precise answers to memorize. It's because so many Koreans mix them up or use them interchangeably, even Koreans whose English is very good. So I explained it all quite clearly to the classes, telling them to say, "Funny makes you laugh," for the second part. I then informed them I would definitely ask this question for the test. Piece of cake, right? Well, not exactly. Funny makes you... wrong... lose... logic... loser... loge... rough... rock... leg... leaf... live... aloof... language. In addition, there was: I am funny a lot, I funny a lot; funny is makes to the laugh; and funny is something you make look.
• "What should I do when I am sick?" No, I am not sick.
• I met a few third year girls in the hallway before the test. One was rather desperate to get good marks. Teacher, this class, please, me, 밀하는 시험! "Speaking test?" Yes-uh! Me. Grade higher. "Ok. If you have good speaking." No teacher, no can speaking. (I begin to walk away.) Oh, teacher, please! (panicked) TEACHER!... PRETTY!
• Pass... Pass... Pass... "Uh, the questions are finished." Pass.

And my VERY favorite of all (drum roll please)....

• In English?

It was the best of times... My favorite non-quote story of a student who took the test was from one of the first year students. They're about 12 or 13 years old calculated by Western years (Koreans do it differently; they are 1 year old at birth, then add years on New Year's Day. So a child born in December will be 2 years old less than a month later. That makes me 26 in Korean age. Yikes). Anyhow, this is another of my favorite students (Si Won... I just looked up his name); he works so hard in class and is very enthusiastic. Well, he absolutely rocked the test. I mean, he blew every single other student I tested out of the water, including the older kids and ones who've actually lived overseas. He was that good. And I was unmistakably pleased by his answers. When he finished, I told him that he received a perfect score. "Really?" he cried excitedly. "Oh thank you, teacher, thank you, thank you. Thank you teacher!" All the while, he's bowing to me repeatedly, over and over. He stands up, still bowing, and does it so lowly that he bangs his head on the table. "Ow," he breathes quickly, rubbing his forehead, then continues without missing a beat, "Oh, thank you teacher, thank you, thank you very much," bowing as he walks out the door. I was just in stitches. It put me in a great, very patient mood for all the other students I tested after him.

...and the worst of times... The saddest moments occurred when I asked, "What are your plans for summer vacation?" I'm staring at these smaller-than-life girls, who say very seriously in a perfectly memorized sentence, "This summer vacation, I should diet." What?! These girls are smaller than I was in the womb and they're talking about DIETing?! The first time I asked the girl to repeat, hoping I had heard incorrectly. But it was the same answer: "diet." Unable to nod and accept this as an answer, I had to confront such notions. "Why?" I asked. "You are very thin!" No, they assured me, not thin. Need to smaller. I ardently argued that they were in fact thin and were also very beautiful. But they laughed shyly and shook their heads, insisting that they needed to diet.

I worked with girls in the States who struggled with eating disorders, so this line of thinking strikes a deep chord of vexation in me. I am so frustrated by the cultures that, in their modern over-consuming, over-stimulating, over-working, decide that we should all appear as though we are rotting away from starvation, with arms and legs akin to sticks on a snowman. The cultures place such undue pressure on children to look and be perfect. And I feel hardly able to impact this, apart from strongly disagreeing every time I hear such ridiculous thinking.

And lastly, just a note... I realized as I was giving the tests that this was the first time I've actually looked many of these students in the eye. I have been their teacher for 4 months, supposedly imparting my knowledge to them, though otherwise may be suggested by the above answers, yet I had never really seen these particular students before. I guess that's what happens when you have over one thousand students. The truly odd part is that they all know me and my name, but I couldn't pick many of them out a crowd. It really is a bizarre feeling. I assume that it's a bit similar to being a celebrity.

So all in all, it's been fun. My kids start with their final exams next week, so that puts me at doing a few weeks of sitting around and playing games in class before vacation... when I GO HOME! Woohoo! It's very exciting.

See you, Aub

6 is a Perfect Number

Every Sunday night, Starface, a local bar frequently patronized by foreigners, holds a trivia night. You pay a buck to get in (well, 1000 won; I'm not sure that they'd take an American dollar even if you had it) and play on a team, attempting to answer assorted trivia questions from five different categories. I had never actually gone before, though I'd been intending to do so since returning to Korea. When I found out that my friend Marty would be hosting, however, I knew this was an opportunity I couldn't pass up.

I've always considered myself to be of somewhat above-average intelligence. Not brilliant or anything, just well-educated and rather smart. Foolishly I assumed that the trivia would be fun and challenging for me. In actuality, it was both fun and challenging, but in the sort way if you tried to swim from Korea to Japan while holding your luggage above your head. I was doomed from the start.

After the first several questions, all in the category rather misleadingly entitled "General Knowledge," which included, "What was the name of the ship that carried Charles Darwin and his compatriots to the Galapagos Islands?" "Who was the first man ('or woman,' the ever-egalitarian Marty added) to orbit the earth?" and "What are the largest and smallest countries (by population) playing in the 2006 World Cup?" I knew I was doomed. I could feel my assurance and confidence melting away and evaporating quickly into the air heated by the vast knowledge of absolutely everyone else in the room. Have I dumbed down that much in the several years since I've left school? Did I ever even learn that information? What useless facts did my school teach when I could have been learning about Ricky Martin's band, Menundo?

So rather than being of any use whatsoever to my team, I instead sat there trying very hard to look smart and knowledgeable. I furrowed my brow. I pretended to write. I gave small cries of excitement at various junctures, hoping to indicate my familiarity with the subject matter. But I was truly useless. Ironically, I was able to provide a few answers on our second round: math and science, the two subjects which most under-stimulated me in school. I learned some new tidbits, too. For example, a "perfect number" is an integer which is the sum of its proper divisors. 6 is a perfect number. So is 28. And yes, you're right, so is 8,589,869,056. Duh.

The greatest contribution I gave, the pinnacle of my achievement, came when the question, "How do you spell 'onomatopoeia?'" was asked. It's a give-away that I know it, as you just read it, but I nearly shouted and stood up when Marty asked the question. I've recently referred to it in a post, if you'll remember. In fact, Val, Marty's girlfriend and also my good friend, later told me that she thought of me when they wrote that question. She taught Grace after I did and said that Grace still runs around the school asking people if they know what onomatopoeia is. So my usefulness factor raised one bar.

Sadly, it was quickly dashed again when they asked a sociology question. Supposedly this is encompassed in my expertise, as I have a Bachelors of Social Work that I paid way too much money for. "Who was the father of social conflict theory?" Social conflict theory. Social conflict theory. It echoed across the cacophony of my mind. Meanwhile, my brain was skipping happily, surreptitiously plucking flowers from a vacant field. The answer that cleverly eluded me was, of course, Karl Marx. This compounds the fact of my mental vacuity, as I've spent some time visiting and studying in formerly communist countries. Social conflict theory.

The third round was language and literature, which also somewhat raised my hope. But alas, let's just say that Val and Marty are both undeniably smarter than me. I needs to read more bookseses (ugg, though I shuddered when I reread that sentence again. I knows how to write, I does). And I almost just walked away when we came to the music round. It was like that old game show "Name That Tune," where you had to identify a song within the first several seconds of it playing. Strangely enough, they didn't pick the groups "Bread" or "DC Talk," both of which may have provided me some sort of chance. Can't figure out why they were excluded. The girls in our group, Liz, Ang, and me, did know "Fur Elise" by Beethoven. We are too cool. Thank goodness for Kevin, who proved to be our salvation for the night. He kept grabbing the paper from us to actually write more than "I don't know" or "We suck."

All in all, though, it was really fun. We lost, though not spectacularly. Second-to-last place got a can of tuna as a prize, but sadly we eked them out to get third-to-last, I believe. We'll try less next time.

I now know that the trivia answers are, at least for the time, ingrained into my mind. It's just too bad that they change the questions for every trivia night. Otherwise I think I could have done quite well the next time.

Here's to stupidity.
Love Aub

P.S. I actually now feel the need for a disclaimer, as it appears that some people are at times taking me far too seriously. Regarding my end of the world post, I received a number of comments assuring me that I'm not fat. Honestly, I have no qualms with my body or fears of that; I thought it was a funny story. And I really like to exaggerate what occurs in my mind. That's all. So if you walk away thinking that I'm sporadically hitting my forehead so as to punish my stupidity, staying up late at night to pour over new information about the phylum Chordata and the subfamily Atelinae, or possessed with a consuming need to learn Greek so as to retranslate the New Testament, then you're wrong. That's all.

My Brother is Awesome!!!

I was so excited because my mom emailed me to say that Daane commented on my blog. And I was a bit surprised because that means he used what little time he has nowadays with technology to check out what I wrote; this, of course, made me even happier. His comment was down a bit in the post I wrote about his Appalachian Trail Trek. So I'm putting it here for all to see. I love Daane and I can't express enough how awesome he is. Reading this makes me even more proud of him (yes, we're reaching the early stages of euphoria about now):

Hey baby,
We just got into our first town and I have to say I've never been so excited to get to a town with less that 1000 people. We got here a day late b/c we've had rain for the past 7 days including one night where we got 2 inches. Needless to say there were flash floods, making the rivers almost impossible to ford so our 13 mile average was cut to 10. Over the last 10 days the trail has shown us the hardest terrain I've ever seen. We've seen everything from miles of flooded trail and so many exposed roots that if you misstep just once you're quite likely the sprain or break an ankle. To the most uneven jagged rocks I've seen much less had to walk over. We have also been through terribly muddy bogs with thousands of mosquitoes that laugh at you when you hit them and eat DEET as an appetizer before devouring your flesh. Even through all of the hardships, climbing to the tops of the mountains and seeing the breathtaking views makes it all worth it. Thank you for all your love and support and I hope you're having a wonderful time in Korea. I LOVE YOU
-Daane

Daane, your note made me laugh and cry. You are so brave for doing this, especially because you're doing it to help other people than yourself. I can't wait to come home and see you. I'd hug the computer now, pretending it was you, but that's a bit less satisfying than getting a great, big bear hug from you. I think of you and pray for you every day. Keep fighting off the monster mosquitoes. That, or start putting sugar water in Chad's bug spray so they want to become friends with him instead. Don't tell him I said that.

Sending so much love across the world... your big sis,
Aub

P.S. To everyone else, you can check out their journal on their website here or some photos of them here. Daane is in the red bandanna or the red hat. He's so handsome!

The World Ended a Week Ago...

I just glanced at the massive wall calendar hanging over my desk and realized that a week ago today was the end of the world. Didn't you notice either? It was May 6, 2006. 6/6/06 or 06/6/6 if you're from anywhere outside of America (deep sigh... we tend to confuse everyone by doing everything differently). Regardless, do note that either way it makes 6.6.6., which, for my readers who aren't numerologists, is the numerical sign of the devil. And I heard a few weeks ago that a bunch of wackos (and I use that term endearingly) in the U.S. were preparing to have the world end on "his day." I may have missed it, but the world ended a week ago. And I can prove it.

Well, I at least have two somewhat entertaining stories that, given a little tweak of your imagination, could bear proof to the imminency of the end-times. Work with me here.

Precisely a week ago, my apartment manager pulled me into his office to inform me that I had to move out of my apartment (and into the new one to which they were switching me) in one hour. "Excuse me?" Apparently the new owner was promised that he could move in at 7:00. I got home from work at 6:15. Now I really should have prefaced this by saying that I did have prior knowledge that I'd have to move. I'd been told a week earlier that I needed to be out the next day. I fought for longer and assumed that we came to an agreement as to which day. But apparently him not understanding English and me not understanding Korean weren't a fabulous combination. Go figure. So he was banking on 7 pm that night and I was planning on getting started at about 8 or so. We did finally come to a compromise after a very civilized conversation in the most impressively concocted sign language you've ever seen. I was to be out by 10 am the next morning. "Great," I said. And I directly went out that night with Richard, Pierre, and Saeyeon, leaving the work for early the next morning. It was the only responsible thing to do.

Next story. Then yesterday, after school finished and I was gathering my belongings to go home, 3 of the 4 male English teachers were lounging at their desks, discussing assorted Koreany topics in Korean. Suddenly I heard my name quite clearly in the midst of the conversation. As this is rather a frequent occurrence in the office, I usually am only mildly diverted before returning to my ignorant bliss. But this time the mention of my name was coupled with hearty laughter from all three teachers. I looked up to see all three staring bemusedly at me, nodding. "Can you guess what we said about you?" Mr. Kim queried, confirming my growing suspicion that this was not merely a discussion of my classes.

"Um, no," I replied. "It just sounded like, 'Korean Korean Korean Korean Aubrey Korean Korean' to me," pulling a line I read on Liz's blog. They laughed again.

"Well, I think you don't work out," said Mr. Kim. "You are getting VERY FAT." More laughter.

"Oh." Stop the dialogue. Here is where I must implore you, dear reader, to suggest the correct response to such a statement. What was I to say? I stuttered a few more "ohs," admitted quietly to myself that it wasn't very nice to say, then bid farewell and waddled out the door (which I thankfully still fit through), repeating a new mantra to myself: "That's ok to say in Korea; it's a cultural difference... That's ok to say in Korea; it's a cultural difference... That's ok to say in Korea; it's a cultural difference..." But I spent the walk from school to the subway glancing furtively at shop windows, assessing the truth of their observations, fixating on my gargantuan thighs, my protruding derriere. Assessment... inconclusive. It's amazing how a comment from someone can cause your reflection to morph so dramatically.

I should note that this really is acceptable to say in this culture. They are brutally honest with each other about appearance. Not my favorite aspect of the culture, at least not when it's not positive. Especially if it's true that I'm getting fat. Please, just lie to me. Say, "Well, don't you look fantastic!" even if I'm Violet Beauregarde from "Charlie and the Chocolate Factory" after she turned into a human blueberry. Oh well, bring on another fast. And as a matter of caution, I'm burning the outfit I wore yesterday.

So if these two stories don't convince you that the loonies were correct in predicting the world would end a week ago, then I must say there's no hope for you. Good luck out there in our strange, strange world.

Love Aub

One Wild and Crazy Saturday Night

Eating strange, untested foods. Nearly getting kicked out of a restaurant. Running around like crazy under a lightning-streaked sky. All are ingredients for a rather unconventional, dare I say legendary, Saturday night. I had the distinct privilege of meeting 4 very unique people and dear friends for dinner on Saturday. Darren is unstoppable energy; he's constantly on the move, cooking up various exceedingly fun sorts of trouble for everyone. Jenny knows how to scheme as well, though executes her plans more discreetly, wreaking havoc without drawing a line to incriminate herself. David elevates any situation by infusing it with his own side splitting humor and a rolling, boisterous laugh. And Grace is our desperately needed mediator, watching that the situation does not burn out of control, but joining in on the fun nevertheless. There's no one like them in all of Busan. Oh, and did I mention that they're all 9 years old?

No, I lied... Grace is 8.

I will now assume that you are somewhat familiarized with some of my favorite people in Korea. Their age is purely incidental. I have as much fun with them as with anyone else. They composed what was my super star class when I worked at SLP. On days that stretched on for years, these kids suddenly became my bright point, infusing energy back into me. All were born and raised in Korea, but are so incredibly gifted that they speak like native English speakers. Actually, that's not true. Their English is better than most American kids their age. They use words that aren't taught until high school.

While studying "Harry Potter," "Number the Stars," "Holes," and "The BFG," we were able to discuss the characterization and underlying themes within the books. We learned about homographs, homophones, and homonyms. They wrote amazing stories using personification or inferences. You can ask any of them what onomatopoeia is. Go ahead. I dare you. Ask.

These kids are brilliant. But on top of that, their personalities are so endearing that they wrap around your heart with a certain finality. You realize how special they are, how you'll never again have an opportunity to know kids like these. I should mention that their families are wonderful, too. I've always felt so supported and taken care of by them. For American Thanksgiving, the beginning of the American family holiday season, Jenny's mom brought a pizza to class so I wouldn't miss home as much. David's family has given me two spectacular fans hand-painted by his grandmother. Grace's family is like having a second family here in Korea. And Darren always surprised us with treats and drinks in class. Their families have never allowed me to pay for anything when I take the kids out, regardless of how I implore them. On Saturday, they prepaid for us to have a tremendous steak dinner (a true treat for any carnivore in Korea... especially one hailing from the Midwest). And yes, we nearly were kicked out. Other diners stared at the table loudly speaking in English, at times throwing choice food items at others at the table, and concocting strange dishes that they dared Aubrey to eat. And I obliged. You're shocked, I know.

One item began as soup. Water was added, then various fruit peels and rinds, mushroom sauce, a few chunks of meat, ice cream with toppings, and finally seasoned with salt and pepper. Mmm... it was as good as it sounds.

After eating, we walked over to Bexco to play tag until their parents had to come pick them up. When the person who was "it" (strangely it ended up being me the whole time... I wonder how that could be! He he. Every time I ran near them, they yelled, "Fire! Fire! You can't touch me. I'm fire." Right. So cung.) was too tired to keep running, we sat around and told riddles.

I had such a great evening with them. It's one of those times where I realize exactly how thankful I am that I'm here in Korea, that I'm a teacher, that I've been blessed by such incredible people around me.

Once again my photos aren't working and it's really frustrating me. I think it's this dumb computer. So I'll upload later.

Love you all,
Aub

Sunshiny Day

Just want you to know that the sun is shining, birds are singing, children are laughing, and I am eating food again. Yes, it's a good day. Liz and I, with Ang and Jen's help, broke the fast with tortilla chips and salsa, banana pancakes, and Starbucks. Hey, we never claimed to be that healthy.

The really ironic part, I should say, is that after shakily grabbing whatever food we could, we started talking happily about our next fast. Oi. Masochists.

Here are some quotes from Gandhi so you can think I gleaned some spiritual wisdom from this:

• A genuine fast cleanses the body, mind and soul. It crucifies the flesh and to that extent sets the soul free.
• What the eyes are for the outer world, fasts are for the inner.
• A complete fast is a complete and literal denial of self. It is the truest prayer.
• If by strength is meant moral power, then woman is immeasurably man's superior.

Oops, he he. How did that last one get in there? Actually, I'm putting that one on my email signature. Gandhi knew his stuff. And that is in no way tongue-in-cheek. I always respected him, but that respect was catapulted to a new level when I was in India. What an incredible man. But this isn't a serious post. More on my respect for Gandhi another time.

I'm thinking that possibly my next fast should be a bit more fun. How does this sound: a fast from work? I think I like it... But my friends here who actually do work will kill me for that one. I have a month and a half vacation coming up soon anyway. Now that's a fast I can get into. Or I can do a chocolate-only fast. Whoa. That sounds even scarier than a total food fast. What good is eating if you can't have chocolate?

Have a great day, all. Enjoy everything that this life has to offer us.

Love, Aub

Dye Job

So I'm thinking about dyeing my hair...

Please Pass the Kimchi

I have decided that I am irrefutably a masochist. I love to hate myself, apparently. I'm on day 2 of the fast and have been utterly faithful. But I decided that, in the process of not eating, why not make it a little bit harder on myself? So last night I went out to dinner with some friends. I got to watch them eat some really delicious looking and smelling Chinese food while they urged me to have "just a little" the whole time. But I stoically refused. Then I went home and talked to Liz, my co-faster, and we both wondered whether we should just end it. We wavered, but resolved to remain firm; I did this while staring at chocolate. I just need to say that I'm so freaking amazing.

And now, to distract me from lunch, I'm writing you to complain about my idiocy. To remind myself why I was doing this, I re-read the information Jess once printed out about fasting. Here are some of the results they promised:

• A new vibrancy to the skin. It will "glow." Nope. No glowing yet. I was sweating trying to make it up the immense hill to school, made doubly arduous by the lack of nutrients; does that count?
• Increased energy. Ha. They must have slipped that one in as a joke.
• A clarity of mind. True, actually. My mind is very clear. It is focusing only on food.
• Releases pesticides, drugs, and other chemicals from stored fat, which can then be eliminated. I see that and I read: lose weight. In actuality, I think it's going the opposite way! How can that be?!
• Creates a spiritual high. That's called hallucinations.

But I've given up a day already and so I'm determined to finish. True, I'm doing a lot of whining in the process, but no matter. In a few more days, I'll be a vibrant, energetic, mentally clear, chemical-free, spiritual guru. Asah.

Aub

No Thanks, I Don't Eat Food

The food native to Korea could never be argued to be the haute cuisine of the world. Featuring such stand-outs as pickled cabbage, white rice, boiled silk worm larvae, white rice, dried and salted seaweed, and plain... white... rice, the connoisseur is left weeping in the corner.*

However, I manage to do quite well for myself. There are many fine restaurants, cooking at home, when I have time, is quite fun, and I have numerous friends with what can actually be labeled as culinary skill. I don't starve.

Though every so often, motivated in no way by necessity, I abstain. A friend will come to me, bright eyed and excited, and suggest attempting the "other" F-word: fasting. Going without food for a set period of time, usually a few days or longer. A total fast will allow only for water. Lesser, easier fasts allow juices. This friend will remind me of the health benefits of a fast, that it cleans your body of toxins and rejeuvenates your entire system. "We'll feel great after it!" comes the empty promise, the false hope. But I get caught up in the excitement and heartily agree that not eating food is the best idea I've heard all day.

Jessica was particularly resolute in ensuring that her refrigerator felt neglected. I think we attempted three fasts together, though each time they were different (read: shorter and easier). Initially we attempted a five day water fast. Ah, what starry-eyed optimists. The subsequent fasts allowed for juice. The other day Liz approached me about trying another fast. We're doing a few day juice fast. Pass the orange juice, please.

It's funny what going without food can do to you. I have always assumed that I'm a rather cheerful, pleasant girl. But when I forego eating, I suddenly become sullen and cranky. My mind allows no further contemplation than the very thing I've given up. That, I believe, is simply a part of my nature, not merely the effect of a lack of nutrients; when I can't have something, it's all I want.

The only other bad part is I have to lie to my Korean co-workers. "Aubrey, no eat lunch today?" No, I explain, I can't. Very sick. It's nice because then I get sympathy the rest of the day. I can't really tell them the truth because of the language and culture differences. Try explaining "detoxification" to the average Korean; it just wasn't top on their vocab lists in school. Also, they tend to aggrandize the health benefits of rice and kimchi (the pickled cabbage); I'm not buying it. When they saw me bringing only fruits and vegetables to work every day, they gawked and said that I would get sick if I didn't start eating some kimchi; still not buying. So I'm guessing that they just wouldn't accept that not eating can be good for you. Maybe you don't either. Actually, when I'm doing it, I don't either.

So I'm now about 6 waking hours into my fast and I've already had numerous visions of exactly what I'll eat when I break the fast. Very vivid visions. I was in class and I swear that I smelled banana bread. Later I'll likely move on to seeing and tasting the desire of the moment. Just come rescue me if I begin to speak longingly about kimchi.

*Regarding the first paragraph... (I am, of course, utilizing the writer's tool of exaggeration. Korea offers many wonderful food choices. Just not these.)

I'll keep you posted about it. Wish me luck!

Aub

P.S. By the way, Jess, I think you should join us from way over in the States. I really just want you fasting because I'm mildly jealous that you can actually get all the foods I'm now craving.

Just Lick It Up

Let me preface anything I now write by saying I embrace abnormality in numerous forms, gilding it thinly with a public veneer of normality. But I'm really a little off, I think. And I like people who are a little off. In a good way. No psychoses, please.

Having said that, I tend to enjoy and foster my own idiosyncrasies, at least the arguably amusing ones. It's what made me a good camp counselor; this way, it's like I never grow up. I'm like Peter Pan, but without all the pixie dust or the pirates (though there is always Ang...).

One day Jess and I were hanging out in my apartment. I poured us a beverage, then licked the drop that ran down the side of the bottle. She began to laugh and noted, "Do you know that you always lick things?" No, I hadn't noticed, actually. It's just what I do, likely out of laziness (it's easier than grabbing a paper towel) or perhaps an unconscious affinity with my tongue. My own oral fixation, possibly. I've never been a smoker and I gave up both nail biting and gum chewing years ago. So my poor mouth had to find something else to do.

Having no particular germ phobias (those were killed by years of camp counseling and subsequent traveling), the obvious and most practical solution was to become a very mobile clean-up crew. A small spill on the table? Voila! Taken care of! Food on my fingers? No napkin required. Ice cream in a cup? No way! Cone, please.

So there you have it. I've now eradicated any illusions you may have held of me being a normal adult. I shun normalcy. Nonetheless, I don't like to be strange alone; I want to be different, but not too different. So imagine my delight when I was at my friends Rob and Horyon's home with Esther and Kathleen the other day to discover a kindred spirit for this certain oddity. Not in Rob, though I consider him kindred in so many other ways as we are oddly similar. Not in Horyon, who is very well-adjusted, yet remains delightful and appreciative of strangeness. I found my kindred spirit, my bosom buddy (note the "Anne of Green Gables" reference), in Maxine, an 8 month old beautiful baby girl. I mean, gorgeous; not the kind of baby you say is cute simply because you hold an "all-babies-are-beautiful" policy. She is irrefutably, undeniably beautiful.

I was so excited because Rob dangled the promise of me getting to hold her when I came over. Incentive, indeed. Initially, she was a bit frightened by these new people in her home. Though acceptable from a distance, she began to cry when I got too close, a disappointingly universal effect I appear to have on babies. After some time, however, she seemed to sense our sameness and graciously allowed me to take her. That or her curiosity about my hair and jewelry finally overcame her trepidation. Regardless, after I took her I soon noticed that everything in which she had interest had to be first tested with her tongue. Hair, rings, fingers, watch, all needed to be licked. I'd upload the perfect photo now, but let's be honest, it's me we're talking about. Photos aren't working now.

Anyway, I was delighted! This wasn't just any baby, but a true soul mate. I now know that I am not alone as a licker. This makes it acceptable to me.

By the way, though I brought my camera intending to take pictures of the group, I only got ones of Maxine. Amazing the effect babies have.

Signing off,
Aub

PS. I think my somewhat addictive tendency is now focusing its full delight on this blog. Before long, I'll be spending beautiful summer days alone, away from friends, holed up in a dark, smoky PC Room writing more posts. Help me.

My Friends

To my friends:
My "Goodbye" post caused me to continue considering just what relationships mean in my life. I started to think of all the people I've ever left: in GR, in Valpo, at Spring Hill, at Calvin. How everyone has taken such a part in my life, played an intense role in shaping how I think, in building who I am. And not just building who I am, I suppose. They're all individuals who make me to be me. Largely, I identify myself by my past. They are memories of these people and places that shaped my personality, that taught me how to relate and react. From them, I learned myself: what I like or dislike, how I will respond, how I view life. They are me.

But I am a person who lets relationships fall to the wayside given time and distance. I am wholly untalented at maintaining long-distance relationships, regardless of what the person means to me. Yet those people never actually leave my life. Did you know that I get flashes of memories at times, triggered unexpectedly, that are so powerful I must pause and allow them to play in my mind again? Someone with whom I haven't spoken in months or even years reappears to replay a scene that has evident or imperceptible significance in my life. These people who exist in silence and distance for me maintain a ghostly relationship with continuing power to affect my thoughts and send a reminiscent pain coursing through my heart. I think of them, of you, and wonder where you are and what you're doing. I wonder who you have become. And then I taste regret at your absence and wish that you could remain active participants in my life; you are a part of me.

I consider too the people who are in my life now in Korea. Like those from my past, they all play a unique role in affecting me and I love them uniquely for that. A similar phenomenon to the intense replaying of unbidden memories occurs with me at unexpected moments when I am with a person. Not always, therefore I am perpetually surprised by the occurrences. There are moments when I am with a friend, listening to them, when suddenly I am struck so strongly with a deep realization of love for them. Sometimes I tell them; sometimes I don't. With certain friendships, interrupting the conversation to say, "By the way, I love you," would afford only a period of uncomfortable silence. Voicing such sentiments takes certain conditions and understanding within a relationship. But we all know that. Anyway, I'm looking at this person and suddenly the power of time stalls and I see how I need them, how grateful I am for them, how incredible and extraordinary they are, how I admire certain qualities in them. And then time realizes its slumber and jolts to start again. But I am caught in the afterglow of the revelation and for a bit see them differently, until time works diligently to dull those sentiments.

For some friends this inevitably occurs more frequently. Whenever it surfaces, though, I am thankful. It's like I'm really seeing them beyond any facade. I consider it and I can't believe the incredible people I know all around the world. I started to name individuals in my life and write about qualities in them that I so admire, but then realized it's not necessarily an appropriate topic, especially to be posted to the internet; each person should choose to whom they reveal themselves. Further, I could never adequately describe the qualities that so deeply affect me, especially as I invariably overlook numerous traits, focusing instead on my illusions of my own self-importance. I would do each person an injustice. But I wish I could share all the incredible qualities of all the people I care about with everyone else.

I'm awed continuously by you. And I'm infinitely grateful to know you. I say this with deepest sincerity and honesty. Thank you for the role you play in my life.

Your friend,
Aubrey

My Brother

My brother, Daane, leaves for the Appalachian Trail today. In my accurate and very unbiased opinion, there's no guy on earth (or likely elsewhere) who's better than my brother. He's so adorable, but unaffected by it. He's incredibly thoughtful to everyone around him, though he does manage to be worse at keeping in contact than even me. He's also very smart and has such natural insight, especially for someone that young (he's 20). And he has the best sense of humor of anyone I know. No one can make me laugh quite like Daane. I'm just crazy about him. You would be too. Here's a picture...


See? I told you! I'm such a lucky sister.



Well, I said already that he is leaving to hike the Appalachian Trail. He and my cousin Chad are doing the entire trail, North to South, which takes about 5 months. That's almost half a year of hiking. "Why?" you may rightly ask. Well, it's more than his intense love of the outdoors or his own travel bug disease that motivate this. You see, they're doing this to raise money for the Susan G. Komen Foundation, an organization that supports breast cancer research and education. My Aunt Sharon, Chad's mom, is a breast cancer survivor and Chad has unwaveringly supported her throughout her ordeal (Chad's awesome, too... I could brag about him for a while as well!). So he got the idea for him, Daane, and another friend to hike the trail to raise money; they're calling it "Hike for the Cure".

I'm inexpressibly proud of him, of both of them! I love you boys and I'm praying for your safety. I can't wait to hear how you grow and change through everything you will encounter there.

Your sister/cousin,
Aub