Bottle of Sunshine

     To say these past few weeks have been hectic would be an understatement. I thought college was hard, with its constant tests to study for, homework to do, and essays of death to write. That was until I was sent to live alone in Korea. That’s hard.

      I was dropped off at my cute little apartment by the sea, told through the limited English of my mentor teacher that I started work on Monday, 6 days from now. I was grateful, seeing the next 6 days as time to adjust to my surroundings, shop for any essentials my apartment needed, open my bank account, ect. What I didn’t know was that I would have to do this, alone. I kept in touch with the other TaLK teachers, everyday coming on Facebook to hear how their teachers threw them a welcome party, showed them around the area, helped them with their bank account, and so on. I kept waiting for the day when my mentor teacher would return to do the same for me. After two days went by, I e-mailed her. By day four I knew she wasn’t going to answer. I was stranded in Masan, knowing maybe ten Korean words, with no clue exactly where I was, and hours away from my friends.Now, some of you may be ok with being alone, seeing it as the ultimate freedom. But for me, as much as I like having time for myself, unless someone is by my side I never venture outside. I have a terrible sense of direction and a horrible fear of getting lost. Why go outside? You’ll just walk 50 feet, get hopelessly confused as to where you are, be unable to ask for directions cause you don’t know the language, and then die. How I die, no clue. Maybe Korean mafia, or a crazy bus driver. Either way, ultimate doom always is my end. But it dawned on me more and more that if I didn’t go outside and explore and at least find food, I might still come to an ultimate doom. I finally calmed myself down, put on my shoes, and went outside. “Just go straight,” I encouraged myself. “If you ever want to go home, just turn 180 degrees and go straight again.” Very easy sounding, I know, but to me that meant a lot. I came up with daily goals for myself. Walk one way for 30 minutes. For an hour. Till you can’t go straight anymore. Find a grocery store. The bank. Police station. Karaoke place. All simple, little goals, and with each one I accomplished, the more confident I grew. I was out here, alone, in a country that doesn’t speak English. And I was just fine.

Monday came and it was time for my first day of teaching. I was stressed to say the least. I had no idea what my kids would be like, what their English level was, what my classroom had, ect. And yet again I was watching my TaLK friends on Facebook get grand tours, specific teaching guidelines, and escorts to school for the first day. Well, at least I got an escort. However, I had no idea where I would meet my escort, or even what they looked like. And so, I attempted to e-mail my mentor teacher again, telling her if I heard nothing back I’d wait in my apartment. The clock ticked on, and still no e-mail back or a knock on my door. Then I started to worry. What if they didn’t know where I lived? What if they were waiting downstairs or at the bus stop? What if I were late for my first day? I flew out of my apartment, figuring that even though I didn’t know them, they would easily spot the insanely tall foreigner that dressed funny. And she did.
     As she came out of the elevator she said, “Hello, Lauren. You’re late.” You know how first impressions are lasting impressions? Multiple that by a billion in Korea. Then add in how being on time is actually late in Korea. Yeah. This was NOT the impression I wanted to make. What was worse was her English was as good as my mentor teacher’s, despite her perfect, “You’re late.” So any hopes of explaining that I had been waiting for her for the past 4 hours went flying out the door.
     When she took me to the school via city bus, I tried my best to memorize the landmarks so I would know how to get to school alone the next day. Problem was my escort insisted she explain the bus schedule to me, in Korean, figuring that if she talked slow enough I would totally understand those strange noises she was making. When I reached the school, she introduced me to other teachers. I bowed as deeply as I could, not knowing who were my bosses and who were my partners in crime which earned quite a few laughs from them. Good. Maybe if I’m cute and funny enough they’ll forget the unfortunate lateness. That was when I met my kids…
     Have you ever seen a cartoon where a character is walking and sees something they can’t believe, but still keeps walking only to plow into a wall? Now imagine kindergartners through 6^th graders doing this. Over and over and over again. Clearly they weren’t expecting me, the exotic giant of a foreigner. That was when I waved and said, “Hello.” You’d think I told them I bought them a puppy, the lights in their eyes. They started to jump and chant, “Hello!” back. And when I mimicked their energy that only made their smiles wider. I didn’t know it then, but I had made my first allies in this bizarre place.
     Classes came and went, and soon it was the next day. I was struck terrified again because not only was I being forced to leave my apartment alone, but I had to navigate the buses alone. What if I got hopelessly lost, trapped in the middle of a rice field that went on for ages, only to be preyed on by wild cows? Yes, I have a very active imagination. Besides the point, I did get on that bus, armed with a secret weapon. The address of the school. I figured if worse comes to worse the bus driver would know where I was going and tell me the stop when we got there. Said driver throwing me off the bus however, was not part of the plan. Seeing the terror in my eyes he called me back, and soon I understood what he meant. To those who know Korea better than me, why the kimchi does the SAME number bus at the SAME bus stop at the SAME arrival time go to DIFFERENT stops. I’ve been riding the bus for two weeks now, and despite appearing to be the same, I have been dropped off in two completely areas. Thankfully both are within my sight (it’s awesome how it’s at the base of three big mountains), but still. Explain this to me.
     Regardless, I arrived at my school, paranoid as all get out that I was late AGAIN and would soon be asked to leave the school and Korea as a whole. But that was when I heard them. The kids. No…my kids. I had made it with 20 minutes to spare, my kids running around during their lunch break. The moment they saw me, they dropped whatever they were doing and RACED to me, all of them chanting “Happy, pretty, beautiful, blue eyes, tall Lauren teacher!” I don’t think I’ve gotten that many compliments all at once in my whole life. And they barely knew me!
     It was time for my fellow TaLK teachers to be jealous of me now. How did I get my kids to love me so much? Was I giving them candy? Did I know more Korean then I let on, thus was able to talk to them more? No. I was just…happy. Kids are like sponges. You might not be able to say a single word they’ll understand, but they understand a smile, a wave, a jump of joy, a hug. Though we could barely communicate, my kids knew I was happy to be there to teach them, and they fed off of that, making me even more happy and energetic. These kids get me out of bed now. Make me explore past my apartment. Become a better person, as cliché as that sounds. Because, they aren’t wearing masks. What they say they feel. And they feel happy that I’m here with them. I told them, “I’m American,” but my older kids shook their heads and said, “No. Not American. You’re Korean now.” Despite the loneliness and coldness of my teachers, I can do this job. I have about 70 very important supporters behind me.