The Big Show

Yesterday was the “big show,” where all my students performed English acts before anxious parents, who couldn’t wait to see if I am actually teaching something.

The kids did a good job. Honestly I was nervous, since rehearsals were still rough. I know that most teachers will identify with that “this is going to end horribly” feeling, only to have their kids pull off something amazing (more than you even imagined) when the show day arrives. But I also think it says something sad about human nature: that we do as little as we have to when we don’t have an audience watching, but when the lights come up—we sing and dance our hearts out…

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Some days, I feel like a big show. My being here is a constant point of fascination for the Koreans in this area. The children like to touch my face, pet my arms (because they have not seen so much arm hair before), and poke my stomach. When I arrive at school, they want to open my bag, dig through my desk, and see what’s in my wallet. One time, when Principal Yu brought her family for a visit to my home, the children opened the fridge and looked through my wardrobe. They did thorough investigative work.

It’s not just the children. The adults are constantly wondering about me. They will ask each other, “Do you know if he wants to marry a Korean woman? Do you know what he eats for dinner? Do you know if he has friends?” Sometimes they guess. Other times, they send a “brave” representative to ask me. Also, they make a fuss over me. “Your clothes are not warm enough! You need a better umbrella! You must eat more!”

One time, my landlord saw a pizza box in my trash bin, and he proceeded to tell the pastor, “He likes pizza!” It became an exciting discovery for the whole church, I guess, as many people approached me about this topic later. Moreover, there must be a church announcement over every move I make. Sometimes random members will approach me and say, “You went to Seoul yesterday.” Um, yes, I did. Or, “You have a mirror in your bathroom, so you can shave your face.” “You like to eat garlic, spicy food, and soup. You must really be Korean at heart!” And there you have the core of the issue: a constant searching for ways that we are alike and ways that we are different. Human nature, I think, to wonder “How foreign is this foreigner from us, exactly?”

This shows itself best at the grocery store. People will stare at my cart to see what is inside. The lady at the check-out counter takes extra time to scan my items (so as to catalogue the stuff in her mind, to perhaps share some juicy information with her friends and family later). On occasion, people will follow me down the aisle, to see what I am buying, or even lift things out of my cart to get a closer look.

I have given up on taking “helpers” with me to shop. In fact, I now keep it a secret when I go to stores, as church members will volunteer to go. When they do, it becomes an ordeal. Why? Because they must comment on everything I buy. And they will not let me lift a finger, as they want to put it in my cart for me. So I have to try to tell them what I want. It always ends with them running off, bringing something back that they think I mean, though I am staring and pointing at the item that I want on the shelf in front of me.

One time, a lady decided that I didn’t need paper towels. She said, “Too expensive!” She insisted that Koreans use toilet paper to clean their homes. I said, “But that paper is too flimsy!” Blank stare. Okay, how do I describe flimsy? I tried again, “It will tear too easily when I try to use it.” She smiled gleefully and said, “Yes, it will tear at the lines!” She thought I was now joyful about the perforations on her pick of toilet paper. She wasn’t picking up on the fact that I was still disagreeing. By the way, the paper towels were only 50 cents more.

She also became bothered when I tried to buy store brand orange juice. I actually love the juice here. It is fresh-squeezed, as opposed to sugar water. However, she insisted that I would only like the imported Minute Maid orange juice. It cost $5 more. I said, “No, I think it is too expensive! I like this kind.” She frowned and said, “I know that you will not like it. This is from Korea. That is from America. You must have that juice.”

Why I also decided to buy a pillow case that day, I do not know. I must be a masochist. I wanted the plain white one for $3. She said, “No, you should buy this one!” It was a flowery pillow case, for $6. I said, “The price is higher. And it has flowers.” She said, “Your wife will like you to have it.” I protested to no avail, “I am not married.” She looked very hurt, as if her intention was to bring me future martial bliss, and I was scorning her advice. “Oh great,” I thought, “My shopping is first a point of national curiosity. Now, this lady is making my home needs about her personal worth.” So I bought the silly thing.

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In the end, if my future wife does come to my home here, she will find things dirtier than usual, with mounds of flimsy toilet paper that wouldn’t hold up to the chore. Plus, she will discover way-too-expensive orange juice as my only means of sustenance, since I couldn’t afford the other food I needed. But, if I can just get her to see my pillow case…