Life of Anonymous Celebrity, Part VII: Wonju Style

Episode 1: So, I'm waiting at the bus stop after work. It's around 9:30 and I've been waiting for close to 15 minutes, which is weird. Usually, I only have to wait around 10 minutes for the next bus to come. The bus stop is a few meters from an intersection. I don't notice this car until I see it at the intersection, making a wide and hasty u-turn. I think it is strange that this guy whipped it around so fast and so I watch this white beat up car drive back down the street, this time on my side. But he doesn't keep driving. The window comes down, the car pulls over into the lane next to the sidewalk, comes to a full stop,  and this Korean guy says, "Hey. Can I take you home? I'm just chillin.'" He's maybe just graduated from college, or perhaps is a little closer to my age. He's leaning over toward the passenger side, yelling at me with one of his arms draped across the steering wheel, using the other to make ghetto-inspired hand gestures as he tries to get me into his car.

ME: What?
Korean Guy: I mean, can I take you home? I'm just chillin' (again with the chillin'?)
ME: Ummm... no, thanks. I'm going home to my husband. (Mention the husband, maybe he'll leave?)
KG: Yeah. That's cool, man. I can give you a ride. Just chillin, you know?
ME: That's really okay. I'm waiting for the bus."
KG: You sure? It will be much faster if I take you. The bus is sloooooow.
ME: I actually like the bus. I like to think about things. (Wow. That was lame.)
KG: Are you sure?
ME: Yes, I'm very sure. Um? You better go now. You should go.

Because by this time, the light has changed and there is a long line of cars behind this Korean guy, and they are all honking their horns and staring at me. Like I need more attention.
So, I was a bit uncomfortable. I wouldn't say I was scared, just uncomfortable with the situation. I haven't really figured this guy out. Maybe he was just a cool guy, apparently just chillin', who wanted to practice his English with somebody and he just happened to spot me at the bus stop, make a complete u-turn and head in the other direction to accomplish this goal. Or maybe I looked attractive. Because, you know, it was dark and all. And hey, I got a new catch phrase out of it, right?

Hey, I'm just chillin', you know?

Episode 2: Friday night, after being "Hello"ed to death inside the galbi restaurant where we ate dinner, we were walking down the street in order to find a taxi. There is a car with its windows rolled down waiting at the stoplight. There is a boy in the passenger's seat and he is looking at me. He is maybe in 7th grade? He's getting greasy, as teens are wont to do. His face his shiny; his hair is slicked onto his forehead in oily pieces. He yells, at an incredibly impressive volume, "HELLOOOOOOOO!" So, I turn and say, "Hello," because why not? He's a kid. And his mom probably prodded him in the ribs with her elbow a thousand times telling him to practice his English with the woman on the street. But then, he yells even louder, "HEEEELLLLOOOOOO!" So I just turn around and keep walking down the street. But the light turns, and as the car makes the right turn and passes us, I can hear him yelling all the way down the street at me. A little much, no?

Anyway, all this to say, things haven't changed much. 6 months away, I've been missed by my public.

Life of Not-So-Anonymous Celebrity

I won't name names, because I seem to have found some miniscule bit of common courtesy in my being this evening, but this is what happened to me today. It small, but it was kind of cool.

Two new teachers arrived at the school today. They are cool. Period. They are also a married couple. Double cool.

New Girl: Don't you have a blog?

Me: What? (Because I'm totally retarded and have no idea what she just said to me.)

New Girl: Don't you have a blog, like on the Internet?

Me: Oh! A blog! Why, yes. I do have a blog. ChubbO Chubbington.

New Girl: Yes! I knew I recognized you.

How weird is that, eh? But cool. And New Girl, in case you read this, you totally made my day today!

And the winner of last post's contest will be announced in the next post. Whenever I find the time to post. Because, people, I am busy living! I am not busy spending all my time watching TV, or eating ice cream (although I pushed hard for a faculty Baskin Robbins trip after our group lunch), or spending ridiculous amounts of time on the internets. No, I am teaching, and planning, and shopping with my husband, and cleaning dishes, and taking morning walks through Yonsei University's gorgeous campus, and organizing our office, and taking bus rides that endanger my life (more on this!). And getting to know my colleagues, who are all friendly and kind. So, life in Wonju is goooooood.

Life of Anonymous Celebrity Part VI: International Edition

I do not travel well. I travel a lot, but I do it by stirring up an insane amount of nervous energy and then letting that explode all over the airport, bus station, husband, you get the idea. It usually ends in tears. Creating this nervousness is easy because all you have to do is imagine all the things that could possibly go wrong and then follow each thing out to its logical conclusion: this makes the domino effect of wrong-going things clear and seem unavoidable. Hence, the nervous energy. All this energy must be stirred up and expelled by the time the first thing has not gone wrong. So, once I am through security, holding my boarding ticket and passport like a meth addict clings to whatever it is meth addicts cling to, I'm pretty much okay. I'm definitely okay once the airplane takes off, and I remain okay even when the plane starts to do that dippy thing that makes your stomach flip. 

But when you're on the ground, off the bus, out of the train, the whole process must begin once more because well, another whole slew of things could go wrong with the transit process. The taxi driver could be a complete bastard and say he's not going to take you to the hotel you wish (check), the train could leave gasp! on time (check), or you could spend the early morning hours before sunset with your baggage on steps in front of the Ganges because no one is awake to admit you to their hostel (and check). 

All this to say: nervous before the plane takes off. (One time I cried because they hadn't yet posted our gate number for the flight. I was completely undone by the little blank in that row of numbers. ) Not nervous in transit at all. Nervous at the end of the journey that marks the beginning of another one. 

So, anylongestintroductioneverway, we left Bangkok and flew to Nepal. The flight was great and as we flew in over Nepal, the sky was incredibly blue and the world beneath us glowed green and grew mountains. I was in a pure state of bliss as we landed, but when we exited the plane, the nervousness hitched up its britches and got serious. After navigating the visa-issuance line and process, we picked up our luggage and headed out of the airport to find the transportation supposed to be provided for us by the hostel we had booked. We didn't change any money at the airport because the rates were ridiculous and we didn't need a taxi. So we walked out to the parking lot and BAM! 

I have not ever been mobbed before. Except in the tens by small non-intimidating and only mildly annoying Korean children under the age of 7. But on February 28, 2009, I was mobbed. By Nepali taxi drivers. There must have been upwards of 100 stationed outside the airport, milling about the parking lot, standing in large groups, and aggressively surrounding every passenger to exit the airport. Kenny had tried to prepare me for this, but there's just no preparing yourself. So, with nervousness at full capacity and our hostel taxi service nowhere to be seen, I panicked. We had walked out into the parking lot in hopes that the hostel transporters were simply lazy and leaning against a car we couldn't see while carelessly flipping a sign with our names on it. We had been followed by 8 or 9 taxi drivers violating all sorts of personal space rules, even the revised ones I had amended in Korea. They all talked at once and I couldn't understand anything they seemed to be saying. Kenny was also talking to me, asking me what I thought we should do. It was so crazy for me I couldn't think. And so, in true Nervous Traveller fashion, I put my hand over my ears, closed my eyes, and screamed.

Not really a scream. More like a sound that happens when a groan and a shriek get married and procreate. It came up through my belly and echoed in my spinning head before exiting my mouth and falling at my feet utterly inefficient. Nothing had changed except that now the taxi drivers were laughing as they attempted to haggle with us. Kenny probably thought his new wife was losing her mind already and we retreated back into the safety of the airport. (We did eventually find the hostel guy holding a sign with other people's names on it, but he took us anyway. Booking online for a place in Nepal that only has electricity in 4 hour increments means that your booking is often futile.)

So, I know you're all, "Isn't this supposed to be an LAC post? Will there ever be any anonymity or celebrity?" Yes to both. After making it to the hostel, getting settled, and venturing out into Thamel to explore, a young Nepali man yells across the street at me.

"Hey! I know you! Didn't you just get here today?" 

"Um, yes?" 

"Yeah, I saw you. At the airport. You were yelling a lot."

"Well, I wouldn't say a lot."

"Definitely you. I remember your hair. I like this hair. But you were yelling."

"Overwhelmed. I was simply overwhelmed." 

"Well, it's nice to see you again."

He introduced himself and we did, in fact, see him again. He had a nice smile. He wore a business suit. The jacket showed his wrists, his arms too long. And he proved that when you do stupid stuff in the airport parking lot, people are going to remember you. Especially if you're a white girl walking around with dreadlocks. They won't know your name (anonymous), but they'll know who you are (celebrity). 

Life of Anonymous Celebrity, Part V

In case you're a newbie: LAC 1, LAC 2, LAC 3, LAC 4

When Kenny and I arrived back in Korea from my sister's wedding in the States, he started working part-time as an English teacher in a hagwon 3 days a week. This schedule is lovely for us and he gets home before I do most days and he actually told me last week he enjoys it. When he first started work the school was in the middle of huge preparations for a school-wide English presentation. All the students were to either tell a story, have a dialogue, sing a song, or give a presentation on a foreign country, all in English. It was perhaps two weeks into the job (this is where you pretend I wrote this over a month ago and totally ignore the fact that I've had this lying around on the couch of my brain for weeks) and he invited me to attend the presentation. 

It was a special night for the kids because the school had rented a room in the local library to make it more official. I showed up and skipped straight to annoyed because I was surrounded by elementary age children that do not come equipped with pinch-able cheeks or patt-able bellies, but rather had greasy hair and talked too loudly and were already sporting some attitude. (Also, adolescent attitude transcends all language barriers). They would, in groups of two or three, approach me with a fawning shyness and utter as many syllables as possible before the entire group dissolved into a tangle of giggling and shrieking. They asked me my name, where I was from,  if I was teacher's girlfriend. I finally answered my way into the room where most of the parents were already sitting. I took a chair in the very back row, perhaps feeling a big toe's worth of what real celebrities deal with every time they walk out their door. 

The principal came and sat down next to me. She introduced herself and said, "We are so honored to have you here." 

"Oh, thanks so much. It's nice to be here. I'm excited to see the kids." 

"Well, we are so lucky to have Kenny as a teacher."

"Yes, he is wonderful, isn't he? I think he's definitely a better teacher than I am."

At this statement, she raised her eyebrows and opened her mouth halfway before snapping it shut. Then she smiled big again and said, "I better get back. Please excuse me."

So she went back to doing absolutely nothing worthwhile that I could see. She did not tell the kids to be quiet, to find a seat and stay there, to stop running up and down the stairs, to quit screaming right now or I'm GOING TO GO CRAZY AND EAT YOU. Nope, none of that. She pretty much stood at the door and handed out canned coffees and programs to a number of equally useless parents. 

The show finally began and my celebrity status slowly waned as the students became more nervous about when their turn would be than skipping by, shouting or whispering hurried questions at the white girl in the back without waiting for an answer. 

It seemed interminable. Children were constantly moving, walking up and down the aisles, in and out the doors, during their classmates presentations. Screaming, laughing, talking. And the parents, all the time, craning their necks and squinting at the stage in hopes that decreasing the visual would increase the auditory. 

I finally placed myself in the doorway and began telling children to shut it. Kenny corralled some of the crazies into a room across the hall and shut the door. It didn't seem to make a dent in the noise or the number of monsters constantly moving about. 

During a break between acts the principal came to me and said, "I hope you won't mind saying a few words after the presentations. We would love to hear what you think about our students." 

"Um, okay? What should I say?"

"Oh, just anything! Whatever you think about the students. We'll have Kenny translate!" 

She rushed back to her new post at the front of the makeshift auditorium with too few chairs and resumed being rather good for nothing, simply supervising the production by watching the emcee and leaning against the wall. 

When the presentations were over, all the  parents voted and the best of each category was awarded a prize. And then they called my name and Kenny followed me up the middle aisle. He said to my back, "You should have some critique. Don't say everything was great or they won't believe you." 

I took the microphone. I looked out at the parents' faces. They had no idea who I was, had never even heard of me before and yet they were so eager to hear what I had to say. Because I was going to say it in English. It grew incredibly quiet. I introduced myself in Korean, which earned me another round of applause. And then I began slowly and deliberately, one sentence at a time so Kenny could translate.

"The kids did a good job and I can tell they worked hard to prepare. (Awkward pause, wondering what one's face should do while their words are being translated). Their pronunciation sounds natural and easy. (Awkward pause, reflecting that this was in fact the truth). They seem to be able to communicate at appropriate levels. (Awkward pause, this is a lie this is a lie this is a lie. Okay, umm.... critique!). But more important than learning English, (let him translate this bit looking serious) is being kind and listening to others (Wow, glad that came into my head at the right moment). From what I've seen here, your children have kind down. (Lies, more lies.) But they could really work on the listening part." 

This last sentence was met with laughter, delayed only by the few seconds it took Kenny to turn my words into sounds the audience could understand. They all clapped again. 

Once more, it felt so weird. I was asked to speak not because I was qualified to do so, not because I could actually offer any constructive criticism after not-hearing too many presentations to count, but because I happened to be born in the States to parents who happened to speak the open sesame of languages. Sometimes I just want to tell the parents, "It's not worth it. Pushing your kids like this, pressure becoming the defining aspect of their brief youth, it's not worth it." But what do I know?  All I have to do is open my mouth, speak my native language, and it seems that the universe bends to meet me. 

And really, why shouldn't it? I do, after all, have anonymous celebrity status...

LAC to the Max

We now return to your regularly scheduled programming. Life of Anonymous Celebrity is back. In case you're just now tuning in: 1, 2, 3. 

Scene 1: My new coworker Angie (who adorably asked me "So what is a blog anyway?" and I was all, "Oh reeeeeeeally?" in a creepy voice that probably, instead of luring a new reader who would remain faithful through personal-contact-guilt-workshops, will cause her to now immediately navigate away from any page or site containing the word blog) and I were eating at Outback because our kids drove us to a state of carb craving like you have never seen. A nice young waitress approaches, listens as I point to the menu and tell her what we'd like, and then looks at me and says, "Long time, no see." And I had to say, "Yes, it's been a while. Is Austin still working here?" She told me he quit. And that made me sad. Because Austin actually made me proud to be an Anonymous Celeb. He always said, "Hello Ladies," and it cracked me up, because when do you hear Koreans saying Hello Ladies? Anyway, waitress just made me look like even more of a ChubbO in front of the new blog-innocent Angie. Eh, she would've found out sooner or later.

Scene 2: Keun Ha and I climbed Gomdansan. On the way, we stopped at a memorial and had some cookies in the grass underneath a tree. But as I was walking across the plaza of the memorial, three high school boys came up to me with a piece of paper. 

"Si-nuh."

"What?"

"Si-nuh," was repeated while a pen was shoved into my right hand. As I put the pen in my left hand and took the paper I said, " What do you want? My name?"

"Yessuh! Yessuh!"

"Why?"

"Uuuuuuuh. Mmmmm....... PROJECT! Yessuh. Project." 

"Okay." 

Signed my lovely autograph on the piece of paper and the boys giggled as they rejoined a large group of their fellow students in the shade of the monument. (Yes, they giggled. Korean boys and men have no masculinity issues WHATSOEVER. You got stuff you need to carry? Purse works, use it. You like that shirt that is hot pink with the flowers across the shoulder? It fits, wear it. Your friend's hair is all whacked out? Put your hands in his hair, fix it. You can't see the game he's playing on his cell phone unless you wrap your arm around his waist and rest your chin on his shoulder? Do it.) 

So, I have officially been asked for my autograph. See? Famous. 

Scene 3: I was checking out at the Family Mart when Mart Man all of a sudden popped a free apple juice down on the counter and told me it was mine. For free. Free stuff is awesome, even if it's just apple juice.

So, I believe I have brought quite a strong case in support of my position as an Anonymous Celebrity here in Korea. In the past month I have been "sighted" at a popular restaurant, "accosted" by teenage fans and begged for an autograph, and gotten a "freebie." 

I'm a celebrity. Touch me. 

Life of Anonymous Celebrity, Part III

(In case you missed it the first time, LAC 1, and LAC 2.)

I'd like to present a definition of celebrity, courtesy of that bastion of knowledge, Wikipedia: A celebrity is a widely-recognized or famous person who commands a high degree of public and media attention.
I'd like to present a definition of Anonymous Celebrity, courtesy of moi: An anonymous celebrity is a widely-recognized, yet nameless person who commands a high degree of public staring and is sometimes approached on the street by strangers and instead of being asked for an autograph, is kindly asked to "please very much dialogue with my daughter." This person is only known by sight and is never understood intimately by the public, due to the lack of in-depth interviews with journalists and the as-of-yet nonexistent English teacher paparazzi (unless you count the countless pictures on the Haba Playschool picture gallery that only parents are privy to).

As I have stated before, people know me. It's easy to recognize me because I'm a breathtaking specimen of ChubbO, not often sighted around these parts of the world. So, if I hop into the Family Mart almost every day for a chocolate milk and a breakfast pastry, the guy behind the counter is going to notice. The young guy who works there speaks enough English to tell me my total is one thousand four hundred and fifty won instead of 천 사 백 오 십 원. Now, I'm sure there are also a few Koreans who work the Fam. into their morning routine, and I'm also sure that Mart Man remembers some of them. But because I'm so obviously white and English-speaking, and there's only one of me (not counting my blonde British colleague, Meghan, whom Mart Man is also on familiar terms with) he knows who I am. Despite my insistence on speaking Korean to him, he always speaks in English to me.

Now, yesterday, I wore my hair down to school for the first time. Because I usually don't drag my chubb out of bed on time, I shower quickly and throw the brunette locks into a wet ponytail or doody ball, as my sister so endearingly calls the messy bun I sometimes sport. But yesterday I had open classes, the ones where all the moms come and watch their kids, making sure they're worshipping learning English quickly and with as much fervor as possible. So, I decided to spice things up a bit by forgoing the wet ponytail. 

Today, I did not have open class, so I was back to the regular "didn't have time to shower so threw on this headband and a clean t-shirt to fool you" look. I walk into the Family Mart, slap my milk and pastry onto the counter. Our dialogue is exactly the same as every other day. Up until I'm stuffing my pastry and milk into my purse after my wallet so I can hold my umbrella as I walk the rest of the way to school. He says something I don't catch while holding his hands up to the side of his head and then sort of spreading his fingers and waving them downwards, like he's trying to mimic a peacock's feathers. I don't have time to say anything in response because my facial expression has shouted to him that I don't understand. He repeats himself, "Out hair much better." I say, "Um?" thinking he's talking about outside air being much fresher or something because the door to the shop is propped open today. I begin to think it's about time to do the whole smile, annyanghaseyo, walk away routine when he does his sign language again, and repeats "Out. Hair. Much. Much. Better." (See? Sometimes it does help when you talk to foreigners slower and louder.) I laugh and say thanks as I turn to grab my umbrella and head out into the rain. 

Mart Man likes my hair down. It's "Much. Much. Better" that way, apparently. Although it made me feel good that he thought I looked nice yesterday, the double "much" stung a little. But then I got in the elevator with the mirror  and realized he was right. The clean t-shirt isn't fooling anyone. 

Life of Anonymous Celebrity, Part II

Or, My Identity as Korean Boy’s Girlfriend

Teacher’s Day was Thursday of this week and because all the kids who attend Haba are rich and generous (that most wonderful combination for those of us who aren’t rolling in the won), the school gives us the day off. This saves us the embarrassment and disappointment of having to return nice and expensive gifts, because we’re not allowed to accept any. So we are denied the benefits of the rich and generous. As the late Vonnegut would have said, “So it goes.” All of this to say Thursday was a holiday for me and it just so happens that the annual International Book Fair was on at Coex Mall and the Universe orchestrated it so that Keun Ha would be working his publisher’s booth that very day. So I headed over to the exhibition hall to check out the books and to have lunch with my love.

I called him when I got to the station and met him outside the building. We walked in and he decided we should eat before he showed me around. So we had a nice lunch at one of the restaurants there. After we ate, he decided to show me around the hall and take me to his booth at the show. I asked him if I should just pretend to be a nobody asking him for help so he could talk to me shamelessly for a ridiculous amount of time without censure from his coworkers.
“That’s impossible. They already know you’re coming. When I told them we were eating lunch first, they told me I couldn’t go and that you should come there first.”
“Oh.”
In that case, the whole nobody scenario wouldn’t work out very well. However, meeting Keun Ha’s coworkers was still an experience of anonymous celebrity. Well, perhaps anonymous isn’t the right word. Because these people knew who I was. I was Keun Ha’s girlfriend from the States. And they all supposedly wanted to “meet” me.

We rounded the corner of the booth and I was met with the knowing smiles of all his female colleagues. So the normal bows and introductions were made and I Annyanghaseyo-ed myself to death. Then everyone took a step backwards. No one wanted to ask me any questions or talk to me. (I know what you’re thinking: They can’t talk to you if they don’t know English. Oh, but you would be wrong. They can talk to me in the most comfortable of ways: without making eye contact. They can simply ask Kenny to ask me questions. That’s usually par for the course when I meet his friends and acquaintances. But none of that for Hangilsa employees.) It’s obvious everyone just wants to look at me, to finally see The American Girlfriend, but no one wants to “know” me. And maybe that’s asking too much. And perhaps, they already know everything they want to about me because I have it from a reliable source that I am frequently talked about. I didn’t expect to make any friends there anyway. But it was still a strange experience, one where I was noticeably on display.

Kenny walks me around the booth, showing me the different sections and how everything is set up. Then, he attempts to introduce me to a woman on his team. (The editors are split into small teams of 3 or 4 people and work on projects together.) We start to approach her and people, this is not an exaggeration: She starts shaking her head no and backing up with her hands waving out in front of her like I have bird flu and she can’t be bothered to risk it. She is smiling as she does this, but it’s nonetheless incredibly awkward when you are approaching someone and they are refusing to stand still. Keun Ha grabs my elbow and propels me forward because I had stopped moving toward this woman in case she backed into a large stack of books or the wall of the booth. I bow my head and say hello in Korean. She says hello back and then twitters nervously in Korean to my boyfriend.

In the course of 5 minutes, I have ceased to be a real person. I am The Korean Boy’s Girlfriend and I am apparently unapproachable, even through a translator they are friends with. I am there to be seen. And I guess that’s okay. It’s not like I am going to be their BFF or anything. The introduction to strangers in this country becomes not a meeting, but an appearance. I sometimes feel like a celebrity that no one wants to interview, but everyone wants pictures of.

I’m not complaining, and I’m definitely not raging. But I do find myself in bizzaro-world because meeting people in English is okay for me. I enjoy getting to know new people, wowing them with my intelligence and wit (inevitably apparent in my native tongue), and all the possibilities that present themselves at the moment of connection. And I guess that’s part of the reason I sometimes feel lost here. Because things that would delight me or be no big deal to me in English are impossible for me to enjoy in Korean. I find myself in situations that I want to be natural and relaxed in.

Solution to Life of Anonymous Celebrity: Learn Korean. Simple sentence, but difficult to accomplish. And because learning another language is a long-term goal, there will be plenty more LAC experiences in between! So, no worries, dear readers. My life will continue to be awkward, occasionally uncomfortable, and usually hilarious. And I will continue to share it with you.

New Series! Get Excited, People. Get Excited.

Welcome to a new series I’d like to call, The Life of Anonymous Celebrity. It will be comprised of short scenes that have taken place so far. As a foreigner, I already look different. But the fact that everyone in this country worships English makes me even more conspicuous.


So, without further delay:
Life of Anonymous Celebrity Part 1 (will from here on out be referred to as LAC)

One day I was at Hyundai Department store, Basement 1 where all the food is, with Kenny’s mom. I was sick (again). So she asked me if I wouldn’t like some gelato. Seeing as I had been in the country for over 2 months without a DROP of ice cream, I figure why not. So we step up to the counter and the girl behind it immediately dips a popsicle stick into two different kinds of chocolate based gelato and hands it to me to try. I pick just regular chocolate.

Two weeks later, I walk into the same Hyundai Department store, Basement 1, with Kenny. We are in search of the lovely gelato I’ve been raving about ever since I had it the first time. 4 counters away, the girl behind the gelato stand spots me and immediately begins waving frantically, smiling, and yelling, “Annyanghaseyo!” Oh good grief. I’m across the store and already a walking “stare at me because I’m white” sign. When we walk up, she treats me like royalty. There’s no waiting to see what kind of samples I would like. She just starts shoving popsicle sticks at us. She’s so very happy to fulfill our every gelato whim.

I've been twice and the gelato girl “knows” me. See? Immediate popularity. The pros: it’s nice to see a friendly face, even if she’s just smiling because she knows the chubb-o will give her money in exchange for a small amount of chocolate goodness in a cup. The cons: it’s a bit embarrassing. Why can’t the fresh fruit juice lady remember me? Or the mandu lady? Like something Korean and not particularly calorie laden.

The kebab guy knows me, too. Eh, what can you do?