goodbye, monsoon....

Understatement: Monsoon is not our favorite season. We dread the damp clothes and sheets, the giant spiders, the slick walk to school, the leeches. But it still has its beauty, and I've been working on a poem to (somewhat?) capture that.

Monsooned 

My dog squints stiffly

against the driving droplets,

ears flattened, looking old and mean.

But I embrace that first hard rain:

water pillows in my sneakers,

salty sweat tracks paths across my cheekbones,

wet fabric clutches my back,

that smell of drenched pavement invades my nose.

**

Mist swallows the mountains,

disappears whole geographies.

We walk within clouds.

The fog slicks our skin,

hugs the faded streetlights.

I find the uneven ground beneath my feet—

It rises to meet me.

This night is moonless and full.

**

The outside invades our home.

Mold cracks the cement walls,

turning spring green paint to mottled nests of foam.

On our shower door, two mushrooms

bloom slowly.

**

Walls of hydrangeas

wedged against stone.

They beam from within grassy banks,

their lush purple blues

a reminder of twilight skies.

**

When it clears, the landscape shifts,

dust settled, haze gone.

That small village across the valley comes alive.

Every tin roof sends back sun,

every painted wall shouts,

every footpath newly snakes

across the green expanses.

**

The jeweled grass, soft and tall wilted waves

undulates between weeds.

Against this, a clear blue field.

The light flattens nature’s soft curves

into pure geometrical shapes,

and we enter stunned, relearning

our place in a new world.

Emboldened, we abandon umbrellas—

those bulky extra arms.

Their heft gone, we stride easily along

muddy pathways, avoiding stubborn puddles.

Kamsahamnida (thank you), Korea!

Chris and I recently returned from a 10-day holiday in beautiful Korea. It was especially interesting to visit straight from India, as the two countries provide such contrasts to each other. Chris and I were struck by several cultural practices that differed from India, and I’ll use this brief post to note them here…

Always clean

On every counter, a bottle of hand sanitizer beckoned. We weren’t sure if cleanliness precautions were heightened because of MERS (the deadly virus floating around during our visit) or if it was just the culture. Whatever the case, cleaning options were ubiquitous, a big switch from India, where we always travel with a small bottle of sanitizer.

Other signs of an obsession with cleanliness: handing out antibacterial wet naps with food, modern self-spraying hand sanitizers, and high-tech mats for cleaning feet well before entering a building.

We took special note of ways Koreans like to keep their hands clean while eating. In India, eating with one’s hands is standard, expected cultural practice – whether with flat bread (roti/chappatti) or with fingers. Not so in Korea. There, I noticed people eating friend chicken drumsticks with chopsticks, or – at a baseball game – with disposable plastic gloves. As we sat across from people eating burgers in the airport, I saw how carefully they protected their hands by eating the burger in the wrapping paper. We probably offended many people as we ate our chicken bare-handed on the beach, licking our fingers after finishing each piece. Oh well! – the chicken was good enough to warrant the behavior…

So, so quiet

In almost all of the public spaces we visited on our trip, we basked in a sea of quiet. Museums were virtually silent, even the over-packed Rothko exhibit we saw in Seoul. Restaurants were noisier, but still subdued compared with what we’re used to.

The trains, both local and intercity, were the quietest spot of all. Whenever we had a hushed conversation on a subway, we felt like we were screaming – especially Chris, with his sonorous voice. When people talked on their cell phones, they often covered their mouths with their hands. The trains themselves were quiet, too, lacking in that mechanical thrum we knew so well. At one point, Chris didn’t even realize the train had left the station. After the cacophony of Indian streets and trains, we weren’t sure what to make of the quiet.

One particular experience showed us just how exuberant and loud Koreans could be, however, when encouraged…

Sanctioned loud: Korean baseball

Our ears were plagued with constant singing and shouting at the baseball game we attended – the Lotte Giants versus the Samsung Lions. (Yes, Korean teams are all named after companies…) The crowd was small, thanks to MERS, and the game was a blowout, with Samsung scoring six runs in the first inning against our poor Giants.

Still, the home crowd cheered with gusto. It helped that whenever the Giants were up to bat, a lively dude – profession title unclear – riled up the crowd by teaching us player-specific songs and dances. Our favorite went along with a white player (maybe from the States?): “Lot-te, Lot-te, Lot-te, Ad-du-chi, Ad-du-chi!” Picture window washing motions paired with a slick KPOP-style arm motion. Okay, never mind – that makes no sense…

Here’s a video that’ll give you an idea of the feel, even though it’s much louder in person. Skip to the one-minute mark to get to the action:

Anyhow, the volume and exuberance were addictive, and so different from our other Korea experiences. We enjoyed screaming along with the seasoned fans. (Thanks again to Sanghyun and Donghyun for taking us to the game!)

**

Overall, clean, quiet, and hypermodern Korea offered a lovely break from life as usual. There’s so much more to write about – the culture of respect, the focus on service, the incredible food – but this post is growing overly long. Kamsahamnida, Korea!

reflecting on daily life

Ahhhh... We're safely into the beginnings of a summer break here at WS, and it is glorious! Today Chris and I played our favorite game -- "what would we be doing right now?" We look at the clock and remember what class or meeting we would be in at the time, and then exclaim "Yay!" when we look at our current state: taking a nap, reading a book for fun, walking the dog slowly around the chakkar.

spot on!

Don't get me wrong. I love teaching and working with students. I was a distraught mess during this year's graduation ceremony and miss the kids already. But, as I've noted before on this blog, it's an exhausting profession. We need summer breaks, and so do the students!

Still, now that I am safely out of the chaos, I can finally post a short photoblog of a "typical" day during the school year. Family / friends back home, this will give you a bit more perspective on what our days are like here.

6 am morning coffee, cereal / yogurt, and FB -- a consistent pattern!

sadie is still sleepy...

...but she perks up as soon as we head out for her walk!

the sun is still rising over the mountains; i never tire of this view

a few minutes later and it's time for a run

on the way to school, the snow peaks come out -- what a commute!

headed down the zig zag

my AP12 class "works hard" to discuss poetry

the other half of class -- it was great to have such a small and fun group!

during my prep, a mountain of identity projects awaits me for grading

the only way to tackle the pile is with more coffee!!

after a long day, a nice meal is a treat! buff steak with mushrooms,
garlic mashed potatoes, and string beans. yum!

Of course, these sparse photos don't tell the whole story. You're missing tea break, when staff members chat while enjoying refreshments, and lunch break, when we escape to the sun in the tea garden out back. You can also multiply my class photos by four, since this only gives you one glimpse into my teaching day. And I've left out Chris's and my nightly stroll with Sadie -- a 40-minute walk full of our musings about the day, problem students, lessons gone wrong or right, etc. There's no way to capture it all! And though I may complain about life while in the moment, I must admit I feel pretty content. 

Happy break to all my teacher friends out there!!

solace in words

Several months, rough ones, have passed since my last blog. Some of you know that Chris and I recently went through a miscarriage. It's been a difficult experience, but we're working through it and are hopeful for the future. This post isn't a cry for sympathy, but a chance to reflect on poetry as a processing agent. 

For days after the event, all I could do was replay the realization, and pour that energy into language. Despite all the pain, I'm glad that the experience reminded me of the power poetry has for me, personally, to work through the profound challenges of being human. 

I'm posting this as a dedication to words. Now that I'm teaching creative writing, I'm trying to write more frequently along with my students. Here's effort #1, a messy draft, but a new beginning sprung from a loss.

Missed

At the doctor’s office, I see a circle --

symbol of unity, wholeness,

so perfect, its round white skeleton

surprising the black.

Perfectly empty, devoid

of life, movement, heartbeat.

Still.

*

Still.

like this poem --

staunchly empty, devoid

of vitality, circular, repetitious.

*

Creating is hard work.

From nothing, we build circles

within us. We pour strangled hopes

into empty space.

Blood whirs, hearts beat double time,

our godlike ambitions surprise us.

*

But stilled, we are, by circles

so perfect in potential,

devoid of damage but

damning us with blankness.

How can I cry over nothing,

empty myself

over a geometrical imprint?

Yet I am rent in two when

I see a circle, at the doctor’s office.