Living Unapologetically

I'm not the first expatriate, immigrant, or tourist to find myself treading carefully in a new culture. The last thing I want to do is offend the people that are my neighbors, no matter how long I intend to stay in a certain place. Whether a week in India, a year in Busan, or a lifetime in the states, I have always tried to live my life in a way that is harmonious to the lives of others around me. Courtesy. Empathy. Compassion. I don't want to make someone feel uncomfortable because of something I have said or done.

This mindset has never before bubbled so close to the surface with such consistency as it has the last six months here in Korea. I've been careful about how I eat, what I eat, what I wear, where I put my chopsticks after my meal, how I greet people. Almost every element of daily life that I take for granted when home I have been hypersensitive to as I find myself in such a drastically different place.

I'm not saying that is not a bad thing. That is how I have learned to live in the Korean way (or as close to it as a non-Korean speaking foreigner can).

However, at some point I have let this sensitivity to these cultural differences stop me from living my life. I have let my new city stop me from doing the things I want to do to live forward and work ahead in my career.

As this page is titled, I am a wandering musician. I play the flute. I am a classically trained orchestral musician. With this title comes a huge responsibility: practicing. Practicing daily. Practicing when you don't want to. Practicing the things that sound terrible. Running drills, scales, arpeggios. Technical work that I love. Long tones that are low. Long tones that are high. Long tones that seem like they will never end. Breathing exercises. Yoga. Meditation.

The first six months in Korea I barely touched my flute. I felt a bit lost. I was caught up trying to figure out my future career because I was ignoring the one that I truly loved. I was trying to change who I am into something I'm not.

This is not Koreas fault. I am not blaming my location.

Instead it was a complex culmination of countless different factors that have been building since before I finished my Masters degree. But therein lies a different blogpost.

Right now I'm looking forward. I've stopped being afraid of offending my neighbors and have picked up my instrument again. I'm applying for festivals, masterclasses, and orchestral auditions. I'm practicing (within decent hours), I'm exercising (outside of those decent hours), and I'm living my life in the truest form that I can.

You see I'm still being sensitive to my neighbors. I don't play my flute before 8 am or after 9 pm. I refrain from high piccolo work in my apartment (because really, nobody deserves that torture). I'm still conscious of cultural difference and carry myself in a way that resonates with these new cultural norms. But I am no longer changing all of who I am to make sure that others are happy. This was never my intention, but it was essentially what was happening.

It's time for me to do me. It's time for me to live shamelessly because that is who I am.

It's time to live unapologetically.

the lesson: a snapshot

I’m expecting four fifth graders, we are going to do a lesson on public transportation. I’ve put together four activities and a warmer, I have all of the PowerPoints pulled up and a coffee in my hand. I smile warmly as the door opens. One student walks in. She looks at me with a pained face and says “hospital,” I applaud her for using English and say one word “why.” She says “because” and points at her face. I let her leave, proud that she remembered the question “why” and the proper response “because *blah blah blah.” Another student walks in. She simply says my name and points at my phone where she knows my google translate lives. She types in some hangul, hands me the phone, and repeats the hangul out loud. I can see that she has to leave, but my phone simply says Noksan lead pipe. I let her go, wondering what on earth lead pipe is supposed to mean (Noksan makes sense, it’s the little town that my school is located in). One student shows up, responding to my “how are you” in his same predictable manner: “I am happy every day!” I make a mental note to introduce him to the phrase “I’m always happy.” He sits down, the fourth student doesn’t show up.

I am wondering what to do with this student, I don’t want to waste this well planned lesson when 75% of the class hasn’t shown up. Before I can find a solution one of my sixth grader comes tearing into the classroom. He hides behind a desk. The fifth grader jumps on top of him and they are giggling as they hide from, I assumed, me. “I can see you, you’re not very good at hiding” I say, knowing they only catch a few words. They giggle and say “no Ms. Krystle, we not hiding from  you,” again I feel a strange sense of satisfaction knowing that they can communicate (albeit roughly) with me. Moments later, as I’m wondering who they could be hiding from, I hear a knock on the door. Before I can call out the door opens and another sixth grader sprints in. They find each other and wind up a pile on the floor giggling.

The first sixth grader (who goes by Mario, despite me asking him not to use a pre-made English name) sits down. Excitedly saying, “teach teach, Ms. krystle, what you teach?” They want to play a game, the second sixth grader leaves. We wind up playing hangman. Eventually a third sixth grader joins (this lovely boy goes by Star) and we spend half an hour playing hangman.

After this unexpected class/club moment I met with four other teachers and we spent an hour playing the flute together. I found myself transposing all of my letter names into their fixed do system and teaching fingerings as well as basic acoustic properties of the instrument (air direction and etc.)

---

As you can see, teaching in Busan is anything but boring. I’m enjoying the ride.