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.

On Perspective: Waking Up in the Middle of the Bed

I often get terrible migraines. The type of headache that make you feel like you're going to vomit, that make your eyes throb and your teeth hurt. These headaches can last for days at a time and leave you in fear that they might recur at a moments notice.

My migraines are triggered by many things: what I eat, how much I drink, what I drink, how much sleep I've gotten, whether or not my neck is out of alignment, and sometimes they strike for what seems like no reason at all. It starts out harmlessly enough - a slight tension in the neck and head, a flicker of light, an inexplicable feeling of dread. But soon my eyes begin to feel sore and heavy, my temples start to throb, my forehead (just above the sinuses) begins to feel thick and tight. The migraine has begun.

The problem is that I get headaches frequently - it's even become a bit of a joke with my friends. "Oh, sorry, I can't have that. Red food dye gives me migraines," I'll say as they roll their eyes. There's always a bit of a headache hidden behind my thick skull, so it's easy for me to mistake these regular headaches for an incoming migraine.

After so many years you would think I would know better. Unfortunately my body is constantly changing, what was once a trigger is no longer, and what is a trigger now may never have been a problem before. This causes a host of new problems when I find myself, say, in Korea experiencing a new culture and environment - a new climate, new diet, new physical demands on my body, new everything - each of these exciting new experiences have the potential to be a new trigger.

But this is where the durability of the human body and mind reasserts itself.

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I woke up in the middle of the bed. You know, there's a wrong side and a right side. The crab-ass in line at Starbucks woke up on the wrong side; the whistling jolly woman woke up on the right. But here I was, in the middle and not sure which way I would turn.

On one hand I had just awaken from an eleven hour migraine-induced slumber. My neck was tight, my head felt raw, and I was more than a little afraid to move. On the other hand, I was awake. I no longer felt tears running down my face from the pressure in my skull. It was a new day.

I stood up. This is always the first test. Does standing make the blood rush through your body re-establishing the throbbing, pounding pain? Today it didn't. Bathroom break. Back to the bed. Sit down. There. I had just stood up twice and sat down twice and the headache hadn't returned. Success.

The right side it is.

 A big breakfast followed by a delicious homemade latte left me the smiling fool walking to the bus. The world was clear, lacking the migraine haze, I was happy. 

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It's amazing to me how such pain can leave me feeling so happy the next day. It's as if my body attacks itself as a way of reminding me how fortunate I am. By crippling me and leaving me craving the merest of essentials (water, adequate food, sleep) it allows me to appreciate the rest of my experiences.

The migraine that I loathe, the pain that I hate, and the experiences that I could do without never cease to remind me of the beauty in the world. It sounds cliched and it probably is, but without those negative and awful experiences I wouldn't be as ready to marvel in the mundane.

I hate to say it, but sometimes I'm grateful for my migraines. They force me to remind myself to take care of my body, to release the tension and stress from my perspective, and to appreciate the world for what it is - a hard and relentless place where one can find beauty and pain. Happiness and stress.

We have the choice. We all have different problems, whether physical or mental, and we all struggle with them at times. But I've learned that I have two options: I can dwell on the negative and wish things were different, or I can allow for the bad things to happen and let them remind me of all of the good things. I can do my best to make sure that the migraines don't return, but at some point I will slip-up, something will happen that I don't expect, or my body will change again and I"ll have a host of new triggers to look out for. But I can be happy, even with all of that.

It all depends on which side of the bed I decide to roll onto when I wake up in the morning.

Growing Pains

There's something about this city that fascinates me. Perhaps it's the sheer size and magnitude of the sprawling metropolis. Or maybe it's the densely packed population, the reality that there  is always someone on the streets, no matter when you find yourself there. But no, it's something else. For me, an expat situated on the outskirts of Busan, the most intriguing element of this city can be found in what I refer to as its growing pains.

It's easy to be drawn to the two most obvious elements of the city: the new and the old. The countless identical Lotte Apartment complexes, Lotte Department stores, Centum City, skyscrapers, and technology, sharply juxtaposed against the temples, traditional markets, and Buddhist sensibility of the culture. The old character weaves its way through the mind of the older generation, seeping into portions of the younger generations psyche, leaving strong indications that it might be lost within a few generations.

However, these two sides are not where you find the growing pains. Instead you can see these pains when you look up at the complex cobweb of countless electrical wires hanging low over the street - placed there from the necessity of supplying electricity and power to the surrounding buildings but ignoring the foresight of future growth and demands. What was once a clean set of two or three electrical lines has now become a heavy, unwieldy web of electrical power that is slowly succumbing to gravity and descending lower and lower to the streets.

The growing pains are seen in the perpendicular bend of the elderly ajummas spine from years spent toiling in the field as she hauls huge carts of recycling,picking up the trash thrown onto streets, moving the refuse from one spot to another.

You can see it in the strip malls where construction overstepped demand and left behind the tattered remains of closed storefronts. This reflection of an obstinate focus on growth, the demand for more - more buildings, more shops, more, more, more - makes you wonder when this aesthetic of utility and quantity will be replaced by the aesthetic of art and quality.

These are the growing pains of an ancient civilization that has suffered immensely but has managed to raise itself up from abject poverty and colonial rule to a force of capitalism, consumerism, and productivity in a very brief span of time.

The more time I spend immersed in this complex and captivating culture, the more that this complexity seems to be a reflection of my own inner struggles. The responsible consumer obsessed with repaying her student loans is synonymous with the new face of Korea. Consumerism, capitalism, utilitarianism - this is contrasted with a wholly different side of my personality. The lingering light of culture, art, and beauty within Busan captures my dream of living life for the sake of living - not dwelling on financial demands and hardships; enjoying my life for what it could be rather than paying for what it has been.

Busan is reaching a turning point. Soon its citizens will have to make a conscious choice between aesthetic purpose and capitalist progress. The massive construction of identical buildings, apartments, stores, and businesses is not sustainable. It seems to me that this city has lifted itself up and created a bustling landscape but that it now needs to focus on the future and what it wants to define itself as. An identity crisis is coming, what will it choose?

It seems that I too am being compelled to make a choice of this kind. How will I live my life? What kind of life will that be? The more time I spend away from that which is familiar is helpful, but I can only run for so long before I need to make a decision of my own.

All those who wander are not lost, but some of us are.

friday morning

you wake up early to finish planning lessons for that day - you procrastinated a bit too much, even for you.

your bialetti wasn’t tight enough and your espresso sprayed all over your counter. the milk was too hot, the foam doesn’t sit right. you slipped in the shower and hit your funny bone on the towel rack. you can’t find your clothes and have no food for breakfast.

krispy kreme it is - you check your calendar. you realize that you’ll be on your period in india. you are glad you decided to go with the all women’s trekking agency. e-mail asking them for advice. look at pictures of the area. get excited again.

you left too early, your bus won’t be for another 15 minutes. more coffee it is. iced latte. tall. 고맙습니다, Starbucks lady. you sip it. you smile.

but wait, why is there such a large group of people waiting for the bus? you are one of the last ones on, there’s no room to stand. your laptop feels heavy. you try not to hit the elderly man in the face with your bag. the air conditioning is not on. no windows are opened. sweat begins to trickle down your spine.

gradually being pushed to the back of the bus. propelled as far back as possible. an ajumma smiles at you. you smile back, 안녕하세요. she pats her lap, asking for your bag. 고맙습니다, you hand it to her. now you can stand semi-comfortably.

the vice principal is calling the other teacher with you - where are you? explanations.

people gradually get off the bus. you have to fight forward when your stop is called. you almost get trapped, the door starts to close, you frantically push and squeeze forward. you hop out laughing now. you make eye contact with your colleague, he laughs too. he explains. too many people. more smiles.

rush into school, set up your laptop - lessons to plan, things to do! too much coffee, dehydrated. you jog upstairs to find water. everyone is in a circle laughing. good morning. the shy teacher turns to you and blurts out “plum!” she smiles and covers her face, embarrassed.

you enjoy the plum. you chitchat. you get water and slowly walk downstairs.

your lessons are almost done, time to print. but wait. your CoTeacher is back. lessons are all cancelled, she has a different plan for the students. you act disappointed, you are disappointed, but you smile and agree.

sometimes you wake up early, mess up your coffee, rush out the door only to be packed onto a bus with too many people. you are late to school, unprepared, and sweating profusely already. sometimes people greet you with a smile and an effort at conversation, they share their fruit and offer coffee. you realize everything worked out.

sometimes you are glad you wound up here, even after a terrible week.

sometimes Korea isn’t so bad, after all.

On finances

A few months ago I was a mess. I was about to graduate from grad school and join the “real world.” My boyfriend was moving back abroad and we didn't know if we would be able to make it work. My student loans were nearing repayment, my car loan was overwhelming me, my car insurance went through the roof when moving back to Minnesota, and my priorities were a mess.

I didn't want to join the real world. I didn't even know what that meant. I spent hours upon hours researching places to go, jobs to apply for, things to do, and things to see. Nothing was appealing. I looked at the east coast, the west coast, even Texas and the south. Nothing.

That was when I finally decided to commit to the thing I had been throwing around as a possibility for a few weeks: teaching English abroad. I wanted to travel and learn more about other cultures. I wanted to get out of my Midwest bubble and do what so many of my close friends had done: move to a place where I could barely speak the language, where I would know nobody in advance, and see what would happen- sink or swim. If my best friend Mei can come over from China with very little English skills, then I can do the same thing! I would do it, I would move abroad!

When I made this decision things opened up as if the clouds parted from the heavens and a beam of sunlight gracefully flowed down onto the earth and into my outstretched arms! The angelic chorus sang with delight and approval as I effortlessly danced and twirled onto a new continent.

…

Or not. With this decision did not come an easy way out. I was not irresponsibly avoiding all of the “real world” problems that many thought I didn’t even have. I had been living the entirety of my adult life in this “real world.” I had been working hard to pay for my few possessions: you don’t want to know how much flutes cost, macbooks aren’t cheap, and if you really think someone else is paying for my car and college expenses then you are either an idiot or someone who has never stepped outside of your own safety net.

The real world had been slapping me in the face for years and I knew that I would need to balance my dreams with reality. I researched the repayment options for my student loans, I listed my car for sale, and I enrolled in the International TEFL Academy’s in-person Chicago course. I had just finished school, barely gotten my diploma, and already signed up for more classes. I knew that if I wanted to get a good job abroad, I would need certification. So I found the best school around and paid to study there (let me tell you something, it wasn’t a cheap investment either).

The time before coming to Korea I found myself unemployed and ready to go. I spent my savings on plane tickets to see some friends in the states, my boyfriend abroad, and then to land in Incheon, the gateway to my new home.

And now I find myself here in that new home: Busan, Republic of Korea. It’s been extraordinary, but this post is only about one moment of that experience: this morning.

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I sat down at my computer. Well, I rolled over and pulled my computer off my desk and onto my bed. I booked a flight to India. I got up and went to work. At work I wrote down what I had done this week: the morning's flight to India, last week's flight to Minnesota, the train tickets to Seoul, the running shoes, the food. Then I went online and pulled up my bank accounts and loan accounts.

My credit cards, my student loans, my car payment and insurance. My Netflix account. Over $60,000 worth of debt and worry. 60,000 pounds of weight on my shoulders.

What did I do?

I took a deep breath. 

I made significant payments on both of my credit cards, I made insignificant payments on two of my loans. I made my monthly car payment and set aside the amount needed for the monthly car insurance that would be inevitably deducted from my account later this month. I paid Netflix, in thanks for the hours of English I surrounded myself in weeknights after school, watching ridiculous shows online.

I set money aside for my upcoming trip to Seoul, for when Valentin would visit on my birthday. For food, coffee, and beer. For public transportation. For life.

I calmly balanced out what I needed to do (all 60,000 little reminders) with what I wanted to do (Seoul, India, Minnesota) and what I did daily (food, transportation, entertainment).  

I exhaled audibly. And then I smiled.

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What an extraordinary feeling, being able to live your dream. Certainly South Korea has not been my lifelong dream destination. But the travelling, the cultural immersion, and the personal introspection combined with new languages, new friends, and new experiences- that is my dream.

What an eye-opening moment, being able to live your dream while simultaneously paying off your debts. I did the time, I got the three pieces of paper, and now I owe the money. I don’t agree with the system, but I participated in it, so I have to follow through with it. (And carry those degrees with me wherever I go.)

In the next four months I will have paid off both of my credit cards, hopefully sold my vehicle, ran away to India for a wonderful week long hiking trip, and even gone home for a wedding.

In the five months after that I will be able to continue paying off my debts, plan new trips for my winter vacation, and begin to reconstruct my savings account. The final month of my contract here in Korea will be all about researching the next two possible locations on my list, Germany and Argentina.

This morning reminded me that I am exactly where I need to be. That where I need to be and where I want to be can exist in the same place. That, in the future, I can go where I want without fearing to lose what I need.

I finally found the balance.

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.)

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

A Month Abroad

It has been over a month since I left my home back in Minnesota to venture out into the world. I've spent a lot of money, seen a lot of things, and have began to settle into the lifestyle that I'm committed to for the next year. It's a pretty awesome feeling. What follows will be a stream of conscious style of information for those who I haven't talked to much back at home. So enjoy!

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Busan is great, I'm happy to be here. I was placed in two small elementary school on the outskirts of the city. Both schools have a huge emphasis on music education and the necessity of students indulging in their creative sides as well as their scientific and mathematical sides. Sound familiar? This placement couldn't have been more perfect for me, although I spend a lot of time wishing I was teaching all of these adorable children how to play the flute rather than how to speak English. 

Many of the students are semi-interested in English class. Many of them don't know what's going on. But really, I don't know what's going on either. I have a plan for the next few months of my younger classes (1-3 grade with nobody to help me translate lessons means that we are going to learn all of the songs and spend our time singing and dancing around the classroom!), but the older levels are more difficult. But that's why I'm here: to push my limits and challenge myself. I teach all of grades 1-6 and one mixed class of 1/2 graders. I am seriously going to be an organized lesson planning champion when this year is up.

Besides teaching stuff, I've made a lot of new friends. I was worried at orientation when I was bouncing around from one group to another that by the time I came to Busan I wouldn't have a strong enough connection with anyone and I would spend all of my time alone and sad. (Yes, a dramatic fear, but the idea was there!) But instead, the opposite has happened: by staying true to myself and bouncing around meeting all sorts of people, I was able to cultivate friendships with people from all over the world and with people who were placed all over this wonderful city I have found myself in. We have spent our first few weekends hiking during the day and going out at night. There's a balance between active outdoors fun and the not-so-active bar scene, which, to be honest, is also quite fun.

I had rather low expectations for my studio apartment: I mentioned to many people that the only thing I wanted was enough space to do yoga in. But I have been pleasantly surprised by the place my school arranged for me. It's clean cut, cozy, and minimalist in a way that I never thought I would enjoy. It has one large room, one large bed, a desk, an electric flattop built into the counter, a sink, a fridge, a microwave, and a washing machine. The bathroom is just a small space with a toilet, sink, and a shower directly above (no separate shower/bath tub). The ondol heating is reminiscent of Minnesota, where we too have been heating our places from the floor up for years. 

I anticipated minimalism in terms of my wardrobe and possessions, I expected a small place that would feel slightly cramped but livable. What I have already discovered is that this lifestyle suits me far better than the large two bedroom, 1 and a half bath apartment of my graduate school days. It's only been four weeks, but I'm already realizing more about myself than I had in the past few years back in the States. 

The language is still difficult. I will not be fluent in Korean when I leave. But it gets better everyday. My one way commute to work is 30 minutes, so that's at least 60 minutes a day where I sit with my phone and study Korean. This is a huge accomplishment because the bus drivers in this place are the worst I've ever had to deal with. (Remember: back at home we don't have public transport and the only other place I have been is Switzerland where they are the epitome of efficiency.) But really, the bus has never come at the same time and I swear the goal of the bus driver is to make me hurl my insignificant breakfast onto the floor. So take my word for it, being able to stand with my phone in my hand studying Korean while the bus lurches around is a huge accomplishment. 

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I still haven't found a pool hall. I still don't have my one go to restaurant. And I still haven't gotten to run around outside of Korea and see some more of Asia. But cut me some slack, it's only been a month. 

Who knows what I"ll do in the next few weeks. 

Until next time, 

the wandering musician.