A last few Sungnyemun / Namdaemun pictures.

Then I'll move on to happier stuff again. I freaked myself out this week with my prescient post -- if that becomes a regular occurrence, I don't know what I'm gonna do, but it's been four in a row now about sad stuff, death destruction and apocalyptic whachamacallit.

I have a bunch of cool/fun/quirky pictures waiting on file to post, but it just seems a little trite to post them with these things -- kind of like those newscasts that give 40 minutes of "People are dying, unhappy, and exploitative. . . but a fireman saved a cat from a tree on Dreyden Street this afternoon, and a camera crew was there to catch the scene. . . "

The problem with reading the newspaper is exactly this: It's not newsworthy to report "54 999 999 Koreans respected their national monuments today" or "299 999 999 Americans' behaviour respected and valued human life, more or less" -- news like that would be quite heartening, but dishonest. As always, the worst elements of human nature are usually also the noisiest (think religious extremists, obnoxious protesters, not to mention the nastiness that gets into the news) and its the news agencies' responsibility to report that nasty. Yeah, I'm human too, so I forget the 199 people who rode the subway with me courteously, or at least neutrally, and I only remember the single jackass who pushed me and nearly stopped me from getting off the train on time, because he was plowing for that empty seat on the bench, and didn't care who he had to offend to get it.

So I need to remember the 99.9%, even as I read in the paper about the 0.1%.

I went down to the destroyed gate again on Friday (the other pictures were from Monday).

They have a slightly more permanent, and higher, barrier around the burnt gate now.

It's still a very crowded scene -- mostly older generations.


In fact, I chatted (across the language barrier) with an older gentleman who came to see the gate all the way from Gwangju in South Jeolla province, about a four and a half hour drive.

They had made a shrine, laid it out in the way of an ancestral shrine, or a memorial for the dead, where people lay down flowers and pay tribute to the dead by laying out flowers and bowing. Flowers were available on site.


They found a picture of the gate from maybe the '50s or '60s. If it were a shrine for a human, that mat would be laid out with food, but gates don't eat anything.

This guy stood sentry, and occasionally played sad tunes on a traditional Korean flute. I don't know the significance of the songs -- there's a high probability they're funereal folk songs or something, but it sure set a tone.




The sign boards are not an ancient tradition. This comes from something a little more recent -- when a popular Chinese movie star committed suicide just before his movie came out in theatres, at the mall, somebody placed a sign board like this next to the cardboard display promoting the movie. People were signing it and putting flowers on the ground in the front of the sign, not unlike this.



Things were more organized than on Monday -- a church group, or maybe a heritage group, had a tent up, and they were serving hot drinks. The shrine had been set up, the barrier around the gate's ruins were better built and more permanent. On the other side of the courtyard, were these guys. (Note the one in traditional Korean clothing -- the tall hat and such.)

The one in the tall hat kept talking through a loudspeaker. Now I'm not exactly sure what they were doing, but I'm pretty sure they weren't religious soapboxers (good thing, too -- I can't think of a less appropriate place to lay down platitudes on a loudspeaker [drowning out the lovely flute dirges, no less] than the site of a tragedy). I'm not sure yet how I feel about these guys, because I don't know what they were here for.

There's the loudspeaker. If anybody reading this knows what the sign says, please tell me -- I'm very curious. If they were calling for better heritage protection, then I don't mind their presence (though their method -- obnoxious loud speaker -- is still in my bad books), but if it was some other cause -- Anti-Free-Trade-Agreement or somesuch axe-grinder, then I shall be officially (and retroactively) upset and offended on behalf of all the mourners at the gate.

In fact, if anyone reading this knows Korean, I'd really appreciate if you put an explanation in the post. -- I've been told it's protesting that the district office (one of the administrations that could be partly held responsible for the accident) is hopelessly useless.

As I said, a lot of older folks were there. The one with the hat and the fantastic mustache was barking, rabble-rousing -- I wonder what he was saying, but he was definitely the coolest-looking of the demagogues out there soapboxing (with the possible exception of the guy by the truck with the microphone and the traditional garb.)




And, right across the street from Namdaemun/Sungnyemun gate, a little irony: at least they won't have to travel far to get the insurance details sorted out after the fire.

(It says Dae Han Fire & Marine Insurance)

If you're really curious to see it, here's a video. I like this one because it's just the actual sound, without newscasters' narration.



The collapse is shocking, and all this aired on live TV.

In fact, in their emotional shock, some Koreans called this the Korean 9/11, which is a little overboard

This site pointed out the it's not the first disaster Koreans have experienced, and this guy states, a bit more emphatically, that the Korean media lost all perspective this time. I wrote this on his comment board after he took Korean papers and pundits to task:


"Sure, the media's overreacting -- but you know, hyperbole is, like, the greatest invention ever in the history of anything ever!!!!!!
. . .
I see the 9/11 parallel insofar as
1. it had the same "I can't believe my eyes" kind of shock value,
2. something fell in a big cloud of smoke and ashes,
3. it was broadcast as it happened on live TV
4. it was COMPLETELY unexpected
5. it hit Korea "where it hurts" the same way the NYC attack hit America where it hurt
6. everybody was sad and stunned the next day.

However, that's where the parallels end -- my shocked emotion watching the gate go down was the same disbelieving feeling I felt when I watched the Twin Towers fall, in the same way that constipation and intestinal cancer are both bowel problems.

When Sungnyemun collapsed, here are things that DIDN'T happen, unlike after 9/11, for Muslims and Americans:

1. older men didn't stay home for fear of street violence and reprisals, and none were threatened or bullied at work
2. no pojang machas [outdoor restaurants, common hangouts for older Korean men -- same demographic as the arsonist] or soju tents were firebombed or vandalized
3. there were no videos of self-hating second generation Korean immigrants celebrating in the streets of LA (the way there was video of street celebrations in certain America-hating countries and districts)
4. Korea will not go to war because of this
5. no anarchist, or hate-founded organization was found responsible for the attack, and found to have intentions to continue with other attacks
6. no televangelist blamed the attack on their country's tolerance of gays
7. 3000+ people didn't freaking die!

Meanwhile, let's go easy on Korea and the media during this sad time. Not everyone's calling it the Korean 9/11, and they don't seem to be reverting to the usual ideological scapegoats and "evildoers", either -- even [outgoing president] Roh Moo-hyun hasn't found a way to make it [new president elect] LMB's fault. . . yet."

[note: the arsonist has now blamed President Roh. These days (the disappointing, leftist) president Roh has been scapegoated and blamed up the wazoo for pretty much every fault you can think of. If the Korean papers really want to smear somebody these days, they say "he was probably a leftist" or "sounds like something a leftist would say".]

There. Last post about the fire. Probably. Next comes fun stuff again.

Northern Illinois University and the prescient blogger.

Whoa. That's weird. After writing in my last post about why people do these kinds of destructive actions, I came into the staff room after a class and my coworker told me about the gunman in Northern Illinois.

I still hold to everything I said in my previous post, but it's sure freaky having a shooting happen the day after writing about it. Maybe I should write about stuff like my sister winning the lottery instead.

I'm reposting this clip from fight club. Just like yesterday, it's still graphically bloody, but the monologue in here (matched with the imagery, for that matter) just about perfectly describes what I imagine would have to be going through the mind of someone when they decide to actually pick up a gun and start destroying things.

"I felt like putting a bullet between the eyes of every Panda that wouldn't screw to save its species. I wanted to open the dump valves on oil tankers and smother all the French beaches I'd never see. I wanted to breathe smoke."



Somehow, each of these people have convinced themselves that the entire world deserves to be as unhappy as they are. Why or how they reach that state of solipsism is different for each one (and yes, I recognize that depression and mental illness can warp a person's world-view -- but they're not off the hook that easily. Each person has choices to make, too, and some chronically depressed people get help instead of torching national monuments or killing strangers), but their own agenda (sometimes spite, sometimes something more ideological) has become more important, in their minds, than any human life, any treasure, and certainly any law.

Now, I'm gonna throw some JD Salinger at you, because when I struggle with getting down, old Jerome David always picks me up. Thanks for that, Jerry!

You see, I've been struggling with/coming to grips with cynicism lately. I'm spending more time reading the newspaper and following news on English Expat in Korea -type websites, and I've been dismayed by both the cumulative drag of constantly reading about tragedies in the paper, and the amount of cynicism and negativity that sometimes gets packaged along with the news in the comment boards (and some of the writers) in the Korea Expat Blogosphere.

It's hard to stay up to date with the news and such, without getting dragged down by bad news. Add to that the fact I firmly believe that our characters are determined by the things we choose to look at and the way we choose to look at them -- my mom used to say, "Garbage in, garbage out," and the dilemma comes into a little more focus: how do I keep a positive attitude while still being aware of what goes on in the world, and doing my part?

And then, just when I think I'm finding a balanced way to view the world, that is realistic but also positive, that is both honest and edifying, something shitty happens.

(Northern Illinois University. Condolences to all involved. Peace Be Upon You and God, or Richard Dawkins, Be With You all.)
Maybe it's apples and oranges to compare a national monument's destruction with the loss of four lives, but the fact remains that both of those guys chose the best way they could think of to raise a middle finger to the entire world they knew.

In one of my favourite passages of Catcher in the Rye, Holden Caulfield complains about graffiti in his childhood school:
“That's the whole trouble. You can't ever find a place that's nice and peaceful, because there isn't any. You may think there is, but once you get there, when you're not looking, somebody'll sneak up and write "Fuck you" right under your nose.”

And that's just the thing about life sometimes, isn't it? All that shit we can't control, that jumps out at us from behind the door, and derails our gravy train.



And you know, in the same way it's easier to watch TV than to read a book, it's easier to get caught in the cycle of negative thought, than to claw back up into the positive stuff. In a text message, I wrote to a friend that "Hate is just a way to postpone grief" -- all that hate, and then the grief, NEEDS to be sorted out, as much for my benefit as for anyone else's, but it's easier to shift blame and resent someone than to look in the mirror, deal with how I feel, grieve, and then (eventually) grow and move on. It's easier to decide I have a right to be miserable, and from there, to decide that the entire phony world deserves to be miserable with me. That negative energy feeds itself like feedback in a microphone, and can get blown all out of proportion, and from there, all bets are off on how I might react.

It takes work to pull out of the whirlpool. But if you can. . . (back to J.D. Salinger, at last)

Holden Caulfield's teacher, Mr. Antolini informs us that,
“Among other things, you'll find that you're not the first person who was ever confused and frightened and even sickened by human behaviour. You're by no means alone on that score, you'll be excited and stimulated to know. Many, many men have been just as troubled morally and spiritually as you are right now. Happily, some of them kept records of their troubles. You'll learn from them—if you want to. Just as some day, if you have something to offer, someone will learn something from you. It's a beautiful reciprocal arrangement. And it isn't education. It's history. It's poetry.”

. . . but it takes work to get into the positive cycle, the good reciprocal arrangement, instead of lapsing into the negative reciprocal arrangement, where my bad attitude makes other people miserable around me, and then I soak up that misery and radiate it back out again wherever I go.

So I'm trying not to get too down today. I'm trying to remember all the wonderful things that make my life joyful, and to focus on those things (without blinding myself to reality). Hopefully, I'll get back to the last fifteen pages of Franny and Zooey again (I'd quote it, but you really just need to read the whole book for it to make any sense anyway) "There isn't anyone out there who isn't Seymour's Fat Lady" see? Pretty opaque, huh? -- if you read it, you know.

And maybe, if I stay in the positive cycle, I can even get to my favourite Salinger quote of all: "I am a kind of paranoiac in reverse. I suspect people of plotting to make me happy." (the fat lady is Jesus, don't you know?)

Anyway, it's been a bad week. . . by my lady found me some dairy free chocolate for Valentine's Day that was really really great, and I'm reading Lord of the Rings, which is such a flippin' awesome book, and today was payday, and my best friend is back from traveling in Europe, so things aren't all bad.

Pray for those folks in Illinois, though. And read Franny and Zooey, if you don't get the "fat lady" stuff, and want to.

They found the Arsonist.

You can read about it at The Marmot Hole, so I won't reprint the whole thing here, but basically, they caught the guy who torched "National Treasure Number 1". His reason? He was upset because a contractor paid him a lower price than he asked when they built apartments on his land.

Even worse, last year he ALREADY tried to burn another cultural heritage site, to draw attention to his grievance. It seems he went for National Treasure Number 1 because he was further miffed about having to pay fines for trying to burn down buildings in Changgyeonggung palace.

He apologized, and made the "it could be worse" defense, saying, "I was thinking about attacking a subway station, but chose a national treasure instead," which is like a wife beater saying, "you should be thankful: I only hit you with an open hand! Vern next door uses his fist on Marcie!"

Now here's the thing.

It seems like the old forms of protest aren't enough for the crazies anymore.

I mean, back in the good old days, if you had no other options and nobody was listening to your complaints, most people simply participated in self-destructive behaviour -- get drunk, ramble onerously about "The Man" for a while, say bad things about whichever scapegoat you've chosen to bear the blame for your own disappointments, and get on with life. Maybe throw in some passive aggressive law-breaking -- "Ha! I never wear my seat belt, because, damn the man!" "I call police officers 'pig' behind their backs" "I don't declare all my extra income." "I litter. . . mwahahahahaaaa"

But in our hypersaturated information age, that stuff just isn't enough anymore. People want a stage. In feudal Japan, seppuku, or ritual suicide, was a very honourable way to add gravity to one's protest, or to avoid shame in death, in the case of being captured or defeated in battle. Nowadays, a suicide doesn't even make it into a big city's newspaper pages, unless it's a particularly heartbreaking case, and probably one that also happens to fit the political agenda of the right (or wrong) political commentator/journalist/moralist/loudmouth.

So what do the crazies do? The ones that want a stage? I mean, to regain a few moments of power, in the face of all the powerlessness, what do the disenfranchised have to do these days, for someone to validate their complaint, to vent their rage and impotence?

(warning: this is a clip from fight club. it's kinda graphically bloody)


Destroy something beautiful.

Destroy something priceless, something precious. It's not enough anymore for me to drink myself into oblivion and drown in my self-pity. Now, I have to get revenge at the world. Columbine, Virginia Tech, WTC, burning Korea's National Treasure -- finally, they know they exist, I guess. They got their names in the newspaper.

And how many of these kinds of unnecessary, wanton tragedies could have been prevented, if people had listened to those on the margins, and how many of them were the inevitable acts of deeply disturbed minds who were completely out of touch with reality? I don't know. I don't know the role of mental disease in these cases, I don't know if each of these people could have turned a corner, if the right words, or the right kind of compassion, had come along at the right time. I don't know which of these were simply the outward expression of an intense, black hole of hate inside somebody's soul, and I certainly don't know how those deep black holes got there in the first place, and (this is the hardest part) I don't know which disenfranchised group will be the next to lash out. Nobody does -- that's the scary thing. While everybody's trying to reach out to The Muslims, there could well be an abandoned and ostracized Vietnam Vet polishing his rifle; while we're thinking of Cho Seung-hui (Virginia Tech shooter) and trying to reach out to maladjusted immigrants, some member of the uneducated, working poor, helpless to stanch the bleeding of his credit card debt on his mortgage-crippled sub-sustenance-level income, or some salaryman whose health insurance company won't give him a friggin' break, buys a cannister of gasoline and a lighter, and heads for the nearest administrative building. Who's to say?

And a lot of these things CAN'T be prevented. You'll never eradicate school bullying. Racism will continue to be felt (whether imagined or not) and victim mentalities will continue to fester, as long as there are groups of people who look different, or act different, or talk differently, from other groups. The powerful will always prey on the powerless, and the powerless will grow angry (the only prerogative left to them).

Now I'm not some kind of communist, but I do think that the measure of a society, and, I suppose, of our entire race in the end, is not the level of opulence the rich enjoy, but the degree to which our most powerless are respected as humans (all these bartletts regulars seem to concur). Dostoevsky's (possibly apocryphal) quote states that "The degree of civilization in a society can be judged by entering its prisons."

Who knows. Maybe the revolution is coming. Maybe things will mostly stay the way they are, and maybe there are some people who will never be satisfied, who will always find excuses to feed their anger, instead of trying to live beyond it. Maybe such people will always want to take something with them when they go, and for all they care, having their name and face in the newspaper for a day, having everybody know exactly WHY they in particular are angry, is more important than any other person's life or treasure.

If that's true, there's nothing we can do to stop those kinds of crazies from continuing to appear out of nowhere, and making the world suck for a day, or a week, or a two-term presidency and maybe more (thanks, for that, Osama. You dick.) For my part, I just hope I can treat the people I encounter as humans, and as worthy of dignity, so that even if I can't stop the helpless/angry/crazies, I'll know I'm not helping to make more of them.

Hats off and a moment of silence for Namdaemun Gate, or Sungnyemun

All around Seoul and the rest of Korea, there are markers and placards around historical sites saying "XXX place, Korean National Treasure # __" before the explanation.

Of them all, the top, the big numero uno, was Sungnyemun, also known as Namdaemun Gate. It was one of the gates to the old city, and it was originally built in 1396-8 or so.

Here's a picture.

Sungryemun, Korea's National Treasure #1
See more pictures here. Seriously, follow the link: it's a good photo essay on a really beautiful structure.

This morning, I got into school and everyone was buzzing. During my first class, I got two text messages: Namdaemun is Destroyed!

At first, I had no idea what that might mean.
(sorry. I did an image search of "Namdaemun Gate Destroyed" on google and that picture showed up.)

The truth was much less fanciful, and much more tragic.


They suspect it was arson: someone was seen climbing up inside the building, and a spark spotted shortly after.
I went down to see what it looked like.
Getting closer.


Close enough to see some details of the ruin now.
The crosswalks around the intersection were all shoulder to shoulder. Many were taking pictures, but many were just standing, aghast.





Hundreds of people were just standing there, silently. Like a wake.
Every Korean I've talked to about this is shocked and dismayed -- nobody knows what to say. I don't even know what to compare it to.
For Americans, imagine Mount Rushmore or the Lincoln Memorial being destroyed by an earthquake. For Canadians. . . I have to reach; most of our defining symbols are natural features. Imagine if the Hockey Hall of Fame burnt down, and Bobby Orr died trying to save Wayne Gretzky, and Sidney Crosby's knee got shattered by a piece of flying debris as the building collapsed, maybe. Or if a geothermic event wiped out Niagara Falls as we know it, and left it as the Niagara steep rapids instead. Or if the CN Tower were 600 years old when it burnt own.

People milling about in shock, dumbstruck, with haunted eyes.




They say it'll take two years to rebuild, and hopefully they'll protect it, and other important Korean heritage buildings, against fire more carefully: this is not the first time a Korean heritage site has been threatened by fire.

P.S.: This post got linked by GI Korea on his popular Korea blog ROK Drop. Props for your coverage, and thanks for the kudos!

Traditional Korean Entertainment

It's the Seollal Festival right now -- the Lunar New Year (known in North America as Chinese New Year -- we wanted it to be called Korean New Year worldwide, but we got outvoted.)

And this means a few things:

1. Everybody travels to their ancestral home to honour the ancestors.
2. For anybody who STAYS in Seoul (because everybody's either heading for the countryside or taking advantage of the five day vacation, it's impossible to book tickets to travel), there are tons of festivals, cultural demonstrations and performances to see.
This is called Samulnori. It was popular with farmers coming in from the field. It's noisy and fun. The guy on the far left leads it, it's mostly improvisational, but the clip below gives you a feeling for how it gathers speed as the players go.
It's hugely thrilling to see in person -- wish you could experience it.





A good performance will go eight or ten minutes sometimes, changing tempos and gathering momentum, trading solos and getting noisier and noisier. It's like riding a galloping horse. By the end, all the drummers in our show were dripping with sweat, their heads were bobbing and hair flying everywhere. (Wet hair)

Here's a clip of Kim Duk Soo, a Sameulnori legend, as his performance (somewhat bigger than the usual combo size) reaches its climax. Imagine being there to see this live, close enough to see the whites of their eyes.




Some female dancers came out, and did some lovely fan dances (buchae-chum) that involved spinning and puffing their traditional hanbok out in all directions, just like little girls wearing new dresses.







This is called Pansori, the traditional storytelling form. It has been recognized by UNESCO as an intangible cultural treasure. These Pansori singers are extremely highly trained -- their voices are amazing, more impressive than opera, I think, because Opera is mostly concerned with getting the purest sound, but a good pansori singer MUST have that worn "I've climbed twelve mountain ranges to tell you this story" melancholy in it. It turns into a folk-song singalong midway, and the woman really lets her voice go in all its gritty glory.



A proper Pansori performance can take six hours -- that takes some stamina. A friend told me once that during their training, Pansori performers must practice their vocal exercises until they cough up blood, and there's a movie (Called Sopyanje) about a famous Pansori singer whose father blinded her so that she would experience the grief necessary to become a truly great Pansori singer. (I'm not sure if it's a true story, but it gives you an idea of what is required to be a great singer.)

One thing I love about Korea is that it's a peasant culture -- the best Korean foods are the simple soups and stews that farmers would eat when they came in from the fields. Samulnori (the drumming) was how those same farmers would let out their stress -- work all day in the rice field? Let's bang things together to feel better! Even in this, Pansori (sometimes called Korean Opera), it's not looking for the cleanest highest note (sorry, Sarah Brightman), but the deepest, saddest groan, that defines the best Pansori singers. This makes it very different from Chinese opera, which is so mannered, refined and exact, in a movie I saw about it (Farewell, My Concubine) there's an argument between a singer and an opera historian about whether he's supposed to take five, or six steps before he starts singing during a certain scene of a certain opera.


At the end of the show, the samulnori people came out again, and did this (Pangeut):



They've tied ribbons to sticks attached to their hats. They were flying all over the stage, and it was awesome, they had the whole crowd clapping along, shouting and hollering with joy.



By the way: here's a fantastic arrangement of Led Zeppelin's "Stairway To Heaven" with traditional Korean instruments. I especially enjoyed the solo: skip to six minutes in.



I don't know why Koreans love to do western pop songs and rock classics on their traditional instruments, but the song I've heard played more often than any other by traditional orchestra is "Let It Be". Too bad: the old folk songs have a stately strength that I really enjoy, but maybe they're worried young people can't enjoy the slow smouldering tempos, so they have to supply them with familiar, classic rock tunes. . . which doesn't actually make sense either, because if they're looking for a YOUNG NEW audience, they ought to be covering Black Eyed Peas and Beyonce.

Here's some of the stately stuff I like. The orchestra I saw was seven piece, with five different instruments, and it was more improvisational -- each player got a few bars of solo, and that kind of performance would have been a more common occurrence than a big-ass gala like this one.

Watch the clips; enjoy the culture where I live.

I did it, I did it, I diiiIIIIId it!

The White Stripes - There's No Home For You Here -- their best song so far, in my opinion. Ignore the slideshow -- scroll past. Just hit play and listen.



To commemorate my completion of DRAFT FOUR of my Violinist novella, I am finally posting. That's right, draft four. The draft where I'm proud enough of what I've written that I'll actually show it to people. One (maybe two) draft(s) away from what I'm going to start shopping to publishers.

Melissa tagged me with one of those goofy viral "Tag" thingies that goes around blogs.

I don't mind this one, because it's about writing.

The question was: give three tips for writing, and pass the baton to three of your blogger/readers, to answer the same question on their blogs.

Maybe it was supposed to be "how to write for a blog" but I'm going to take it as "how to work toward writing professionally"

Tip 1 (courtesy of the time I met Timothy Findley)

Write.

Just do it. Don't dream about it. Don't wish you had time to, don't think about the fame and glory that will come after you sell your first bestseller. . . just write. And if you're meant to be a writer, sez Mr. Findley, "You'll know."

Tip 2

While Mel pointed out that it's important not to make writing a chore or an obligation (at least not until you're a professional writer with deadlines and things), I say, don't make it a chore, but if writing's important to you, arrange your life so as to be conducive to more writing.

-Sometimes that means you have to make choices. If your job takes away the time and energy you used to have for writing, well, by keeping that job, you're tacitly voting with your timetable. There's nothing wrong with that, but be aware of it.
-Find a job where you have free time during your most creative time of the day.
-Surround yourself with people who help clear a space in your life to write, and who support you in doing so, communicate to people close to you how this IS a priority for you, and you appreciate their support.
-Disconnect your home internet if it's stealing time from your writing.
-Stop watching movies, sell your television.
-Live more cheaply, so you can take the lower paying job with MORE FREE TIME to write.
-Create a comfortable writing space in your home. Keep it clean, and use it.
-Get a really beautiful journal with quality paper, that's a pleasure to hold, and a comfortable pen that writes well for you, that makes a satisfying scratching sound when you write with it, so that you enjoy, and look forward to opening up the journal and writing in it.
-Get an ultraportable laptop, or a word processor, or a handheld tape recorder, and carry it with you all the time, so that you can write while waiting for your friend to arrive, instead of just staring into space. Fill your life with opportunities to write, see every spare moment as an opportunity to write, and carry with you the equipment necessary to TAKE those opportunities, and actually write!

3. Learn your own process, and be patient with it.

(bonus, 'cause Mel gave four)

4. Live as much as you can, and notice as much as you can, and take notes and internalize as much as you can. Travel, talk to people, don't wear an MP3 player -- listen to the world. Go out and do stuff, instead of staying inside when it's cold or rainy or too hot. Make friends with people who get you to do things you wouldn't normally do. Get wet sometimes, or sick. Remember what it's like. Pay attention to how things smell, feel, taste, all that little stuff. Do things that are out of the ordinary, to see how people around you react -- you might learn something. Get your hands dirty, and keep your eyes open.

Then. . .
(see #1)

I tag. . . I dunno. I don't have many readers. Dan? Deb? uhh. . .Cheryl? You still reading?


Facebook-related Mini-rant: once people FINALLY got smart enough to stop forwarding junk to their friends' e-mail inbox, facebook comes along, and suddenly ALL the garbage that it took me six years to wean my friends from forwarding to me on E-mail, has returned, like the killer in a bad horror movie, to clutter and litter my facebook profile and inbox. AAAAAAAAAAAAUGGGGGHHHHHH!!! It's even easier to forward things on Facebook (damn virals) and sometimes you even forward stuff without meaning to. well. . . it's just like e-mail, folks. If you forward the superstitious "forward to everyone on your list or you'll die at midnight" e-mail, you're a chump (and worse). If you forward it on facebook. . . YOU'RE STILL A CHUMP!

Sigh.

But I'm happy today. Happy as a rainbow banana.

When I finished writing my English Honours Thesis, I walked around TWU's campus for most of the morning showing my fifty page thesis to people around me, bubbling, "Look what I can do!" before I handed it in. That's how I feel now. I wish you could hold my fourth draft in your hands and share a glass of happy with me.

love:
Roboseyo

Yech

butchered dog

Dr. Fish.

Cat Stevens: Father And Son -- one of the top five songs I wish I could play on guitar.



NOT on the list: Hero by Mariah Carey.

I went to this cafe last week, they have this thing called "Doctor Fish" in Korea -- it's the latest "well being" craze (well being can be a noun OR an adjective here, meaning healthy). You put your feet in a tank of water, and hundreds of tiny fish come along and nibble away your callouses.


like this



and dear readers, it really really tickles.






I love this city. (This picture was from the Korea Herald)

Aaaand, street kebabs. Does YOUR hometown have street food like this, served by an authentic Turkish guy who speaks Korean?

Got in the paper again.

There's a new section in the Korea Herald (the paper my school receives) called "Expat Living". I sent a letter in about something I care about, and they published it today.

You can see it at www.koreaherald.com, if you click on the box that says, "ExPat Living", or just trust me that it's there, and read it here.

I'm posting it as it was published in the Herald -- the version I originally submitted had been edited for length, with the first paragraph deleted and some the crucial information from Paragraph 1 adapted into other parts of the letter.

Of course, it's fun seeing my name in print; more gratifying, though, was when one of my students looked at me after reading the article in a conversation class and said, "I never thought of that before, but you changed the way I think." This was the same student I mentioned earlier, in another post. She's great, always ready to talk about stuff head-on, but it was really satisfying to hear her say, "You've convinced me."

I'm still all shiny from that.


here's my article, then:



***

Special


[Letter to the editor] The word foreigner as an agent of exclusion


As Korea aims to become a true global hub, it is time to think how the word waygukin, or "foreigner" is used. The word seems harmless: We are foreigners, aren`t we? But looking closer, just as the word "businessman" hinted that women didn`t really belong in the office, the word waygukin, literally "outside-country person," draws a circle called "Korea," and sets expatriates on the outside, looking in.

It is a small step from saying: "You`re not from here" outright, to implying "and you don`t belong here, either." The words waygukin and foreigner don`t mean to marginalize people, but neither did the word businessman, before it became politically correct to say businessperson, instead. Intentionally or not, it did -- and they do.

These words are so common that we foreigners even use them when talking about ourselves. Rather than just being marginalized by someone else, we are even excluding ourselves from Korean society. If I call myself an outsider, I will also think like one. I may hesitate to invest my full energy and passion in Korea, since even the word used to describe me implies: "You don`t really belong here."

The word waygukin says what we are not, but it`s time for a word that describes what we are, instead. "International," and "expatriate" have positive meanings. This small name change recognizes that we are more than outsiders; we are a growing part of Korea`s new, globalizing society.

Some of us have lived here for a long time, and we can contribute a lot if we, and our efforts, are welcomed and appreciated. It may just be fussing about language, and it`s only one step in the long journey of globalization, but a little change in word-choice still opens doors for women in business, and another little change might encourage expatriates to invest more in Korean society.

It might also help Koreans to see us not as outsiders, but as capable, energetic people ready and willing to participate.

Koreans and internationals alike: Let`s find inclusive words that remind us we`re working together to help Korea grow, and let`s leave old, exclusive words like "foreigner" and "waygukin" in the "hermit kingdom" past, where they belong.

Robert Ouwehand, Seoul



2008.01.31

Walking aroud korea, if you ever bump into a bunch of middle-school kids. . .

Sometimes this happens.



It's cute. . . my favourite is when they get the giggles.

A Three-Fer of Ridiculousity

OK. I like to be positive, as much as I can, but this just begs to be mocked.

Protests played an important part in social change in Korea: in the late 1970s and early 1980s, a number of important protests shook off their military dictator's shackles and opened the way for a legitimate democracy. Before a student protest in 1978 that was surpressed with gunfire (and started the ball rolling toward a true democracy), it was illegal, and dangerous, to protest the government. Protests were also an important part of Koreans' opposition to Japanese colonial rule. This young woman's another national hero in Korea. Since the '80s, as civil liberties increase, it seems that many Koreans choose to celebrate their civil liberties by protesting pretty much anything: every weekend, you can walk around the downtown and find a protest either by city hall, by the parliament buildings, or in front of the US or Japanese Embassy. Sometimes, it seems that people join a protest just for the fun of getting angry about something -- one blogger called these "I like crowds" protests.

Today, I came across the protest of the weekend, and, well, sure, citizens are within their rights to protest things, and it can be an important way of exercising (the hell out of) one's freedom, but if you're putting yourself out there for something like this, I am also well within my civil rights to mock you.

They were marching, and I decided to look at the signs to see what they were marching about. As I moved up from the back of the line toward the front, while only able to read the signs with English on them, and sound out/recognize a very few Korean words, I spotted just about every cause I know:

FTA (free trade agreement with US), GLBT (Gay, Lesbian, Bisexual and Transsexual) rights, Iraq War, Skyrocketing Housing Prices in Seoul, Poverty/Social Welfare, Something about Samsung, Korea's largest conglomerate, currently involved in a corruption scandal, and also responsible for the error that led to an oil spill off Korea's West coast, Mistreatment of Migrant Workers, and, of course, a picture of Che Guevera. Because there always has to be a picture of Che.
--all in a single protest!



This baffled me, so I sped up to get to the front of the march-line, and the sign the union members held as they chanted, said, "A dream for a new world. A world without Poverty, FTA, War, Discrimination"

Basically, it was the white elephant table of protests -- if you're on the protestor's mailing list (of which I am certain there is one), meet at noon at City Hall (or wherever it is these things always muster), bring your favourite sign, and make sure you're dressed warmly and ready to shout!

If you like shouting, it's more fun than joining a swimming club! AND, you can lord it over your friends on the beer league soccer team that YOU'RE a social activist, and all THEY do with their weekends is play meaningless games.

Now there's nothing wrong with protesting in itself, but you know, when you flag ALL your e-mails as "High Priority," everybody ignores it, and on the weekend you really DO need a quick reply, you're still shuffled into the "read later" file. If you protest about every darn thing, every weekend, it just becomes a dull hum, chalked up to "one of the drags of being a Korean politician" - it loses its impact. I wonder if these people press for social change in any other way (organizing boycotts, giving money or time to social change organizations, changing their consumption habits, going on letter writing drives, publishing circulars and writing letters to the editor) or if they figure chanting slogans on Saturday acquits them of their other social responsibilities, plus, they get to meet their protest pals and get sloshed later! (Which sometimes seems to be the final stage of EVERY activity involving more than two Koreans -- once I told my students I climb mountains for my health, and one said to me, "But it's not healthy to get drunk the way mountain-climbers do" -- not all hikers, friend. Not all.)

Finally, I have my own opinions about celebrity gossip, but THIS has got to be the best story EVER.

Na Hoon-A is a star of the Trot musical style I discussed in an earlier post. He went AWOL for a little while, and the press cooked up a doozy of a story to explain his absence (you'd hope they could have produced a doctor's note). According to the rumor mill, Mr. Na had knobbed the wrong female popstar: one who had caught the eye of a big-time Yakuza (Japanese answer to the Mafia) boss; in response, as a way of saying, "I don't care if you're famous, nobody f***s with my lady," he had this guy kidnapped and castrated.

Well, Na Hoon-A is back on the radar, ready to tell anybody who listens that he is fine, and his manhood is intact. In fact, he was ready to share it with the press. (He doesn't actually do it, but when he climbs up on the table, everybody gets a little nervous, that "is this actually happening?" feeling when you witness a car accident. And listen to the camera shutters click.)



If you look at a picture of him, this is a dude not to be messed about with -- I wouldn't want to be the reporter who cooked up this story, stuck alone in a room with this guy.



And in case you doubt his manhood, here he is in full swagger, (pop and drop apparently) intact.


PS: how to win a swordfight:

Hey Americans:

Don't get sad about Heath Ledger,

Get MAD about this. Get really mad.
(hat-tip to Occidentalism.org for this clip)

My Brother Dan's Wedding Toast

I was the best man at my brother's wedding. Here was my toast for him and his wonderful wife, Caryn.

Dan And Caryn Ouwehand's Wedding Toast

Don't worry. It's shorter.


I remember one day going down the stairs to the room Dan and I used to share, and being greeted by a
funny kind of sound.
WHOOMPH!
Rustle rustle rustle.
WHOOMPH!
Rustle rustle rustle.

I was probably eleven years old then, and I opened the door to Dan, about eight years old, lying on the floor beside our bunk bed, wrapped in a sleeping bag, looking up at me with big, wide, excited eyes.

"Hey Rob! If you're wrapped in a sleeping bag, it doesn't even hurt to fall out of the bed!"

So I did what any wiser, older brother would do: I grabbed a sleeping bag and joined the fun.

We dumped ourselves off that top bunk or about twenty minutes until Dan's zipper got stuck on the bedframe and broke. When the zipper broke, we had to stop.

I tell this story because that was always Dan: he was the one jumping off and over things, riding his bike all around town and taking the dare where I'd shy away from it.

It's a bold step to get married. It takes courage to choose a person and entrust that one person with your future.

Dan and Caryn, though, have set up a solid foundation for their marriage. Their lines of communication are almost ridiculously open. I've spent some time with them, just relaxing and hanging out with them, and all of a sudden, Dan makes a joke, and Caryn doesn't laugh, and they start Communicating -- with a BIG big C.

"Oh. Sorry. You didn't like my joke?" Dan says.
"It wasn't funny," Caryn says.
"Not funny, like, inappropriate, or not funny, like,
not funny?"
"No, you know what? It's OK. It was funny. Really."
"But you didn't laugh. . . "

and so they go in circles as if it's a race to each be more accomodating than the other. It's silly to tease them about trying to hard to communicate excellently. In truth, it's like teasing a sprinter for having long legs.

I really respect Dan and Caryn's relationship, and the amount of commitment and effort they put into it. They work hard to have a healthy relationship: I was talking to Dan one night about Caryn, and how much I like her, and their way together, and he said it best when he told me "It's great because . . . we have a lot of fun together, but we can also solve problems." That's exactly it. They shore up each other's weaknesses, and encourage each other's strengths in amazing ways.

I've had the chance to see how they lift each other up and support each other in difficult times. As most of you know, Dan's and my mother can't be here today; a few months after Dan and Caryn got engaged, we learned that Jane Ouwehand has incurable stomach cancer. Most of the relatives on Dan's side that are here today, are planning to travel out to BC after the wedding, to visit Jane, because she's no longer strong enough to ravel here and see the wedding.

For our family this year, the joys and sorrows of life got mashed right up against each other. I know this is a bittersweet journey for many people here at the wedding, but I've also seen, because of these times, what a great support system Dan and Caryn have here in Red Deer, in their church, and especially with each other.

Dan and Caryn have built their love on trust and honesty and, moreover, on God. God has always been an important part of their relationship and their lives, so now, instead of diving off a bunk bed, Dan and Caryn are jumping together into a lifelong commitment, wrapped not in a sleeping bag, but in God's goodness and love -- and God's zipper never breaks.


Not many people get to speak for their mother and their brother with a speech, both in the space of a few months. I'm proud and honoured that I could do so, and I will never forget having the chance to do so.

Thanks.
Rob

My Hero.

My Mom's dad (we call him Opa, the Dutch word for grandfather) has made one of the main tasks of his retirement to write a family history. He started off with the life story of HIS father (my grandfather), which he published at a little, family publishing house (the kind of place that prints out genealogies and small-scale projects) to hand out to his kids and grandkids. I received my copy when I was sixteen, and (being sixteen) had no clue yet of the importance of roots and heritage. Too busy finding out who I was, I didn't have time to wonder about where I was from yet.

The man himself: my hero, Opa Boonstra:


Later, I worked for two summers as a guide at a heritage museum, and started to learn about the importance of history, and what a resource our elders are, simply through the stories that have given their lives meaning. I spent two summers hearing older folks come through the museum talking about who they were, and how things are changing, and what still stays the same. Sure, these thoughts are nothing you can't find in Thornton Wilder's "Our Town," but it's amazing how the technology, the methods, and the setting change so dramatically, but we human beings are STILL just trying to figure out who we are and what we're doing, struggling to connect, to know and be known, and to feel like our lives were worth something, carving out a place in this world, like writing our names in water (kudos to John Keats for that one).

I read that book finally when I was about twenty-four, just a little while before we found out my mom had stomach cancer. I was touched and moved by what, ultimately, read (to me) as a tender and admiring tribute to my Opa's father. What a blessing for the whole family, that we can have that story written down, as a piece of our heritage, that those stories will not be forgotten in time. It was an act of love for my grandfather to write a history of his father, both for his father, and for his children and grandchildren: he gave us the gift of knowing where we are from (or at least being able to).

Here in Korea, families have amazing, long genealogies -- during the Korean war, one of my students told me how, as his family escaped their burning house in North Korea, fleeing the approaching Communist Troops, his grandfather ran back into the house to rescue the family genealogy. I shook my head in wonder, and he told me "It goes back thirty generations". Cripes!

North America, because of the immigrant culture, doesn't really think too much of Genealogies -- especially when a lot of people are like my sister-in-law: "Irishambodiargentinianativenglisherpa" or, as she charmingly says, "Heinz 57". At best in North America, unless your progenitor rode the mayflower, genealogies are a hobby. However, in reading my Grandfather's memoir, I realized that for many Canadians, especially second or third generation immigrants, the story of "How We Came To Canada" (or America) is as important a part of our self-stories as Koreans' "Your five-times-great grandfather served in the court of King Wi-na, but was executed during a purge when the next king took the throne". In that respect, as my friend Tamie says, I bow to my grandfather's effort to keep our family story alive, to make sure it is not forgotten in the past, as those who experienced it die away.

The memoir includes stories of living through the Nazi occupation of the Netherlands, and in the second volume, my Oma (grandmother) tells her story, too, and shares the fear her family felt when her father went off to fight the Nazis, and went several weeks unaccounted for. I read how my mother was born, how they built their first house in stages, as they worked off the previous home-builder's bank loan and more funds became available to them (basement first, then frame, then electricity, septic tank? Grab a shovel! etc..)

I thank my grandparents for writing this down, committing it to paper, so that it will not be forgotten.

And for everyone who wonders whether the things they do to help others matter at all, here is an excerpt from early memories of my Grandmother's grandfather:

"Later on when [my Oma's] Opa had his own shoe shop, he would not charge people if they could not pay. People held him in great regard for that. When I (Marijke) was visiting in Shalom Manor [an old-age residence with many Dutch immigrants] in 2005, I met Mrs. Zeldenrust, who lived in Hoogkerk many years ago and had known Tante Grietje [my grandmother's aunt, I believe]. Mrs. Zeldenrust's son told me about Opa's generousity and how peope appreciated that. I was amazed to hear that story forty-one years after his death."

Forty-one years after his death, people still remember his acts of kindness and generousity. Sure, "Nazi Week" will garner more ratings on the Discovery Channel than "The Friendly Cobbler," but, dear readers, kindness IS noticed, and remembered, whether it's ever mentioned back to you or not.

My man Jesus said, "Store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust destroys, and where thieves do not break in or steal; for where your treasure is , there your heart will be also."

My personal favourite kindness CAN make a difference moment:



Les Miserables: a gracious act by the Bishop pulls a life out of the gutter and redeems a character who'd given up on himself; Jean Valjean goes on to become the greatest of grace-givers, thanks (though he might never have found out) to a kindness done by a bishop who'd been robbed, and would have been within his rights to send our man Jean back up the river where he came from.

(read the book. knocked my socks off. just read it -- Jean Valjean is one of my favourite characters anywhere, because of the way he incarnates grace to everyone around him)

Preach it.

Stars and influence.

"What the Snowman Learned About Love"

by Stars



I've been interested by the recent Tiger Woods non-story. Seems a sports anchor carelessly made a comment that had presumably racist overtones (something about Tiger's competitors lynching him), during a live broadcast. This was exacerbated when a golf magazine printed an issue with a big noose on the cover.

I like, though, that Tiger made one bland comment through his agent, and then stayed out of the mess: getting involved just lends the story more credence, which is the last thing we need in the modern frantic news cycle. By remaining above it all, Tiger got to focus on his golf, and he got to say "Come on, America, can we PLEASE move beyond the constantly-played race card, and get back to playing golf and stuff?" --he wasn't offended, the anchor didn't mean any harm, but a lot of other people got offended on Tiger's behalf, and we have another tempest in a teapot.

Now I'm not saying race relations in America are suddenly perfect, but Tiger calling for some commentator's head is not going to help a single inner city school in a predominantly non-white neighbourhood get more funding. He helps out a lot with funds and foundations, but he does it quietly, and he doesn't wade into these kinds of reporting quagmires.

(it's also funny, because Tiger Woods is about as multi-racial as you can get. Personally, I see more South-Asian in him than African-American. His mom was half-Thai, so making a tsunami joke would have hit closer to home on the race card than a lynching crack. He's also parts Chinese, white, and Native-American. Begin debate on mixed-race people having good genes, in the same way mutt dogs are healthier and more even-tempered than pure breeds. . . NOW!)

--who do you think he resembles more? These African-American guys,





Here's Tiger and family, for comparison:



Or these Thai guys?
This guy's much older, but his face is shaped and proportioned EXACTLY like our golfing champ:


His eyes are not shaped like an East-Asian (and why should they be? Southeast-Asians usually have wider eyes than East-Asians), so people miss that a lot of his other features (except the texture of his hair) are Asian.


Sometimes I wonder what celebrities should do about their fame and social consciousness. When Angelina Jolie tries to make life better for some villages in South Asia, when George Clooney makes hard-hitting movies that ask tougher questions than Fox News is willing to ask, I feel proud to be a human.

When the defining athlete of his generation, Michael Jordan's most famous quote on a social issue is "Republicans buy shoes, too," that makes me disappointed that he's choosing to use his fame to line his pockets and stump his endorsements instead of standing for something.

When the defining athlete of the '60s, Muhammed Ali, accepted a two year suspension from boxing during his prime rather than fight in a war that was against his religion, well, whether you agree with him or not, you have to respect that integrity.

But then, when U2's Bono gets preachy, sometimes we want him to stop preaching and (as Noel Gallagher says in the link,) "Play 'One' and shut the ____ up". However, I also respect the hell out of him for putting his clout behind the Jubilee 2000 campaign, and using his celebrity to bend the ears of some serious world-leader-ness.

Antitrust, anticompetitive bullocks: Bill Gates is my favourite rich guy.

And I think that Tiger Woods does enough that maybe, the best role model we can have is the guy who ignores race and simply rises to the top, refusing to engage that ugliness.

Sure, it's easy for me, a white male, to say that. . .but I respect Woods for his choice, because sometimes, feeding the news cycle is like negotiating with terrorists: you only invite more hysteria.

So what do I want from my celebrities? I don't know. I DO know that I think heroes should be people like my grandfather, and not stars or celebrities, however, if celebrities decide to use their influence for good, I really, really admire that (as long as you don't get preachy, I guess. Are you listening, Bono?)


Meanwhile, I'm also not sure whether the way to affect change is to talk MORE about the need for it, or to talk LESS: talking about change too much can lead to a victim mentality that doesn't help anyone, but ignoring the need for change doesn't work either. . . and who speaks for those who have no voice, and boy, it sure gets tiring (Thanks, Bono) "Tryin' to throw your arms around the world".

But if we don't, who will?

This darn awakening social consciousness thing makes life more confusing. Maybe I'll go watch some sports instead. . . and oppress someone. Buy a shirt made in China, or non-fair-trade coffee.

Oh well. I'm tired, and sick, and cranky, and I'm gonna go to bed now.

Two thoughts, then download the album linked in the next post.

1. Konglish: there's a bar right next to my school called "Beer Valley"

that's harmless in itself, but because of Konglish, and the fact the Korean lettering system has no character that stands for "V", they've replaced the short "a" sound and the "v" sound, so that the phrase, when read aloud, could mean either "Beer Valley" or "Beer Belly".

makes me smile.

2. My lady, Girlfriendoseyo, is my new favourite spice: every food tastes better with her! (We had lunch together and it was great.)

Now go to yesterday's post, click on the link, and download the Havalina album -- seriously.

download an AMAZING album for free.

Tell everyone you know: the classic nobody's ever heard of is available for free.

The album I like better than Joni Mitchell's Blue, better than Blood on the Tracks or Ziggy Stardust or Odelay, and at least as much as Kid A, Pink Moon, and Tom Waits' Alice, is FREE for download.

If you love music that sometimes makes you go "what the hell?" for a bit before it pulls the veil away and tosses you into a whole new galaxy where gravity tickles, then download "Russian Lullabies" from this site right now. If you know me at all, you know how seriously I take music, so download it simply because I say so. . . and if it doesn't click with you on the first listen, then read again my declaration that this is the only album that has stayed on my top five list continuously since 1999, and one of the only ones that I consistently come back to at least once a month, that might even be my desert island CD (in a collection of over 500, actual or physical), and give it a chance to grow on you. I've purchased this album about five or seven times, as gifts or to replace lost copies, and now it's out of print, so the artist made it available for free!

Havalina Rail Co. isn't for everybody -- I'll grant you that -- but this one creates a space of its own, and becomes a part of you, if you let it.

(Especially you, Tamie. Tell all your friends.)

(dont let the cover mislead you: it's english)