My Youth In Asia # 1-Resident Alien.

"Men's natures are alike, it is their habits that carry them far apart."-Confucius

I'm a stranger in town. I can't read. I don't speak the language. And I'm not exactly sure which way to face when using the toilet at school. I even have a little plastic card with my picture on it that ominously says, "Resident Alien." If you travel far enough from home you become like an infant again-dependent on the good character and kindness of those around you to just make it through the day. Tourists and business people pay good money to be wrapped in the trappings of home while staying abroad, but long term visitors don't have that luxury. Thus, life overseas has the potential to become an ongoing comic opera with the visitor wearing the bells and multi-colored tights. Strangely, I have made a habit of this over the past several years. After a year in India and three years in South Africa, I now find myself teaching English at an elementary school in Seoul, South Korea. The job opportunity came to me quickly with a snowstorm of faxes, rushed packages, late night e-mails, and a dash to Washington DC to collect my work visa. I needed a job in the worst way, and it just so happened that South Korea was the first to seal the deal. If the paperwork had gone slightly different, I would be in a jungle in Thailand or teaching overstressed businessmen in Japan right now. My great college professor Joanne Scott once told me that, "an artist should know everything." Yet, I always seem to find myself in situations where I know nothing or next to nothing. A crafty Zen Buddhist will tell you that to know nothing is to know everything-beautiful poetry, but not very helpful when trying to find out the price of carrots. At school I teach English lesson for several 3rd, 4th, 5th, and 6th grade classes. The kids troop in and I do my dog and pony show with my Korean counterpart. Before I got here, I imagined South Korean students sitting quietly and taking instruction like little monks-not even close. They are as rowdy as any children in the U.S.-boys and girls smacking each other Three Stooges-style during the lesson and practicing their professional wrestling moves during breaks while the teachers sit calmly by sipping from small paper cups of "Maxim Coffee Mix." "They are playing," said Ms. Kim, commenting on three girls giving a small boy an atomic wedgie. The first lesson I taught with each class included a little Q. and A. session and their questions soon developed into a pretty clear pattern: "Are you married?" I showed them my ring-less hand. "Do you have a girlfriend?" I admitted that I don't. "If you were in the market for a girlfriend, what style would you choose?" Style? Am I shopping for sneakers? "Umm..." I said, "I guess, I like girls that like me." "Do you like Korean girls?" "I like them fine," I said carefully, remembering my audience. Actually, I think Korean girls are sexy as hell and I've spent half my time here wandering around with my eyeballs busting out of my head and my tongue unrolling like a red carpet like the horny wolf in the old Tex Avery cartoons. In The States these gorgeous young women would be prancing down the street in designer originals followed by a flurry of modeling contracts and sugar daddies. Here, they calmly stroll around unobserved buying onions in ratty sneakers. Amazing. The kids had many follow-up questions in the same vein, but thankfully the Korean teachers refused to translate them. I wonder if I can officially classify myself as a hermit, now that 11-year-olds show more interest in my love life than I do? Someone from each class invariably asked if I like kimchi (spicy pickled vegetables-the Korean national dish.) An alimentary blitzkrieg, this 5-alarm death cabbage scorches me both entering and leaving. I like kimchi about as much as I like mixing ground glass in with my contact lens solution, but their expectant faces told me there was only one answer to this question. They actually stood up and cheered, “He likes kimchi! He likes KIMCHI!” Maybe I should give the horrible stuff another try. Between classes, I am besieged in the halls by students wanting to shake my hand, try out their English, or teach me a new Korean word. Mostly this is very pleasant, but they have shown a bizarre fascination with my hairy arms. If I stop for just a second to talk to another teacher, I will feel the touch of a little hand petting me like the world’s most deformed sheep dog. The older girls give me the most trouble in the hall-taking little movies of me with their cell phones and shoving their notebooks under my nose and shouting, “Sign!” I try to explain that they will get my autograph every time they do their homework, but it does no good. Last week, one girl grabbed my arm and declared, “You are my new boyfriend.” Another girl bounded over (“No, he me boyfriend!”) and a short slap-fight ensued. I retreated to the safety on the teacher’s lounge and breathed a sigh of relief. Thankfully, teenybopper hearts are as fickle as the breeze and they will soon move on to younger prey and leave this 30-year-old Pooperoo alone. In their own sweet natured way, the other teachers have gotten around to asking the same sorts of probing questions that the kids did-my love life, kimchi , my love life, my favorite pop band, my love life...Yet they have very good to me and have been kind enough to include me in all the bewildering number of after-school outings, diners, and club meetings that comprise life here. They even try to catch me up on their impenetrable conversations by giving me little summaries-after a half an hour of drumming my fingers, somebody will take pity on me and whisper in my ear, "They talk about TV show." For all my foreignness, I am surprised how quickly I have settled into my new life here. After all, Seoul isn't exactly the outback.The school has taken pains to provide me with a furnished apartment with all the trimmings. I have been loaned a laptop for the duration and I am the proud owner of a slightly used cell phone that appears to be many times smarter than I am. I wonder what the next year will bring? FOOD UPDATE : Since writing this essay two months ago, I've learned that most Koreans would rather hear you insult their mothers than talk trash about their national dish. I still would rather polish off the contents of my sink trap than eat the standard red and white lunchroom kimchi, but I have to report that I now love most kinds of it. The name kimchi refers to a pickled vegetable mixture and the dishes that fall under that name are as varied as the Western dishes that are called "salad." The big misconception about Korean food is that you will wind up being slipped dog meat at some point during your meal. Was it in the dumplings? Was it hiding under the lettuce? Actually, it wasn't anywhere. Dog soup is a relatively rare traditional delicacy enjoyed mostly by older Koreans. Anyone serving you dog soup would would be proud of their cooking and make sure to let you know what you are getting. The role of the dog in Korean life is very similar to the role of the rabbit in Western life. 95% of the time its a lovable family pet and 5% of the time its the blue plate special. Here, bunnies are strictly for petting and not for snacking. On a recent group hike in the mountains, we spied two fat bucks sparring under a tree and I said something dumb like, "Oh, boy! Dinner for two." My Korean companions stared at me as if I had professed a longing for deep fried cow pies. I guess that I won't be eating at their houses anytime soon.