{"id":2129,"date":"2017-10-10T02:00:07","date_gmt":"2017-10-10T02:00:07","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/fulbridge.org\/w\/?p=2129"},"modified":"2017-10-13T05:33:47","modified_gmt":"2017-10-13T05:33:47","slug":"losing-face","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/fulbridge.org\/w\/losing-face\/","title":{"rendered":"Losing Face"},"content":{"rendered":"

\u2013 by\u00a0Rachel Fauth<\/strong> \u2013<\/p>\n

This fall, Fulbright ETAs share their experiences adjusting and adapting to new cultures \u2013 and the challenges, humor, and new ways of seeing the world that come with diving into life in another country.\u00a0 Read the full series here.<\/strong><\/a><\/p><\/blockquote>\n

This piece was written by Rachel Fauth,\u00a0<\/em>a 2016-2017 ETA at Changpyeong High School in Damyang, Jeollanam-do. This article was originally published in Infusion.<\/a>\u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n

\n

\"\"<\/p>\n

I am at the three-quarter mark of a lesson on the past tense \u201cused to.\u201d The phrase can be used\u00a0in three ways, according to my handwriting, which has suddenly become law: to utilize; to be accustomed to; to talk about a past action or behavior. <\/em>The students chant the bullet points. Chanting doesn\u2019t teach them anything other than the fact that they\u2019re in class, but repetition is a mystifying and alluring thing. The rhythm reinforces our relationship\u2014my voice solo, theirs in unison, repeating me, repeating the sounds and the shape of my mouth. I feel the excess chaos of the classroom\u2014shuffling paper, scrapings of leftover side conversations\u2014get all swept up into a sort of wind tunnel, swirl up and disappear as their voices get progressively more pointed. \u201cTo-talk-about-the-past,\u201d they say. \u201cTo-talk-about-the-past.\u201d It\u2019s unfortunate because chanting is no indication of anyone\u2019s success despite how oddly good it feels.<\/p>\n

I gesture at the TV monitor, humming at me with static. A photo of a green-eyed, curly-haired man from the waist up flashes on screen. This is a famous Australian singer. <\/em>I\u2019ve started using the word \u201cfamous\u201d in my presentations more often; it grabs their attention immediately, like proof that other Americans unanimously agree my class material is important.<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd what is his most famous song called?\u201d<\/p>\n

They read aloud from the TV: \u201cSomebody That I Used to Know.<\/em>\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSo does he still know this person?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhen did he know them?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIn the past!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIs this possible?\u201d\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201c\u2026No? Yes, no?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy or why not?\u201d<\/p>\n

One student in the front answers with confidence, \u201cBecause when you know someone, you always know them. Because, memory.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThank you. That\u2019s good.\u201d<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

* * *<\/p>\n

Thirty-one girl-students in identical uniforms tossing my inflatable watermelon ball around class, asking each other the given prompt: \u201cWhat-did-you-used-to-do-when-you-were-12?\u201d A lot of squealing, some screaming laughter. In this moment there\u2019s a quick and total wave of relief that spreads out from the epicenter of my chest. Loud is better than quiet. I think a quiet class is learning nothing, thinking nothing, retaining nothing, wishing me away. One student answers, \u201cWhen I was 12, I used to play piano,\u201d tentative and smiling, \u201cbut now I don\u2019t because no pianos here.\u201d Faint giggle, throw, ask, catch, answer, repeat.<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a>

Illustration by Samantha Steiner<\/p><\/div>\n

While the game goes on there\u2019s one girl in the back row who\u2019s turning all sorts of colors. Her cheeks yellow and pink at the same time, as if they\u2019re actively bruising. She\u2019s blushing like a chameleon and staring at the floor, then the ceiling, then the floor. Her mouth is just a line. From my vantage point at the front of the room I could see her while other students couldn\u2019t, and in this moment I become aware of how different the perspective of student and teacher really is. How singular it is, expansive and sweeping\u2014I could see all 31 of them at once, I could measure their expressions in my peripheral view, I could compare them, survey them; if I\u2019d opened my arms all the way, it would look like I was reaching across every desk at once though I absolutely wasn\u2019t.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

* * *<\/p>\n

\u201cMusic video!\u201d The lyrics start rolling. Dictation exercise in palatable form. Listen closely to the song, watch the video (has minor nudity!) and try to fill in the missing words. Her face looks broken now, succumbing to gravity. How many of my classmates, when I was in high school, wore faces like hers, and I couldn\u2019t see it from where my desk was? But the teacher could? Could my teachers tell when my face fell like hers? The lyrics are singing, Now and then I think of when we were together. \/ Like when you said you felt so happy you could die.<\/em><\/p>\n

Girl-students are distracted by the man-nipple that appears fleetingly on screen. Squealing, some screaming with laughter. I float over to her in a way I hope is inconspicuous and ask her, \u201cGwaenchanayo<\/em>? Okay?\u201d Extremely limited Korean to offer. \u201cYes,\u201d and she begins sobbing. I have to ask more than once for her to leave the classroom; it\u2019s like she\u2019s glued to the chair.<\/p>\n

* * *<\/p>\n

In the hallway:<\/p>\n

\u201cIs it…your studies?\u201d First guess. \u201cStressed out?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo,\u201d she says, the waterline to her eyes doing its job, brimming.<\/p>\n

\u201cGajok<\/em>?\u201d Family.<\/p>\n

A male teacher\u2014red polo tucked into his pants, hair parted neatly to one side, black leather belt, nods to me and strides past us down the stairwell. He disappears in a wind-tunnel and the situation settles around me like dust. I feel empty-handed, ill-equipped, vacant arsenal of Korean vocabulary ready to fail me at a time when English will most certainly be abrasive.<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, my mother, dead.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhen? Eonje<\/em>?\u201d I think about processing\u2014what it means to process, the verb.<\/p>\n

\u201cToday.\u201d Her small hands and small face, the perfect size for each other. I want my arms to be long enough, longer. Other teachers know her mother died today and still she\u2019s sitting in my class, in other classes. Tonight she\u2019ll go to Seoul, to the hospital, but not until after the school day\u2019s over and she\u2019s cleaned her assigned corner of the school. Behind her there\u2019s a row of different colored metallic mops leaned up against the wall and for a moment they look expectant.<\/p>\n

The girl goes on to apologize to me, to me<\/em>, \u201cI\u2019m sorry, Teacher,\u201d and motions to go back to class. I say, \u201cNo, I <\/em>am sorry,\u201d but the expression doesn\u2019t work that way in Korean. The air around her crumples like a sheet of thick gray paper.<\/p>\n

* * *<\/p>\n

At dinner last night, my host father started choking on a duck bone, briefly. He turned his head and swiveled away from the table towards the far wall of the restaurant and faced backwards. He sat there coughing, not exactly \u201cup a lung\u201d but for a considerable length of time, an uncomfortable length of time, while his wife and daughter volleyed conversation in a different direction. And I watched. There wasn\u2019t a mention of \u201cAre you okay?\u201d or \u201cGwaenchanayo<\/em>?\u201d<\/p>\n

In more places than this one, it seems culturally inappropriate and straight rude to call attention to someone\u2019s struggle, but especially if it\u2019s turned physically ugly, like coughing or choking or heart-breaking what have you. \u201cLosing face.\u201d Try not to make someone lose face <\/em>by embarrassing them and asking if they need help. And yet I cannot help but beg the question, who will ask my student if she needs help? Who will take her up to the hospital in Seoul? Who will give her a place to sit when she walks out and away from my class? Who? And admittedly, judgmentally, naturally I find myself asking who did nothing; which of her instructors ignored all the shades of grief that bloomed in the back of class while she visibly swayed in and out of thought?<\/p>\n

* * *<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

I resume my place at the podium. Thirty girl-students arranged in an immovable grid before me as I turn my back, the greasy chalk easily making a mark. I start talking, and the words coming out don\u2019t match the words in my head. I feel two separate trains of thought taking off from the same station, going in opposite directions. She\u2019s still standing outside where I had to leave her. Eventually, her blurred black hair goes past the windows, towards the third-floor staircase that punctuates the end of a long, white hallway and she goes out. Out through the swinging doors of a big white building so not built for emotion.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n

Rachel is an ETA in Damyang, Jeollanam-do, South Korea.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

\u2013 by\u00a0Rachel Fauth \u2013 This fall, Fulbright ETAs share their experiences adjusting and adapting to new cultures \u2013 and the challenges, humor, and new ways of seeing the world that come with diving into life in another country.\u00a0 Read the full series here. This piece was written by Rachel Fauth,\u00a0a… <\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":18,"featured_media":2137,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"spay_email":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[5],"tags":[60,183],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"https:\/\/i1.wp.com\/fulbridge.org\/w\/wp-content\/uploads\/2017\/10\/received_10213072602824884.jpeg?fit=960%2C540&ssl=1","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/fulbridge.org\/w\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2129"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/fulbridge.org\/w\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/fulbridge.org\/w\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/fulbridge.org\/w\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/18"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/fulbridge.org\/w\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=2129"}],"version-history":[{"count":5,"href":"https:\/\/fulbridge.org\/w\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2129\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":2151,"href":"https:\/\/fulbridge.org\/w\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2129\/revisions\/2151"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/fulbridge.org\/w\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/2137"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/fulbridge.org\/w\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=2129"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/fulbridge.org\/w\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=2129"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/fulbridge.org\/w\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=2129"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}