Korea: A “Dynamic” Experience

dy·nam·ic

adj.

Of or relating to energy or to objects in motion.
Characterized by continuous change, activity, or progress: a dynamic market.
Marked by intensity and vigor; forceful.

I remember distinctly and at times, fondly, what has become the catchphrase of this year’s EPIK orientation: “Korea is dynamic.” Literally, dynamic refers to Korea’s unquenchable thirst for improvement in education, technology and international prestige. Figuratively, dynamic refers to a culture that can be impetuous and inconsistent. The word dynamic is loaded with connotation both positive and negative but somehow resolves itself in neutrality; that is, it is characterized by a reconciliation of the good and the bad. In a similar vein, culture shock, for one of Asian descent, is less about adjusting to the unfamiliar but a reconciliation of the unfamiliar with the familiar—finding the middle ground between what you know and what you have never encountered before.

What is also particularly unique about the “Korea experience,” in respect to culture shock, is the time factor. Knowing that an experience is temporary and feeling the imminent deadline, evokes feelings that may not arise if the situation were different. For instance, the desire to automatically reject everything or the inability to have expectations is a mechanism to safeguard against the inevitable end. The path to “adjustment” is greatly dependent on one’s own mental faculties and involves much soul searching and self-discovery. It can be likened to diving through the depths of the deep seas, searching for that one translucent pearl of knowledge. In an idealistic situation, there would be an answer or cure to the mess of emotions that accompany the process of adjusting to unfamiliarity. But life isn’t idealistic; instead, adjustment follows organically when you stop obsessing about the specifics and let “dynamism” run its course.

I approached my placement in Gangwon-do with great trepidation. The feeling was exacerbated by the pitying glances and muffled chuckles that accompanied the requisite, “Well, Gangwon-do is really beautiful.” It also didn’t help that a week before my flight, a Google earth survey revealed a scarcity in housing but ubiquitous mountainous terrain, causing my enraged mother to yell: “what are you going to teach, chickens?” Therefore, prior to my arrival in Korea, I made a single promise to myself: expect the worst and the rest will follow. As orientation in Jeonju drew to a close and the 5-hour bus ride seemed imminent, I mentally prepared myself for some mutant hybrid of culture shock and comfort-zone displacement. I also grew attached to the idea of raising pet goats and riding a donkey to school. I suppose it was fortunate that my ignorant presuppositions never found any basis in reality.

My first meeting with my co-teacher was full of awkward silences, awkward bows but mostly incessant head scratching. Although she was proficient in English and knew enough Chinese and Japanese to apply competitively as a flight attendant for Korean Airlines, she was clearly uncomfortable speaking English with a native speaker. I could understand her reservation as I discovered a growing reluctance to use the little Korean I knew; although my reservation mainly stemmed from a realization that sareung-eh was not really helpful or useful in normal social settings. Meeting the principal, vice-principal and chief at all four of my schools was similarly awkward but more so because of the air of formality that necessitated more discomfort and fear of offense. Interestingly, these situations were not strange because they were culturally different but because they were unexpectedly normal. As silly as it may sound and because hindsight is 20/20, my expectation for culture shock meant that normalcy was strange, if not extraordinary. It’s not that cultural differences are non-existent, simply not as stark as people would like you to believe. Moreover, when you strip everything down to its basics, cultural differences are only blazingly obvious when you seek them out and make everyday living an exercise in “I spy a difference!”

That being said, my experience, so far, has not been particularly different from the typical foreigner’s experience. Granted, the typical foreigner probably would not receive “konichiwa” as a greeting or receive strange looks for speaking a language other than Korean. Still it has required me to resolve the familiar and unfamiliar. The Chinese culture bears striking similarities to the Korean culture and growing up in Flushing, New York provided me with many opportunities to gain exposure to Korean culture. In fact, I grew up eating the Kimchi my parents would buy at the local Korean supermarket. The urban layout of Korean cities is also reminiscent of Taiwan and barring the fact that there are Korean letters on all the storefronts, I sometimes feel as if I’m back in Taiwan. The unfamiliar never ceases to sneak up on me though. The language barrier has been a huge source of frustration, yet, there are times when I forget that I can’t communicate. I’m always reminded again when gesturing maniacally at a bus driver or a store clerk fails miserably and I’m forced to call a Korean-American friend for language assistance. Of course, many a bus attendant has given me dirty looks for inexplicably handing a cell-phone over to them and gesturing that they should put their face on my potential cesspool of swine flu bacteria. Nevertheless, it has been a struggle balancing between the familiar and unfamiliar because neither fails to catch me off-guard.

Culture shock, then, means meandering through the three phases unable to find a category to fit into; it means constantly grappling with an elusive identity and role that is never explicitly defined and relatively unacknowledged. Like a mulatto straddling the color line, never falling into either category, I am not Asian in the sense that I am not native Korean, yet I am not a bonafide foreigner because I am Asian. Simply put, theoretical jargon aside, culture shock for me is unique because it does not really constitute as culture shock; it’s identity shock—uncertainty about identity exacerbated by a hesitance for adjustment.

At this crossroad in life, a person has two choices: accept or reject. Those that have rejected are termed rejectors; those who have adjusted in a “healthy” fashion are termed cosmopolitans. But what about those who neither accept nor reject; the ones who straddle ambiguity; the ones who have not quite decided where they fall? As cliché as it may sound, the only thing you can do is find the little joys in life, the little moments that make you laugh because of their sheer absurdity. Like walking into a Family Mart and standing by the stickers arguing with your friend about how you just have to have this one Pororo sticker and then sheepishly explaining that you’re American and not mentally challenged. Like picking up what you think is a dead tennis ball, throwing it around for awhile, only to look up into the eyes of two frightened children, who really shouldn’t have been at the school after dusk anyways. Like running into building supervisor in the elevator, laughing awkwardly at the Korean he’s continuously throwing at you then somehow offending him because you reached your apartment floor and decided that going home was more important than continuing the one-sided conversation.

Dealing with culture shock is an individual endeavor, one you undertake independent of those around you. There is no prescribed cure; no set formula for success. There is only self-adjustment. The path you walk may be solitary but along the way empathy and sympathy provide respite. Even now, close to one month in, I cannot say I have fully transitioned to the “adjustment” phase. The unfamiliar will always rear its ugly head when you least expect it. In fact, situations like, walking along a highway, with cut-up feet because the bus drivers here expect you to jump off the bus and now you’re walking half a mile to school, 5 minutes late instead of 15 minutes early, cursing the situation you’re in and suddenly realizing that sidewalks are truly god’s gift to earth, will probably be a regular occurrence. But it’s okay to be bitter and nostalgic; as long as you realize that at the end of the day it’s just you against the world and you better suck it up before it sucks you up.

Korea is indeed dynamic, although, it is sometimes so dynamic it can be overwhelming. Sometimes I will walk out of a classroom, running my hands through my hair, frustrated at the lack of progress and ironically remark, “well, Korea is dynamic.” Sometimes, in a moment of sheer awe, looking down at Gangwon-do from Ulsan Rock, I will gasp out, “wow, Korea is dynamic.” To some extent, the literal meaning of the phrase has lost all relevance. Instead, it is a phrase that has come to symbolize all the various emotions I have had and continue to have in my time here in Korea. It is frustrating, it is overwhelming, it is awkward but most of all it sure is and has been dynamic.

– Gloria Liu ’09