One gets the impression, visiting Siem Reap - and even to an extent the capital city Phnom Penh - that Cambodia is like most other developing countries, stricken by government corruption, rife with an incredible slanted distribution of wealth, and without the necessary inertia to pick itself up by its bootstraps without a massive infusion of tourist dollars and foreign sympathy.
Visiting the ancient temples of Angkor Wat, exploring the inner boundaries of the walled city of Angkor Tom, and getting a taste for the dynastic history of Cambodia, and suddenly the perspective changes. At a time when London boasted a population of 50,000, Angkor Tom housed an empire of a million. The strength, organization, and leadership bespoken by the enormity and intricate detailing (and historical recordings through bas relief decoration) of the temples of Cambodia has persevered for over half a millennium, hinting at the prior glory of the region.
But as elsewhere war, religious dispute, familial power struggles and the like, destabilized the region. That is ancient history. With the re-discovery of the ruins in the early 20th century, Cambodia had been delivered it's golden goose for national development - its rich, well preserved, and simply amazing cultural history.
Enter the Khmer Rouge.
In retrospect, the regime was seemingly hell-bent on stunting every growth opportunity possible for the country. Praising (though often then merely as lip service) the agrarian "base people" and their lifestyle, the Khmer Rouge forcibly vacated cities, imprisoned eminent thinkers and public figures as political dissidents, brutally murdered entire families including babies - to curb any foreseeable streaks of vengeance - and placed those spared from gruesome torture and death in harsh work camps. Even the historical treasures of Cambodia were not safe - hundreds if not thousands of religious and spiritual carvings and figures remain in the ruins, decapitated and robbed of their limbs - having been sold off by the regime to foreigners.
While developed nations including the US turned a blind eye to the atrocities occurring in the region for fear of destabilizing "geopolitical" power dynamics, Cambodia and its people were left to toil and squalor under blatant and persistent violations of human rights.
If only globalization had preceded their reign by a decade, even a few years. The story may have ended quite differently.
Today, many of the Khmer Rouge leaders maintain seats of political power, having been "re-integrated" into the current government. Tep Vong, a former high ranking official of the regime, now reigns as Great Supreme Patriarch of Cambodia - the senior most Buddhist monk. Duch, the former chief of the S-21 prison camp, remains to date one of the few if only high ranking officials who has been held in custody and tried in court - despite committing his war crimes over 2 decades ago, his sentencing was only administered within the past year - and his appeal remains active.
It's hard not to want to point fingers; but the assignment of blame is far murkier a task that one might think. Brother number one, Pol Pot, has been dead for some years. Those who remain claim that, like the people they oppressed, they themselves were forced to obey inhumane orders. These are similar arguments and defenses offered by soldiers of the Nazi concentration camps. Does complicity necessarily amount to culpability?
The world is a strange and fucked up place. How many in our generation grew up in an idyllic Western culture, raised on sugary cereal and Saturday morning cartoons. Its unimaginable that at the same time, children our age were being executed by having heads smashed into trees, or tossed callously in the air and shot at like clay ducks.
The sheer magnitude of injustice is startling, and absolutely humbling.
Sunday, April 3, 2011
Thursday, March 24, 2011
Respect
In my opinion, it's something that's earned. Granted I also believe each of us - fellow humans in a struggle to find meaning against imminent and undeniable mortality - deserves a certain level of respect from each other as we are all sentient and emotionally sensitive beings. But beyond that, there is a finite (and abrupt) limit to the respect I can instinctively offer before needing to ask for justification.
I know, this makes me sound like kind of a brat. Unsurprisingly, I have problems getting along with authority figures who are, in my view, power mongering dicks. As a result, politicking, an increasingly essential life skill as one furthers in their career, is something that I am decidedly terrible at.
Wandering the corridors of Seoul National University Hospital in search of my assigned preceptor, I was already dreading the forthcoming conversation regarding my evaluation. My performance has been, in no uncertain terms, lackluster. At least in the states, this is to be expected from a fourth year medical student already matched into a residency position; not an excuse, just an explanation. As I turned the corner to the neurology department, I crossed paths with one of the older docs, presumably also a neurologist. Perhaps for a millisecond, the thought crossed my mind that I should stop and bow, offer a polite 인사 in a higher-than-I-would-normally-use tone of voice, and otherwise ingratiate myself to this attending who I was not familiar with in the least - except that he was clearly much older.
But the opportunity came and went in an instant - it's simply not a reflexive behavior I am accustomed to, and those extra few seconds I needed to think about it proved too long.
야. 넌 누구야? (Hey! Who the F are you?)
Shit. This is the problem with knowing just enough Korean to know you are being scolded, but not enough to finesse yourself out of the situation - you're like a deer caught in high-beams.
I explained that I was a visiting student from Columbia as best I could in broken Korean. Student? You're a student?? When you are working in this hospital, you better make sure to bow to you elders. Next time, you better 인사.
Boom. Slap in the face.
I gather this sort of response to perceived elder-dissing is not uncommon. I have, on several occasions and despite my clearly shortened white coat, have been on the receiving end of polite 인사 from other students unfamiliar with my position as an exchange student. Now I understand - if there is ever a question, better to be safe than sorry.
I read somewhere that one of the tenets of Confucianism is piety. The reciprocal side of that piety is benevolence. I think this is where things fall apart for me. All too often, I find that benevolence is actually just politely packaged condescension. I see it in how the attendings critique the residents, the way they embarrass them, prey upon their insecurities. Maybe it serves their education - emotionally charged teaching points often stick better in your memory. In my opinion, it serves the attendings ego.
And ultimately that's the root problem I have functioning in hierarchical organizations - I hate the idea of serving someones ego - buttressing in some way their own sense of self in a (usually) fallacious show of obsequiousness. I feel phony, how is that not transparent? If it is transparent, how does that not matter? Of course, this position is easily maintained as I am just now stepping onto the first rung of the ladder of medical hierarchy. Maybe in 20 years it'll be me passing a medical student in the hospital corridor, taking the time to verbally bitch slap them into place - those uppity, ungrateful little shits. If this post is any indication, I'm clearly due for a dose of karmic disrespect. Perhaps deservedly; reading over this post, I really do come off as a brat.
I should clarify that this in no way applies to elders in my own family - that I do understand, fundamentally.
Saturday, March 19, 2011
Curious Culture of Clean
My dad, sometimes my uncle too, used to take me and my brother to bath houses in Seoul when we were little, here visiting our mom's family. It was fun back then - a multitude of huge tubs at different temperatures, bubbles and jet streams massaging us while we soaked up the heat, fountains and spigots flooding our faces as we reclined on the marble benches encircling the tub, our scrawny legs floating aimlessly like socks in the wind. I remember bearing the dry heat in the adjacent sauna, the faint charcoal and distinct heat-resistant wood odor scathing my nostril hairs, forcing me to inhale at a slow, metered pace. We would sit in the swelter, sweating unstoppably, mesmerized by the pink sand falling in the hour glass kindly provided to make sure you don't overheat.
Our visits to Korea were not infrequent, but nor were they consistent or for all that long a period. Eventually puberty hit, and we spent a majority of that insecure time living in the States. Returning one year when I was around fourteen, I was suddenly not interested in making our usual trip. Well, interested maybe, but carrying far too much shame and embarrassment to go willingly. I was persuaded once, and like Adam after eating the fruit, spent much of the time desperately seeking a leaf.
Things change though. While spending 8 weeks in Tokyo (http://how-to-speak-engrish.blogspot.com/), I learned to enjoy and even look forward to the bathhouse which was part of the gym I joined. At first I was solaced in the assurance that these were complete strangers. But even when the emergency department residents all got together and took me out to what is to date the most epic bathhouse I've experienced, I quickly got comfortable wearing only my hair.
For the record, I would never propose a group outing to a public bathhouse, certainly never in the States. But if people in a bathing culture are down - fuck it, why not. They called it naked bonding. They also said they did naked bonding in a bus on some group trip - this I think is weird.
After an ego-devastating evening learning my match results for residency (Stony Brook Radiology - a strong program, but not my top choice, and not one I expected to match at), I needed to clear my head. So I went to a 찜찔방.
Though I was quite unstoppably perseverating on how it came to be that I will be moving to Long Island next year, there is something about being in a room full of fellow bathers that is immediately calming. Everyone is chilling, our communal stresses wafting up with the steam of the bathwater. Which, in this particular 찜찔방 was treated in a particular way to give each tub a characteristic hue. A greenish bath (hot!) for rejuvenation, a purple one for health, and a blue one for something I didn't have the vocabulary to translate.
Let me be clear about one thing - maintaining upward gaze is so key in a bathhouse. More so to guard against the burning-in of unwanted mental images into your brain than out of respect, though the latter is observed at a baseline. Nevertheless, peripheral glimpses of wang are unavoidable. And in this inescapable flashing, I noticed something - most Koreans are circumcised. While this is certainly the overwhelming norm in the United States (and Australia, curiously), and among Jews and Muslims, it is a practice which has no logical place in Korea. And in fact did not exist in any appreciable way before the Korean War. Even more startling, some cursory research indicates that the average age of circumcision is twelve. That seems cruel.
Perhaps it will "fall out of style" with equal rapidity once foreskin restoration takes off as the new hot cosmetic procedure. I can't believe something like this exists!
Thank you wiki, for so much TMI.
Back to the bathhouse, I've spent a considerable amount of time trying to parse the cultural characteristics of public bathing. Why Japan and Korea, but not China? Why Turkey, Hungary, and Russia, but not Western Europe? They could use it, for sure.
Maybe its the presence of natural hot springs. When you find a natural bath, it only makes sense that you bathe au naturale.
Western Europeans, for all their sexual liberalism, are generally not on board with naked bonding. Americans, for all their "wildness," are among the most uptight about it; never a nipple without a tipple.
In my view, it's something inherent in the culture that allows this practice to evolve into something widespread and common. Whether its a minimum level of politeness/respect, or a general sense of not giving a fuck, or the absence (or successful squelching) of homosexuality, is unclear to me. Probably a combination of these and more.
I don't think public bathing as it exists in Korea and Japan could ever exist in the States. It's too much of a melting pot. It's too brash and obnoxious. The deep roots of family as a unit don't exist in the same way, an important consideration if you imagine a pedophile with access to a public bath.
And that's just too bad: because I left this 찜찔방 relaxed, centered, and with a clear mind and fresh perspective on the things that lay ahead of me. Not to mention I was clean as a hell.
Our visits to Korea were not infrequent, but nor were they consistent or for all that long a period. Eventually puberty hit, and we spent a majority of that insecure time living in the States. Returning one year when I was around fourteen, I was suddenly not interested in making our usual trip. Well, interested maybe, but carrying far too much shame and embarrassment to go willingly. I was persuaded once, and like Adam after eating the fruit, spent much of the time desperately seeking a leaf.
Things change though. While spending 8 weeks in Tokyo (http://how-to-speak-engrish.blogspot.com/), I learned to enjoy and even look forward to the bathhouse which was part of the gym I joined. At first I was solaced in the assurance that these were complete strangers. But even when the emergency department residents all got together and took me out to what is to date the most epic bathhouse I've experienced, I quickly got comfortable wearing only my hair.
For the record, I would never propose a group outing to a public bathhouse, certainly never in the States. But if people in a bathing culture are down - fuck it, why not. They called it naked bonding. They also said they did naked bonding in a bus on some group trip - this I think is weird.
After an ego-devastating evening learning my match results for residency (Stony Brook Radiology - a strong program, but not my top choice, and not one I expected to match at), I needed to clear my head. So I went to a 찜찔방.
Though I was quite unstoppably perseverating on how it came to be that I will be moving to Long Island next year, there is something about being in a room full of fellow bathers that is immediately calming. Everyone is chilling, our communal stresses wafting up with the steam of the bathwater. Which, in this particular 찜찔방 was treated in a particular way to give each tub a characteristic hue. A greenish bath (hot!) for rejuvenation, a purple one for health, and a blue one for something I didn't have the vocabulary to translate.
Let me be clear about one thing - maintaining upward gaze is so key in a bathhouse. More so to guard against the burning-in of unwanted mental images into your brain than out of respect, though the latter is observed at a baseline. Nevertheless, peripheral glimpses of wang are unavoidable. And in this inescapable flashing, I noticed something - most Koreans are circumcised. While this is certainly the overwhelming norm in the United States (and Australia, curiously), and among Jews and Muslims, it is a practice which has no logical place in Korea. And in fact did not exist in any appreciable way before the Korean War. Even more startling, some cursory research indicates that the average age of circumcision is twelve. That seems cruel.
Perhaps it will "fall out of style" with equal rapidity once foreskin restoration takes off as the new hot cosmetic procedure. I can't believe something like this exists!
Thank you wiki, for so much TMI.
Back to the bathhouse, I've spent a considerable amount of time trying to parse the cultural characteristics of public bathing. Why Japan and Korea, but not China? Why Turkey, Hungary, and Russia, but not Western Europe? They could use it, for sure.
Maybe its the presence of natural hot springs. When you find a natural bath, it only makes sense that you bathe au naturale.
Western Europeans, for all their sexual liberalism, are generally not on board with naked bonding. Americans, for all their "wildness," are among the most uptight about it; never a nipple without a tipple.
In my view, it's something inherent in the culture that allows this practice to evolve into something widespread and common. Whether its a minimum level of politeness/respect, or a general sense of not giving a fuck, or the absence (or successful squelching) of homosexuality, is unclear to me. Probably a combination of these and more.
I don't think public bathing as it exists in Korea and Japan could ever exist in the States. It's too much of a melting pot. It's too brash and obnoxious. The deep roots of family as a unit don't exist in the same way, an important consideration if you imagine a pedophile with access to a public bath.
And that's just too bad: because I left this 찜찔방 relaxed, centered, and with a clear mind and fresh perspective on the things that lay ahead of me. Not to mention I was clean as a hell.
Saturday, March 12, 2011
Sartorial Aside
One of the best parts of travel is the time it affords you to think. Ponder. Introspect. Especially when language barriers and social isolation factor in, being away from home, away from everything familiar (not that Seoul is so much of an adjustment to live in coming from New York); it gives you that crucial shift in perspective necessary to truly cultivating an open mind. Suddenly reality and its perception refracts, often subtly. Certain things fall out of focus, others come sharply into view. Sometimes profound realizations materialize, sometimes simple appreciation for things long overlooked bubble to the surface.
This is a case of the latter.
Tie clips I understand, but have never used. Thinking about them recently, I've decided retroactively that its been more of an active avoidance rather than permissive neglect. Tie clips I understand, ties I do not. Especially in a healthcare setting, where they dangle daringly over patients, and glide silently across surfaces covered by who knows what. To make use of a tie clip would be a concession legitimizing the place of the tie in the hospital. Call me stubborn; it's nothing I don't already know. But I maintain that professionalism is a weak argument in favor of ties - certainly surgeons in scrubs aren't necessarily any less professional - but I'll save my criticisms of this argument for a discussion about white coats.
Cuff links, as a functional accessory, I understand - but in a similar way to ties, it's the context of use that is beguiling. French cuffs...why? I was once curious about cuff links. Perusing for a pair suited to my taste in a department store many years ago, I was seeking something understated, something simple, something mostly functional. This is not a mindset that is consistent with the idea of a French cuff - a gaudy, overly thick, boastful wrist wrap. Only the French could conceive of making their cuffs twice too long, only to fold them back and create a need for cuff links.
That's a personal aesthetic opinion that perhaps will change in the future. Probably not.
What is it that I do appreciate, then? Collar stays and shoe horns. Unsung heroes of aesthetic professionalism. Mere pieces of semi-rigid plastic, geometrically simple, they are invisible helpers for a thankless and often too-subtle-to-notice job.
Today I reached an epiphany of appreciation for my collar stays. Slipping them into my shirts when I first arrived in Seoul, I never expected I'd mourn their disappearance when, upon return of my dry cleaning, they were gone. I didn't even notice they were gone until mid-day, when my collar started to do that sagging leaflet thing with the curled up tip. Annoyed (for a multitude of reasons today), I propped them up. Over and over again. Luckily the shirts came with two pairs, the second of which I will diligently remove before dry cleaning again.
Now, my shirt freshly laundered and collar confidently poised, I can't help but feel imbued with similar esteem and unseen strength.
Shoehorns I have long appreciated. My right index finger knuckle has been indebted to them since an early age. Though the tops of my shoes get quickly creased and worn, shoehorns preserve the backside, always. I even have fond memories from middle school of eating an entire bucket of cookie dough in a hotel room with some friends while on a band trip - scooping out handfuls at a time with a shoehorn.
One day, I will find the right one for me. Call me a sartorial sentimentalist; it's nice to be in a country where shoehorns abound. Strangely, I feel more at home.
This is a case of the latter.
Tie clips I understand, but have never used. Thinking about them recently, I've decided retroactively that its been more of an active avoidance rather than permissive neglect. Tie clips I understand, ties I do not. Especially in a healthcare setting, where they dangle daringly over patients, and glide silently across surfaces covered by who knows what. To make use of a tie clip would be a concession legitimizing the place of the tie in the hospital. Call me stubborn; it's nothing I don't already know. But I maintain that professionalism is a weak argument in favor of ties - certainly surgeons in scrubs aren't necessarily any less professional - but I'll save my criticisms of this argument for a discussion about white coats.
Cuff links, as a functional accessory, I understand - but in a similar way to ties, it's the context of use that is beguiling. French cuffs...why? I was once curious about cuff links. Perusing for a pair suited to my taste in a department store many years ago, I was seeking something understated, something simple, something mostly functional. This is not a mindset that is consistent with the idea of a French cuff - a gaudy, overly thick, boastful wrist wrap. Only the French could conceive of making their cuffs twice too long, only to fold them back and create a need for cuff links.
That's a personal aesthetic opinion that perhaps will change in the future. Probably not.
What is it that I do appreciate, then? Collar stays and shoe horns. Unsung heroes of aesthetic professionalism. Mere pieces of semi-rigid plastic, geometrically simple, they are invisible helpers for a thankless and often too-subtle-to-notice job.
Today I reached an epiphany of appreciation for my collar stays. Slipping them into my shirts when I first arrived in Seoul, I never expected I'd mourn their disappearance when, upon return of my dry cleaning, they were gone. I didn't even notice they were gone until mid-day, when my collar started to do that sagging leaflet thing with the curled up tip. Annoyed (for a multitude of reasons today), I propped them up. Over and over again. Luckily the shirts came with two pairs, the second of which I will diligently remove before dry cleaning again.
Now, my shirt freshly laundered and collar confidently poised, I can't help but feel imbued with similar esteem and unseen strength.
Shoehorns I have long appreciated. My right index finger knuckle has been indebted to them since an early age. Though the tops of my shoes get quickly creased and worn, shoehorns preserve the backside, always. I even have fond memories from middle school of eating an entire bucket of cookie dough in a hotel room with some friends while on a band trip - scooping out handfuls at a time with a shoehorn.
One day, I will find the right one for me. Call me a sartorial sentimentalist; it's nice to be in a country where shoehorns abound. Strangely, I feel more at home.
Sunday, March 6, 2011
Army Brats
On the way to meet up with some friends for dinner in 강남, I had my first exposure to other foreigners in Seoul. It's incredible how homogeneous the city has remained, especially on weekdays. But it was Friday night, start of the weekend, and I suppose time for the foreigners to live it up a little and enjoy the famous night life.
Until now, I had felt overwhelmingly like an American displaced in a country where everyone happens to share a larger portion of my gene pool than I'm used to, speaks a language I understand on a toddler level (though that is debatable), and eats the same food I grew up eating. I feel I am easily identifiable as a 교포, and that has led me to feel somewhat more loyal to lady liberty, the red white and blue, and all that patriotic jazz.
So it shocked me to enter the subway car on the way to dinner to see a group of six Americans (five white guys and a black guy), and immediately feel a surge of judgment, condescension, and disgust. These were not travelers expanding their horizons, nor were they students enriching their educational experience, nor friends taking advantage of travel opportunities abroad. These were US military, "off duty" or whatever you call it, acting like complete asses on the train.
While not as obsessively polite as Japan, Korea still observes a respect for others sense of well-being, harmony if you want to apply that Asian cliché term. Each subway car is flanked by seats reserved for the elderly. Despite maintaining full cell reception deep underground, phone conversation is rarely heard, and muffled and quiet if so. I have yet to hear audible music playing.
It makes for an enjoyable ride for everyone.
Yet on this particular train, on this particular night, five of the 6 guys are sprawled out across 10 or more seats, slouched sideways with their legs spread, tenting up obnoxiously baggy pants circa 2001 wigger. Their attitude sucks. Yucking up amongst themselves over how "silly" some of the station names sound, which they are when pronounced with all the finesse that can be squeezed between tandem "yo's." Making fun of elderly Koreans who, once upon a time, were actually listened to when they scolded youth.
Obviously these guys were off to find some girls to treat with respect.
The disapproval and annoyance hung like a stank fart in that car. I wanted so bad for an opportunity to intervene. Something welled up inside me. Whether it was pride in defense of Koreans, or enraged disbelief on behalf of Americans, I think is a moot point. It was quickly overcome by a sense of helplessness. These were relative kids. And they weren't about to get a lesson in maturity before my next transfer.
The funniest part of all is that these guys were losers. They'd never get away with acting "gangster" like this in the States. Mosquito larva in a wading pool - irrelevant to the fish, but still fucking annoying.
With this amount of cultural sensitivity in a DEVELOPED and WESTERNIZED context, its no wonder that the United States is hated in most places outside of UK and Canada. And even there, we're not so popular, eh? Obviously these guys don't represent the whole of the US military presence in Korea. I've met many more army guys who are very cool, and are well attuned to the culture here at a depth that I might never achieve. But come the weekend, the rats definitely start coming out of the woodwork.
Until now, I had felt overwhelmingly like an American displaced in a country where everyone happens to share a larger portion of my gene pool than I'm used to, speaks a language I understand on a toddler level (though that is debatable), and eats the same food I grew up eating. I feel I am easily identifiable as a 교포, and that has led me to feel somewhat more loyal to lady liberty, the red white and blue, and all that patriotic jazz.
So it shocked me to enter the subway car on the way to dinner to see a group of six Americans (five white guys and a black guy), and immediately feel a surge of judgment, condescension, and disgust. These were not travelers expanding their horizons, nor were they students enriching their educational experience, nor friends taking advantage of travel opportunities abroad. These were US military, "off duty" or whatever you call it, acting like complete asses on the train.
While not as obsessively polite as Japan, Korea still observes a respect for others sense of well-being, harmony if you want to apply that Asian cliché term. Each subway car is flanked by seats reserved for the elderly. Despite maintaining full cell reception deep underground, phone conversation is rarely heard, and muffled and quiet if so. I have yet to hear audible music playing.
It makes for an enjoyable ride for everyone.
Yet on this particular train, on this particular night, five of the 6 guys are sprawled out across 10 or more seats, slouched sideways with their legs spread, tenting up obnoxiously baggy pants circa 2001 wigger. Their attitude sucks. Yucking up amongst themselves over how "silly" some of the station names sound, which they are when pronounced with all the finesse that can be squeezed between tandem "yo's." Making fun of elderly Koreans who, once upon a time, were actually listened to when they scolded youth.
Obviously these guys were off to find some girls to treat with respect.
The disapproval and annoyance hung like a stank fart in that car. I wanted so bad for an opportunity to intervene. Something welled up inside me. Whether it was pride in defense of Koreans, or enraged disbelief on behalf of Americans, I think is a moot point. It was quickly overcome by a sense of helplessness. These were relative kids. And they weren't about to get a lesson in maturity before my next transfer.
The funniest part of all is that these guys were losers. They'd never get away with acting "gangster" like this in the States. Mosquito larva in a wading pool - irrelevant to the fish, but still fucking annoying.
With this amount of cultural sensitivity in a DEVELOPED and WESTERNIZED context, its no wonder that the United States is hated in most places outside of UK and Canada. And even there, we're not so popular, eh? Obviously these guys don't represent the whole of the US military presence in Korea. I've met many more army guys who are very cool, and are well attuned to the culture here at a depth that I might never achieve. But come the weekend, the rats definitely start coming out of the woodwork.
Friday, March 4, 2011
Setting the Tone
Monday, my first day in the hospital, was also the last day for this batch of neurology residents, who have since moved on to their next rotation in the other branch hospitals. After an unexpected but entirely welcome day off (in observance of 삼일절, a celebration of a nationalist demonstration against harsh Japanese rule), I had the pleasure of witnessing the "initiation" of the new crop of residents coming on service.
Two minutes late to morning conference, and everything was already moving as if I was a half hour overdue. Once settled in my seat - the nearest available, and not at all in observance of the strict hierarchy of the seating arrangements - I slowly became attuned to the atmosphere. It was tense. Everytime a resident began to speak, a low rumble could be heard from the back of the room. "크게 말씀해," grumbled the lead attending in condescending half-speak, who, unfortunately, was also my assigned preceptor. The resident began to speak again, barely louder. "더 크게..." he grumbled again. This time, a brief awkward silence followed, broken only by the clacking of two walnuts, slowly orbiting in the vice grip of his palm; a nauseating metaphor despite its obviousness.
Even within the Korean medical education establishment which, in general, is truer to the military-like hierarchy that once prevailed in the Western model, this attending is pretty intimidating to the residents. I find myself caught in the middle somewhere - knowing enough Korean and sensitive enough to the culture to appreciate the harshness of his demeanor during this morning report, yet officially being a foreign exchange student from the States who, for all our fleeting interactions, has enjoyed uncharacteristic kindness - laughter even - from this attending.
In fact, existing in this gray area may prove to be a boon. I don't stand out too much. I can blend in and keep under the radar. And if I play my cards right, I might even be able to disappear.
Too much good food awaits in the city of Seoul to be stuck eating lightening quick lunches in the hospital cafeteria.
 |
| The clocktower, symbol of Seoul National University Medical School, now a museum overlooked by the modern hospital. 아빠 trained here |
 |
| Kind of a bad ass habit, I have to admit |
In fact, existing in this gray area may prove to be a boon. I don't stand out too much. I can blend in and keep under the radar. And if I play my cards right, I might even be able to disappear.
Too much good food awaits in the city of Seoul to be stuck eating lightening quick lunches in the hospital cafeteria.
Saturday, February 26, 2011
Repatriation
it's a strange feeling, coming back to korea, to seoul. in the past two years i've sprawled across europe, had my first taste of the arab world, snowboarded in south america, and along the way filled to capacity the visa pages of my recently hole-punched and invalidated passport. armed now with a new, cheesily patriotic US passport (a renewed canadian passport on the way as well), i've just collected my first visa stamp marking the start of a journey discovering what it means to be a gyopo in korea.
i've been to korea close to a dozen times in my life. always with parents. always within the vast and hermetic socioeconomic bubble of my family and my mothers extended family. while the dynamics of these family relations are very slow to change, if ever, the added language barrier has essentially frozen them in time - a time when i was a hairless prepubescent, barely able to wipe my own ass.
i can now wipe my own ass, expertly. and the language barrier is slowly eroding, crumbling at times in large chunks as i realize that, often, it stands only on a silty foundation of embarrassment.
as much as i feel i have changed, korea has changed even more, and at an ever hastening pace. the last time i visited was via a new international airport. this time, there is newly minted currency, graciously apportioned to the more diminutive and wallet-fitting size of the euro and dollar. south korea is still technically an emerging nation, but it is only a matter of time until the appropriate statistical metrics reach a level to justify a change in designation; just ride public transport for a day and try and argue infrastructure. culturally and economically, the influence of such a geographically small (half) peninsula is impressive and undeniable.
amidst such a dynamic and evolving culture, i'm finding my extended family to be an incredible anchor, an unexpected boon, and a source of pride, loyalty, and love.
hopefully i've bagged enough sleep in-flight/tonight/this morning to cut through the jet lag, cause starting today i've got an entire city of incredible nosh to eat my way through over the next 4 weeks.
i've been to korea close to a dozen times in my life. always with parents. always within the vast and hermetic socioeconomic bubble of my family and my mothers extended family. while the dynamics of these family relations are very slow to change, if ever, the added language barrier has essentially frozen them in time - a time when i was a hairless prepubescent, barely able to wipe my own ass.
i can now wipe my own ass, expertly. and the language barrier is slowly eroding, crumbling at times in large chunks as i realize that, often, it stands only on a silty foundation of embarrassment.
as much as i feel i have changed, korea has changed even more, and at an ever hastening pace. the last time i visited was via a new international airport. this time, there is newly minted currency, graciously apportioned to the more diminutive and wallet-fitting size of the euro and dollar. south korea is still technically an emerging nation, but it is only a matter of time until the appropriate statistical metrics reach a level to justify a change in designation; just ride public transport for a day and try and argue infrastructure. culturally and economically, the influence of such a geographically small (half) peninsula is impressive and undeniable.
amidst such a dynamic and evolving culture, i'm finding my extended family to be an incredible anchor, an unexpected boon, and a source of pride, loyalty, and love.
hopefully i've bagged enough sleep in-flight/tonight/this morning to cut through the jet lag, cause starting today i've got an entire city of incredible nosh to eat my way through over the next 4 weeks.
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