#12 - Beautiful Changes

When you imagine a world without peace,

You glimpse in a mirror and fail to recognize yourself.

Perhaps there is a dimple that has been drawn on,

Borrowed from the late Monroe,

Perhaps the hair style has changed the angle at which the jawline meets the ear.

There is something that is looked at that is not seen,

For it is a peaceless world that we have,

So imagine it we must not.

Only to look at it simply, honestly, truly,

And create only beauty to mend the pain of the grotesque.

Everyone holds a bandaid.

It is dirty and wrinkled and small in our large hands.

It was no longer Fall.

It was the kind of Winter Day that made you glimpse at your emotions differently than most.

The kind of day where a particularly well-directed car commercial could make you cry.  One with sprawling views of Canyonlands or perhaps something about families reuniting during the holidays.  It was the kind of day on which you knew that something spectacular could fall into your lap.  You could fall in love with someone if they looked at you a certain way… or played you a beautiful piece of music. Or you could have a nervous breakdown over a cup of therapeutic tea.  In short, a day anything could happen.  And maybe nothing would.

 The seasons have changed in Korea.

 I awake every morning wondering if the newly-fallen snow will stick.  Or whether black ice will fill my walk to school and I will have to crawl over it as if there were a giant, wooden rod lodged between my legs.  There is a bite to the air now, which makes the environment less friendly and the inside of myself more welcoming.  It is in the winter that I retreat to my thoughts and feelings – I retract like a sea cucumber, wearing my insides on the outside… which explains the recycling of the same favorite winter sweater. 

 There is only so far one can go with one well-designed sweater before there is a stench or people start to notice.  But there is a delight in turning into a cartoon character, always wearing the same thing.  It is yourself reminding yourself that the stability in life, the unchanging element of comfort, is actually just… you.

In my cartoon, the big picture has changed.  Or the setting, at the very least.

In March, I am trading in my Korean life for a Chinese one.

 I am going to be teaching English and a bit of Drama at a university located one hour north of Guangzhou, which is 3 hours inland of Hong Kong.  The town is called Chini, and so far I have heard it is rural and I have spied pictures of bicycles overflowing with hanging bananas.  A friend from Hong Kong told me this is, in fact, a myth.  “There are no bikes with bananas in China anymore,” he said.  In my romantic brain, I refuse to believe him.  If there are no bananas, there will surely be another type of fruit. 

The only other thing I know right now is that Guangzhou is a culinary capital of China, which is a terrible thing since a lot of people purportedly do not like Chinese food.  This is typical Cantonese cuisine, meaning things like dogs are fried and battered and sauced.  Or so rumor has it.  However, one thing I have learned in my travels is to never believe what “people” say.  There may be bananas on bikes and no battered, fried dog after all.  Oh, to the disappointment of my stomach intestinal capillaries. 

The other city close to me is Macau, which still is a hybrid of Chinese and Portugese cultures.  From my brief research, I have found statues of the Virgin Mary in the style of a typical Buddha.  This means she is smoother than usual, a bit chubbier, with flowey fabric and a more satisfied look on her face.  This conflation of imagery is fascinating to me and perhaps the only time I have seen this woman smile in art.

This is a shorter love letter to you all because, in effect, I am going thru so much change now that my writing metabolism must slow.  I am going to absorb life now for a bit before I can get to the point in which I am reflecting again.  I’ve learned that for the artistic mind, a little bit of both is absolutely necessary.  The most thrilling thing is that I am going to be working now in such a way where I have time and space to develop creative projects again. 

I can daydream out my window, leave my head in the clouds for a couple hours, and suffer no consequence.  Now, something is always pulling me back.  But soon, I will be able to let the brain and heart hang out on a cloud together… drinking tea, eating crumpets, and talking nonsense for a long while.

In holiday spirit, I leave you to your warm insides.  And the images of the future to your imagination.

The Beautiful Changes

BY RICHARD WILBUR 

One wading a Fall meadow finds on all sides

The Queen Anne’s Lace lying like lilies

On water; it glides

So from the walker, it turns

Dry grass to a lake, as the slightest shade of you

Valleys my mind in fabulous blue Lucernes.

The beautiful changes as a forest is changed

By a chameleon’s tuning his skin to it;

As a mantis, arranged

On a green leaf, grows

Into it, makes the leaf leafier, and proves

Any greenness is deeper than anyone knows.

Your hands hold roses always in a way that says

They are not only yours; the beautiful changes

In such kind ways,

Wishing ever to sunder

Things and things’ selves for a second finding, to lose

For a moment all that it touches back to wonder.

With joy and change,

Sabina Teacher

#11 - Shopping for a New Life

"Try to tell the truth and stand your ground. 

Don't let the bananas get you down."

~Kris Kristofferson

For those of you who know me, you've heard me get fixed on an idea.  

It comes up in conversation diffusely and I will hint at it when we are talking about something unrelated...like cheesecake.  

The latest idea is the idea of 'transnational' as a take-off of trans-anything coinage (transgender, transatlantic, you name it).  A 'transnational' by my definition is a person who does not feel at home in their own culture so they go searching for one that better fits their own set of values.  This person attempts to live in various cultures to find the anthropological counterpart to their personality.  Most of the time, they fail miserably.

This would make a good one-woman show of tragio-comedic value.  

Unrelated to my personal experiences in life, of course.

Because I am always cool as an autumn breeze.

I hope you are not disappointed when I tell you that my new identity is neither as a minion nor as a unicorn.  

I am still searching, but that does not mean I can't pretend to be someone else for our Feinschule Halloween. In the meantime, whilst I pretend to be someone else, the idea of where I am heading next in my life is on the backburner.  

I just hope I remember to turn the burner off before the idea is set on fire.  Because then you can't eat it up.

One of the subjects I teach at our kindergarten is Game Class.  This week I had a kind of deja vu moment in the class when I began teaching a game involving finding animals underneath magic hats.  

I miraculously knew how to play the game.

It turns out when I was learning German/English at my German kindergarten in Dortmund, I had played the same game.  

The reason I remembered it because it was a source of mild trauma.  I remember not being able to play because I couldn't understand either language.  I felt so alone and no teacher offered the support I needed.  It was like being in the Diving Bell & Butterfly movie, without the physical handicap.  For those who have not seen the film, it chronicles a journalist post-stroke from his altered perspective.

The Corner of the Room became my best friend.  Now, I have the chance to rescue my little pumpkins from Mr. Corner.  This is how you can change the past, by making positive choices in the present.

You can be sure that I never leave a single step of the game unexplained.

However, it has gone too far.  They care too much and the level of competition is anxiety-inducing.

Sundays away from the competition-rattled kiddies have found me shopping at the local markets for my week's supply of calories.  These markets are beautiful in their unaltered food supply - you can see hanging fish heads, tentacle breasts, pig parts galore, whole ducks primped up in flowery baskets, fresh fish, and men with nose plugs in so that they can do their 9 to 5.

"On the sleepy city sidewalks,

Sunday morning coming down..."

 

Korea is full of all the contradictions that involve a traditional way of life meeting the modern Seoul-lite existence.  You can wander down a market and wonder if the food is dead because it looks so alive and ugly. It reaches out and touches you sometimes.  

That same day, you can visit a DUNKIN' DONUTS and see a special category of donuts that has been categorized as "Unpretty Choco Fritters."  The attention to appearance here is a bit hard on the heart, but I would eat these donuts anyway.  

As long as they are not labelled "Ugly."

By the same token, I stumbled upon a coffee shop that is so over-designed it looks like a furniture store.  

But they have lattes somewhere in the back between the loveseats and computer chairs.

As a way to embrace the traditional, a couple of weeks ago I embarked on a weekend harvesting acorns and sesame seeds at Gimcheon Farms.  This was a retreat organized by someone who also believed it was a good idea to do a juice cleanse and outdoor yoga three times a day, so I got into a yellow van at 8 a.m. on a Saturday morning and embraced the adventure.  

Of course, I like to challenge myself stubbornly, so I became a mule going up the mountain.

The most valuable part of the experience was getting a meal cooked from scrach by an old Korean woman in a hut at the base of the hill.  

It was not on chicken feet.  

But we did have to call her an hour before the meal so she could begin cooking.  We then climbed down the mountain with our flashlights and wandered into her small house, the half of which had been converted to a restaurant.  You wouldn't know it was a restaurant unless someone told you it was okay to knock on a stranger's door and beg for food.  Aside from the delicious outhouse romantically concealed in vines, the experience was gentle and heart-warming.  

That night, while we slept in our tents we became surrounded by animals that slowly started approaching us on all sides.  They sounded like belligerent howler monkeys.  Suddenly, just when I was about to think of what people do in action movies when they are surrounded, the noise subsided and they jolted in the opposite direction.  

I was glad to have had a warm meal and enough soju beforehand to numb my senses.

No one in the village knows what those animals were, which is frightening and also inspiring to the imagination.

    Our "Hut on Chicken Feet"

Sesame

Persimmons, deathly cheap and delicious in Korea

In the spirit of the end of summer, we took the students to a Lifestyles of Health and Sustainability Center.  They watched a 30-minute animated segment on the importance of earthworms and spent the day playing outside.  

I am continually amazed by how aware Koreans are of the potential damage they could do to their environment.  In my neighborhood of Dang dong, if you are walking down the street and drop a candy wrapper, people on the street will stare at that wrapper as if it it were burning a hole thru the Earth.  

Because it is. 

 Being here in the last segment of my stay is quite humbling.  

As I decide where I go next in my adventures, I am changing my approach to work and travel.  

Instead of thinking about where I want to be, I am deciding what kind of opportunity I would like and casting my net as wide as the Earth.  It's not what I want to be, it's where what I can offer can be of use and serve its purpose.  Thinking this way requires a certain abandonment of control, and in many ways I am an autumn leaf.

 Where I land is a mystery.

The surer I am of what kind of leaf I am, the more likely I am to find the base of my tree.

Otherwise, some kid will find me and make me into an arts and crafts project.

We wouldn't want that.

That's reserved for macaroni.

With the changing of the seasons,

Sabina Teacher

With Freedom (#10)

I hope conversation is still cool one day.

I hope people continue to take off their shoes on muddy beaches,

even though they will trek home sand.

I hope people continue to make the child-like choices.

I do.

Photo taken on Yongyu Beach

I have been reading Anthony Doerr's All the Light We Cannot See with a hungry man's appetite. 

As my experiences multiply, so does my sense of isolation.

Like wine and cheese. 

Ahem, whine and cheese.

  The expat community comes and goes so briskly, you feel like you just met someone before they flicker away joyfully.  Relationships ignite and burn out - they are made quickly and passionately only to exhaust themselves beautifully. 

We are all fireflies, but it is only nighttime for a short while.

Are the things that last in life as beautiful as those which disappear quickly?

This is the ephemeral art of theater as well.

Jules Verne writes "Science, my lad, is made up of mistakes, but they are mistakes which it is useful to make, because they lead little by little to the truth."

This is to say... well, let's do get on with it.

 

The kids and I have continued our silly relationship.  One might say it has blossomed its way down the rabbit hole.  I now routinely threaten them that I will eat them... eventually.  As a result, they draw a dead "Sabina Lamb."  Then, they draw Sabina Teacher as a sponge-like creature.  Then, they draw Sabina Teacher being eaten by a dragon with horns.  

I don't expect anyone to understand this relationship that I love.  

But in my heart, it just so happens to be idiotically perfect.

The job business of the past month has been peppered by seminars at which I have lectured and open classes I have taught.  One of these was a class on South Africa, during which I was called Charlize Theron.  I was sure we looked slightly different, but I will take the misplaced compliment.

This has not allowed me to travel much outside of Seoul.  So in my attempt to embrace the positive, I have taken it as the opportunity to explore the city.

On one of these explorations, I ventured through the Seoul Forest.  The best part of this was an apple orchard which seemed untouched and unpicked.  But whatever, it was rustic, okay? 

Next, I ventured into the Western part of Seoul for the first time.  It's called Itaewon, and it's known for its international restaurants, happening night life, and underground market.  Despite the allure of so much going on, I found the morning a bit steeped in trash and the stench of soju.  I was bothered by a man still drunk on soju at a 7-eleven, buying an American-like breakfast sandwich.  It was only when I realized he was a cab driver, reporting for his shift that I was amused and terrified.

After parading through Itaewon, we went up to Seoul Tower via Namsan Mountain.  What I loved about this hike were two small things:  1.  the ability to lie down mid-trail on chairs that have a curviture that at least makes you think they are therapeutic, and 2. the introduction to Korean dates (jujube) by our favorite Seoul International Hiker's Club pathologist. 

Right around the Seoul Tower, there are benches dedicated to "love," mostly because a bunch of Korean dramas were filmed there.  These benches are surrounded by locks.  If you are in a committed relationship, you are supposed to put a lock on one of the "trees" or "fence" to solidify your commitment.  

I do not know why the benches look like they are breaking.

Afterwards, we ate a small upstairs restaurant in Namdaemun.  The whole restaurant was full of men, away from home while their wives were busy cooking during Chuseok.  During this "Korean Thanksgiving," so much cooking takes place that people give each other gift sets of canola oil and SPAM.  Most unusual if you are not familiar with the tradition.  This comes from the Korean War, during which SPAM was introduced by the American military and became a delicacy.

This place had no SPAM.

This place had raw fish and smoked mackrel, two famous seafood dishes.  

I tried the mackrel and was in a delightful daze.

Next I gandered into the Korean countryside.  It is just one stop away from me in Uiwang, which is also known for its transportation university and railroad roads.  The town was quiet, reminding me of the desert in Southern California.  I heard bullfrogs and crickets and children laughing.

I was happy there was nothing else happening.  

Perhaps the old part of my soul is starting to rear its head.

I ended my trip there going into a plant shop that had an expensive coffee shop concealed inside of it.

It was almost as if it had been designed that way to be "thematic," but here it really was just a place to have an americano after you buy a lilac.

Further down one of the roads was a barista school, which Korea is chock-ful of.  They take real pride in the "art of coffee."  

The sign said "OPEN," so I nudged the door.  It swung open, and the cafe alarm began to sound.  There I was, in the middle of the countryside, terrified by an obnoxious alarm.  The worst part was that it woke up a pitbull-like dog in doghouse in front of the cafe, and he proceeded to trail me on his chain as I scampered away.  

I thought, "That's it.  Tomorrow's headline will read AMERICAN GIRL IN HER 30'S EATEN BY DOGS IN THE KOREAN COUNTRYSIDE."

I just wanted coffee.

Beauty exists in all forms here.

It's better to see it than to only acknowledge how you define your own.

As I stay here longer, I continue to process the little stories, the little moments.  And I vow that for the second part of my stay I will be even more open to Korean culture than I have up to this point.  You always surprise yourself when you allow doubt to creep in and reveal a bit of truth.

It's scarier that way, but it allows for waterfalls instead of dams.

All the Light We Cannot See is a novel about appreciation but also acknowledging the other perspective after it is too late.  It spans World War II and tells the story of a blind girl in France and a young boy seduced by Hitler Youth propaganda.

To know your weaknesses is dually as important as knowing your strengths.

But then move on and research the habits of snails or something.

Signing off,

Sabina Lamb

Dance performance at Seoul International Airport on the way home from the beach, a merry surprise
 
 

War and Peace (#9)

 The pendulum swings back and forth, doesn't it?

The accelerated economic growth of South Korea only since 1987 make this country a wonder.  A child struggling through the early years, only to blossom quickly when reaching adolescence.  Akward and shy, only to surprise its parents with its talents.  "Wow, I didn't know you had it in you," they would say, with slight shame that they didn't believe it was possible.  

A reddening of the cheeks.

For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction.  And so for every "wonder" of Korea, I also find the effects of this growth that are jointly discomforting.  That means I too have leapt upon the pendulum, with it my feelings, my brain, my heart.

For every burst of energy, I feel a tired slump.

For every gut-wrenching feeling of love, I feel the dull ache of fear.

For every bite of kimchi, I fantasize about organic peanut butter under $7.00.

This entry is called "War and Peace" because that's really what it is about.

I had vacation, and instead of spending it on a beach slumbering, I visited the DMZ and did a temple stay.

The first step of the tour was crawling through the 3rd infiltration tunnel.  We had helmets on and the tour guide was insistent that "we don't do if we feel like we are going to die in there."  

I didn't feel that way.  I felt extraordinarily safe.

The fascinating part about the tunnel was its outside marketing.  The whole area looked to me like the DMZ had gone K-Pop.  The emphasis in this area was really on making the biggest cash flow for the international tragedy during which many lives were lost.

I spent my time taking pictures of other people taking pictures.

Below is an instant of someone catching on to my scheme and casting me a friendly glare.

Here is an adorable Korean couple.  Don't they just look cute enough to eat?

They were fawned over constantly by tourists.  

Everyone wanted a selfie.

They must have a great relationship.

The more hopeful part of the tour took us to the Dorasan station.  

This station has been built as part of the Korail system and is intended to be a way to get from Seoul to Pyonyang once unification finally occurs.  Right now, it is just a phantom station with no customers.  

A ghost station waiting for peace.  

I find it inspiring that it was built in the attempt to at least hasten the unification process with attitude.  This is an example of working backwards to accomplish the original goal.

So I bought a ticket to North Korea.

But I won't be able to use it for a while.  I'm just so busy with work.

Once Dorasan station is open, you will be able to travel from Seoul to Berlin in two weeks using the Trans Eurasisan Railway.  There are two routes available; one takes you through Siberia and the other through Mongolia.

You choose.

Here I am, standing at the station in a place where you can see North Korea.  

The country begins right across the barricade.  Same land, same air, and completely inaccessible.

I found myself constantly hoping that the reason for partition was worth it for both sides because there are really good things on this earth... like love, peace, wine, and chocolate.  

Perhaps an oversimplified perspective, but that is how I see the world, through its most basic sense.  

The stomach.

The last part of the tour took us on a viewing of the North Korean landscape.  We actually entered into the DMZ via Camp Bonifas and explored the Joint Security Area.  The JSA is the only portion of the DMZ where the North and South Korean soldiers stand face-to-face.  

The tourists found the South Korean soldiers fascinating.  

I just kept on thinking of them as people who had to stand on their feet in taekwondo posture until we left the building.  

For that reason, I was eager to leave so that those buddies could relax.

The JSA itself is also chockful of little villages occupied by citizens who are allowed to live there because of their previous residency.  These residents have a strict curfew and a slew of specific laws they need to abide by.  In exchange, they are granted the freedom to live there, a nice salary, and a life governed by a taste of fear.

My trip to the DMZ was so relaxing that I needed something to really get my adrenaline pumping.  

So I spent the second part of my vacation doing a temple stay at Beopjusa Temple in Songnisan National Park (located about 2.5 hours SE of Seoul and named "Remote from the Ordinary World").

My stay there was peppered with my usual sense of the ridiculous.  

The first night there, we were expected to get up at 3A.M. to chant and prostrate with the monks.  I was so excited by this that I got there early.  The usual amount of prostrations is 108, but being relatively new to Buddhism, I ended up doing close to 300 instead.  The prostrations accomplish the same thing for your body as squats, with the added benefit of bowing down to Buddha if you are into that.

The monks were kind to me as they watched me hobble across the dirt path.  They understood the hazing process of the amateur tourist trying on Buddhism like a spring jacket.

One even told me I was beautiful, partly because he felt sorry for me and partly because my hair is "the color of the sun in the morning."

The most attractive part of Songnisan National Park is Munjangdae, a peak that takes you beyond the clouds once you finally reach it.  Legend has it that if you visit it three times, you'll go to Heaven.  Or, if you visit it once, the health of your body will be restored.  

You have these two choices to pick from.  

I am okay with only visiting it once, and now keep checking whether I am looking robust yet.  So far, I haven't noticed myself glowing, but it's still early.

The temple stay was concluded by a long conversation and tea ceremony with a lovely female monk.  I commended her on her ability to find peace in this remote lifestyle, and lamented about how hard her choice must have been as a Korean woman.  

She looked at me puzzled.  

I continued to say her life must be so relaxing here, far away from the stresses of "ordinary life."

She blinked again.

"Working here can be very stressful.  Sometimes we really feel like we need to take care of tourists.  Even I have to remind myself to calm down here.  It's the same everywhere.  Nothing different. "

A stressed-out monk.

A normal girl looking for peace.

It seems like the only world we have is the one within.

So what do we do now but assume that the world is an okay place, but perhaps the way we see it from within makes it better than we could have expected.

Eating an Asian pear dripping all over my keyboard,

Yours,

Sabina

Impressions in Pickled Jars (#8)

The impressions this place makes on me are on layaway.  

They are like pickled vegetables, stored in a creaky Polish cellar for the winter.  Only to shock in the summertime with flavor and a sort of spice that is indigestible.

I will take out the impressions I have of this place, serve them with herring, dabble everything in sour cream... and call it a day.

But until that summer day, these here impressions on layaway are all I have.

They ferment and comfort and feel completely combustible - sometimes, I do not know whether I will survive all that I am experiencing.  

And so I let laughter permeate the cracks in the jars.

And so Darwin lets me survive.

On to the little moments.  Maybe we'll get deep later.

Recently, I even went to a unisex bathroom at a Korean restaurant and found the signage disturbing.  And funny.  The amusing part is the assumption that the man will be interested in how the female is peeing.  Is this a reverse psychology warning against being a peeping Tom and Nancy in the bathroom?  Perhaps... but instead it makes one chuckle at the thought of urination being observed.  And the potential dangers of men and women frequenting the same place.  I never thought that a unisex sign could be so interpreted.  

The differences are palpable.

Below is my 2nd masked photo.  

The first one was taken as a result of the yellow dust.  This one is reacting to the floating MERS virus outbreak.

I am located only a couple subway stops from Suwon, where the outbreak originated in Korea.  The atmosphere here has been filled with panic and a rejection of caring too much.  The people here sway between paranoia and not wanting to give up the daily routines that make them tick.

So I continue to do everything the same way.  But I wear a mask that is specifically designed for flu and tuberculosis infections at hospitals.  

I wonder if this is the same as ordering an unhealthy dinner at the Olive Garden and pairing it with a Diet Coke.

These past couple of weeks, I have started to feed my creative monster.  What began this journey was the Diego Rivera exhibit that popped up in the center of Seoul.  It cried out to me to embrace its warm colors - like a soulful hug for the eyelids.  

I ended up becoming obsessed with holding his balloons.

Ironically, even though I prefer Diego Rivera to Frida, it was pictures of her room during illness that I found the most moving.  In the arts and in life, I always have more empathy for those who give back to others selflessly rather than indulging in their own feelings too much.  Diego painted murals in Mexico that inspired the working and indigenous classes - Frida laid in bed, felt sorry for herself, and produced some beautiful things.  

So when I saw these photographs of her life, I was moved for the first time by her struggle.  Perhaps because when a photograph is taken, it is someone outside of you who cares about your journey.  That kind of human caring is more tender and delicious than anything you can tell the world about yourself.

"Don't forget about me, my love" is embroidered on her pillow.

At the end of the visit, I tried to treat Friday to some personal hanky-panky.

I thought maybe this would help her situation.

 One of the most startling murals was one that was actually egocentric.  It is called "Man, Controller of the Universe."  It is simple, a man in charge of a futuristic plane that is gliding on the air currents of history.  The mural is full of impressions of the past, the roaring 20's, Leon Trotsky, and important moments of the such.

I suppose that is what we are intended to look at but.  But I could not take my eyes off of the man's face.

He looked scared out of his wits.

Maybe controlling the universe or even your own universe is more calmity than calm.  But in him it had transpired into profound sadness.  The world had started to borrow out of the library of his soul.

 The hiking has continued.  Here I am in the rain on a Saturday morning in a banana poncho in Bukhasan National Park in northern Seoul.  The saying goes "Some people feel the rain.  Others just get wet."  It is attributed to Bob Dylan and also to Bob Marley and more authentically to Roger Miller.

Whichever intuitive person with good things to say came up with this, I am always in the first part of that equation.

One of the most interesting parts of the hike was visiting a temple that lay at its base.  Our hike leader told me that the bells in Korea are special because they are the equivalent to Japanese pagodas.  By this he meant that they distinguish Korean temples from other holy architectural spaces.  And also were produced at a time when resources were abundant.  We journeyed into one such "bell tower," someone rang it, and perhaps they were not supposed to.  But it's so tempting.

These are my impressions in pickled jars.  

I feel more awake than I have in a very long while.  Maybe it's because I slept off my past impressions this past weekend.  Or maybe it's because I feel like I have found things in my life that make me stable and therefore free to embrace life again.

It's strange how that all comes about when you are least expecting it.

Below is a photo of me being taught by a younger version of myself.

I am being guided in the right direction by the things that made me tick as a little girl.

It's a... sweet thing.

Signing off for now,

The Biggest Jar of Them All