My Time Spent in Wonderland ~ Life in Korea · by Jacquie Robertson

I picked up the phone, followed the instructions on the calling card and was soon in touch again with the Western world. A familiar voice picked up on the other end and before my sister could reach the end of hello, I blurted out—Wonderland. The only way I can describe it here is it’s like living in Wonderland.

I made the decision to teach English abroad half way through my fourth year of university. I looked around at all my friends applying to grad school, Teachers College, med school and I absolutely panicked. Reality had struck and it had finally dawned on me. I had no direction, no plan and no clue post graduation. Even my booze hound partier of a roommate had thought farther ahead beyond what bar we would be getting drunk at that weekend.

I had a couple of friends in South Korea who had offered to help set me up with an apartment and job upon arrival. They reassured me there were thousands of job opportunities with good pay and some even provided housing. My friends were ecstatic to have another Canuck in Korea to share their ex-pat lives with. I had no idea the kind of life that was soon awaiting me.

My first three months were a blur, complete with bi-weekly binging blackouts and the culprit of the cause, Ladies’ Night, where ladies drink for free every Thursday, Friday and Saturday. Korea was the land of freedom, where foreigners happily accepted a fantasy life where no one judged you for how much you drank, rather for why you weren’t drinking on a Friday or Saturday night.

At first this was exciting and perhaps one might even claim it to be university part deux. But after some time, this became old and like most drugs, the high began to ware off, no matter how many gin and sodas I chugged for free. Suddenly, dancing on tables in bars at places like Homo Hill and staggering home trying to wave down a cabbie at 6 a.m. seemed at best repulsive.

Didn’t I come here to teach English, you may be asking yourself? Ah yes, English, or Konglish as the Korean children may refer to it as. A mixture of Korean and English forming semi-sentences like, “Me and eat pizza.” Translation: “I like to eat pizza.” I honestly thought I was going to Korea to teach English and yet here I was dragging my ass to class hung-over, handing out crossword puzzles and colouring books to keep the kids occupied while I sat rubbing my temples, popping Tylenol 3s to ease the pain of my own stupidity.

The gig itself was easy. I showed up five minutes before class started, taught four hours and banked $125 a day. I would teach things like A is for apple and listen and repeat. No joke. At the end of the class, if time permitted, we would play games and when Friday arrived, movie day it was.

I also had an assistant Korean teacher whose purpose was to help discipline, translate when necessary, look after administrative details and communicate with the children’s parents, most of whom did not speak English at all. I thought this would be to my advantage and for the most part it was. However she was a lousy discipliner and, I was no better. Not only could my Minnie Mouse yelling voice truly not be taken seriously, but closer to the truth was the fact that some of the kids simply did not respect their white teacher from Canada-Land, as they often referred to it.

There were some very diligent and brilliant kids but there were also many whose behaviour could be described no less than tormenting. These kids were so bad they drove me into screaming fits, hair pulling and in a few instances crying to the point where I had to remove myself from the classroom, so only to prevent a complete mental breakdown. There was the time a kid dropped a water balloon on my head. Then there was the time a kid pulled a make-shift knife on me. But my ultimate favourite, was little Jonathan’s question: “Teacher, do you know fuck you?”

And so, to compensate for my lack of sanity in the classroom, I drank. Every Friday and Saturday night I joined my community of teacher friends for a pre-drinking bash before the bar. And this is where I saw it happening. As I found myself in conversation after conversation with Australians, Irish, New Zealanders, Americans and my proud fellow Canadians, I started to realize, these people were stuck. When I asked how long they had been living in Korea, some responded one year going on two, but the average appeared to be four to five years. When I asked my friend Marc from Montreal, when he planned on returning home to find a real job, he chuckled and said “What for?” All I have is right here. Life is so simple in Korea.

In the end, I ruled out teaching ESL as a career, but the amount of money for the little work I did was worth it. Despite the fact that I told myself once I left Korea, I would never go back, as I got what I came for—an experience living in Asia rich with culture, good food and interesting foreigner friends from all walks of life, there are days when I am tempted to venture back into the leisurely lifestyle of little responsibility and an avoidance from the North American reality of the rat race. But then, I am drawn back to my conversation on the phone with my sister, remembering that word of description, Wonderland. Korea is exactly that— a place to temporarily enjoy a worry free life of money and partying, but also a place where one can lose perception of reality and fantasy.