I think living here may be giving me a bit of an identity crisis.
At the very least, it is forcing me to reevaluate how I determine who I think I am. Back at home, I’m a teacher, a brain, a thinker. I’m supremely competent, maybe a little arrogant. I’m the teacher kids want. I’m a mentor. A writer. A daughter. A friend. An aunt. A mother figure.
Here, those things are stripped from me. I’m not pretty or charming or clever by Korean standards. I’m too big for the space I’m meant to occupy. Not just tall, freakishly big, as in the stores don’t carry clothes in my size, which, in the States is a perfectly average size to wear.
Here, I’m just a mediocre teacher at best because I only have command of one of the languages spoken in my classroom, and it’s not the dominant one. It takes dual fluency to inspire students to learn around here, that or some kind of physical comedy routine I just can’t muster up the energy to invent.