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After our pottery class in Haeundae on Sunday, we went to Songjeong Beach. It wasn't far, which surprised me. I realise in retrospect that every time we've been there before it was by car, and since separate trips to Haeundae and Songjeong have never connected, I'd never made the geographical connection between the two. This tells me I'm still orientating myself when it comes to getting around Busan.

I found some clean air on the beach, and it was more than welcome. As one might expect, the atmospheric quality of a large city like Busan is never going to be high, but the day before Korea had been hit by the worst recorded Yellow Dust storm since records began in 2003. I'd noticed it late on Saturday afternoon, when an apparently descending fog took on a brownish hue, in-between the mountains where we live. There were warnings not to go out without a mask on the next day for fear of breathing in the potentially damaging cocktail of heavy metals and other pollutants, but by the time we awoke, it seemed to have passed.

When I think about my life in Korea, weighing up the pros and cons, the increasingly severe Yellow Dust and its potentially life-shortening properties are a significant negative, although it does have one small benefit. Koreans often ask me what I like the most about their country, but sometimes the braver souls ask what I don't like. The truth is that the extreme sensitivity here to any kind of national criticism is a fact of life that I find incredibly tiresome, and it's also why answering that question unprepared is a minefield. The Yellow Dust is as perfect an answer as one is likely to be gifted with, because it's immediately something Koreans can identify as being a problem in this country while not in any way being their fault.


So a beach with an accompanying sea breeze offers the rare pleasure of non-life-shortening deep breaths in Busan, especially during Yellow Dust season. Unfortunately, it was rather cold, though this hadn't put off a number of people who were also to be found strolling along the sands, and the even braver souls in the water with their surfboards trying to find the perfect wave. As I discovered before, Songjeong is very much a beach for surfers.


We hung around for a while breathing, watching the surfers, and at one point, being buzzed by a large flock of seagulls which were inexplicably trying to claim my section of beach as their own. I stood my ground.

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Life in Korea: 20 things to check on your contract

Author's note: I am not a lawyer - just a blogger reasonably seasoned in reading contracts and figuring out what's missing. This is not necessarily an all-inclusive list - if I'm missing something, comments are open!

Contracts are a tricky thing - while some are barely worth the paper they're printed on, others have some force to them. They're not typically written to benefit you, and there are plenty of protections for the party that writes it. Since there is no such thing as one standard contract, things might be left out that really need to be included.

Although no contract is guaranteed and foolproof, having specifics written into the contract will prevent some of the most common misunderstandings - and give you something to take to the boss or court if need be. Written paperwork does tend to have more weight than oral statements in that case.

Without further ado, these are the MUST-HAVE things to look for on your contract:

  • Where will you work? The name / address of the school is a pre-requisite, otherwise you're teaching wherever you're told to.
  • How much are you paid? Whether it's an hourly rate or a salary rate, the contract needs to tell you. If you're making a salary, there should also be a maximum number of teaching hours per work. After that, you should be making overtime at an hourly rate - make sure that rate is specified too. Note that 'preparation hours' or time spent in meetings is not usually counted as teaching hours.
  • On what day will you be paid? The 15th, the 10th, the 20th, etc.? It should also state that your paycheck will be deposited into your bank account. Getting paid in cash, while not a bad thing, may indicate the school is trying to keep you 'under the table' - not usually a good sign.
  • What is your period of employment? In other words, when is your start date and when will your contract be completed?
  • Does the contract mention 'orientation' or 'training'? This should not be unpaid, although some schools won't pay your full / normal salary during this time. If there are any 'settling down' or 'settlement' allowances written in, make sure you receive these.
  • What will your hours be? Contracts don't usually guarantee you specific hours or a specific schedule, although most will say the 'typical' hours you'll be teaching or at least when the school is in session.
  • Beyond teaching classes, what are you expected to do? This is one section that will almost certainly feature broad brushstrokes instead of fine details. Expect to see grading, administrative work, curriculum design, other classroom activities, and attending teachers meetings at a bare minimum.
  • What sort of deductions will there be? The contract should mention deductions for Korean income tax, the National Health Insurance program, the national pension program, and so on. While specific amounts aren't usually mentioned, any other deductions should be made perfectly clear.
  • How do sick days work? In most cases, you'll be expected to contact the school as soon as possible, and to get a doctor's note to show the school once you're better. Since you're putting a burden on the rest of the school, try to avoid taking a sick day unless it's actually needed.
  • How is your plane ticket being handled? Ideally, the school will pay for the ticket directly instead of reimbursing you for it at a later date, although the former is becoming less common. If you're doing a visa run to pick up a new visa, the school may pay for that instead of reimbursing you for your expense. In either case, there may be a clause that states the teacher has to pay for the plane ticket if they quit / leave within 6 months. Every contract is different - read carefully.
  • What sort of housing are you receiving? Ideally, the contract will spell out exactly what will be in the apartment (bed, bookshelf, table / desk, fridge, microwave, gas range, washing machine, TV, etc.). While simply saying a 'furnished' apartment leaves a lot of room for interpretation, it does bring to mind most of the aforementioned items. If there's something seriously missing, however, it's worth asking about. Be sure you understand if the housing is intended for you and you alone, or if it's meant to be shared with another teacher. The latter is rare, but it does happen from time to time. An important note: if you decline the furnished housing you're usually eligible for a housing allowance, which should also be stated.
  • Who pays the apartment's utilities? In most cases you'll be responsible for them. Asking about any maintenance fees is also a good thing to ask.
  • Is there a deposit or other restrictions when it comes to the housing? It's typical to state that no one may live in the apartment except for the employee, and anyone else seeking to live with the employee must get permission first. In the case of a deposit, the employer has almost always put down key money on the apartment, and may collect something from you to cover any damages or unpaid bills you might leave behind. You'll be able to collect it once all the accounts have been settled - usually the remainder is wired to an account of your choice, with the employer paying the wiring fees. Check, don't assume.
  • What holidays are considered part of the school schedule? Simply saying 'all national holidays' or 'all Korean holidays' might be sufficient, but the ideal contract will name the specific holidays (sorry, but Koreans don't get White Day off, and neither will you). Don't expect the contract to include a holiday schedule - ask about that once the job has started.
  • What's the dress code? If you're working at a kindergarten hagwon there may not be a dress code; working with adults usually requires a 'professional' look - slacks and dress shirts.
  • What about summer / winter camps? Working them is usually a requirement or strong recommendation - whatever the case, there should be adequate information explaining the hours and pay during those times.
  • What sort of vacation(s) are included? It's natural for a school to give vacation during a seasonal break or other extended school break, but watch out for desk-warming (reporting for work even when the school is officially on vacation).
  • What happens at the end of the contract? Once you've completed the full contract, you'll be eligible for a pension refund or severance pay (it is NOT a "bonus'' as many contracts claim - once you've worked one calendar year, you're eligible for it no matter what). If you keep working for the same school, the general rate is one month's pay per one year of work.
  • Under what circumstances can you be fired on the spot? These may include breaking the laws of South Korea, teaching private lessons, showing up to work drunk / high and may also include being late / absent more than X number of times, insubordination, or telling others the details about your contract. Avoid these things unless you like spending your hard-earned savings for a flight out.
  • For what reasons can you be fired / terminated / released from your contract? Without cause or any other reason, a 30-day notice is normal; some schools may require or give a 45- or 60-day notice.
If all of this sounds obsessive, ask any experienced Korean expat: the devil, in this case, is on paper. If it ain't on paper, there's no guarantee you're getting it.

If something isn't right, point it out - no contract is unalterable, and few have to be signed on the spot. After waiting for a problem / unclear area to be fixed, be sure to check everything else is unchanged before signing.

Veteran expats / contract readers - did I miss anything? What else should one ask about or watch out for?

Creative Commons License © Chris Backe - 2010

This post was originally published on my blog, Chris in South Korea. If you are reading this on another website and there is no linkback or credit given, you are reading an UNAUTHORIZED FEED.

 

Stickers and Sharpeners: Teaching the Ivy League

 

The bulk of my experience with kids dates back to the summers of 1989, ’90, and ’91, when I posted a felt-marker sign advertising babysitting services to the wall of my dad’s grocery store in Waskesiu Lake, Saskatchewan.  

‘Responsible and reliable,’  it read.  ’Babysitting course-certified.  Likes doing crafts.’

I charged three bucks an hour, and, at the very most, took care of four kids at once.  I pushed strollers and changed diapers.  I built castles at the beach and read stories before bedtime.  When it was time to clean up their toys, I practiced the old ‘count to five’ method. It worked: something about the sudden ticking of time always got the tykes moving. I liked kids, but my motives were mostly fiscal: come each September I had squirreled away a few hundred bucks to spend on new clothes for school.   

Last month, on a Thursday morning, I stepped into a small mirrored elevator with a tall Korean man called Mr. Wan.  It was a short ride after a six-month process rife with research, recruiters, interviews, emails, photos, documents, and consulate calls.  On the fourth floor, we walked into the florescent-lit foyer of the Sogang Language Program—a private English school with which I have signed a one-year contract to teach English to kids.  

My purpose behind the venture can be boiled down to two main factors: a stubborn stack of debt that has proved intent on growing despite my best efforts to tame it, and a stubborn desire deep within me to return to Asia–a continent I swore I would revisit after leaving Vietnam too soon the winter I was 21.

Behind a long white counter two receptionists answered phones.  I vaguely noted the crisp gleam of white walls, and a wide glass door to the right—behind which the teacher’s office turned out to be.  But those first few seconds it was the sound that struck me most: an orchestra of high-pitched squeals piercing the air, and the squeak of shoes against tile, little feet inside them racing through the hallways.  It was the sound of children.

I teach eight classes a day, 57 kids in total, ranging in age from 5 to 12.  They evoke within me extremes of both joy and frustration, a spectrum I anticipated but could not imagine until I experienced my morning class: 80 minutes with a kindergarten group of 12.  Five girls.  Seven boys.  Ages five and six. ”Seven boys! a Korean teacher said to me last week.  “That’s a tough class.”  I nodded, thinking back to the headlock I’d broken up that morning, followed by some yelling and a timeout.  That’s right.  I’ve had to learn to yell.

The Korean kids are all given English names at school.  My kindergarten class has a Bella and a Lucy, a Thomas and a Rain, an Eric and a Julia.

Daniel, a fiery little guy with spiky hair, likes screeching, making paper airplanes, and demolishing his drawing pages in black crayon.  There’s also a Jason, who didn’t respond to his name for the first week of class.  This made getting his attention when he started wandering around the room or stealing the other kids’ erasers a little tricky. 

“Jason!” I would call.  “Sit in your seat!”  No response. “Jason!”  Nothing.  “JASON.  SIT IN YOUR SEAT.”  Finally, kneeling on the floor, clutching both his hands, peering deep into his dark brown eyes, and pointing to the chair, I could make him understand.  He would SIT!  For 9 seconds.  Now, I simply start counting to five.     

The classrooms at SLP are named after American Ivy League colleges: my Kindergarten class is in Cornell.  Cornell can sing the alphabet song and count to 16.  They can spell C-a-t and D-o-g and name every colour mentioned in “Brown bear, Brown bear, What do you See?”   They can write their English names and say “Teacher, may I go to the bathroom please?”—a question they collectively ask approximately 17 times per class. “Yes, you may,” I say, over and over until finally lining them up for one big break and leading them in a single-file train down the hall.

The Cornell kids are also precise and thorough pencil sharpeners.  They cruise on up to the big silver sharpener that sits on my desk and spend a solid three minutes turning and turning the handle, getting the point just right.  The skill comes in handy, because after returning to their seat and writing a Big B and a little b, they somehow break the pencil tip and need to resharpen.     

Cornell is a new class, but relationships are starting to form.  Emily was concerned when Bella left class early with a fever.  Daniel and Jason share a mutual interest in disrupting storytime with a box of toy blocks.  And Sally and Ryan, who’ve been seated next to each other for the last week, seem to have hit it off.  They came back from a water break holding hands, and yesterday I noticed they coloured their duck pictures in the exact same shades. 

The Korean kids have style.  The girls accesorize with headbands, bows, and patterned tights.  The  boys wear ties and oversized grey blazers most days, snappy duds for kids who are still learning how to tie their shoes.

     

But sometimes they rock out a different look: Thomas, Bella, and Sally expressed their inner chef last week for cooking class.   

 

Some days, at the end of class, I reward the kids with stickers.  I call them up in pairs to the wall where their sticker pages are posted, and hold out a small sheet for them to choose from. 

“Rain,” I’ll say, ”and Lucy, two stickers for you today!”  They run to look, carefully examining their options, then slowly peel each sticker off, holding it up on the tip of their finger.  Lisa, Cornell’s Korean teacher, posted the pages a little too high, so the kids can’t quite reach them to stick their stickers on.  They try anyway, jumping on tippy-toes, stretching their arms as high as they can, little sunshines or cars or smiley faces stuck to their fingertips.  “I’ll help you!” I say, plucking a sticker from their finger and adding it to their growing collection.  ”You were so good today.”


Korean “Double In-Laws”… and Other Dramas!

( Wedding Day by summer park )

An interesting question from Curtis, a reader with a slightly unusual family in which 2 brothers from one family married 2 sisters from another. And as you will see, with logical concerns about how this might be received by Koreans:

Dear James,

Lately I’ve been seriously confused and irritated by a seeming issue with relation to Korean marriages.  I can’t figure out why it is even a problem to begin with.  I’ve never heard the term until recently, but apparently Koreans (I’m not sure if this is general or only among certain classes) seem to be against marriages that create “double in-laws,” meaning that, for example, member A of the Kim family marries member A of the Lee family.  Then Member B of the Kim family marries the sister/brother of member A of the Lee family.  The first marriage made them in-laws, but this second marriage creates what I’ve heard Koreans term “double in-laws” which seems to have some stigma.  As far as I am concerned as a westerner, the second marriage has little to no bearing on anything since it isn’t incest or intermarriage, therefore I see no problem.  In fact, my father married by mother, and soon after that, my father’s brother married my mother’s sister.  I guess that creates double in-laws in my family, but since it’s neither incest nor intermarriage, I haven’t once heard any issues being brought up about it.  Could you explain if this “double in-laws” thing is really an issue, and if so, why? All I can think of is that the families are not being spread out far enough for maximum social networking and both sides of the family may end up being in one household, but since Korean family dynamics are changing, this doesn’t have to be the case.

I’ve also heard the English term “co-in-laws” to describe this, but again, I find no reports of issues with this arrangement other than in a few Korean instances.

And an update in a second email:

[I’ve done some more thinking]…, and I thought about the collective culture that Korea is.  I thought that perhaps when a family marries another family, the WHOLE family in that household become in-laws as such, whereas in western societies, the distinctions between in-laws is limited more so to the ones who married into the family.  I, personally, would consider the sister of my brother-in-law just that, the sister of my brother-in-law, not an in-law herself since she did not marry into the family.

( The Bride by Tetsumo )

What do you think? Personally, while this is the first I’ve heard of any potential stigma, I suspected that there might be something to it when my wife instantly came up with the Korean term for people in such arrangements: gyeobsadon (겹사돈), or “a person doubly related by marriage”. Moreover, however illogical any stigma would be, there is certainly precedent too: until as late as 2005, Article 809 of the Korean Civil Code prohibited marriage between those of the same ancestral, regional clan (or local subgroup of Lees, Parks, or Kims and so on), of which the largest had over 4 million members. Or in short, somewhere between 8-15% of the Korean population were literally forbidden to marry each other, with even the children of any de-facto unions discriminated against also because their out-of-wedlock status prohibited them from receiving national health insurance, let alone complicating inheritance and property rights.

But as it turned out in this case at least, my wife knew the term not because of any stigma that she’s aware of…rather, because she remembered such arrangements from dramas!

Probably there is nothing to worry about then, but if anyone could confirm that then I’m sure Curtis will appreciate it, and I’d be interested in hearing any other unusual stories about marriage and Korean families also. If you’d rather read more yourself though, then consider this series on the uncertain role of Neo-Confucianism in the similarities between Japanese and Korean family forms, and especially how daughters-in-law are treated therein.

Update: Speaking of the importance of family names in Korea, today there was an interesting article in the New York Times about the trials and tribulations a Korean man (and subsequently his family) had due to his Japanese ancestry.

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Filed under: Korean Demographics, Korean Families, Korean Sexuality, Marriage, Readers' Emails Tagged: 겹사돈, gyeobsadon
  

 

Quote Dump #1

"You don't have to run faster than the bear. You just have to run faster than your brother."

During my middle school years in Australia (I refer to them as the roaring 90's), I started collecting quotes online. I had a public chatroom on Internet Relay Chat called #ponder, where a semi-feeble effort was undertaken to encourage people to talk about things more interesting than what age we were (age), whether we were male/female (sex) and where we lived (location). These three questions were often summed up by users in the singular question 'a/s/l?', which is a substitute for 'hello' in the world of IRC.

"Quickly, bring me a beaker of wine, so that I may wet my mind and say something clever."
~Aristophanes

To sow the seeds of thoughtfulness for any guests willing enough to enter, I often posted a quote of the day that would greet them in purple banner text on the title bar.

"No man ever steps in the same river twice, for it's not the same river and he's not the same man."
~Heraclitus

It's funny how a good quote will bring with it a light air of pseudo-authority, merely because it's a quote. The worst ones are those that are long winded and lack substance. Anyway, what happened after middle school was that I ended up losing that hard drive and my entire quotes collection.

"Give a man a fire and he'll stay warm for a day.
Set a man on fire and he'll stay warm for the rest of his life."

Which was probably a good thing. I had them all on a huge notepad file that took forever to scroll down. Kind of like a disorganised closet. And just like how I used to read the newspaper everyday, once it was gone I realised it was entirely unnecessary.

"Be still and know."
~Thich Nhat Hanh

Anyhow, in complete contradiction to that realisation I started putting some of the more memorable quotes on Facebook. I'm going to cross post them here from time to time, in a feature called Quote Dump. Hopefully then, they'll be safer than in my brain and it's more fun to share them anyway.

"You know, Hobbes, some days even my lucky rocketship underpants don't help."
~Calvin

Male Grocery Shopping

This is what happens when I go grocery shopping:



Not the normal stuff you find at Home Plus, E-Mart or Mega Mart here in Korea.  Gotta love the base commissary for various forms of fat pills.  For the record, I haven't eaten a Twinkie in years.

Two of the products pictured are pretty amazing.  The "Bagelfuls" already have cream cheese inside the bagel thing.  The "Uncrustables" already have peanut butter and jelly inside the bread.  Like I said, amazing.  These products remind me of "Goober," the peanut butter and jelly - wait for it - that are in the same jar.  You never know when you'll be sitting around the house hungry.  Man, I could use a sandwich but I only have the energy to open one jar.  I ain't got time to be opening two jars.  Bam!  Peanut butter and jelly in one jar.

I can't claim this one.  For full details, youtube Brian Regan and peanut butter and jelly.  Pretty funny stuff.

CJ loves those Little Debbie brownies.  He'll eat the whole box if we let him.  If you want to hear a funny story and have ready access to a Cruz, ask them about the Little Debbie brownies and the "Greedy B."  Leo, if you're reading this, I have to tell you that we still get a kick out of that story.  Until next time -- C2

The Name Game

Brian in Jeollanam-Do wrote an interesting post today about how more Koreans are changing their names. On a sort of related note:

I fail at memorizing my kids names. I really do. I have seating charts, I try to only address people using their names. I study the seating charts, I make notes about different students...and yet the Korean names seem to go in one ear and out the other. I have a few down in every class...and I know every single kid's name who has an English name (care of their English hagwon or from Winter Camp). To be fair, I do have many students (302 this semester) that I only see twice a week but lots of teachers have more students that they see even less.

Here's my view on making your students use English names: teacher's shouldn't just arbitrarily give out English names or even let students just pick random English words for names (that's when you end up with Candy, Silver, Bunny, Sponge Bob and all sorts of strange things). However, I remember my first Latin class in high school and on the first day, the teacher distributed a list of common Roman names, helped us with pronunciation and then had us all choose a Roman name.  That Roman name was the only way she addressed us in class (and how we addressed each other) and what we wrote on our assignments. It helped us get down the basic phonetic differences between English and Latin a bit faster and above all, it was fun. In case you were wondering, Cytherea was my Latin name...something I remember despite only taking one year of Latin 10 years ago.

The conflict: learning English names is as hard for your co-teacher as Korean ones are for the native teacher. At least, that's what co-teachers have told me. It makes sense, unless you are fluent or have a lot of experience with English names they would be difficult to remember, like a giant set of vocabulary words. My current co-teacher had zero desire to spend any class time on figuring out English names. I suppose I'll save it for the kids who decide (or whose parents decide for them) to come to my camps during vacation. 

Signs! Signs! Everywhere Signs!


























All photos were taken in October 2009 on the islands of Luzon, PI; and Cheju Island, SKorea.
And there's one photo of a Seoul subway.






New Tricks for an Old Dog

As most of us know, our capacity for learning new languages is greatest when we are children. Studies have shown that even after three years, a certain door closes for pure language acquisition. What I know is that during my first year here in Korea I taught a daily kindergarten class, and they were little English sponges, soaking up the new words and phrases in between bouts of drawing princesses, pretending to be Spiderman, and peeing their pants.

I now teach at a two year college, where my students are mixed bag of kids who, for whatever reason, don't currently find themselves in a "real" university. Some are hopeless boneheads (like teaching driftwood), while a few others are quite bright, who are either on alternative education plans, or just happen to be poor.

All of these students are in their early to mid twenties, with the exception of the odd middle-aged one. Every year I get a crop of about thirty new students (I teach in the Hotel and Tourism English Department), and there is always one woman in her fifties (what Koreans call an "ajumma"). I've had three in three years, and none of them could speak a stitch of English.

There is one ajumma in particular who just amazes me with her utter lack of ability to pick up even a whiff of English. She's probably in her mid-50's and it must be said that she's a real sweetheart. She's super-nice. I really like her, personally. She's come to every class for over a year now. She's never been late. She sits there with her book open and tries to write down everything I say.

But... she can't say anything. I mean NOTHING. To this day, when I ask her, "Hello, how are you?" she's totally unable to reply with the requisite "I'm fine thank you." She gets a look of horror in her eyes and starts babbling and stammering in an unintelligible melange of Korean and English, just trying to repeat the question so as to understand what it is I asked her in the first place.

One full year and then some of five-days-a-week English study, and STILL no "I'm fine thank you." Kindergartners learn this in FIVE MINUTES. It's just astounding.

Why does she keep coming to school when clearly she's not improving at all? Should I sit down with her and gently tell her that it's hopeless, that she should give up, that she's clearly past the learning-a-new-language pull date and should rather spend her time gardening or learning pottery?

It is frustrating because she does bog down the class. Once it comes around to her, the gears grind to an agonizing stop. I often just skip her, but she is a tuition-paying student and deserves at least an inkling of effort on my behalf. I do try - I do - but it's really like trying to get a jello mold to speak.

To put this into perspective, for two years I taught a retarded guy who could barely communicate in KOREAN, let alone English, and HE still managed to pick up ten times more than her.

That's right. He was RETARDED.

Is it just an age thing? Do we reach a point where our brain just says "NO NEW LANGUAGE?" I'm pushing 40 and still studying Korean, and while at times I wish for my more open teenage brain that picked up Spanish so quickly, I'm still doing all right. I can sit down and talk to Korean people and generally carry on a conversation.

Yeah, we know that some people are better at learning languages than others. Like anything else, it's a knack that some folks possess to a greater degree. But is it possible to have a total language block, where no matter how much you study, you can never perform even the most basic task? I think maybe yes. I've seen it a handful of times with my students, as well with some foreigners here trying to get a handle on even the most elementary Korean. I think that sometimes the brain just refuses to go along...

Or maybe I'm just a really really shitty teacher.

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