I know, from personal experience and a strange article I read during a visit to the dentist's office, that time speeds up the older you get. Or at least your perception of time changes because something chemical or physical or magical happens in your brain and--poof! Suddenly a two hour-long car ride doesn't seem like the eternity it did when you were a child. ("Two hours to Philadelphia? Oh my god we are NEVER going to be there EVER and the zoo is going to be CLOSED and we are going to be DEAD by the time we get there!" *Actual thoughts every time I took an elementary school field trip.*)
I've been in South Korea for a month and some change. It feels like I just got here yesterday. Someone asked me what I've been doing with my time not spent at work, and I'm pretty sure my expression was blank, then mildly confused, then horrified because for the first time in my life I thought, 'Where did the time go?' And not in the way you think, 'Oh where did the time go!' when you're supposed to be studying for a final exam in college and you rent out a meeting room in the computer lab and three hours later all you and your 'study partners' (read: enablers) have managed to do is somehow hook up the massive projector so you can play Robot Unicorn Attack with surround sound. I mean that 'Where did the time go?' that your mom says when you're stepping on the bus to kindergarten or high school and you're like, "MmmmmmoooOOMMMM," and you roll your eyes but believe me there's a day when it hits you. And it's probably not as big as the one your parents get when you get your drivers license or first mug shot (hey man, stuff happens) but you get it, you get that and you're just like, "Shit. Where did the time go?"
The world spins madly on while you have a dumb expression on your face, trying to remember what you did last weekend.
Everyone has a different reaction to moving to new country to live for an extended period of time. Some people are excited, some people are nervous, others are catatonic with a dose of what did I just do. The best cure for that, I've found, is indulging in looking up plane ticket prices back home, and then clicking on the next internet tab showing your empty bank account. The feeling, for me, passed in two weeks and I'm now looking between tickets to new places and my-still--woefully inadequate bank account. I truly have no idea how long I want to stay in Korea past my year-long contract, but I do know that I can only take it one day at a time.
I came to South Korea, like many others, because I didn't know what else to do. I did, however, know that 1) I wanted to travel again in Asia, as there's still a lot left to explore. 2) I'm pretty good at teaching, and actually enjoy it--but I'm not certified to teach in the USA. 3) My broke ass has no money, and it is time to start saving again.
Typically, a first-time teacher in South Korea gets a free round-trip plane ticket, free housing, half of their medical insurance paid for, and a monthly salary of about $1,900. (And if the school offers you anything less, I implore you not to sign the contract.) Depending on where you stay and where you've come from, the cost of living is cheaper for most things. For postgrads with few job prospects at home, backpackers who need to fill up their bank accounts before taking off again, and a slew of other lovable misfits, South Korea is a cash-grab and a steppingstone. For others it's a place to settle down and build a life, which is something I often forget until I encounter an expat who has been in Korea since 1995 and smiles when my jaw hits the floor. All in all it's a comfortable existence, and many people who come here intending to stay one year will stay several more than they had expected.
That said, there are hurdles, make no mistake of it.
For the first month, you are a ghost participating in a careful dance of getting your new life together. Playing 'The SIMS' will have prepared you for this.
Ultimately, your first goal is to get a bank account. Without this, you cannot sign up for internet, transfer money back home, or purchase a cell phone. In order to get a bank account, you need your Alien Registration Card (ARC). In order to get this, you have to apply at immigration. In order to do this, you have to get a health check at the local hospital. All in all the process, in theory, should take three weeks. But, like I said, there are hurdles, and they are many. Banks are not open on weekends, and during the weekdays they operate from 9ish-4PM, depending on the bank. Rather inconvenient for people who work 9:30-5:30. At the hospital, immigration office, bank, and cell phone store, you're gambling with 50/50 odds that someone will speak English. (Luckily there's a 99% chance that whomever is at the desk will try with all their might to assist you courteously and professionally.) Some schools will hold your hand during this process, others give you guidelines and a pat on the back for good luck. My end goal of getting a cell phone took 35 days with a moderate amount of support from my school and, I'm happy to report, I lost no appendages in the process.
Once you have a cell phone, you are a functioning member of Korean society. Life becomes easier. You can have things delivered, sign up for internet banking, and get chicken and beer delivered to your apartment. There are multitudes of apps to give you the bus schedules and subway maps for Korea's amazing public transportation system. There is a tourist phone number to call to ask for help in English, and, I believe, Japanese and Chinese as well. In fact, Seoul is one of the most tourist-friendly cities I've ever been to. Girls in red outfits are poised at many subways and attractions to assist you, complete with aprons full of brochures and maps in your native language. There is a special branch of the police force reserved for tourists. Many signs and announcements are made in Korean, followed by English and Mandarin and Japanese. Most employees in major tourist areas speak basic English, even if they're a little shy about striking up a conversation.
Life gets easier after the first month.
Looking back on my year spent in China, I really didn't know that many people considering I was one in a pot of a billion. I knew maybe 15 individuals personally, which I can admit is not an impressive number. But most of them I consider family since we rode the school bus together each day, made Thanksgiving dinner together, took turns getting one another's drunken carcasses back to the dorms, and shared everything from books and lesson plans to valuable DayQuil rationed out over the year. I was given new friends on a silver platter the day I showed up to China, I being the last one to arrive in a haze of jet lag and confusion.
That said, in Korea, I'm the only foreigner at my school. My Korean co-teachers are lovely people, albeit lovely people with families and second jobs, commitments after work that make it difficult to go out and grab a beer. Luckily there are hundreds of expat clubs on FaceBook and forums. I've been to a weekly knitting club, bi-weekly writing club, monthly dinner club, and probably other excursions that I'm forgetting. It's not uncommon for expats to post that they have a day off and are going hiking--who'd like to join me? Doesn't matter if we've never met, get your boots on and let's go. It reminds me of college, in a sense, and I'm having a good time trying out new things and meeting new people in a way I never took advantage of while at university.
There is, however, transient sort of feeling to the friendships you make. Teaching contracts begin and end at different times of the year, the military bases ship people back and forth whenever they please, and many people are just here 'on business' and are gone the next week. People are truly in your life for a finite amount of time--maybe just this once--and you send them on your way with a smile, because that'll probably be you in a few months anyway. At the center of this, individuals who have lived in Korea for a few years and have an outgoing personality become bastions of meet-ups, unofficial guides and welcome wagons. They are the big, friendly fish in the pond, and without them the expat community would likely not be as tightly knit as it is. Bless those who came before me, because they've been there, done that, and opened up bars and restaurants that serve me turkey on Thanksgiving.
It takes more work to find friends if you're the only expat at your job, but it can be done with a little research, a pleasant smile, and a firm stare with a whisper, "We are going to be friends now, whether you like it or not."
Don't get me wrong; you still meet your share of assholes and weirdoes, but for the most part they're overshadowed by the kindness of strangers who you'll soon be going hiking with and drinking beers on the top of a mountain.
Life's pretty good, and I can see why people stick around in South Korea. When I was still in America, a friend in Korea wrote that she loved living a dynamic life. That's exactly what I feel like I'm experiencing here, but only 50% of that is the nation itself. The rest of it comes from you and what you make of it. At the very least, when I think, 'Where did the time go?' in disbelief, I'll be able to do so fodnly as well.
