But perhaps we’ve been too harsh. I’ve now lived in Korea for 10 months, and as I reflect on my time here I realize that there are many things I actually like about being here. Sure, the sewage system needs updating and the old ladies in the gym locker room stare at you when you change, but there’s a lot to love. Here are just a couple of things I’ve come to enjoy about living here.

1. The Food

Fried pork belly and a whole mess o' side dishes.

While some of the stuff that passes for edible here can make your stomach turn (silk worm larva, anyone?), a great deal more of it will more likely make your stomach rumble. Anyone whose ever had galbi, or marinated and fried pork ribs, can attest to that. Samgueopsal (fried pork belly) is in the same delicious family. And it’s not just barbecue that’s good here, either. One of my favorite dishes is bibembop: steamed rice, bean sprouts, assorted veggies and a fried egg all tossed together with some gim (seaweed) and a spicy pepper paste. Kimbop is your basic sushi roll and dirt cheap.

Homemade kimchi is a lot of work but is well worth the time and trouble.

And of course, there’s kimchi. It’s unfortunate that growing up in Hawaii, I didn’t like kimchi very much.  But that’s all in the past and now, luckily for me, I really enjoy it. I even made some from scratch in the traditional style with a Korean friend a few months ago.

There are a few things here that I doubt I’ll ever acquire the taste for, like red bean paste and big chunks of flavorless rice cakes. But for the most part, meals are delicious and satisfying and, best of all, served with an assortment of free side dishes.

2.  The Scenery

Real beauty and tranquility just 20 minutes outside of downtown Boeun.

Okay, so Korea isn’t the most stunningly beautiful country I’ve ever seen.

In fact, parts of it are downright ugly. But I got lucky and ended up in a pretty little mountain town with plenty of trees, trails and open space. Around here people go hiking, have picnics, and swim in the mountain streams when it’s warm. A few weeks ago I got to go ice fishing on a reservoir surrounded by snow-capped mountains. There’s plenty of fresh air and farmland, with scenic walks or rides in every direction.

It’s strange that I so enjoy the countryside, since I’ve always lived in the city. Then again, I grew up in paradise so maybe it’s not surprising that I’m so moved by blue skies and thriving plant life.

The sleepy little town of Boeun; the view from above.

Before coming here, I thought I would be bored to tears by small town life but I’ve found just the opposite to be true. There’s plenty to see and appreciate nearby, and when I’ve had enough of that, the lovely scenery often inspires me to look inward and focus on my own projects, like writing or fitness.

Seoul may have the bright lights and big buildings, but little Boeun has a beauty and a charm all its own.

3. The Job

I’ve worked with young children since 2005. Early childhood education is fun and interesting, but teaching ESL in an actual classroom environment is a whole other ball game.

Dong Gwang Elementary School

This is my first experience with “real” teaching- you know, with chalkboards, worksheets, and textbooks- and I must say that I kind of like it. It’s fun and rewarding to be a part of someone else’s learning experience. The cool thing about teaching, I think, is that it’s part performance, part communication task. Well, I love being on stage and I’m social to a fault- plus, English was always my best subject. I honestly feel like teaching, and teaching English in particular, draws on some of my best skill

An alphabet-writing relay race in action.

And then of course there’s the fact that I have a relaxed schedule, a friendly and helpful Korean co-teacher, and very little oversight when it comes to planning and teaching. So that helps. The kids, for the most part, are earnest and sweet, and my adult students are lovely, too.

Of course, there are days when I get frustrated at work: The language barrier, not to mention the cultural disparities, can definitely be a challenge (“Changee?”). But, hey, that’s all part of the experience. Ultimately, I have a fun and easy job, a ton of free time, and a better paycheck than I was getting changing diapers, so it’s all good.

Still, I’m disgusted with myself for the time and effort that I continually don’t put into this, my personal blog. I’ve even taken the link out of my email signature so that prospective clients don’t see the pitiful assortment of writings that is my blog. My only solace lies in knowing that no one really reads this (aside from a couple of estranged family members- thank you!).

What’s a wanna-be writer to do? This feels like middle school all over again: Full of angst and wit (or so I thought, anyway), I began to keep a journal of all my profound teenage thoughts and experiences. The first two or three entries went well, but before long keeping a journal went from exciting new hobby to reluctant chore. I felt guilty, but I just couldn’t keep up with it. I didn’t know what to write about, and chronicling my own life seemed somehow tedious. I still enjoyed other forms of writing, such as school papers or poetry. But I just wasn’t cut out for journalling.

But a blog is not a journal. I can write about anything I want. This site is as much a portfolio and a calling card as it is a personal blog. I want it to be a dynamic, versatile collection of pieces showcasing my writing ability and, insomuch as it exists, my sense of humor. I want prospective clients to look around and think “Wow, I want to give her lots of money!” or something close to that. I want friends and family to subscribe to all of my posts and chuckle when they read the latest of my brilliant and witty observations about life, love, and the Republic of Korea. At the very least, I want to write a post once a week.

So what’s my problem? Writer’s block? Procrastination? Lack of direction? I suspect all three. The more important question, however, is: what should I do about it?

Maybe it’s tacky, but I just love the idea of using the start of a new year as an opportunity to reflect and re-focus. Elitists might claim that resolutions and goals shouldn’t be confined to the first few weeks of the year, but I say it’s as good a time as any to get organized and motivated.  Of course, it’s a good idea to try and keep the momentum going by revisiting your goals on a regular basis and rewarding yourself for your achievements. In no particular order (and ranging over a variety of categories), here are my New Year’s resolutions for 2011:

1. Wish less, write more

As many of you know, in 2010 I took the plunge and began pursuing my childhood dream of being a writer. I’ve had a couple of modest successes, but have yet to reach a level where I am earning consistently. My problem? I spend too much time dreaming about making money as a writer and not enough time actively pursuing writing gigs. Instead of carving out a career for myself by writing pitches, sending out inquiries, and updating this blog regularly, I’ve been sitting around hoping that opportunities will fall out of the sky and land in my lap. Well, not anymore. My writing career is going from hypothetical to proactive in 2011, and you heard it here first.

2. Work for Free

That’s right, I said work for free. No, I don’t mean that I want to renounce my worldly possessions and spend my days feeding the hungry in India. But it does mean that I can give a few hours of my time each week to people and places that could use some help. Volunteering is a great way to meet people and get involved with the community, not to mention that it’s just the right thing to do. I’m not so busy that I can’t hang out with the grandmas and grandpas at the retirement home or help a kid with his homework. And for someone like me who is quick to criticize the government and culture for not doing enough to help those in need, volunteer work is the ultimate “put your money where your mouth is” move. Put up or shut up? Well, I never shut up, so I guess I’ve got work to do.

3. Keep in touch

You know that friend who takes ages to answer your emails and keeps forgetting to send you pictures of her trip abroad? That’s me. I’ve been in South Korea for 9 months now, and to say that I’ve been slack when it comes to keeping my friends and family updated would be an understatement. It’s not that I don’t miss them- I do (boy, do I ever). And it’s not that I don’t want to write or call- of course I do. I’ll set out to call my little sister on Saturday afternoon, or write my Auntie a nice long letter before I go to sleep tonight- but then it will slip my mind, or I’ll get distracted. No, these aren’t good excuses. That’s why I’m writing this, okay? I love my family and friends too much to neglect them out of sheer laziness. And while I hope that they know that I love and miss them even when I don’t write or call, I’d rather not leave it up to chance. So if I love you-and you know who you are! – look forward to hearing from me more from now on. Or dread it.

I, on the other hand, was not born to run. My legs are short and stubby, my ankles flimsy. I have sprained or twisted my ankle upwards of 20 times in my post-adolescent life. I have always been plump, and as a child I thought “Chubby” was my real name, not just something my family called me. In school, I hated PE more than any other subject. I did theater and debate and would let the bus drive away rather than make a run for it. As an adult I diet, I count calories, I even lift weights. But I don’t run, and I definitely don’t race.

Until now.

A few months ago I started a run/walk routine, more to lose weight than anything else. I started out running for two minutes and then walking for 3 minutes, repeating the combination 3 or 4 times. It was not pretty. My body ached at the effort it took to lift and propel itself forward, and my mind balked at the discomfort, urging me to give it up and resume a more comfortable pace. Stationary, it suggested.

I went for 2 minutes, and then increased it to 3 the next week. Then 4. I remember the thrill of accomplishment I felt the first time I ran for 5 straight minutes, and again when I reached 10 minutes. Both were milestones for me and I was ridiculously proud…but I still hated running.

The next week my goal was to run for 15 minutes. I liked the roundness of that number and was looking forward to the feel of it rolling off my tongue when I bragged to my friends and family about my latest fitness victory. But when I reached the 15 minute mark, I felt…fine. Stable. Zen, even. I shrugged thinking, what the heck, and kept going.

That night I ran for 20 minutes, and the following night it was 30-the longest to date. But the record time wasn’t in itself the breakthrough that week. It was the sensation building in me, the thoughts racing through my mind. If I can run for 30 minutes, why not 40? Or an hour? I had only just started running, but I already knew that a huge part of it was mental. That week I had pushed myself to run farther, longer. And I had enjoyed it. My body, which had once ached and wobbled in protest, now glided along, warm and cooperative. Why not keep pushing?

Now, you might be thinking that there’s a big difference between running for 30 minutes and running a half marathon (which I am, in fact, planning to do) and you would be right. Maybe you’re wondering what makes me, a short-legged, overweight, fast-talking drama queen with no athletic experience whatsoever, think I can possibly run a half marathon? I’m glad you asked.

It’s the same thing that makes me laugh instead of cry when I tell people I used to answer to the name “Chubby”. It’s what made me excited instead of nervous whenever I got onstage or in front of a room to do a performance or a speech. It’s what makes me like what I see in the mirror, and what allowed me to feel like an Olympic athlete after running a measly ten minutes: it is my unshakable- and at times, unfounded- confidence in myself, my belief that I can do anything I set my mind to and then some. It hasn’t occurred to me that I might fail, because I’ve already decided that I won’t. I’m betting that it won’t be easy, and there’s a good chance that it won’t be pretty, but I don’t doubt that it will happen.

Still don’t think so?

Watch me.

- Betty

“You don’t have to do this,” he says.

“I want to.” Her voice is soft.

“You’re lying!” He shouts, unintentionally.

The driver shoots him a stern look in the rearview mirror.

“You’re lying.” A statement.

She watches tears well up in her reflection’s eyes.

“Yes,” she whispers. “How else can I do this?”

As they get off in front of the clinic on Walker and Main, the bus is empty once again.

_________________________________________________

This post is part of the Absolute Write November Blog Chain. Read the other blogs in the chain by clicking the links below:
Bettedra http://bettedra.wordpress.com/blog <— You Are Here

FreshHell http://freshhell.wordpress.com

CScottMorris http://www.cscottmorrisbooks.com

AuburnAssassin http://clairegillian.wordpress.com/

Aheila http://thewriteaholicblog.wordpress.com/

AnarchicQ http://AnarchicQ.com

Bibbo http://www.evertimerealms.com

hilaryjacques http://hillaryjacques.blogspot.com

Orion_mk3 http://nonexistentbooks.wordpress.com/

People meeting me for the first time almost always react to it, and some are more polite than others. Dealing with the stares, comments, and questions (even the well-meaning ones) has become a familiar burden for me, as unpleasant but routine as changing a diaper or scrubbing the toilet. I’m not complaining though. Actually, I’m decidedly grateful to have been born this way. I credit this condition with what I consider a good sense of humor and a pretty sharp wit (not to mention a fairly healthy ego, eh?). Anyone who is constantly teased must develop a sense of humor or risk sinking into the depths of self-pity -and sometimes even then, the current is strong. A sharp tongue helps you strike back at the world, especially those people whose comments really get under your skin. I can administer a serious case of verbal whip lash if I need to. Out of necessity, I’ve cultivated a strong, wise-cracking, don’t-take-no-crap-from-nobody personality. I’m quick to laugh, always ready with a witty retort, and tell the best blind jokes out of everyone I know.

acrylic scleral shell (www.eyeconcern.com)

But just 8 months ago, everything changed. I was given an opportunity to trade in the ‘disabled, disfigured’ identity for sweet, sweet anonymity. My doctor referred me to a specialist who makes “scleral shells”, or fake eyes. These shells are painted to match the wearer’s other eye and sit atop the under-developed eye much like a contact lens, giving the appearance of a “normal” set of eyes. As I looked through the Before & After photos in the specialist’s office, my emotions were mixed: I was excited, certainly, but I was also angry. Why should I have to literally cover up who I am just to fit in? And why do I want so very badly to do exactly that? The guilt rolled over me as I struggled to reconcile my brazen, independent persona with my innermost desires to fit in. I wondered what life would be like without the constant flow of comments and questions, stares and smirks. I also wondered what I would be like without them. Would I still be able to like myself if I spent my days hiding behind a mask of normalcy? Would I still be me?

In the end, I went through with it despite my identity crisis. The chance to stop being a freak on display- even a smart, funny one- was just too good to pass up. The crazy thing is, wearing the shell hasn’t been at all the phony, self-loathing pretense that I originally feared it would. In fact, it’s been the opposite. For the first time in my life, I am able to move in the world not as “Betty, the half-blind girl”, or “Betty, with the weird eye”, or even “Betty, with the disability but a great personality”, but simply  “Betty”. When I meet someone, I can meet their gaze with a relaxed and open smile, without holding my breath to see if they’ll stare or say something. Sure, the eye is still there under the surface, still a part of me. But it no longer precedes me: it no longer defines me. I get to do that.

Now I can see the tough exterior for what it really was: a mask. The jokes, the self-deprecating remarks, the flippant attitude- it was all a masquerade, a shield I designed to protect myself from scrutiny. And now, suddenly, I don’t need it anymore. Isn’t it strange, how donning a literal mask or cover can sometimes free you of the proverbial mask you’ve been wearing your whole life? That’s the great thing about masks, I suppose. They’re meant to transform you, but somehow putting one on and being made to look like someone or something else gives you the courage to finally be the person you’ve wanted to be all along: yourself.

Betty

_________________________________________________

This post is part of the Absolute Write October Blog Chain. Check out all the other great blogs in the chain by clicking on the links below:
Auburn Assassin http://clairegillian.wordpress.com/ and direct link to her post

Hillary Jacques http://hillaryjacques.blogspot.com and direct link to her post

Aimee Laine www.aimeelaine.com/writing/blog and direct link to her post

Ralph Pines http://thewonderingswordsman.wordpress.com/ and direct link to his post

Veinglory http://erecsite.blogspot.com/ and direct link to her post

Laffarsmith http://www.craftingfiction.com and direct link to her post

PASeaholtz http://paseasholtz.com/ and direct link to his post

Madelein.Eirwen http://madeleineirwen.blogspot.com/ and direct link to her post

Amy Doodle www.mindovermullis.com and direct link to her post

CScottMorris CScottMorrisBooks.com and direct link to his post

Orion_mk3 http://nonexistentbooks.wordpress.com/ and direct link to his post

FreshHell http://freshhell.wordpress.com and direct link to her post

IrishAnnie http://superpenpower.blogspot.com/ and direct link to her post

Dolores Haze http://dianedooley.wordpress.com/ and direct link to her post

Aidan Watson-Morris http://mangaka-tales.blogspot.com/ and direct link to his post

WildScribe http://polyspace.wordpress.com and direct link to her post

Hayley E. Lavik http://hayleyelavik.com/

Bettedra <— Hey, that’s me!

Aheila http://thewriteaholicblog.wordpress.com/

I’m addicted to buying notebooks.

Okay, okay, I know it sounds silly.  You probably think I’m being melodramatic. But I’m telling you, I need help.

At this very moment, I’m standing in a stationary store holding a large journal in one hand, my wallet in the other.  The journal is exquisite; it’s bound in genuine leather and it has thin, parchment-like paper that makes it seem infinitely old and precious.  The pages are unlined and slightly rough, and they make a pleasant rustling sound as I slowly, lovingly turn them.

I try to talk myself out of it: how many journals does one person need, after all? Admittedly, this one is beautiful- but  I already have several lovely notebooks and journals at home. Lovely, I think sheepishly, and empty.

So there it is.  Now you know. I buy beautiful notebooks and journals: big ones, little ones, handcrafted and mass produced, lined and unlined, in every color of the rainbow.  I buy them, and I never write in them.  Occasionally I’ll rip a page out of one of them to take a message, or write a note or shopping list. Otherwise, they lie piled together, beautiful and unused. I don’t even keep a diary; for some reason, I’ve never been able to stick with it for very long. When I do write, I prefer to use the computer.  My handwriting is atrocious, and my thoughts move too fast for my hand to keep up.  It’s just easier to type.

But I can’t stop buying journals.  There’s something about them- a vague, restless sensation that stirs when I open one up and see the vast, empty page.  It’s a fleeting, mildly nervous- but not wholly unpleasant- feeling that reminds me of the split second at the highest point on a roller coaster, right before the big drop.  It’s nervousness and excitement.  It’s curiosity and suspense: all those empty pages, waiting to be filled! Think of the possibilities!  It doesn’t matter that I know I’ll probably never fill them, that instead I’ll put this feeling into words on a computer screen without leather binding or parchment pages, where an impatient cursor will blink at me mechanically,  without grace or beauty.  Maybe that’s why I need the journals, though I’ll never use them.  Their empty pages intrigue me.

So once again, against my better judgment and knowing I am wasting money (and paper), I buy the journal. The bag with the journal and my receipt bump against my thigh as I pocket the change and walk out of the store.  Outside, the summer air is thick and warm.  The street is crowded, and I take my place in the group of pedestrians at the corner waiting for the light to change.  Thinking of nothing in particular, I glance at the people around me and then upward at the sky. As I do, my breath catches in my throat.

The sky is impossibly, piercingly clear and blue.  It floats above me, a vast and cloudless heaven stretching in every direction, infinite and azure.  The light changes then and the crowd lurches forward, but I stay rooted to the corner, gazing at the sparkling sky. That color- that beautiful, impossible shade of blue, so deep and yet so bright, so bold and vibrant- it’s reminding me of something. I clutch the shopping bag with my newest journal in it, and then I realize: That sky- that clear, crisp azure sky- it evokes the same nervous excitement as the beautifully empty pages of a brand new journal. Like an untouched page, it is clean and bright, tantalizing and inviting in its emptiness, full of promises and mysteries.

A motorcycle roars past and I am startled out of my reverie.  As I dash across the street before the light changes again, a smile plays at the corners of my mouth.  I’ve learned something this afternoon. That compulsion I have for buying notebooks and journals-that feeling I get when I gaze at an empty page- it has a name.  It’s inspiration.  And, strangely enough, inspiration has a color.  For me, anyway.

My inspiration is azure.

Betty

This post is part of the AW August Blog Chain.  Please visit the other blogs in the chain:

Aheïla: http://thewriteaholicblog.wordpress.com
Ralph_Pines: http://ralfast.wordpress.com
AuburnAssassin: http://clairegillian.wordpress.com
semmie: http://semmie.wordpress.com
Anarchicq: http://anarchicq.com
CScottMorris: http://www.cscottmorrisbooks.com
PASeasholtz: http://www.paseasholtz.com
LadyMage: http://www.katherinegilraine.com
orion_mk3: http://nonexistentbooks.wordpress.com
DavidZahir: http://zahirblue.blogspot.com
aimeelaine: http://www.aimeelaine.com/writing/blog
FreshHell: http://freshhell.wordpress.com
sbclark: http://sonyaclark.blogspot.com
you are here
Guardian: http://daewrites.blogspot.com/
M.R.J. Le Blanc: http://libraryofandunien.blogspot.com/
Alpha_Echo: http://writersramblings81.blogspot.com/
laffarsmith: http://www.craftingfiction.

- George Carlin

August 9-15 is National Smile Week in the U.S.A. and with so much going wrong these days (think: oil spill, unemployment, and sickeningly sweet vampire sagas), the timing couldn’t be better.  If Americans believe in anything anymore, it’s setting aside national and personal tragedy and putting on a happy face for the holidays.  What better holiday to fake a smile for than National Smile Week?

Not convinced? Consider these reasons to scrounge up a smile from Mark Stibich, Ph.D.:

Smiling Makes Us Attractive According to Dr. Mark, slapping a smile on your face instantly increases your “attraction factor”-or in other words, the statistical probably that you will get laid.  But the attraction is more than just physical: smiling people look happy, and its human nature to want to share in that happiness.  So what if I’m faking a bright, contagious smile and you stroll by and get infected? Our joy might not be anything more than the placebo effect in action, but at least we’ll look good.

Smiling Changes Our Mood and Relieves Stress Feeling blue? Show that bad mood who’s boss by putting on a smile. Dr. Mark says: “Smiling can trick the body into helping you change your mood.” Believe it or not, this means that you are so gullible that a mere inching upward of the corners of your mouth is enough to convince you that you’re not actually sad, after all.  So if you ever find yourself on the verge of tears or an emotional breakdown: stop, take a deep breath, and smile.  You may experience temporary discomfort as your feelings and your facial muscles battle it out, but eventually all negativity will melt away leaving only a pleasant (if somewhat mysterious) sense of contentment.  Now that’s what I call the power of denial.  Oh, oops.  I mean, a smile.

Smiling Lowers Your Blood Pressure Finally, a tangible benefit of smiling.  “When you smile,” Dr. Mark writes, “there is a measurable reduction in your blood pressure. Give it a try if you have a blood pressure monitor at home.” Well, I don’t have a blood pressure monitor at home, but I tried it anyway.  And you know what?  After just a few short minutes spent grinning cluelessly at the floral wallpaper, I swear I felt it: a drop in my blood pressure. Now, Dr. Mark wouldn’t lie (and if it’s on About.com it must be true), so it’s in your best interest to stretch a smile across your face, even if it takes some forcing.  But be careful not to strain too hard, because strenuous activity can raise your blood pressure.

So there you have it: three good (enough) reasons to (fake a) smile for National Smile Week.  And if it still sounds like more trouble than it’s worth, don’t worry: next week we can all go back to scowling at one another.  Until Labor Day.

Betty

References
Stibich, Mark, Ph.D. (February 04, 2010). About.com: Top 10 Reasons to Smile. Retrieved from http://longevity.about.com/od/lifelongbeauty/tp/smiling.htm.

Testing, testing, one-two-three. Can you hear me?

Okay, this is the part where I say something significant, right? Something witty?  Maybe even significantly witty?

The thing is, I’m terrible with self-introductions; they’re so limiting. I mean, come on: Describe yourself in three words? What’s your favorite color? Tell me a little bit about yourself? I’ve always had a hard times with these kinds of questions. I know brevity is the soul of wit and all, but I consider myself a complex and intriguing human being.  I have layers, man- like an onion (or an ogre).

Besides, this is only the first post.  I shouldn’t sweat it since a) there will be many more chances for us to get to know each other in future posts, and b) there’s a good chance that nobody other than people who already know me are going to read the first post, anyway.

I’ll leave it at this:  Hooray, the blog is up! Welcome!  There’s more to come, so stay tuned.

Oh, and my favorite color is purple.

Betty

1.  Complimentary snack food at the bar
That’s right, folks!  From popcorn to anchovies, order a beer or a cocktail at any bar (or restaurant) and it comes with free snacks, called anju.

3.  Creative English
My students give me plenty of material in this department (“He is a pretty boy!” and “I is such angry!”) but my favorites are the stores with English names that just aren’t quite right.

4.  Ladies with Umbrellas No, it’s not raining.  Korean women use umbrellas to hide from the son.  Pale skin is prized as a mark of beauty.

8.  Squatters
This is my favorite- and by favorite, I actually mean that I am not a fan.  It seems that modern crappers are only recent luxuries in Korea, and many places (especially in this tiny town) still have the old-style bathroom set up.  Here’s how it’s done:  Straddle the hole, pull down your panties, drop it like it’s hot, and then let ‘er rip!  Cautionary note: Beware of splashing.