November 2022
This month's voice:
Anonymous,
"Enjoy Every Lesson"
Introduction
Lindsay Herron
Editor, KOTESOL Voices
For many of us teaching overseas, the distance between us and our families never seems longer than it does during life's milestones, whether they're celebrations or tragedies, as we watch from afar. The anonymous author of this month's piece shares an intimate, thoughtful perspective on a situation most of us will, at some point, have to deal with (or indeed, have already confronted): the illness or death of a family member while we're thousands of miles from home. How do you cope, connect, and comfort from the other side of the globe? How do you maintain a veneer of normalcy when your whole world has been shaken? There's a sense of helplessness and isolation that many of us have experienced—and yet, as counter-intuitive as it may seem, I find this piece perfectly timed for the coming holiday season, as its ultimate message is one of hope, love, and gratitude. I hope you are as moved as I am by this powerful reminder to hold our loved ones close whenever we can, to be grateful for the little things, and to savor every moment.
Enjoy Every Lesson
By Anonymous
“The tumors have grown significantly over the past few weeks, and the doctors recommend starting with four weeks of radiation treatment, to begin as soon as possible.”
I read the news from my oldest sister—shared with me and our two other sisters—in late August, just days before the fall semester would begin.
My time in Korea over the past twelve years has been rocked by multiple tragic family crises, seasons filled with pain and loss, but none so jarring as this. In 2011, my stepmother’s health suddenly took a drastic turn. In 2012, it was Dad. In 2013, it was Grandpa, and then Grandma two years later. My best friend in 2020. Now, in 2022, it was Mom. As an expat living halfway around the world, these realities for me are no more or less difficult than what my three sisters are experiencing back home, much closer to the place where we grew up. But here I am, and every time, the distance apart is massive.
Since most of us (visiting English teachers) arrive in Korea in our 20s and then stay for a few years or decades, we are forced to accept a grim reality: as everyone we know and love gets older, the embrace of mortality relentlessly tightens its grip firmly around us. Living so far away from home greatly complicates things each time mortality shows up again, uninvited, the ever-returning guest to whom we all dread playing host. Could this visit be different? What if we play rock, scissors, paper—and if I win this time, you just leave?
Another Monday morning. Get my son to the bus stop. Check homework submissions. Finalize midterms. Book plane tickets home to see Mom in January.
To be sure, my health is fine as I struggle to cope with not seeing Mom until after the new year. I find the wisdom of the late Warren Zevon, shared live on David Letterman, becoming sharper, more salient, even comforting: “Enjoy every sandwich.”
Last Saturday, I went hiking all day with a close friend. On a previous hike in the spring of last year, I had talked with the same companion after my best friend back home had suddenly passed away in 2020. For fifteen years, since college, my best friend had been as close as a brother, and I still haven’t been back to see his family, my surrogate parents and siblings. My hiking mate, too, has been vulnerable about his own ongoing family situation, shared by many of us here in Korea and beyond. He was finally able to visit home last summer, after repeated delays caused by one global wave of COVID after another, to reunite with loved ones, hopefully not for the last time.
Harsh realities of the early 2020s. Travel bans that last for over a year. Families around the world suffering the agony of forced separation. Regular Zoom check-ins.
This fall semester has developed into a drawn-out recalibration effort, a continued pursuit of equilibrium, accepting the reality that Mom is very sick, and she may never fully recover. After getting the latest updates from my sister, I re-confirmed my decision to go home in January and began deliberating with my wife about whether she and our four-year-old son would be joining me. Fortunately, we all got to spend three delightful weeks with Mom last summer—though as we would learn shortly after, the cysts that had been getting more and more painful were actually tumors, cancerous tumors, growing alarmingly fast. While we are grateful that it appears the first round of treatments was somewhat effective—the tumors have noticeably shrunk—we have no idea what the next three, six, or twelve months have in store.
I picked up my mate Friday night at the bus terminal. Not unlike a good sandwich and a fresh coffee, it was comforting to open up and talk, just as he has bravely done over the past two years. My friend offered all the support he could. For one, he encouraged me to share at least part of my family situation with my students. They are young adults, after all, and I wouldn’t want them to think my strikingly low energy and apparent disinterest in the lesson (presented the day after receiving the latest news from my sister) had anything to do with them. And they’re in their 20s now, too. Just like their middle-aged professor, everyone they know and love is getting older each day.
Again, I am doing quite well physically, for which I am grateful. I am more careful to enjoy every sandwich. To notice the birds and squirrels happily existing in majestic nearby pines. The third and fourth cups of coffee. The chill of the mid-autumn breeze, flooding our home with crispness and clarity. “It’s been a long, long time coming. But I know-oh, a change is gonna come….” “What song are you singing, Dad?” my son inquires.
A rush of therapeutic gratitude. Having a job that I love. Continuing the work I have been doing all these years. Teaching English in Korea. Working with highly motivated, inspiring students.
Sure, it’s been a hard semester, and that will likely continue. For now, I’ll just keep trying my best to enjoy every lesson. I can count on my students to always make that easier.
About the Author
This KOTESOL member wished to share their reflection with the wider KOTESOL audience anonymously, keeping the focus on recent life experiences while not drawing attention to the writer himself.
