We were all devastated to learn that Bbyeodae Haejangguk (which, literally translated, means "hangover soup") recently closed its doors, seemingly for good. This is an unparalleled tragedy for the foreign teachers at our school. The restaurant was open 24 hours a day and served steaming-hot pork spine soup and spicy ribs with a delicious array of side dishes (and some of my favorite kimchi). My coworker tried to take his friend who was visiting to eat there and saw them carrying tables out of the restaurant. None of us are quite sure how to handle the news, or more importantly, where we will go to eat after partying all night downtown.
In other less fortunate news, my 27th birthday is tomorrow. While birthdays are normally a cause for celebration (or at least a party with friends to drown your sorrows), for whatever reason this birthday is particularly acute for me. I will be entering my late 20s (with 30 right around the corner) with no children, no concrete family or career plans, and a crappy economy (which means no jobs). Meanwhile, we just found out that my freshman-year roommate is pregnant with her second child (congratulations, guys!) and one of our groomsmen is expecting his first with his wife. He has been married for 11 months and will have a baby next summer; we, on the other hand, will have been married for four years this December, and the only children in our lives are the ones we teach (mostly just yell at, really) at school every day. Yay.
It is strange to feel pressured, especially since neither Joel nor I really want a baby right this instant (or anytime soon, really). Maybe seeing all of our peers from college having kids (many of them having second kids) just puts a weird kind of pressure on me - a nagging reminder that I am getting older and being left behind, or something. It doesn't help that no matter how many times I tell my students that I am married with no children, they always react with shock and dismay to the fact that Teacher Is No Baby.
"Teacher, you married?!"
"Yes."
"You have baby?"
"No."
"Oh whyyyyyyyyyyyy?!!"
"Joel Teacher your husband?"
"Yes."
"Teacher married?"
"Yes."
"Baby?"
"No."
"Why no baby?!"
"Teacher baby?"
"No."
"Teacher baby inside?"
"No."
"Teacher whyyyyyyy?!"
Perhaps the best conversation was one I had with one of my older elementary school students. We are getting into more advanced content, and they are learning vocabulary for big family and life events (e.g. wedding, funeral, baby shower, family reunion, etc.). I was explaining the concept of a wedding anniversary and using myself as an example, and I told the class that Joel and I would be celebrating our four-year anniversary in December. As usual, my students (whom I have told three times now that I am married) were shocked. One of the more talkative girls, whose English name is Wendy, began indignantly asking questions.
Wendy: Teacher, you married?
me: Yes, Wendy. I have told you this before.
Wendy: You have baby?
me: No.
Wendy: Teacher! Why you married four years and no baby?
me: Because babies are expensive. And we have been traveling a lot since we got married. Traveling is difficult with a baby.
Wendy: Ah, yes.
me: Why do you guys always ask me that? Why do people always have to have babies when they get married?
Wendy: But Korean always have baby. Almost all Korean get married, and baby very fast.
She made a face, and then pondered for a second.
Wendy: But I think it is good, you no baby. Korean have baby very fast. You married four years and no baby is...good.
She gave me a thumbs up.
Wisdom from the mouths of babes. I think I will take this as moral support. Happy birthday to me.
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