Recent college graduate, Emily Shapiro, 25, moved from Bakersfield to South Korea to teach English. She's slowly getting used to being an alien. Photo courtesy of Emily Shapiro

Emily Shapiro has vowed to learn to read and write the language of South Korea, Hangeul, as seen on this temple in Seoul. Photo by Emily Shapiro

By Emily Shapiro

It is only a few steps from being a citizen to being an alien. Even the word alien communicates that someone is bad, strange, different, and not like us. When I crossed the invisible border on the flight over, the thought hadn’t even occurred to me that I was now, for all intents and purposes, an alien. I might as well have had green, glowing skin, black eyes, and small green antennas growing out of my head. I knew, however, that I was in for an adventure, just how big I would never have guessed.

I have many reasons for moving to South Korea. First and foremost, teaching English gives me invaluable experience, which is something, at age 25, that I seriously lack. Travel is also a major motivator for me. Here I have the opportunity to live, work and explore all at the same time. Finally, being able to test my willpower is a goal that I needed to meet and exceed. I feel that staying at home, with a recent college degree but no job prospects, was stifling.

As I checked the mirror before I left for my job that sunny and warm afternoon, I made a quick run over my face and hair – nope, no differences yet, just the same old M with her stringy, sandy blonde hair, and almond eyes. With a quick shrug I set out for work. Strolling down ten blocks of broken cement and concrete I began to reflect on the past month and a half in my new world.

Common sense told me that turning into a completely different being was about as likely as getting hit by lightning, but by the looks, stares, whispers, and occasional touches that I was receiving, I might have thought otherwise.

While it is common to see a plethora of ethnic diversity in America, here in Seoul, at least in my area, it is all Korean, and I am now in the minority. While I don’t mind the pointing and the stares, I do tend to attract all types of attention, some warranted and some unwarranted.

During my first week here, I was sitting in the subway station reading, minding my own business, when an older Korean lady came up to me, locked eyes, and began to yell at me in Korean.

At first I thought that she might have wanted a seat, but there was a whole row of empty chairs. “Boy, she’s a kook,” I thought to myself and proceeded to ignore her. I guess this did the trick. After immediately engrossing myself in my travel Korea book, the woman left.

Strange as it may sound this was only the first of many yelling encounters that I have had with the locals. If I had ever felt out of place before living in a foreign land, it could hardly compare to the shock that I felt while out and about in my new world.

Living in the United States is akin to living in a cultural bubble. Yes, we read about events in the newspaper and online, and we see them on television, but we are shielded from the realities of the globe. Living in Korea has provided me with first-hand knowledge that the world, contrary to some beliefs, does not revolve around the U.S. Not everyone speaks English, most older Koreans here do not, and just because you are an American does not mean that people will cater to your needs.

There is an old saying that “when in Rome do as the Romans do,” or in this case do as Koreans do. Although the adjustment period was difficult, including jetlag after a 14-hour flight, I have been very fortunate.

For every push, bump, and pointedly rude stare in the subway there has been an equally positive response from some Korean citizens. While trying to make sense of the chaotic Seoul subway line map, a girl asked me if she could help. Although I had some sense of where I wanted to go, she quickly pointed out the quickest route.

Another time, when my subway card would not work, an older couple showed me how to properly use the card. Apparently, I had been scanning the wrong machine. As I politely thanked them, they smiled and disappeared into the crowd.

Finally, during one of my many lunch outings, I found myself frustrated beyond belief, as the server was an older Korean lady who did not speak a word of English. I do not speak a word of Hangeul, or the language of South Koreans. Therein lies the problem.

I tried pointing to the picture and writing down my order, all to no avail. Had it not been for another lady who acted as my translator, I would have gone away, hungry and aggravated. It was after that incident that I fully committed myself to learning to write and read Hangeul.

Reaching my destination, I entered work with a slightly cheerier disposition. I had hoped to not be reminded of my foreignness. However, my hopes were dashed when I was given two small reminders.

The first was my passport, which I had to hand in to apply for the second reminder. The second was my Alien Registration Card … so much for the antennas and green skin. By the way, the card is green.

Emily Shapiro is a 2009 CSUB alumna who majored in communications with emphases in journalism and public relations. She is working as an English teacher in Seoul, South Korea.

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