Tag: South Korea

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Freedom in the Time of Coronavirus

Freedom in the time of coronavirus

Date- September 29th, 2020

Written by George Balarezo, Intrepid Global Citizen

10, 20, 40, 80. It was February 22nd, 2020, and I suddenly transplanted myself back to my university calculus class as I sat in a Nairobi guesthouse keeping a close eye on the sequence. Exponential growth meant the numbers would become out of control in only a few short weeks. My friends in South Korea had told me not to come back. “Stay where you are! Kenya is much safer for you and the university semester has been delayed for two weeks.” CNN and Al Jazeera screamed the same message. “South Korea is about to blow up into a deadly virus incubation center.”

Although I am very cynical about the mass media’s underlying intentions, advice from people on the ground threw my mind into a mental sparring match. I deliberated for several days while resting up from a month of dodging lions, elephants, and buffaloes, and battling sandy wind storms in the Kenya’s Turkana province. Return to Korea and dodge a virus? Stay in Kenya and ride it out while riding it out on my bike for two more weeks? I was free to make my decision, but my mind was a whirlwind of chaos.

Something told me I needed to go back. South Korea was not simply a place where I live, it was a place I referred to as home. I missed my life in South Korea too much and was willing to barricade myself in my tiny studio apartment for a few weeks. It didn’t seem like such a terrible option as I needed rest after cycling across Kenya for over one month. I had projects to work on, classes to prepare for, and friends to share stories with. As long as I had my apartment floor to sleep and meditate, an Internet connection to continue my travel writing, and a market full of fresh produce a ten-minute bicycle ride away all would be well, right?

I boxed up my bike and got on the plane. Usually, I feel relaxed, refreshed, and reinvigorated on the ride back to Korea after my cycling trips. Now my heart thumped, my breathing became short and uncontrollable, and my mind wandered into visions of horror. What am I doing? I was in a perfectly safe place, sunny and warm with friendly people everywhere and delicious equatorial fruits and vegetables spouting out of the ground all around me. Now I was about to walk into a burning building with no protection!

But I did have protection. A single KF-94 mask, one that I had used frequently in Seoul to combat air pollution. I had stowed it away in my bag for sun protection. I intended to cover my face on sunny days in Kenya instead of lathering myself up with chemical-ridden sunscreen. It was one of a rather elaborate mask collection I had at my disposal in my apartment in Seoul, and I grabbed it at the last second before leaving for the airport. It was still fresh and ready to protect me from viruses and germs.

I sat calmly at the airport with my mask hugging my cheeks and chin, but this wasn’t simply a quick trip over a few mountains and lakes, this was a twelve-hour cross-continental journey from Nairobi to Seoul. Planes are notorious for having poor air circulation and taxing your body through high altitude radiation, so I braced myself by swallowing extra zinc supplements and chomping on extra servings of spinach and mangoes moments before boarding.

As I made my way down the economy class cabin aisle, my hopes of an empty plane were thwarted as people kept piling in. They weren’t simply passengers either. They were all super spreaders. My eyes twitched in agony. Each sneeze, cough, and speck of flying saliva transformed me into an enraged beast ready to wring necks and throw fists. All compassion left me. Virus vision and germ detecting auditory powers enhanced, each bodily function had me twisting my neck to fire another nasal-flaring stare in a passive-aggressive punishment. Toddlers and mothers. Hunched over wrinkled men. Lean and energetic teenagers. They all became victims of my passive-aggressive facial expressions. Verbal communication was rendered useless as we didn’t share a common language. All I had were my piercing eyes of rage. My mind was in a completely reactive state, all freedom lost.

Each second became worse and worse. The more people boarded the plane, the more frequent became the horrible sounds of bodily functions gone completely wrong. I had visions of sprinting into the bathroom and force-covering their mouths with toilet paper. I had to do it now! Pretty soon the washroom would become the most contaminated place on the plane. How was I supposed to hold it for twelve hours?

Many people boarded the plane that day from a variety of places in the world. I am ashamed to say my mind reverted to the simplest path possible, one of discrimination. I became the very person I complained about and loathed. All of my world travel and stereotype shattering became undone in a few seconds. I scanned the plane for anyone of East Asian descent and told myself I needed to distance myself physically from them before the term “physical distancing” ever hit the airwaves. Africans safe. Caucasians safe. South Asians safe. Chinese, Japanese, Koreans? Stay away. Especially Chinese. I prayed that non-Chinese people would fill the surrounding seats.

On second thought, this wasn’t racial discrimination at all, it was “potentially infected people discrimination.” I love my friends in South Korea. I want nothing but health and happiness for my South Korean students. But more than anything, I wanted to stay away from those who were the most likely to be infected with the virus. If you had told me that people over the age of ninety years old were super spreaders, I would have sprinted in horror at the sight of cookie-baking, sweater-sewing grandmothers. If you would have told me that people with shaved heads were spreading the virus, I would have cringed in terror if His Holiness The Dalai Lama joined me on the plane that day, no matter how much peace and bliss was radiating from his soft smile.

I knew at the intellectual level that the likelihood of someone from Korea infecting me was extremely low. Out of a population of 50 million, only several hundred were confirmed cases. Actually, it wasn’t the number of confirmed cases I was afraid of; it was exponential growth. I was afraid of the unknown. How many people were actually infected in South Korea? What was the fatality rate? In late February, no one could answer those questions. I wished I had cut all my university math classes. Knowledge paralyzed my higher-order thinking and left me in a state of frenzy. All freedom lost. 

My mind turned into a wild animal and I needed to calm it down. I sat in my seat and closed my eyes. A few rounds of controlled breathing through my mask slowed my heartbeat. My eyes slid shut and my nose finally stopped twitching. The tension in my arms and shoulders dissipated, and I became a fragile lump of mass. I dozed off for a few minutes before a woman’s handbag jabbed my forearm, spearing back into the conscience world. I reminded myself that I wasn’t my thoughts and needed to ignore the ones that didn’t serve me.

The plane was completely silent as we prepared for takeoff. The air felt heavy with tension as nervous energy radiated throughout the main cabin. I needed to liven up the atmosphere. If we were all going to die from this virus, we might as well go out smiling. I attempted to flirt with an Ethiopian flight attendant while using the survival Amharic I had learned a year before while cycling across her country, but my attempts were met with a scowl protruding through a masked face. They usually loved it whenever I raved about how much I adore Ethiopia in Amharic. Not this time.

A few minutes later, a heavyset man wearing shorts, a T-shirt, and a blue baseball cap plopped himself down two seats next to me. A KF-94 mask covered his face. This guy had to be an English teacher in Korea, why else would he have a mask like that? I thirsted for conversation and someone to share the uncertainty and nerves with and decided he would be the one.

“Hey. Do you speak English?”

“Yeah. I do,” he said while staring straight ahead, avoiding eye contact.

“Where are you from?”

“The United States,” he said in a monotone voice.

“Oh, great. So am I. How was your vacation? Where did you go?”

“Madagascar,” he said, eyes still avoiding me.

“Wow! That sounds amazing! How was it?”

“Yeah. It was good.”

“I would love to go there sometime! By the way, are you going to South Korea?”

“Yes. I am,” he answered abruptly. By this time I wondered why he was acting so cold and giving me one-word answers. Perhaps this was his way of dealing with the unknown of heading back to a virus-ridden land.

“Which part of Korea are you going to?”

“Daegu,” he said, finally looking at me with fear-stricken eyes. That was it. The outbreak epicenter that appeared in the world news every day. He was heading to the eye of the storm. I probably would have been shaken up if I had to walk down the contaminated city streets of Daegu.

“Yeah. My university is making me come back, even though we won’t be starting for a few weeks. I am not happy about that.”

“Oh…Your university is making you come back?”

“Yeah.”

I decided I would leave him to his thoughts since he didn’t seem willing to engage in small talk. I pulled out my book and silence ensued for the rest of the ride. No talking. No room for humor or socializing. I kept my germs and thoughts to myself.

I returned to my apartment in Seoul as the numbers continued to climb. I became stronger and more energetic as the fourteen-day incubation period after the plane ride passed. Expats living in South Korea fled the country left and right, fearing for their lives. South Koreans were furious at their government for allowing Chinese people to enter the country and several bars and restaurants even put up signs saying “no Chinese people allowed.” It seemed like I was in the worst place in the world until the rest of the world exploded with the virus at a much faster pace.

Korea has kept all of its restaurants and stores open amidst the entire pandemic season. High testing rates, contact tracing, and universal acceptance of masks have many considering it a model example as I type these words in September. It is difficult to find someone without a mask on their face in the streets of Seoul.

If there was a lesson learned throughout this entire experience, it is that you never know how things will end up in life. One moment you get on a plane to travel to a place the entire world labels as virus-ridden and dangerous. Several months later, that same place is the envy of the world. The whole situation is completely out of my control, as I can’t influence government policy nor whip up a vaccine in my studio apartment. If I would have opted to stay in Kenya a few more weeks, then I probably would have had to confront the virus in Nairobi. Perhaps the number of infected people living in Kenya simply weren’t able to be traced and documented. Where would I be better off?

Despite all the chaos, I am free to do all the activities that made me fall in love with South Korea. I can go to the local fermented bean paste soup shack for a home-cooked meal. I can take a bus across the country and visit thousand-year-old Buddhist temples while being showered by cherry blossom leaves tumbling in the wind. I can take a bullet train to the sea and listen to the waves rustle and crash on the sandy shore.

Seven months have passed since I returned to the place Bengali poet, author, and songwriter Rabindranath Tagore referred to as the Land of the Morning Calm. I can’t wait for the day to come when I can look back at this moment in a few years and know I did everything possible to combat the spread of the virus. It is so simple. Stay home and wear a mask whenever you leave the house.

Staying at home in my single room apartment while reading, writing, and teaching sends me sailing in a sea of knowledge, creative expression, while making a positive impact on young minds. I am free amid self-imposed quarantine. So many stories need to get onto the page. So many books are out there waiting for me to devour. So many students are waiting for the tools to become stronger versions of themselves. The three activities are all interconnected. The more knowledge and wisdom I am armed with, the better educator and global citizen I will become. I relish this opportunity to come out stronger, wiser, and armed with new skills I pound into myself every second I spend in my box-sized, furniture less home.

True freedom is inside of you and is not determined by which place can eat at and what options you have for entertainment. Being stuck on the idea that you can’t go to the movie theater or eat at your favorite restaurant with your friends is nothing more than mental slavery. Slavery arises from not being able to sit alone with yourself while doing absolutely nothing.

In the West, solitary confinement is referred to as a torture mechanism. However, many spiritual teachers across Asia are convinced that being alone for extended periods of time while doing absolutely nothing is the path to true freedom and liberation from suffering. The free person is content despite any situation the world throws at him or her. The free person views solitary confinement as an opportunity to become more enlightened and cultivate a higher level of self-awareness while freeing herself or himself from the self-imposed shackles of the mind. Use this time to elevate your inner sense of freedom to levels that transcend everything that you thought was previously true.

Freedom, love, silence, truth, enlightenment, the ultimate flowering of your being – all are available to you. The hindrances just have to be removed.

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Paddling Through a Pandemic of Possibility in South Korea

Paddling through a pandemic of possibility in South Korea

Date- May 11, 2020

Written by George Balarezo, Intrepid Global Citizen

Beep! Beep! My stopwatch alarm clock sings its high pitched song as I pull a pair of sweats over my wiry, hairy legs and zip up my jacket. I wake up refreshed from a night’s sleep, as my body and mind warp themselves back to conscience reality. Mask strapped to my face, I push the cold metal doors of my Donjack Gu apartment open and am greeted by honking motorbikes, buses plopping over speedbumps, and the voice of a megaphone announcing garlic and onion prices to early morning shoppers. I trot up a hill past the morning hubbub ten minutes from my apartment door and arrive at the top of a small hill overlooking Seoul’s apartments, green hills, and pink skies. Today the outline of Samgaksan, the three-tiered mountain that makes up Seoul’s most trotted national park, lingers in the distance under musky white clouds that blot the burning sky. Cotton candy for the eyes amidst an onslaught of fiery pink and purple. The cool spring air is filled with floral scents of lavender. The aroma of freshly cut grass massages my nasal cavities with its foresty delight. White penny-sized cherry blossoms tinged with pink edges sway back and forth in the crystal breeze. A wrinkled woman half my size wrestles her way into a bush of purple flowers while her husband snaps a few shots. The woman’s smile radiates through her masked face, pushing her eyes into squinty sockets of delight.

In the midst of the COVID-19 pandemic, I have never felt better. I heave oxygen in the local park as I sprint up wooden staircases blanketed by pine trees and white flowers dangling from toothpick thin branches. I feel my lungs healing with every panting yell of pain it takes to suck in more air. The harder I breathe today, the more efficiently my lungs will repair themselves. This is my belief, even if nothing more than a placebo. I run extra laps today with ease and delight. I am so lucky to have this opportunity. An opportunity to suck in as much air as my lungs desire and brain decides. I know this won’t last forever. The only thing constant about history is change.

Once it’s all over, I cross my legs and I sit in a sun-soaked field of dry yellow grass with my eyes shut and observe the sensations of hunger, thirst, pulsating legs, and drops of sweat trickling down my forehead. Images of yellow and orange cloud my vision as the sun emerges from behind the skyscrapers. My mind is at ease and my breath slows to the optimal cadence to fill my brain with euphoria and clarity. My thoughts wander to the juicy oranges in my fridge, the video on persuasive speaking I have to upload for my students, and the book I want to finish reading. Then finally, my thoughts return to the task at hand, wishing all sentient beings peace, love, health, and positive energy.

Rewind to last spring, only 12 months ago. My eyes are bloodshot and I am wheezing for air. I cough as brain fog infests me with thoughts of aggression and rage. Why is that man staring at me? What made that taxi driver honk at a guy like me on a bike? How dare that old man smoke at the bus stop!  I sprint home to escape its wrath. I lock the door, barricade my windows, and shut the blinds. It crashes through the barriers of my second-story apartment. The unwelcomed visitor pushes its way in. It surrounds me from all angles. I breathe. I lose. It stalks me, robs me from my freedom. My human rights are violated. Water, food, shelter- check. Inhale. Exhale. Cough. Cough. Yellow gobs of phlegm in my toilet bowl. I go outside. It’s there. I teach a class. It lingers all around me. I buy food at the market. It leaves dusty layers of filth on my spinach and broccoli. Its presence suffocates me.

Spring in South Korea, it used to be all honey-scented cherry blossoms every day ten years ago when I first arrived. Neighborhood mountains gifted visitors with spectacular views at any time of day. Scents of nature provided relief from stress-filled offices and study rooms. One could spend entire weekends outdoors, sleeping in tents at park entrances and mountain tops.

It all gradually changed. Factories, coal plants, Gobi desert wind storms, and economic activity all resulted in the downfall. Ten years ago yellow dust only visited the peninsula for one week per year during the spring, now yellow dust and fine particle reports are part of daily news reports, are displayed on Naver’s homepage (South Korea’s version of Google), and LED screens on highways.

I don’t need all the information, I have an internal air quality monitor that tells me how clean or filthy my lungs are and how cloudy my brain is. Wake up refreshed, clean air. Wake up fatigued, dirty air. Every day is different. Every day I wake up energized, I send more positive energy out to the world during my morning meditation session. Every day I wake up fatigued, I am a flustered mess, my mind sent into a tailspin of internal chaos. I cut my meditation sessions short as I sit and whither in a fiery storm of helplessness, anger, and sadness. The negative emotions are too much to take and I open my stinging eyes.

The government advises against exercise on bad days, but I do it anyway. At least my hormones will get straightened out, while my lungs take a punishment. It is a tradeoff I am willing to take. As I inhale fumes of dusty particles at the local park, I fume up an internal storm. I fume at the politicians who brought this to me. I fume at everyone who blames China in my neighborhood and shrugs their shoulders in helpless denial. I fume at myself for not doing more to prevent this catastrophe. Forget others. Forget others blaming others. It’s all my fault.

Spring is my season, I am Chunsam, meaning three times spring in Korean. I fell in love with my alter ego over ten years ago. Lately, that guy with the old fashioned name blows his smoke in my face and slaps me in my sleep until my eyes morph to sickly bloodshot balls of pain. My alter ego now wraps its hands around my neck and squeezes the years from my life with all its might. Where did our relationship go wrong? I desperately want to make things right again, but don’t even know where to start. We were supposed to be best friends forever, but now spring pollutes me and tears my heart in half. 

Now that economic activities have halted all around the world, our flame bursts with renewed zeal. Mornings waking up with sore throats, red eyes, and brain fog have transformed into mornings waking up with a renewed zest to tackle the day and gratitude for the clean air I inhale.

The statistics tell a similar tale, according to the WHO 4.2 million people are killed each year by air pollution. The worldwide lockdown has resulted in a decrease in combustion of damaging petrol and diesel in cars and oil, coal, and gas in power plants. History tells us that the only time carbon dioxide emissions decrease is during periods of economic crises. Many public health experts claim that the reduction in air pollution-related deaths may offset the number of pandemic fatalities. In short, the coronavirus may actually be saving lives.

There is a price to pay for showing our devotion to the religion of modernity, whose foundational commandment is that economic growth is absolutely essential. Random acts of kindness, meditation, and taking a walk through a forested path on a sunny day are all free and run contrary to the dogmatic law that tells us we can solve all our problems by accumulating and producing more stuff. The system will never tell us “that is enough growth, you can take a break now.” You can’t monetize fresh air. You can’t put a price tag on pain- free eyes, healthy lungs, or mental clarity. As we have seen with the current pandemic, an ecological catastrophe could lead to an even more monumental economic ruin, political quarreling, and could render humans extinct.

If the ghosts of ancient hunter-gatherer societies could see us now, they would be scratching their heads in confusion. Look at how easy things are. People in the economically developed world don’t need to walk for an hour to the river to collect water, wash themselves and their clothes, or scavenge the land for food. Instead, we have dishwashers, supermarkets, water and light at the flip of a switch, yet are suffering from more depression, anxiety, and suicide than ever before.

Anthropologists studied the Hadza of Tanzania, one of the world’s last remaining foraging tribes who search the land for fruit, honey, and bush meat. They are on their feet for most of the day and are known to camp out close to water sources while staying up late into the night, awaiting the arrival of an animal to aim their poisonous arrow at and feast on. This tribe spends at least four to six hours per day moving across the savanna while dodging snakes that could render them blind with one shot of venom, lions who could tear them to shreds, and angry buffaloes who maul invaders of their territory.  The most fascinating thing about this group of hunter-gatherers is not their ancient lifestyle, but the fact that anthropologists have been studying them since the 1960s and not one case of depression or suicide has ever been reported. Perhaps we should look to the Hadza for more wisdom on the good life.

The Hadza’s tale reminds me that we are now swimming in a pool of possibilities. A possibility to take a step back and return to the essence of human existence. The possibility to return back to purity, freedom, and clarity. Take in the deep gulps of fresh air that were so rare before this all started. Free yourself from hyper-consumerism and modernism, the invisible contracts we were forced to sign at the subliminal level for being born during this time in history. Emerge not as a victim, but empowered with greater clarity. Actualize a more fulfilling life experience. Take time to pause and be grateful for the people you have in your life, no matter how imperfect they may be. Be liberated by human connection and fresh air all around you. Be intoxicated by the potential for global cooperation and world peace having common problems to tackle can create. Go inward and overcome the fear of the inability to control what is happening around you. Remember that control is always an illusion and all we have is this moment and the choices it presents. Invest your time in the things you can control- eat better food, get better sleep, move your body more. Break the behaviors and reactions that don’t serve you.

Life can beat on us with its brass knuckles. People become ill and pass on, jobs and fortunes lost overnight. Remember there are heroes walking among us on every corner treating the ill and providing food and necessities for the masses. Don’t let this pass without reflection. Be the hero to yourself or your neighbor. Be the possibility and bring back the purity.

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Walking The Walk For Mother Earth

Walking The Walk For Mother Earth

Date- September 11 , 2018

Written by George Balarezo, Intrepid Global Citizen

After cycling in many unforgiving parts of the world, I have become an environmentalist. My passion for tour cycling has led me to experience the reality of the world in its rawest form. I have pedaled along the world’s highest elevated highways (Karakorum and Pamir Highways), hiked through other worldly jungles with the sounds of howling animals blasting in my ears, been scorched by the unforgiving deserts of Oman and Uzbekistan while being food and water deprived, inhaled the fumes of overpopulated cities as the black dust that accumulated around my tear ducts created a dirty, black eyeliner. I have seen, felt and tasted the beauty of Mother Nature and deeply understand the importance of taking care of her. As a result of my worldly experiential education, I have made it my life’s mission to do my best to take care of all sentient being’s mother.

It was due time to apply my mission of being a good steward of the earth to my everyday life back in South Korea. One of my favorite pastimes in Korea is using my two feet as transportation for days on end while chatting up folks from the countryside. Pots of fermented bean paste in grass fields, the smell of drying anchovies in the summer sunlight, stories from elderly folks who witnessed the peninsula’s great transformation from a poor and ravaged land to a prosperous, booming economy fascinate me beyond comprehension. 

This time it would be different. Now it was time for me to deliver an important message as a global citizen living in this land of rich history and cultural heritage. I had my poster ready and spent two hours filling in the letters with multicolored markers. It was like working on an elementary school project. This child of Mother Earth had a bold mission. My stash of papers were all printed out in Korean, telling people the actions they need to take in order to do their part to combat climate change and be good stewards of the world. I emphasized two main points in the printed handouts- eating habits and consumer behavior.

My key points were as follows-

-Cows must consume 8 kilograms of vegetables in order to gain 500 grams of body weight. Raising animals for food consumes more than half of all water used in the United States. It takes 9,500 liters of water to produce 500 grams of meat but only 95 liters of water to produce 500 grams of wheat.  Therefore, eating 500 grams of beef consumes as much water as taking a shower for two and a half hours.

–Producing just one hamburger uses enough fossil fuel to drive a small car 40 kilometers (The distance from Hoeksoek Dong to Osan). Of all raw materials and fossil fuels used in the United States, more than one-third are devoted to raising animals for food.

-To grow the cotton and manufacture a pair of cotton jeans it requires 2,000 gallons (7,570 liters) of water (this does not include the water used while washing the jeans over the time period when you own them.) This is more than the weight of a small airplane or helicopter.

-A typical pig factory generates the same amount of raw waste as a city of 12,000 people. According to the Environmental Protection Agency, raising animals for food is the number-one source of water pollution.

-Of all agricultural land in the United States, 87 percent is used to raise animals for food. That’s 45 percent of the total land area in the United States. About 1 million square kilometers (a land mass the size of Egypt) of forest have been destroyed to create space to produce feed for animals raised for food.

-The meat industry is directly responsible for 85 percent of all soil erosion in the United States. More than 80 percent of the corn grown and more than 95 percent of the oats are fed to livestock. The world’s cattle alone consume a quantity of food equal to the caloric needs of 8.7 billion people—more than the entire human population on Earth.

-According to the Worldwatch Institute, “Roughly 40 percent of grain produced in the world is fed to livestock, poultry, or fish; decreasing consumption of these products, especially of beef, could free up massive quantities of grain and reduce pressure on land.

       I was so thrilled to hit the road and deliver my message. I spent two to three hours per day after work studying Korean and practiced all the scientific words until my head felt like it was about to split open and my throat was hoarse and sandpaper-dry. All my travel education motivated me to finally do something. The lion inside of me needed to come out. Everything I had worked for to this day came to a pinnacle. I was standing up for what I believe in while doing a good deed for society. It was my turn to pay back our Mother Earth and spread a message of peace to the local people while doing it. Walking and talking were the main goals of this trip and I was more psyched up than a kid who drank ten cans of Red Bull right before final exams. 

    How would people respond? Being from the other side of the world, people could tell me to go home and deliver my message within the borders of my own country. I had to make people understand that we have to reach beyond the limits of artificial lines drawn on maps and come together to solve the greatest problem of our times. It felt like an Olympic sprinter mistook my heart for a treadmill and was about to bring home a world record. Stomp. Stomp. Stomp. It will all be okay. This is your destiny. Now is the time and if you don’t do this you will regret it forever.

    My friend Jared and I stepped out into the heat and grabbed our signs with our sweat-caked fingers. I held up my my cardboard poster high in the air with one hand and pointed at it with the other while yelling “jin hwang geong jeok in selg hwal hap shee da.” (Let’s live in an environmentally friendly way). Cars honked. Children rolled down their windows flashing their dimples and smooth-skinned cheeks. A wrinkle-faced grandfather showed us his gap-toothed smile while giving us a thumbs-up sign. A cute woman with way too much red lipstick yelled “fighting” (An English word used in the Korean language meaning “you can do it”). Nervousness vanished and only excitement intoxicated my brain and left me giddy. 

    Overall, reactions were great and people supported our mission. In restaurants along the way, many locals paid for our dinner and gave us offers of help whenever we needed it. We slept on the beach listening to the sounds of waves crashing along the South Sea and crept into dreamland while inhaling the salty humid air.

    It was Liberation Day. On August 15th Korea celebrates its independence from the decades-long Japanese occupation. My friend and I needed liberation from the dehydration, the rank stench emitting from our pores, and penny-sized blisters on our toes. We approached a fishing village as the sea breeze cooled us off from the sweltering climate. In the distance, a loud muffled voice filled the airwaves. “There has to be something big going on there. Let’s check it out,” Jared and I said while picking up our pace. The sounds of a festival lurked ahead of us and fed us with the zest needed to carry on.

    A few minutes later, we literally and figuratively stumbled upon a soccer game in a small village in the Masan area. The MC’s voice echoed through the air, detailing every pass, fancy dribbling maneuver, and shot on goal. The crowd screamed in suspense as one player fired a ball that ricocheted off the top goal post and slammed into an empty seat in the bleachers. After spending so many days walking through sporadically populated rice fields and beach towns, this was the most people in one place we had witnessed in a few days. There were way too many people in attendance compared to our rural surroundings. Perhaps the soccer game was the only major event happening within a one hundred football field radius  What a perfect opportunity to spread my message. I need that microphone. I crept up to the announcer and flashed my sign at him during a timeout.

    “Ney. Sam boon man duel eel key yo.” (Okay. I will give you ten minutes.) 

    Here was my big chance to grab the mic in front of a big crowd of soccer fans. My heart pounded and I jumped up and down to get myself psyched up to project my words clearly throughout the stadium. This trip took on a new meaning now and I had a chance to connect with one hundred people at the same time. For the past few days, we struck up conversations with groups of two or three people, but this was a whole different animal. One with sharp teeth and claws making me knees shake in its presence.

    Come on now. You are a professor. Your job is to share your knowledge and experiences with the world. This is what you were born to do. It shouldn’t matter what language your words are in. You have been pounding vocabulary and grammar rules into your head for the past several years. Step up to the microphone and tell everyone what they need to hear. Their lives will be better for it. Your life will be better for it. You will never forget this moment.

    My nerves faded away and I turned to the crowd and began to speak. My words came out clearly in rapid fire Korean. I spit out statistic after statistic and told onlookers the story of our walking journey, while Jared roamed the field below flashing his sign everywhere. Fragmented Korean sentences, pronunciation blunders, filler words and awkward pauses. It didn’t matter anymore. My mind became clear and ears rang as my words echoed through the liquid-soaked summer air. Before I knew it, the crowd began to applaud and the master of ceremonies signaled for me to finish up. 

    No applause. Little reaction. I stepped down from the stage and walked through the outskirts of the stadium as no one paid me any mind. Well then, it looks like my effort did not get through to the crowd. At least I gave myself a new comfort zone challenge and took action in the face of fear, nervousness and mental tension. A few steps later, watermelon armed wrinkled women waved me over to cool off in the shade and began shoving the fruit into my face. The normal interrogation began- age, workplace, marital status, hometown. I was more than accustomed to the questions. A look of astonishment filled one of the woman’s eyes.  

    “There is a kid here who attends that school. Where is Minseok?” she asked the crowd. 

   A tan kid wearing knee-high white socks and a bright red soccer jersey dashed in my direction, pushing people out of his path as if he were an ambulance worker coming to help a heart attack victim. The boy grabbed my hand with so much vigor that it nearly crushed my wrist. 

    “I am friend Hyeonook. He taking your class. My name Minseok.I calling Hyeonook now.”

    A few seconds later Hyeonook got on the line and we were face chatting it up. Hyeonook’s face lit up with laughter-produced redness as his friend passed me the phone. 

    “Wow! Georgie! Minseok my best friend. You walking there is so fantastic. You having fun Minseok. I miss you Georgie!”

    My former student was in utter disbelief that I was way out there in the village where his friend grew up. What are the chances a guy like me would have such an encounter a five hour bus ride outside of Seoul? 

    Minseok invited Jared and I to his parents’ fish restaurant, which was originally closed for business during the holiday. We plopped our sweaty bodies at one of the ankle-high tables and threw down our bags on the floor. Finally, a middle aged man flipped on the lights and ran into the kitchen. The man looked like a fifty year old version of Minseok. The same wavy hair, forehead structure, and disarming smile was a delight to encounter twice.

    “What kind of food you liking? We have so much fish. You liking fish? My father make food.” 

    A few minutes later, Jared and I were surrounded by small white plates of freshly made food. There must have been at least fifteen dishes filled to the brim with fermented vegetables. Stained red cube-shaped cabbage, paper-thin seaweed soaked in a salty clear liquid, bright orange sliced tuna- tender, raw and succulent- ready to slither its way into the taster’s palate. True craftsmanship. 

    Minsoek and his family glared at the two guests with curiosity, intrigue, and pride as we stuffed our faces full of Korea’s best tasting restaurant food. Their pure innocence allured me. Everytime we took a bite we complimented the chef. “This is the best meal I have ever had in Korea.” Minseok and his father’s cheeks turned to a light red hue of embarrassment as we lavished on the praise. Korean humility. One often downplays or denies compliments and praise in South Korea in order to appear humble in the presence of others. Minseok and his father remained silent, smiled and continued to observe our enthusiastic chopstick shoveling. Their innocent look of satisfaction will forever be etched in my memories. This was true hospitality and we were the recipients. What a great feeling to stand up for what you believe in and be rewarded by a meal made with all the workings of a masterpiece. This heartwarming moment made all the worry and effort worth it.

How to Always Receive a Discount

After making so many great memories on my walking trips in the countryside, I was determined to bring my message forward in everyday life. A true global citizen walks and breathes his mission every second on this planet. My next target location was my own backyard- Daebangdong, Seoul. I morphed into a talking machine campaigning for a cleaner, more hospitable earth everywhere I went. After all, if we take care of our Mother, she will take care of us.

After so many successful interactions in the countryside, the logical next step was to take a strong stand in the capital city. People in Seoul are some of the busiest and hardest working folks on the planet. It is often hard to pin down friends for a meeting date due to their busy schedules, especially when preparing for an important exam or job interview. Competition makes everyone work harder and drive their economy further up on the worldwide stage. Would busy Seoullites even care about what I had to say? Or perhaps their high education level would make them appreciate my efforts even more. My heart filled with vitality as I imagined myself stomping around my neighborhood while telling others what was on my mind. 

My first order of action was to voice my opinion on plastic usage at the local supermarket I frequent, Daebang Discount Market. Plastic bags are used without question when weighing and pricing produce at every shopping venue I have ever visited in South Korea. I refuse to buy anything packaged in plastic and tell all the store employees exactly how I felt about their standard practice of wastefulness. 

Shoulders back, neck straight, chest out. I beamed with confidence now that I repeated my monologue hundreds of times in the rural areas. My voice deep and loud, eye contact fiercer and more intense, my stare failed to waver as the employee reached for plastic as he weighed my sweet potatoes. 

“Whoa! Hold it right there. I don’t use plastic.”

“No plastic? What am I supposed to do them?”

“Please stick the price sticker right on the sweet potatoes. I brought my own bag. There is no need to pollute the earth.”

“If I do that then my machine will get dirty and it will create so much more work for me. I have to use the plastic bag.”

“What about Korea? Have you noticed that yellow dust and fine particulate reports are now on the news every day? When I first came here nine years ago that was not the case. Isn’t it a human right to be able to breathe clean air? Are we really helping this situation by using plastic bags? I will buy my vegetables somewhere else if you really insist on dirtying the world.”

The words fired from my mouth without hesitation as my glare became more and more intense. My eyes widened through my wire-rimmed glasses, my shoulder-width stance and slightly bent knees had me ready to pounce on anyone that dared challenge me on this one. Come and convince me that plastic bags are good for the world. Try it. I want to hear what the naysayers have to say. I was not simply a guy trying to break the harmony that is so intricate to the Confucius philosophy and Korean spirit. As someone thousands of kilometers away from my place of birth, I still have to breath dirty air everyday in my neighborhood. It is my duty to voice my opinions. Surely, there were plenty of citizens ready to back me up on my stance. Discussion and conflict can only result in a positive shift for the world. Plastic bag culture must change and I was ready to start the revolution in this supermarket.

A hush took over the store as only the blaring K-pop loudspeakers and humming of refrigeration machines remained. The man pondered on my argument for several seconds while twitching his neck slightly to the side and rolling his eyes up to the ceiling. 

Two short haired women in their seventies watched the whole interaction go down with dropped jaws of curiosity and astonished eyes that enhanced the leathery creases on their foreheads. Maybe the two ladies had never witnessed a light-skinned guy from North America speaking with such conviction in their mother tongue, or perhaps they had never seen anyone take a stance on plastic before. Either way, I had an audience of two. All the better if it was ten thousand. I wished I would have been in a stadium of spectators that day with a spotlight, LCD screens and high definition speakers to broadcast the discussion to the masses. The more people that hear about the broken culture of plastic bag use the better.

The worker’s puzzled expression never floundered as he shook his head back and forth and whispered something under his breath that was too faint for my non-native ears to understand. The man stuck the price sticker on the sweet potatoes and then gently scooped them up into my cart. Compliance, victory and satisfaction!  

Over the course of the next few weeks, the worker warmed up to the idea a customer who refused to use plastic bags. Time and time again, I trained him and before long he came to respect my controversial shopping habits. 

He quickly observed that I did not purchase any meat or processed items. My cart was always full with fruits, vegetables, rice, and beans. 

“Wow! I could never eat the way you do. That is amazing.”

“I am simply doing my best to stay healthy and protect the earth.”

He quickly picked up on this and we had several productive discussions about my eating habits. He was surprised to know about the large effect the meat industry has on climate change and admitted that it would be too hard for him to make the same personal sacrifices I do. From that moment on, his attitude morphed from one of skepticism, bewilderment and confusion to respect, admiration and appreciation. Thirty to forty percent discounts on all of my groceries became a regular treat. I pay $6 to $7 for every $10 dollars of food I buy. If the man is in a particularly good mood, sometimes I even receive massive discounts of 50 percent on my food and acquire extra free pieces of fruit as a gift. Everyday has become a discount party whenever I go shopping at Daebang Discount Market. The employee changed his views on my shopping and eating habits and now helps me do my best for our Mother Earth. Indeed it pays in various forms to stand up for what you believe in.

Lesson Learned- People Respect You More When You Take a Stand

Often times others are afraid to voice their opinions and take a stand for something they believe in. Social pressure, fear of judgment, and lack of confidence are strong impediments to speaking up in everyday situations. The desire to be accepted by others often overtakes the urge to speak one’s mind. Potential criticism from our peers can be haunting for some. Therefore, the easiest action is to stay silent. The safest road is the one with the least resistance. The one with least resistance leads to little personal growth and unfulfilled potential. Without growth one dies. The key to feeling alive and flourishing is to grow and reflect through challenges and difficult times. 

If our thoughts and feelings stay repressed, inner turmoil may result, which can stay with one for decades. Repressed inner conflict may manifest itself through other areas in life such as passive aggressive behavior, depression and sadness. For example, unexpressed anger manifests itself on the surface as sadness. 

I experienced this first hand during my meditation practice as repressed conflicts and emotions often come to light once again. Sitting still with my eyes closed can make the mind go wild and events I have not thought about for years resurface during each passing moment. Through my meditative experiences, I have come to the conclusion that the most important thing in my life is to stay true to myself. The only failure in life is not staying true to your beliefs. I must live and die for my truths or else my soul will slowly become weak and eventually reach a deathlike state. That deathlike state is a worthless existence and is the equivalent to being buried six feet under the ground or burned to ashes.

The person who lives out their personal truth is one others trust more easily. Their peers know exactly where their boundaries are and respect them without question. This is the way one becomes more magnetic and polar. Those who share your truth become drawn to you and you will always have a tight bond that is difficult to separate. Others who oppose your truth will be repelled and distance themselves. You naturally become a leader and role model to people who do not know themselves and are curious about your path in life. They may share your values, but lack the courage to stand up and take action. Due to your transparency, people will try to help you along the way because they find you trustworthy and charismatic. Charisma is nothing more than making one’s intentions transparent and being consistent to one’s values.

During my walking trip and experiences grocery shopping, it became apparent that I was respected simply because my thoughts, words, and actions aligned with one another. I was literally talking the talk and walking the walk. An intentional life can only be lived when one’s thoughts, words, and actions become one. When this is clear to others, respect comes very naturally. People become drawn in and fascinated by your path in life and try to help you any way they can. This is why I receive discounts at the grocery store and was treated to a full course restaurant meal during a holiday in the villages of Masan. People are good at reading others and know when they find someone living and breathing their truth. Everything you do in life must be aligned with your mission and truth. Settling for anything less will only lead to inner conflict that can send your mind into a tailspin. Life is too short to live outside the boundaries of your truth. Find your mission and live by it and you are bound to be successful at anything you do.

Discussion Questions-

  1. How did Cho Chunsam become interested in the preserving the environment?
  2. Describe how eating habits relate to environmental issues.
  3. How much meat do you eat in an average week? Would you like to change anything about your eating habits? Why?
  4. How often do you go shopping for new clothes? Do you ever stop and think about how your consumer behavior effects the environment?
  5. How did Cho Chunsam get a free meal in Masan?
  6. Describe how Cho Chunsam gets discounts while grocery shopping.
  7. Describe how you can easily gain the respect of other people.
  8. What is your mission in life? Are you living by that mission?
  9. Describe a time when you stood up for something you believed in.