Roofus when we came home from the doctor’s office

“Alyson, Roofus went home to Jesus.” I stared at Linda in disbelief. It sounded like a really bad joke gone horribly wrong. Walking home from work I had just been talking to Emily about the little ward in our house, a tiny orange kitten that was too sick to move much other than the occasional flop to one side. I had wondered if Linda remembered to reheat the saline packets to keep him warm.

“Are you serious?”

“I’m serious. I’m so sorry, Alyson.” I had him in a cardboard box with some towels on my bed and had spent the previous night sleepless making sure we would hit the 5 feedings in the day, fending off mosquitoes, and making sure he was still breathing.

How did we get here? It also sounds like a bad joke. It started with a truck hitting our house while we were on our final retreat to Yang Yang and Seorak Mountain. It rolled off the hill next to our house and hit our kitchen wall.


Thankfully no one was hurt. No one was in the truck and no one was in our house, but this prompted a premature farewell to our YAV house and an impromptu move to the house next door.

The house next door is usually used for important guests to stay during a short visit to Hannam, so there aren’t any drawers, but there is nicer furniture. It also had resident kittens who live on the roof of the house. They would cuddle together right on the corner of the roof. They would run away when we got near, but eventually stopped running when they realized we weren’t going to try to eat them. The little one would shove itself under the gutter and sleep. He reminded me of the kids at my site.


Then two days ago, Emily and Alexis went out only to come back in the evening to the little orange kitten laying in the bush in front of the house not moving. They were sure it was dead, but I went out to check one more time and the little guy tried to lift his head. It had been raining, and his friend kept him company as best as he could while trying to hide from us at the same time. I arranged a shallow box with towels and put the kitten in it. We have strict rules about not feeding the cats and not having any pets in the house, especially the fancy guest house, so at first we kept him under shade from the rain, but still outside. I ran to a convenience store for some cat food, which the little guy did attempt to eat but struggled to keep his head up. I worried he might drown in his food.

Alexis’s coworker helped us find a 24 hour animal hospital, called ahead so they knew to expect us, and Emily and I were off. I held the box close to me in the taxi and checked every couple minutes to see that his little chest was still moving up and down.

The doctors office was clean and bright. There was a small mop headed dog limping around the office to greet us. After some initial forms the doctor looked at the cat and told us it was a boy. He said he would take some x-rays and left. While we waited, Emily and I weighed the merits of naming the kitten. Originally I said no. Naming things makes them mean more. Naming things makes you attached. But here we were and I was already attached. We talked about what we would name him if we were to give him a name. Given his circumstances with the roof, Roofus seemed appropriate. His friend could be Fiddler.

A good long time later the doctor returned and with the help of google translate said that they hadn’t taken x-rays because the kitten was in shock and it was an emergency. The kitten’s blood pressure, glucose, and temperature were extremely low and he could die.

After more waiting he returned with x-rays. No broken bones, but it was likely head trauma. He needed really expensive treatment or he would likely die. We had a friend of ours help translate as we went through the options. He wasn’t a candidate to be put down because he was eating and was alert despite what the doctor had just told us. He gave us some food and saline packets to keep him warm and told us how to care for him.

Here we were with a kitten on death’s door step for us to take home. I volunteered to care for him. I put his box next to me in bed so he wouldn’t be far. He was so frail – all skin and bones, perhaps from being a stray. Just a little baby – he didn’t even have all of his teeth yet. During feedings he couldn’t keep any food down and could hardly move, but in the night he kept trying to jump out of his box so I was hopeful he could make it. During the day while we were apart I felt like a protective mother, making sure he got what he needed and nothing would happen to him especially since we weren’t supposed to keep him in the house. We thought about posting on the local foreigner Facebook group for someone to foster him in case he stuck around and got better. I was looking forward to dealing with what to do with him.

He died in Linda’s arms as she was feeding him while I was at work. He looked just like he was sleeping in the box, but his little chest didn’t move with his breath any longer. We picked a spot in the backyard to bury him. Linda dug the hole. We said some prayers and final words.

Perhaps in most circumstances loving someone or something would not have such immediate repercussions, but I feel that the act of reaching out to love someone else is inherently a vulnerable act. To care for someone else is to put yourself at risk. It is to say that something other than yourself is important to you. Everyone without exception will one day die, and unless it is you who dies first then the act of love is also inherently a painful one. Even if they don’t die, their suffering is one that hurts you as well. With Roofus perhaps it was foolish to name him, and perhaps we could have left him in front of our house, or perhaps we could have just made him comfortable and let things happen as they do to strays of the world. It has been painful to experience this the past two days. I cried myself to sleep last night. And I supposed we didn’t have to do what we did, but given the alternative it wasn’t an option we were willing to take. I feel that sacrificial, inherently painful love like this is what I’m called to do with my life. Perhaps what I feel we are all called to do for one another, but also I worry that one day this kind of love will break me – that the suffering of those I love will one day be too great for my heart to handle any longer.

Roofus was just a little kitten that lived on our roof. Rest in peace, little guy.


Murphy’s Law



“Murphy’s Law doesn’t mean that something bad will happen. What it means is whatever can happen will happen.” Interstellar

Excuse me for using an Interstellar quote, but it is a rather appropriate summary of what our YAV year has been like. That has meant that we got to go to the Philippines, and were here to witness a lot of political change in Korea like Korea and Japan coming to an agreement about the Comfort Women without the comfort women.

It has meant seeing protests in Gang Jeong village come to an end, and the birth of a Peace School as an alternative way to still work towards change amidst political pressure.

But in particular within our house we have had Murphy’s Law hard at work in our day to day lives. We’ve had the opportunity to have the Hannam Festival twice during one year, as well as the reunification run again which I will be participating in in June. Unusual as they are supposed to be once a year events, I guess in that way we’ve been lucky. We’ve also had two separate movies filmed at or near our house here, and a small bush fire.

We’ve definitely had our share of house conflict, something that is not unusual, but also things that completely blind-sided us with their severity. Mid-February we were all contacted by someone trying desperately to contact Alexis. We found out shortly after that her only sister had passed away in a car accident. Alexis was the first of the Korea YAVs to go home. None of us were sure if she was coming back or not, but thankfully she did.

We had the opportunity to continue working on our little community because of that, though intentional community is not easy. And again all at once in the Spring, once our bosses Kurt and Hyeyoung left for their month long US trip, Will and Alexis were in a minor car accident, and Will found out that his uncle had passed away within a two day span.

It was already scheduled that Linda would be going home for her older sister’s wedding, but before she could go, Emily slipped on wet ground and twisted her knee. You can read about this in her own words on her blog here. She had had a history of knee problems already, but this time it required surgery so before Linda left we went with Emily to the airport.

Two days later, Linda left. Soon after she returned Will left for his uncle’s memorial service. He is still currently gone, but scheduled to return at the end of the week. Life in the house in between these moments has been ever changing. I’ve had nearly every combination of roommate, and am still hoping that Emily will be able to come back to Korea.

I sit in a position of privilege having not had my own circumstances that has sent me home, so it is easier for me to say that I have learned a lot this year, but I don’t think that tragedy’s purpose is to teach us or that it even has a purpose other than being a part of life we must live with. I do think that my roommates have taught me a lot whether intentionally or not about how to love people that are not like me and that are going through things I will never understand. I’ve been given a chance to practice what I preach in terms of grace – to give it, but also very importantly to receive it from my roommates as well.

This year we’ve spoken a lot about what it means to have God with us in these times. Many times it doesn’t seem to make sense, and it frequently doesn’t feel like He is with us. I don’t pretend to know the answers or to know God’s role in all of this. Though I invite you to be with us in prayer as we sort through it all.

Caught in the inbetween

After some months of deliberation I finally decided to make a post on the local foreigner’s Facebook group to try to find other Asian Americans in Daejeon.

It went a little like this:


A few white men decided that my desire to meet people like myself was distasteful. Which was really unfortunate, and a bit difficult for me to get past. I did, however, get good feedback following the trolls that commented first and was able to make some friends from the experience (Note: I have not been exclusively meeting with Asian Americans.) It’s been overall wonderful to meet people like me in Korea.

A young mother I met from this (Asian Australian) asked me today why I wanted to meet Asian Americans. What was my motivation? I had to think for a little while, aside from having been called a, “pathological extrovert” I realize I did have a deep longing to connect with people who related to the experiences I’ve had in Korea as an Asian American. While I’m certainly not lonely, there was something to hanging around with Koreans and white Americans every day for the past 8 months and almost no one who lived in that in between space with me. There is a need for a lot of explanation of my experience for those who don’t live it. I am the invisible foreigner – being able to pass as Korean until I open my mouth. Korean people look and speak to me in Korean before my white counter-parts which is a double-edged sword. I’m told that it’s easier to talk to me because I seem more familiar, and I’m not singled out for my foreignness. That means it’s nearly impossible to find people like me, or have them find me. It is its own experience to be visibly foreign in a country (one I’m familiar with at home) but it is certainly not the same as being foreign and white. And one that I am reminded of so eagerly by the people who troll my posts when I ask to meet people like me.

It’s been nice to have people who related to my day to day experiences, but my friend’s inquiry into my motivations made me realize that it was much more than that. With this year grappling with colonialization and privilege my experience is a lot less straight forward than people coming from the dominant culture. I carry with me American privilege and native English speaking privilege, but not white privilege. I carry with me Christianity and English, both of which have been used as tools of oppression on people who look like me.

In the context of Korea, English in particular has a special position as a language of success. It’s nothing like learning any other language when you are in the US. Speaking English is your ticket to success in life – your key to a good job and a good life. Christianity is widespread and very common. There are churches everywhere, and while not everyone in Korea is Christian it is mainstream and normal to identify as Christian. In Korea, depictions of Jesus are also almost always white men, even though the historical Jesus would not have been white at all. The US has been a huge part of both of those trends in Korea. It is pervasive, and has set up unequal relationships between Americans and Koreans.

Coming from the US gives me privilege, but having lived in the US as an Asian American comes with its own kind of experience. Being Asian and female also brings its own “special experiences.” Asian women are very often objectified and seen as exotic and submissive. Take for example okcupid data on race: While it may seem like a good thing that Asian women get more messages and more messages back to their messages and are generally very popular in the dating scene, it mostly means (in my experience) that Asian women are seen as sex objects more than anything else. Google “Exotification of Asians” and you’ll find plenty of people writing about the same sort of experience. While at the same time I’m told that my stories aren’t relatable. Someone with my face can’t act in a movie about people who look like me. Scarlett Johansson is playing a character in a live action adaptation of “Ghost in the Shell,” a Japanese story, that’s named Motoko Kusanagi. Asian Americans are one of the most underrepresented minorities in American media. It’s hardly a new thing to happen as well.

So when it comes to big questions of responsibility and privilege I’m a mixed bag. There are privileges I have and clearly privileges I don’t have. A big question I’ve been wrestling with this year is about my responsibility as a person of color in a Christian organization abroad. Am I contributing to colonialization? What is my responsibility as a person of color in a Christian program abroad? These are big questions especially in regard to what I’ll be doing next after my program is done. While I currently don’t have clean pre-packaged answers to my questions it is comforting to feel that I’m not alone. Reaching out and finding people who live in this in between space means that I could talk with someone if I wanted to without having to explain my experience because they would be living it with me too. It doesn’t mean that they know any better than me, but at least we are living in this reality together.

Saenaru 새나루

Squatting over an empty rice pot roughly the size of a tire, I looked up at him sheepishly. “Jeogiyo?” (Excuse me?) With a big smile he repeated back to me. He looked to the woman next to him and repeated what I said to her and laughed. It’s been seven months since I’ve been in Korea, and seven months since I started working at Saenaru every Thursday, and I didn’t know what to call this man who had been the head of the kitchen since we’d been here. At some point it got too awkward to ask. He is shorter than me and dark. His glasses rest over the friendliest eyes I’ve ever seen. His hands are worn like someone who has worked hard their entire life, and definitely someone who has gotten the kitchen to work like a well oiled machine. I’d wager a guess that he’s in his late forties, but he still playfully pushes us or bangs pots just to make us look up.

Thursday is the one day a week where all the Korean YAVs work together. When we first arrived we were pretty clueless. It was trial by fire at Saenaru and we were just thrown into the mix. We gained the scorn of the other kitchen workers when we couldn’t understand them, or didn’t know how much food to put in each section of the food tray. Over time we’ve earned the respect of the kitchen staff and gotten used to occasionally getting some kimchi juice on our shoes or on our arms when the gloves don’t quite do their job. We know how much to put in each section and know what jobs to do – from washing dishes to sweeping the floor and all the jobs in between. We got into a rhythm there even if we still sometimes get chastised for putting too much food or being too slow at serving rice. Serving soup fast enough without making a mess is a job we’re all still intimidated to do, though our friend who runs the kitchen is always happy to encourage us with a thumbs up and a, “Very good!”

A harder job has been to recognize clients faces outside of Saenaru. Many of the kitchen staff were previously clients of Saenaru, which is a community center that mainly serves the homeless and the nearly homeless. Many of the people who come for meals live across the street in tiny one room accommodations the size of a walk in closet.

Housing across from Saenaru

Because of their housed status the government no longer counts them as part of the homeless population even though they are a very thin line away from the same. The people who come in the door are mainly older gentleman, but there are young men and old women who come as well. We see many of the clients of Saenaru around Daejeon – in the train station, on the street, under bridges – that I must confess were once invisible faces to me in Korea. Some also are clients at the homeless shelter we volunteer at as well. It’s taken some time to recognize that some of those forgotten faces are the people we see every week at Saenaru.

Recently our kitchen friend at Saenaru has been occasionally absent which made me worry that something happened to him. I can’t even ask about him because I don’t know his name! I have no photos of him, how would I remember him? The mild panic was eased when he walked through the door again after a week or two of being absent. I asked where he had been (a new thing I learned how to say recently) and he responded in Korean which I didn’t really understand. What I got was that he was making money… probably. Regardless I was glad to see him again. Caught up in how to ask what title to call him and not what his name is (it is considered rude to ask to someone older than you) I didn’t ask anything at all. So I was embarrassed but relieved when he realized I didn’t know what to call him when I was squatting over the industrial sized rice pots while he was teaching me how to clean them.

He squatted by the rice pot to be able to look me in the eye and said, “Seo jipsanim!” He explained to the woman next to him whom we’ve also grown very close to that I didn’t know what to call them, and she told me what to call her as well – “Jo jipsanim.” and she went on to explain in Korean something I didn’t quite catch, though I appreciated the care she took to say something to me. Rice paddle in my sticky hand I repeated their names and titles over in my head until it stuck. They both chuckled at me mumbling names to myself, but I won’t be forgetting any time soon.

Standing Room Only

The man behind the desk rattled off a sentence or two in Korean and gestured with his hand to look like a standing person and I looked at him blankly. “Standing room?” I guessed

He stopped and responded in English, “There is a standing space at seven fifteen or a seat at seven fifty-five.”

Just a day earlier my buddy was giving me tips on my “standing room only” ticket to Seoul, “It doesn’t look good, but you can sit on the steps if you need a seat. Or you can go to carriage… carriage?” We fumbled with words for a few seconds or so before I figured, “train car!” “Yes, train car number four is the cafe. It doesn’t look very good, but if your legs are hurting you can sit on the floor there.” “Great!

As I waited for the train to arrive in the chilly, early, Spring air, green backpack packed and brown winter jacket snug around me I thought, Do I go to the train car I’m assigned first, or straight to the cafe car? I was imagining a train car with a barista and a few table booths for people who wanted coffee or a seat. I wasn’t prepared for the crowd of people that appeared in front of train car 4 as the Mugonghwa train pulled up. I guess I should get into the cafe car first then, I decided.

The doors opened and people jockeyed for space to get into the train car. I slipped in between whomever I could to get a spot between – my Asian face making me just another passenger in the crowd. Inside there was colorful carpet with different shapes, a counter, a vending machine and a few walled off booths. The cafe was clearly not functional except for the vending machine in the corner. People were seated along each wall already, and surging on from both sides of the train car. I saw a gap between a man with a face mask and a woman already claiming her territory, but the moment it took to think of how to ask to sit next to him the opportunity had passed. A girl and her friend plopped down on the floor in front of me against the counter and in front of another row of sitting passengers. An old woman sat directly in front of the vending machine. I reached an impasse when I met people coming in from the other direction with luggage in hand. The young college men standing around me looked sullen. Was this it? Was I actually going to stand for the two hour train ride to Seoul? The train lurched forward and we were on our way.

I pulled my backpack off and put it between my legs. It seemed there was a small footpath down the train car that wasn’t meant for people to sit in that I may or may not have been standing in. The man sitting directly behind me was obnoxiously sitting with his lap jutting forward and his backpack positioned in front of his lap. He wasn’t going to move. A man was taking up the entire back of the counter in a sleeping position. Knees bent, feet apart was my mantra every time the train lurched in a way that may have sent me tumbling onto the sitting passengers around me. I could sit. I could do it, but was I supposed to? I was mostly in the footpath and standing very close to two other standing passengers. The halmony (grandma) in the corner kept shooting me worried looks. A few minutes after the train started moving the conductor opened the door to make his way through our crowded quarters. Through the open door I could see the familiar sight of the neat rows of chairs in the next train car; a train car full of people completely unaware of the struggle that was happening twenty feet from them. The conductor made people uncomfortably squirm out of his way, pressing into other people until he passed. Perhaps traveling to the biggest city in Korea on a Friday night standing room only was a mistake.

After about fifteen minutes of debating whether or not to sit and if all the people in the train car would judge me I committed to it and sat down. I felt my face flush red as I got very cozy with the girl right next to me – another man’s butt around face height now. I thought about taking a photo, but all the eyes (or butts) staring back at me made me think twice about the fake camera noise my Japanese purchased phone would make.

Two hours is a long time so I pulled out the book my coordinators lent me “Here I Am; Faith Stories of Korean American Clergy Women” to read while I waited out my journey. Despite having lived in Korea now for seven months, I still haven’t gotten the hang of sitting on the floor without my feet falling asleep. Thankfully there are stops in between DaeJeon and Seoul which meant for people go on and off. Opportunistic passengers (occasionally me) took the chance to sit or move as others left leaving new arrivals in their old positions. My new spot was against the wall which had a heater. The man next to me was bundled up, eyes closed, and within a few minutes I wondered how he did it. It was hot. Also, a few elderly passengers entered. Two men found spots on the floor to sit and took the time to open up some snacks and mix up some ramen. The smell was definitely noticeable. An elder woman was left to stand at the counter. Normally, in day to day life, the elderly have first pick and someone always gives up their seat for them, but I felt the tension. Each person in the train car had carved out their own little, hard-earned space, and while Korean culture normally dictates that you give up your seat for the elderly, no one was budging. I had just finished reading a few heart-wrenching stories of Korean women in ministry and felt maybe I should be the one to bite the bullet. I’m a young, spry woman. I could handle standing at a counter for a bit.

I stood up, “Jeogiyo” (Excuse me) A man immediately started moving to take my place, “Anjesaeyo” (Please sit) and immediately moved back when he realized what I was doing. The woman said thank you and then immediately looked back and, as if to confirm, asked me a question. I didn’t understand it at all, but assumed she was asking if I was sure so I responded, “Kwenchanaiyo” (It’s okay). So she said thank you again and sat. What did she say to me? There were two young men who smiled and laughed next to me. Are they laughing at me or something else? Maybe she asked if I was getting off. “It’s okay” wouldn’t make any sense then. Maybe it was something completely different. Did I smell funny? It did kind of smell… Was it me? I felt my face burn red again, but continued to reread the same paragraph five times in an effort to play it cool. I eventually got a seat again as we drew closer to Seoul. Arriving at Seoul with the remaining people we all sat in silence. I felt like we had been through something together. Perhaps this was a kinship only I felt, but a little worse for wear we had all made it.

I could see the micro expression the man behind the desk tried to hide – a little smile as he watched me slowly mouth the price he had said, “Man pal baik won.” 10,800원. I was thankful he waited for me to figure it out instead of telling me the price in English. A seat was about a dollar more and a train later than the standing room only price. “Nae,” (Yes) I responded.

Yes, that one.

Heartbreak for Jeju

This Wednesday the Korea YAV house returned from Jeju Island, the southern island vacation destination for Koreans to go to, and the island that has been labelled the “Island of World Peacein response to past decimation of the island’s people. It is an island of great beauty and great heartbreak – both historically and in present-day. The outing that really set the tone for the trip was a visit to GangJeong Village, which is a small village of 2,000 people on the southern shore of Jeju. This tiny village houses a newly opened Korean naval base.

This naval base has been touted as a way for the village to gain new jobs and new tourism. They have said that the port will be a civilian and military usage harbor. Cruises will come into the area and Korea will be protected from foreign forces like North Korea. But what we saw of this base was not celebration of its opening but continued protest of its existence and the destruction is has wreaked on it’s own people.

We personally witnessed people from the community, Priests and international activists come together to protest this base. Catholic priests that were blocking the entrance to construction to the site were literally picked up in their chairs and moved. The protest count has reached over 3000 days and counting.

Catholic priest being lifted and moved from the driveway
The number marks the amount of days they have been protesting when we arrived

So why has there been such strong backlash for something that is supposedly so good for the community? Other sites on Jeju were passed up because of political pressure despite being better harbor positions. Because of the past failures to get approval using democratic means, the vote for a naval base in GangJeong was called a discussion on the base, and special invitations were sent to people in favor of the base. A vote was held where they counted votes by applause instead of ballots. When the villagers found out and held their own vote in response (largely against the naval base) the government only recognized the vote by applause. Aside from an underhanded beginning, the destruction rendered on land and sea has been immense.

The Ocean

On the left is the largest fresh water stream entering the ocean. On the right is Tiger Island (Beom Seom)
Our guide, Sung Hee, explains the tragedy of the situation. On the left is Tiger Island (Beom Seom) and on the right is the Naval Base.

40% of Jeju is designated as a UNESCO biosphere reserve because of it’s unique and sensitive environment. Just off the coast of GangJeong Village is a tiny island called Beom Seom, or Tiger Island, which is surrounded by soft coral which only grows in clean, nutrient rich water. It’s one of the largest areas of soft coral in the world, and though it is such a tiny percentage of the ocean, a large portion of ocean life especially around Jeju relies on it to survive. This is here partially because the largest fresh water stream on Jeju flows into the ocean in GangJeong village.

Jeju is also home to the very unique Haenyeo culture, or women divers. We had the privilege of visiting a museum dedicated to those women who still dive for a living today. Most of the people’s livelihoods on Jeju is tied to the ocean and the seafood fished from that water. Despite it being a UNESCO site the naval base currently is so close to these that the naval ships courses must pass through this protected area. On top of pollution rising because of construction and the presence of large ships and submarines, ocean life will likely not thrive in these conditions.

Good harbor locations are places where the water is calm and the wind is soft so that it is easy to dock ships. The area along the coast of GangJeong village is the opposite of that, and because of that the naval base has had to build in extra breakers to make the space viable at all. They have already lost very large caisson to the storms in the area during construction.

The Land

Tied to the land as well, the largest fresh water source in Jeju meant that it was also one of the best places to farm on the volcanic island which is covered in difficult to work with volcanic rock. It was the only place in Jeju that grew rice, which requires freshwater in order to grow. Jeju is also famous for its citrus fruits that are only grown on the island. Many of those farms were destroyed to make room for the base.

Not only that, but the heart of the community was a large rock called Gureombi Rock. This was a large area of land that consisted of one rock. It had it’s own unique environment and was a place where the community gathered. A particular kind of tree only grew on this rock. 30% of the rock was blasted away to make room for the naval base which sits on top of it. Because of public outcry they did not destroy the entire rock and instead covered it with cement.

Gureombi Rock
As Gureombi Rock goes, precious nature dies with it

The naval base just opened its doors last Friday and soon will be home to 4,000 soldiers and their families, totaling around 7,000 people total that will enter this village of about 2,000 people. This naval base will literally swallow this community whole.

So why is there a naval base here?

There is strategic value in having a base in Jeju. It has been argued that it is to protect against North Korea, but its location brings easy access to most of East Asia – China and Japan in particular.


There are plans in place to build THAAD on the base as well which is short for “Terminal High Altitude Arial Defense.” That is a US Military missile defense system. The US Military is closely tied with the Korean military and though this is a Korean base, there would be nothing stopping the US from using the base as well. A move which is making much of the region very nervous including China, North Korea and Russia.


There is still great irony in this unfolding on the Island of World Peace. And while there may be many things about international politics and war that I don’t understand, I really can’t understand why they didn’t just move the base over to another location down the coast that wasn’t quite as sensitive or valuable, and that would have been a better choice as a harbor.

The community is still struggling with this new reality that the base has been built and is now open. The people here have witnessed the heart of their village blasted and covered in cement and their livelihoods and culture destroyed. They have been given no choice from powers much larger than them. It is difficult to watch this injustice unfold and do nothing.

To keep up to date on this issue and see how you can be a part of it visit


Jeju Weekly



NY Times

Counter Punch


The Hankyoreh



Save Jeju Now

The Philippines

It felt like rolling the dice on our travel fate waiting at Ninoy Aquino International Airport. It was a Saturday afternoon and we had just missed our connecting flight from Manila to Incheon to go back to Korea, and it was past time for lunch. As a group we were all just waiting for word. Half of us were sitting in the office where Kurt and Hyeyoung bargained with the lady at the desk for options to get home. Three year old Sahn was sleeping on one of the soft couches in the office oblivious of the people pouring in to loiter like the rest of us. Apparently the emperor of Japan was traveling and that meant several runways were closed and many flights were cancelled.


The first time we had been at this airport we had arrived at one in the morning and waited for a shuttle that never seemed to come. Cabbies had come to try to win our business and convince us that theirs was the better option. It seemed a far cry from Incheon airport which seemed to run like a well oiled machine full of restaurants and shops to peruse while you waited. Unlike the first night though, I had friends from America and China arriving in Seoul as we waited. The time I had with them was precious and short.

“We won’t be able to leave until Monday” I bargained for them to send me back alone. Our group was too big to accommodate for earlier flights. But I wasn’t allowed to go alone. “Send half the group,” I pressed. No dice. That was it. Two more days in the Philippines.

Despite my feelings towards the airport and what seemed like endless waiting every time we stepped foot there, the Philippines had been nothing short of amazing. Every morning we were awakened by roosters crowing and beautiful sunshine. It was the perfect break from Korean dry winter air. Every afternoon was filled with talks and an afternoon swim in the pool. Every night was dinner on the beach, waves lapping behind us and good conversation with people from all over Asia doing inspiring work.


This trip had been designed, not really for us YAVs, but for the people who have given their lives to their work in their various countries. The people who are deeply involved in people’s lives and live their lives next to them – sharing meals and experiences. I had the privilege to talk with most of the people working in the Asia region for PC(USA) helping refugees resettle, educating young women who would otherwise not have the opportunity, working towards stopping human trafficking, or working on community development. This was meant as a break for them from their lives which may rarely have moments of luxury amidst the simple living they work within. It was a great opportunity for me to do some vocational discernment and talk with some very interesting people.

But aside from the people we met there, the Philippines was its own experience as a country. Even touching down in the plane the economic discrepancy is very clear. From the plane window you could see houses that were small with thatched roofs and chickens in the yard next to sections of housing with two stories and a fountain. There is an extreme amount of poverty next to resorts like where we were staying. It is easy to characterize the Philippines as a poor country, and perhaps one more dangerous than Korea. The Philippines also has a tumultuous history with many conquering forces including the Spanish, America, and Japan.

While we were there though we were introduced to Silliman University which Dessa (who I interviewed with for the Philippines site) has connections with and some exchange students in Hannam we’ve made good friends with attend. We heard talks and got a tour of campus, and near the end of our trip we had the chance to see some performances by the very talented young people in the area.



Coming from UIC  it felt like a throwback to college. They were performing dances like the college students I knew and loved. When I attended UIC, Filipinos in Alliance (FIA) was the largest Asian American organization on campus with the greatest presence. Every year they would do a dance competition called Battle of the Bamboo where they would compete with other universities in traditional Filipino dances, but they were also some of the best modern dancers I’ve ever seen with their dance group FIA modern.

These students had a similar spirit and talent in their dances. It felt so familiar to me, yet the context felt so different. I cringe at the thought of possibly being a “wealthy” foreigner at a resort watching this performance for us rather than a cheering audience member in the crowd at the Battle of the Bamboo. But I was grateful to be there to see their performances including really fun interpretations the Filipino creation story, and many traditional dances from some of the many different cultures within the Philippines.


Battle of the Bamboo, UIC – 2010

Our time together with the people at the conference was wonderful and wrapped up nicely as an experience in Dumeguete. Our delay in Manila was unexpected, but an opportunity to see the Philippines on our own. I could see it first hand after many years of hearing about it from my friends. I had Jollibee for the first time (though I hear rumors of one opening near Chicago) after hearing I needed to try it for the past few years.




We were able to see some more of the Philippines’ rich history and beautiful architecture that we otherwise wouldn’t have seen. We went to the Mall of Asia, and got to shop at local markets. We were at a Catholic church on a Sunday in the Philippines! It was hardly to say we got to know the Philippines in our short time there, but we got to see a glimpse of what Manila was like. I know I won’t get those days back with my friends in Seoul and waiting at the airport was one of the most frustrating experiences for me, but that time wasn’t lost in our waiting. And we eventually did get to fly out of Manila after one last trip to Ninoy Aquino International Airport.

Happy New Year! How Old Am I?

Happy New Year! I’m a bit late, but not for my birthday which is tomorrow. [Edit: My post says January 13th, but it is January 14th in Korea. My birthday is the 15th]

Fun fact: In Korea the difference doesn’t matter as much because of the concept of Korean age. This means that everyone is older by Korean age standards than they would be everywhere else. When you are born you are considered a 1 year old instead of a zero year old because of the time spent in the womb, and New Year’s day marks when everyone ages – not when their birthdays are.

But my birthday has made things a little more complicated, you see, because it also depends on which New Years we’re all talking about. Gregorian calendar? Lunar calendar? There are two New Years in Asia after all, and the Lunar New Year falls somewhere in February. By that account I am turning 26 (US age), 27 (Gregorian calendar Korean Age), and 28 (Lunar calendar Korean Age). Happy birthday to me! According to this Wikipedia page I would probably be considered turning 27.

With that out of the way, I’d like to say a few things: The next month or so I will be extremely busy doing lots of things. Currently my brother Brian is in Daejeon visiting me! I’m dragging him along to all my volunteering. Hopefully you will hear some words from him about his experience here. But in a week in a half I will be going with my fellow Korea YAVs to the World Mission Asia Regional Gathering in Dumaguete (Philippines) for a week. Following that I will have a shoestring budget vacation in Seoul with some dear friends who will be visiting from the States. Then it is the Lunar New Year! I will be going to a home stay then with a Korean family. If I don’t update during that time I apologize. I will have lots to say following that.

Also fundraising terrifies me. The deadline for my fundraising was January 1st, but I am far from my goal so I will continue fundraising for my year. As of December 5th, I have raised $2,899 out of my required $4,000 of fundraising. Everything I have received has been a sigh of relief and has really touched me that people would take some of their own resources to support me. It has encouraged me and made me feel that people really care for me. I’m already surprised by the generosity I’ve encountered. What I’ve already raised astounds me. If you’ve given already, thank you so much from the bottom of my heart. It’s hard for me to express how much it means to me, and to know that people are thinking of me on my journey here a world away.

Given that, if you’re wondering what to get me for my birthday please donate! It would put a smile on my face and get me closer to my goal! You can donate here, and if you’d rather send a check, you can find that information on my donation page here. Thank you so much from the bottom of my heart.

Opportunity Costs

You can play this song while you read my blog. It will appropriately set the mood.

One of those big things that people struggle with while living abroad is what they’ll be missing out on while they’re not home. A big one currently is not having the holidays with family. Each person has a different experience of what that means – sadness, relief, a longing for home cooked meals. For me, I miss my family and my friends. I miss the food and the games, and catching up with cousins. My family traditions are probably different than yours. I miss the large pot of Burmese soup we have at our family gatherings – the endless food fest that is every family gathering we have. I miss the silly things my nephews and my niece will inevitably say. I’m truly thankful to say this is what home for the holidays mean to me.


It’s ever so apparently during the holidays, but choosing to be in Korea for a year means I miss out on everything for the whole year. For me this means I’m missing the first weddings of my cousins on both sides of the family. It means I won’t be there when my friends want to talk to me about the struggles in their lives. I’ll miss out on board game gatherings and late night talks. I won’t be there for my family when both good and bad things happen. I’ll miss an entire year of my niblings’ childhoods (niblings is a real word, I swear). It may also mean that I’m not there when someone I know passes away. It is time I can’t get back.

Aside from my family and friends I’m missing there are other life milestones that I am putting off as well. Travelling abroad also makes it very difficult to have a long lasting romantic relationship when I move countries every once in a while. This means I’ll have one less year of an adult income, and depending on my future career one less year of experience. Perhaps these could be labelled “anxieties about the future.”

From what I’ve said it’s hard to see why I’d want this. But Christmas celebrations this year are ones I’ll remember forever. I had the awesome privilege of witnessing a service with the young adults in Korean first, then Chinese, then in English on Christmas Eve. Being able to look around the congregation on Christmas at Hannam Church and feel like I knew the people there. I could point out the Taekwondo instructor whose place we practice at, the Potter’s family who invited us when we arrived to make pottery, the people who help us with Sunday School, and the young adults who we played a scavenger hunt with. They’re no longer a group of strangers, but people who have extended their welcome to us and with whom we’ve shared warm memories. People we continue to make warm memories with.

I may not have my Burmese soup or my cousins to play with, but I’m not lacking here. While I wish I could split myself in two and do everything, I’m happy to be on this adventure. I wouldn’t be able to have a basic conversation in another language now, nor would I have learned how to play 3 cushion or Konggi. I’ve learned so much about the situation here in Korea as well. So much of my time in Korea has expanded my understanding of people and what shapes our histories and who we become.

For me this has been a big step in the right direction for what I want my life to look like and who I want to be. As for my anxieties about the future, I need patience and trust that things will go as they should – whatever that may mean. For now, while I’ll continue to miss those I love at home, I’m happy to be here making new memories and a new home I’ll miss when I’m away. For those who celebrate, I hope you have a Christmas to remember. Merry Christmas!


As the year comes to end I find myself far short of my fundraising goals. Will you please help me reach my goals?

No Peace Without Justice

Dr. Martin Luther King: “There can be no justice without peace and there can be no peace without justice.”

We returned from our first YAV retreat December 3rd, and it was an eye opening trip. One consistent theme of what we’ve been learning has been about massacres and various human rights violations. I’ve mentioned them a few times already in my blog posts, and I’ve been told it is something that will continue throughout the year. The U.S. killing Koreans, the Japanese killing Koreans, Koreans killing Koreans, and the list goes on. If it’s not killing it’s the systematic rape of women from conquered countries as comfort women that continues even today in different forms, or free agency taken from those who should be free. These are not fun or easy topics to deal with.

Take the case of the comfort women – women who were taken from their homes or offered jobs as nurses or entertainers were used as sex slaves for the Japanese army. These were women from Korea, China, Vietnam, and many more countries who were displaced, systematically raped, and when the war ended were left behind in whatever country they had been taken to. Japan does not acknowledge that this occurred despite numerous live victims, records, and accounts. When confronted with this (as the Japanese embassy in Korea has every single Wednesday since 1992 by protests held by the surviving comfort women) they claim that those protesting are anti-Japanese.

It’s easy to be angry. In fact, it is probably a healthy response to such an atrocity. But I think it’s important to distinguish between a few things in that anger. One being that the Japanese are not evil. Whenever a blanket statement is used to vilify an entire people the response will not be compassionate or just. That then becomes a reason to retaliate in ways that would be regrettable in a similar fashion to sex slavery, or massacres. This is not a way to peace.

That being said, the actions were atrocious and the Japanese government should still be held accountable for their actions. For them not to be held accountable would be a crime against the women who experienced this injustice.

(It is also important to distinguish between a government and a people, and direct that anger justly. How frightening it would be to be held personally accountable to all that the US government has done!)

The roles in the paragraphs above can be swapped out for just about any government or incident. The US did atrocious things to Korea too, and really many other countries too. In fact as a response to WWII the US put Japanese Americans into internment camps regardless of their involvement with the war irreparably damaging lives. Anti-Japanese sentiments in the US led to the death of Vincent Chin (who, by the way, was not Japanese) a notorious hate crime in the Asian American community. What I’m realizing as I learn more about peace through this experience is that we can’t stop more from happening without recognizing the humanity of everyone involved.

It is easy to see in hindsight how these things were wrong, but I would argue that we are dealing with similar sentiments in the US currently. Anti-Muslim hate crimes are on the rise which is contributing to refusing refugees who are fleeing from the same terrorists that the US so deeply hates. Making decisions based on fear of the other keeps the other as caricatures of who they are, and very importantly keeps them inhuman. It would be very Christ-like, but also very human to do the difficult work to undo this hatred so we can make steps towards peace.

To care for those who are hurt and recognize the humanity of all is important, but that still leaves situations like the comfort women with extreme injustice. The job of a peace maker is not to just sweep the pain of victims under the rug, and it is not to be passive. Without reparations for the crimes committed there will be no justice for the comfort women. To leave it at that does not create peace either even if there is an illusion of peace. Without admission of guilt similar crimes continue unchallenged, and the turmoil for the comfort women for many have been taken to their graves. So I encourage you to walk the line of keeping your heart open to see each other as human, but also recognize the need for accountability in the face of injustice because there is no peace without justice.


Please help me! I still need donations!