Every month the educational office in our district (Uijeongbu) has something they call the "English Café." It's an opportunity for native English teachers in the area to get together with Korean teachers in a Korean cultural experience. I usually don't go, but this month's event was called "Extreme Taegwondo Musical."
They requested that we write a reflective essay afterward. I wasn't sure what that meant, but it sounded kind of like an assignment from the PCM class at MBI. In case there's any confusion, my somewhat garbled analogy is a complaint about the names-from-a-hat buddy system they enforced at the beginning of the event. Some of the Korean teachers didn't want to speak English so it made that situation a little uncomfortable. I don't think anyone else will read it so I'm posting it here. This is what I wrote:
Flashing lights, blaring sounds and extreme entertainment all tempered by a prelude of warm conversation and delicious food – these were the panorama of delights which awaited us upon attending the year’s final English Café.
I knew not what to expect, for I’d not forayed on previous adventures of the said company. Yet even had I an inkling of what was to come, my mind would not have been able to encompass the scope and vision of what would ensue with the evening’s activities. It may be an overstatement to cite the scriptures – “Eye has not seen nor has ear heard” – yet in my mind the similitude is not to be overlooked. Because no one can know quite what to expect of a situation before it is upon him.
Certain aspects of the English Café I enjoyed overwhelmingly, and any negativity conveyed in the proceeding thoughts should not preclude that no matter how slightly. To have enjoyed pleasant camaraderie with countrymen and diverse bearers of my mother tongue is a privilege I should be loathe to despise. Nonetheless, there were elements of the aforementioned nocturnal expedition, namely the mandatory and seemingly perfunctory social couplings, which did nothing to increase the joyfulness of our shindig but in fact were somewhat to the detriment. Invoking the medium of analogy, I imagine each member of the party as words in a sentence from a mid-nineteenth century Gothic novel. In no way would I want myself understood as obdurate towards those with whom I share a dissimilitude in etymology – for we are all but entries in a dictionary of common making and these deviations enliven our sultry prose in every way. Yet it cannot be overlooked that some words find themselves uncomfortable with their preordained literary citizenship (which is why we have such a detestable plethora of kitsch lining our bookshelves, newspaper stands and magazine racks). It is in no way the fault of the words themselves. Rather it is a result of an author's discombobulated thoughts or some vacuum of scribal proficiency. Let sentences be written naturally and freely, infusing a variety of words and ideas of their own accord and not from a misguided sense of necessity. That is my only contention, and I thought it bore mention as a constructive adjunct to the rest of my accolades.
But enough dull talk of prose. What of the free verse that followed; the fine flowing lines of thought and body merged with the voice and soul of music? Mellifluous? Yes! Obtuse? Perhaps somewhat! Campy? By all means, yes and yes. And one of right mind would not have had it any other way. For with such things there is no other way. I offer my thanks for the opportunity. In all sincerity I hope the oversight of these outings brought you much joy and blessing.
