I Did Something Bad Today

I was getting late earlier and I have no time to iron my dress, so I decided to hang it inside the bathroom to steam it. I turned the shower on, closed the door and went to prepare my breakfast.

After breakfast, I realized it's almost time to take a bath. When I opened the door, a great cloud of steam came out. I saw my dress' creases disappeared like it was ironed. Ha! Great. I prepared the rest of my outfit and was laying them on the bed, when the fire alarm blasted. The steam coming out of the toilet activated the smoke detector.

Panicking, I opened the windows to let the steam out, totally ignoring the freezing weather outside. The alarm kept ringing. The noise was defeaning so I opened the main door and saw that the rest of my neighbors were hurrying out of their rooms. I knew that I was the culprit but I ran out with my co-tenants downstairs. Should I remain in my room and evoke suspicion? Nah! I watch too many CSI shows you know.

Everyone was wondering what could have triggered the alarm. Of course, dare I admit it? I acted as though I knew nothing. And since am the hooligan who started the chaos, I kept to myself and prayed that the alarm would stop. I was already running late, not to mention, scared to my balls that the landlord would arrive soon to check on us.

I showered in record time, dressed up and hurried to school.

As I was starting my first class, the landlord called. Because am really guilty, I could not bring myself to fully comprehend what he's saying. I told him to call my friend, whom I already confessed to the little crime I did on the way to school (and I am pretty sure my friend will never tell on me). Apparently, the landlord was only wanting permission to get inside my room to check the alarm. As there was really no fire, he wondered obsessively what could have started the early morning hullabaloo.

I swear, I will never steam my dress again. Ever.

On second thought, I will remind myself to ducktape the smoke detector. Yay!!!

Yes...

I will marry you

here

and

in

the after life

not

just once

but

for as many times

as you want me to...

Originally posted here...

Me Ate Grasshoppers

Today, the Kim's firstborn son got married in Jeolla province. We drove for almost 3 hour and a half to get there. Going home we had to endure an exhausting 5 hours ride because of the heavy traffic, which is very usual on weekends in country side highways. The wedding, including the reception, took only an hour.

When the Kims gave me the wedding invitation weeks ago, I saw the occasion as an opportunity to don a hanbok. Mr. Kim told me that I don't have to as only the relatives of the bride and groom are required to wear them. After throwing a little tantrum, I was given permission to wear one. For days, I was into calling frenzy to borrow a hanbok.

For everyone's information, a silk gown costs as much as 2 million won. However, pressing issues came up in the school, and the hanbok catwalking was set aside. I could have rented one for something like 80 bucks but decided not to anymore. The itch was gone and I opted for a safer black outfit ensemble. I left the honor to O, who's now a proud mom-in-law. Yay!

In spite of me not looking like a Korean royal princess, the affair went well. I didn't want to steal the thunder from the bride anyway. That would be so uncouth. It was a great privilege to witness the union of two individuals whose culture is so much different than mine. Although the rite does not reflect much of the traditional Korean wedding anymore, it still is, a unique episode in my life here. The beautiful ceremony lasted for only 15 minutes, picture taking for about another 15 minutes. Then feasting on the piquant variety of traditional Korean and Chinese dishes for another 30 minutes, or it depends on how much one can eat.

During the reception, I sat with Mr. Kim's former highschool buddy, also a Mr. Kim, and his family. The daughter's set to study in the Philippines and they wanted to know more about my country so I obliged. For dessert, Mr. Kim's daughter brought a plate of cookies and fried grasshoppers. Since Mr. Kim was relentless in his effort to make me eat all those Korean food, I helped myself with some grasshoppers to concede. And know what? It actually tastes like anchovies.

Live octopus... fried grasshopper... what are they going to make me eat next?

Quo Vadis Math Guru?

Back in highschool, one of my most favorite subjects is Algebra - so much so that when it was time to choose major in college, I opted for Mathematics. I wanted to be like our former Algebra teacher, Dona Soledad Alvarez, who taught binomials and polynomials as though it's just as simple as 2 plus 2 equals x.

However, my dream of becoming the coolest Math teacher was abrupted when I failed one subject - Differential Calculus, a parody of all mathematics, invented to torture young minds like mine. And when I told the clinker to my College Algebra doctor professor, the one who really pushed me to take up Math as my major (he was so impressed that he exempted me from the midterms and finals. Little did he know that everything he taught I learned already from Dona Soledad), he said something gay like "Did you have to take me seriously?" or something to that bloody effect.

Anyway, I forgave him already. He was probably right, I should have never majored in Math in the first place. I should have NEVER mentioned to my boss now that I could teach algebra. Arrgghhh!

Too late, as those memories flooded back this afternoon, I stood facing the white board with my armpit sweating, confronted with algebraic problem number 7.

The dilemma actually started when my boss presented the new Math textbook, written purely in Korean. Torture at its finest! I told the boss it would be very difficult for me to use the book as everything is in Korean and there's no one to translate the problems for me. The boss just shrugged. It's like telling me "It's not my problem anymore."

My former assistant teacher A had resigned weeks ago for reasons only she and the boss are privy to. There are two new math teachers: a dude who can't speak a single Eng-li-shi and practices sign language in my face, as though we are teachers in a Deaf Mute Academy, and a dudette who suffers from hearing dysfunction whenever I talk to her.

Back to the classroom scene: my forehead was getting really sweaty. I felt the shame in my bones. I wanted to scream: Time out kids! It's confession time! Teacher doesn't know the answer!

I can't do that though... I can't. Never in a million years would I allow my poise to disintegrate infront of smart alecky 5th graders. To save my face, I told the class that problem no. 7 is homework. Yes! That is pure genius! Whoever invented homework is my bestfriend.

As I was erasing the board, I heard Sung Hong told his seatmate in Korean: Teacher gave it as homework because she can't solve it. She's stupid.

I was so mortified, I can't believe my ears that I understood perfectly what the little tyrant said in Korean. I took a deep breath, turned around and told the boy: "I am the teacher here, I will assign which problem is seatwork; which one is homework. If you don't do your homework, I will have to tell your mothers."

I can't really remember exactly what I said, but I still remember my armpit sweating profusely out of disgust.

The class was silent for a while, probably digesting the fact that their foreign teacher can actually understand Korean. And as though they wanted to confirm my newly found authority, everyone chorused: Neh!!! (that's Korean for YES).

Now, the big question is: how am I going to know which is the correct answer should they pass the homework next week? Arrggghhhhhh!!! What have I gotten myself into? What???!!!

The Guitar Man

After what seemed to be an eternity, I was able to talk to Rue finally. My phone got busted and I never had time to go to the service center. Blah. Blah. Although I still can not receive and send text messages as the screen is virtually blank, I can now make and receive calls. Yay!

Of course, my beloved boy told me that he missed me a lot and that his "birdie" is now healing. I was tempted to tell him not to please have sex without any girls yet. Waaa! But I didn't want to gross out my son so I bit my tongue and just told him how my days are without him. I am so in denial that he is now a budding man. Whatever!

We had a little chit chat about this and that, and then, my son, known for being straight to the point, told me that he wants a guitar. He wants to play the electric guitar that his father left him but he needs to take some lessons first. Upon hearing this, I wanted to scream "Yay! Am going to be the mom of a future famous rock star! Yipeee!"

Then unconsciously, my head wandered off to the future; seeing myself as a roadie. Err, I think I would look too old to be a roadie. How about a groupie? No? I changed the scenario. I'm the manager. Ewww, why do I have this evil feeling that as their manager, my son fired me?

Heck, I told my son that as long as he promises to study really hard, I am going to send him the dough to buy a guitar. Of course, the young Joe Satriani wanna be swear to high heavens he will study a lot more. He even said "I swear Mom, I will study a hundred times more everyday!" I didn't really understand why he giggled after he said that.

Wait... what if Rue does become a Rock Star? Will I be allowed to hang out with my son? Hmmm... I will have to plan this. And the outfits befitting to the royal matriarch of a rock star. Yes, I should start planning as early as now.