A Roller Coaster Without a Lap Bar

It's been much too long since the last time I posted, so here's to things long overdue!

The last time I blogged, I reflected on the things I've learned from the coronavirus. I can't believe that was two months ago!

I've been in Korea for four months now, and I often half-joke that each month feels like three.

Every day is chock-full of learning opportunities. There's a study that explains why summer vacations felt so much longer when we were kids, and subsequently why time flies so quickly as we age. In short: When we're young, everything is a new experience. We're still exploring the world around us and learning to do, well, everything. As adults, things become more routine. Our brains go on auto-pilot more often, which causes our perception of time to become more fluid -- but less of a leaky-faucet fluid (the way summer vacation drips by while we're children) and more of a fire-hydrant-spewing-everywhere fluid (which is often how time feels in our adult years). The difference is new experiences, and researchers suggest that adults can fool time into slowing by doing and learning new things.

Since coming here, everything is a new thing. I guess that's how four months feel like a year, despite the days and weeks themselves flying by. Looking back on hikes and conversations, I realize that they happened merely weeks ago, although they feel like month-held memories.

Throw a coronavirus into the mix, and now everything is new for everybody!

There's a joke amongst ex-pats here. At the announcement of the coronavirus outbreak in January, many of our friends and family would send notes to stay safe around the virus, or would question our intentions to come back home. Once Western countries began responding to the pandemic, many of those friends and family started suggesting, "Maaaybe you're better off staying in Korea, after all."

There's absolutely something to be said about the cultural and environmental differences between Korea and the USA, but nothing has granted me more perspective than experiencing the Korean response to the outbreak.

Bear in mind that Korea has experienced coronavirus outbreaks before that have hit the country hard and greatly affected the government's emergency procedures. As a result of outbreaks like MERS and SARS, the Korean government created protocols for communication (which you perhaps saw in my original corona update post) in the forms of posters, videos, text alerts, etc., along with routine emergency drills. These drills were practiced a few times a year. Coincidentally and very fortunately, the most recent one had been conducted in December, one month before the outbreak was announced.

Unlike most other countries, Korea did not experience a lock-down. The word "social distancing" did not appear in our vocabulary here until months in, when Western countries coined the term. The Korean government and companies here had urged people to isolate, and there wasn't even a question about doing so. Hardships of other coronaviruses exist in recent memory. I get the feeling that people in the West will have many learnings from COVID-19, and I hope that the people who run our governments will take these lessons to heart for future emergencies and implement positive changes as successfully as Korea has been able to.

There was a shortage of masks for a couple weeks, but that was quickly curbed. The streets were empty for a little over a month, but businesses largely remained open, yet unfrequented. There's such a culture of delivery service here (for restaurants, groceries, everything) that everyday living was easy. Businesses did suffer and people grew bored. Some Koreans did blame the government for not restricting travel to and from China sooner. People did not question the need to make a change for public health and individual's health and safety.

Korea's success is largely attributed to their "test, trace, treat" formula. Testing is widespread. There's a multilingual hotline to call if you suspect symptoms or exposure. Testing is free for at-risk individuals, and "at-risk" may even be defined as something as simple as being in the area of a recent case. Blanket testing has allowed medical professionals to track clusters, and isolate individual cases for quarantine and/or treatment. Individuals entering the country are required to quarantine for two weeks. There's a quarantine app for those incoming, and accommodations and food are available for those who need it. There's concern, but overall acceptance, that phones are a large part of identifying at-risk individuals and communicating emergency information. Emergency alerts regarding new cases or general COVID info come to our phones daily. (If you're American, you know that awful, soul-grinding sound of the Amber Alert. That's the same alert and sound.) Korean organizations sometimes consolidate info on phones and credit cards that have been used in outbreak locations, and those people are contacted about getting tested.

Coming from a country that greatly values the perception of privacy, it's quite interesting to be in Korea, where CCTV reigns supreme to safety and security. CCTVs exist everywhere in the cities, my academy's classrooms, even high in mountain trails. Americans balk at the idea of info aggregation in regards to emails, texts, phone locations, and anything that may be regarded as personal, if they don't (and often, even if they do) permit collection of that data. There's a distrust that's gone from inherent to apparent, in many regards. Meanwhile, twice a day, I'm recording my temperature for my employer, and I'm occasionally visiting stores that use thermal cameras to check patrons for escalated body temperatures.

I work at a hagwon, which is essentially a for-profit academy. Students normally attend public school in the daytime hours, and then fill the seats of our hagwon in the late afternoon and evenings. Students have yet to set foot in a public school this year. At the announcement of COVID-19, we wore masks to school (students and teachers). Around that time, students' scheduled return to school (from winter break) was postponed. If I recall correctly, the school start was postponed four times. (Students attend online classes now, and usually one or both parents stay home.)

Our hagwon closed for a week and a half. At that point, we went into the office to prepare for online teaching. We rehashed all of our lessons within two days. The following Monday, we began utilizing Zoom. A couple weeks in, we had worked through all the bugs and kinks of online teaching, and things were running smoothly. It had taken two days for the school to install WiFi (spotty WiFi, but still WiFi) into all the classrooms. We rotate classrooms to teach Zoom, much like we do when students are actually present in the rooms.

Roughly two weeks ago, students finally came back to classes. They returned about a week before the social distancing recommendations were scheduled to lift. Everyone was required to wear masks. Students had their temperatures taken. Things were feeling nearly normal! We were all so happy to have the kids back, and most of them were happy to return. Most of my middle schoolers said they preferred online classes, but I couldn't help believing they were happy to be back in the classroom, judging by the way they smiled and hugged friends they hadn't seen in almost three months.

Students came back on a Wednesday. That weekend, it was announced that there was another outbreak in the clubs of Itaewon, a popular district of Seoul with clubs, bars, restaurants, and retailers. Concern spiked again, and also frustrations. I think everyone was happy to feel as if things were getting back to normal, but this outbreak put things to a skidding halt, rising emotions of anger, frustration, and fear, at varying levels. On Tuesday, we were back to Zoom classes.

When the students had been back to the classroom, I met many of my new students for the first time, even some entire classrooms of students I'd only taught online. That is the case with most teachers nowadays.

There's a rapport that you get in-person that can't be achieved online. There's a certain energy when you're eye-to-eye with someone. In the case of my newest students, they're all very young and have a low proficiency of English, so it's generally more beneficial for them to learn a language in a classroom.

We're doing the best we can to provide high-quality online lessons. There are pros and cons to both classroom and online learning and teaching. I'm fortunate to experience both. There are things you can only learn from one and not the other.

Last week, we heard a rumor that we may teach hybrid classes, in which we teach a few students in the classroom while teaching students online. The very next day, we implemented this. (Korean change can cause whiplash!) Some of my students bring their computers/iPads/phones to class and participate on Zoom while I teach a few desks ahead of them. Other students come in without electronics and watch me teach via Zoom, as I project the screen onto the whiteboard.

We're all trying to figure out what's best for students' learning and public safety. It's a roller coaster, for sure, and I sometimes feel like I'm riding without a lap bar. Ever since I was a child, my grandfather used to say that "the only constant in life is change." This is proving ever true. But I'm no stranger to change. Neither are you. Plus, change makes us stronger. It makes life worth living. It makes things better and it makes things worse, but without it, what would we be?

Thank you for following this roller coaster of mine! I hope it grants perspective. If you have any questions, please leave them in the comments and I'll answer ASAP. I'll be sure to post more stories and photos soon!