Serendipity

Serendipitous—surprising, unexpected, strangely coincidentally pleasurable—a word to describe some marvelously unprecedented occurrence. A perfect word to describe life's incongruities.

Teaching ESL is consistently awkward, ever rife with miscommunications, silences when there ought to be laughter, words in the wrong places and inflection in the wrong spaces, and the insertion of foot into mouth.

But teaching ESL is also consistently humorous; comedy leaking in between the frustrations, and mixing with the affection for students which together cement the beloved structure of teaching.

Add to this the exigent adventure of living abroad, and your life evolves into a most delightfully incongruous yet harmonious dwelling.

On Fridays I finish teaching at 9 AM, and am typically home by 10, after wrapping up some prep work or helping clean the staff room.

Last Friday I went home in light snow, attempting to shelter my nose from the frosty air, changed into several layers of walking attire and then ventured back outside for an untimed excursion.

Always my feet take me to the riverside where the city noises can be almost drowned by the river’s rush and chorus of bird calls, from the heron’s squawk to the invisible song bird chimes. This time I harbored the notion of heading upriver and perusing the department store for more fleece-lined attire, but the gorgeous snow-coated vistas reminded me of the many weeks since I’d toured the Hanbat Arboreteum. Thus downriver I went, setting a brisk pace to combat the rather more than brisk wintry air.

Snow is a great equalizer. Everything becomes a masterpiece when adorned with snow. Keeping my eyes fixed to the opposite bank and its backdrop of mountains laid with snowy trees was breathtaking. How snow converts us all to children, eyes wide with wonder at this revitalized world!

By the time I closed in on the Arboreteum, the sun had begun to permeate the iron clouds and was making the already stick snow increasingly wet and clumpy.

But the beauty remained for the next forty minutes while I wandered without aim or complaint or concern through the maze of trails of this gorgeous, immense park.

The Hanbat Arboreteum is split in two—each half sporting immaculately maintained grounds of various botanical beauties. Each side rambles on for several acres, tens of acres, but one side is much larger.

This time I strayed through the smaller side, as I’d yet to probe all its corners.

I smiled at the bushes of hanging red berries, crimson clusters capped magnificently with virgin snow, surrounding the chill gray waters of a small canal. I laboriously attempted to decipher a signpost describing the various conifers growing nearby, and peered upwards at long green needles, interrupted by the occasional short round cone. (I wondered if these were Scotch Pines.)

In rejection of the wide, gravel walk I found myself down by the Lotus Pond, usually brimming with coi fish (some of admirable size) and lilies, now boasting seasonally red lily pads and sand-colored winter grasses.

There to greet me, growing up from a circular snowy bench were two squat figures: miniature snow-folk of impressively round bodies with miniature round heads, twig arms stuck in their sides and pebbles pressed in for eyes and noses.

Oh, how precious they were!

They wrangled from me a most satisfied smile, and inspired me to complement their jolly presence with a snow-figure of my own. It was not so smoothly round or charming, perhaps, but a cheerful little person with pebbles for eyes and stubby arms of snow. I hoped another would find these three and add to the group.

Grinning like a fool, a blissfully thoughtless fool, I continued my trek through the steadily dampening grounds. (How much joy we get from the simplest and most childlike endeavors!) The sun was doing its best to melt away the lovely winter wonderland, but so far it was succeeding only in increasing the stickiness of the snow and reflecting off the crystals to rend the air sparkling.

On my final lap around the park I stuck my earbuds in and trotted on, planning to cross the Expo Bridge under its sweeping red and blue arches, and make my way homeward in time for lunch. Christmas carols ringing I picked my way around puddles and onto the bridge. Halfway across were two figures, bent over rolling snowballs. On opposite sides they called to each other, stopping a moment to breathe and shake the cold from their bare fingers. They wore large black parkas with furry hoods, but were also bareheaded and had sneakers on their feet, which were surely being permeated and dampening their socks. They were not, in short, properly prepared to be playing in the snow—but playing they were, despite their age (perhaps eighteen or nineteen.)

I passed by one in his labor, smiling at him in general friendliness and droll amusement. But my steps slowed as I neared the edge of the bridge and looked back. Then I shrugged and turned around, picked my snowy way back to the young gloveless chap, and held out my second pair to him.

He was surprised of course.

“Use them, they’ll help,” I said, with no idea whether he could understand me or not.

“Oh,” he said, looking at them, “really? Are they yours?” He spoke English!

“Yeah, use them, it’s cold. You don’t have to keep them. I’ll wait.” I didn’t care to give this boy my gloves and walk away never to see them again. I did not mind awaiting their return.

“Oh, thank you,” he said, slow to take my offer.

But as he attempted to put them on, his hands proved too large.

“Ah, too big,” he said.

“Oh, sorry, I have tiny hands!” I said regretfully, taking them back.

We looked down at the awkward lump of snow he’d been rolling.
“Are you making a snowman?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said. “Body,” he pointed at his lump. “Head,” he pointed across the bridge to his comrade, who was looking at us, his own awkward lump temporarily forgotten.

“It’s not round,” the boy said, “looks like triangle.”

It did—both lumps were stubbornly un-round. The snow was steadily stickier and compacted tightly, hard and cold, so that once packed there was no re-shaping it. And the attempts at smooth, round balls for body and head had resulted in oddly-shaped lumps with various points. The other boy’s looked vaguely like a pyramid.

“Oh, it’s okay, it’s hard to make it round,” I said, thinking of my own (failed) sleek spherical efforts with the tiny snow figure in the park. We looked down at the lumps, me tapping a clump of snow with my toe.

“Can I help?” I asked.

He agreed.

Thus commenced a delightful twenty minutes or so of labor, stooping and squatting in the snow to pack on, scrape off and shape the ugliest snowman I’ve ever seen.

Occasionally we spoke, but mostly we just worked and laughed.

The first boy spoke some English but the second did not, at least he chose to abstain. But we laughed a lot, me both at the absurd appearance of the snowman and the sheer oddity of the situation.

When did my life become randomly building a snowman with strangers on the middle of a bridge in South Korea?

A few passersby passed us by, individuals on foot or bicycles. Some looked amused at our antics, some barely glanced. How precious to belong to a company instead of receiving odd looks because of my odd looks!

The first boy mentioned Olaf, so I was naturally inspired to mold a carrot nose. But my sculpting skills have always been lacking, and the awkward cone I shaped was much more beaky than root-like. The second boy wanted him to have feet, so we tried to shape protruding bipeds, with the result of one foot vastly dwarfing the other. The snowman also had rather a pregnant belly and unfortunate bulges that might have been tumors.

After the majority of bodywork was finished, the first boy then gouged eyes and smile with his fingernail to form a bland, unthreatening face. Attempting to add personality I stroked in eyebrows, and made the snowman most threatening. With his beaky nose, menacing eyebrows and tiny ears that resembled devil-horns, in addition to the lumpy squat body, the snowman was truly an egregious, corpulent imp.

He would doubtlessly amuse and frighten passersby in equal measure.

How proud we were!

The boys were concerned for the snowman’s longevity beneath the sun’s debilitating rays, so the second boy stood behind him, holding his coat like a screen between the snowman’s back and the deadly sun. They wanted to move him to a safer location, but I believed him stuck fast, rooted firmly in the sticky snow from whence he’d been planted.

Unable to garner a photographer, the boys took turns taking their picture with the snowman, and then said I was next.

Thus somewhere in the city is a young man with a picture of me, a stranger whose name he doesn’t know, smiling behind our gargoyle snowman.

After that, I determined to leave.

“I will go now,” I said, stomping snow from my sneakers, very glad for my thick double-layered socks, “Thank you for letting me help!”

We smiled at each other and waved goodbye, and I turned again, continuing to laugh.

When I had exited the bridge and reached the riverside again, down the bank below the bridge, I looked back to see the boys’ progress.

They succeeded somehow in uprooting the snow gargoyle and were indeed moving him, one on each side, shuffling off to a new location in hopes of finding shade.

I wished to see reactions to that squat figure with his beak nose and sweeping eyebrows; I’ve no doubt he wrought smiles.

Thank God that we can all smile and laugh in the same language!

Living abroad is challenging and sometimes discouraging. My Korean language skills are incredibly lacking, such that I cannot successfully maintain a conversation or understand the majority of what is said to me.

But I can understand much because we are all people, and people are the same around the world.

We experience the same pains and pleasures, joys and hurts and fears and doubts and anticipations and loves. We are ceaselessly awed by mountains and waterfalls, discouraged by dismal weather, appreciative of hot food and delighted by games and art. We all love to play and to create, and in these we find common ground.

If we cannot speak each other’s languages we use gestures, expressions and pictures. We mime and we laugh and we speak with exaggerated emphasis. We have more fun, really, in this attempt to make ourselves understood. We let go our pride to make fools of ourselves, gesticulating and gaping in turn.

When you teach ESL you become very good at interpreting the unspoken. You convey your message and translate those of others—it’s necessary.

Once upon a time we all spoke the same language. After the Towel of Babel we scattered around the globe with our tongues suddenly discordant. But our nature remained constant.

Today we retain that nature God created in us, and if we look beyond the obvious, and cease complaining that we can’t understand due to accent or language, we can still find harmony.

Perhaps I cannot have an intellectual or highly intimate discussion with someone with whom I cannot speak, but we can enjoy each other’s company and make at least simple exchanges.

I once spent an hour alone with a Haitian woman who spoke no English, at a time when I’d forgotten all the Creole I knew. We shared laughter and love simply by being together, her cooking something delicious she wanted me to taste every few minutes, and me making appreciative signals.

My friend’s mother was convinced I knew Korean when I visited their home, impressed that I anticipated her intentions. Repeatedly I assured her words weren’t necessary.  

Every meeting with my Korean tutor is a Konglish adventure, while she attempts English explanation only to diverge into Korean, and I stumble through Korean phrases before slipping back to English.

Our host, her photographer friend in whose studio we meet and study, speaks almost no English whatsoever, and is one of the best pantomimers I’ve yet to meet. He signs almost everything, using ridiculous motions and dramatic expressions and making completely understandable sounds. I almost always know what he is saying, although he almost never says it with words.

Of course I want to increase my Korean capacity, but in the meantime I am so gratefully blessed with Korean folk who love me despite my incapacity, and with comprehension that needs no words.

Every day God gives me more understanding, and I always pray for wisdom not my own.

Being unable to rely on language, ever surrounded by strangers and foreign tongues can be intimidating, sometimes exhausting and overwhelming. But let us always remember we are people, formed in God’s image and made of the same emotions and incomprehensible complications.

Always let us keep our eyes open for common ground, and stop in our commutes to appreciate these commonalities.

I did not look that Friday for playtime in the snow with two strangers.

Usually I look ahead, think about what’s behind, and consider my own selfish intentions.

But God loves to surprise us.

Some people believe in coincidence. Some believe in fate. Some people believe that every small occurrence happens for a reason. Everything has purpose and significance.

I believe that serendipity is one of God’s delights. Sometimes the best occurrences are the unplanned, the spontaneous and wonderful, with persons previously unknown.

Life is not meant to be lived alone or according to plan. Life is meant to be serendipitous.

What other snow-gargoyles await in the future? I have no idea. But I am happy to find out.