Back home, my parents own a small acreage-turn-farm. After leaving for college and subsequently, Europe and Asia, my parents started to collect animals. Most notably, chickens. A phone call to 1-800-ChickensPlease and next thing you know, egg crates of chicken eggs had arrived, had hatched, and were born. Whenever I visit home, I love going out to the coop to collect the eggs. Every once in a while though, I run into Mrs. Hen, who squawks and shrieks every time I come near her damn nest. She then runs about the coop, squawking and flapping on to any other chicken that will listen and commiserate with her.

I bring this up because a group of Korean women gossiping remind me of Mrs. Hen.

I’m sitting in the teacher’s office of the largest public middle school in Daegu, Korea. I don’t understand or speak Korean. All I hear is “cluck-cluck-squawk-chirp-cluck-squawk-AMANDA-cluck-squawk.” Similar to a prairie dog, my head involuntarily peeks up from my desk when I hear my name. They look. They laugh. Then go about their clucking. No move is made to aid my understanding. No one assures me that they aren’t talking about my thighs which are larger than most Korean women’s waists.

And so I go back to my faceboo—ahem… I mean, lesson planning… Out of the corner of my eye, I notice a note stuck in my pencil holder.

Hello Amanda Teacher. Hi my name is Woo Ji-Myung. I’m not good at English well. But I can write this small card. My English skill is bad, so maybe you are disappointmented. Anyway, Good Bye!
From Ji-Myungi.

I look back up as I hear my name again amidst the clucking. And in this moment, it doesn’t bother me.