Our Fault

On Saturday, more than 150 teens and young adults were crushed in Seoul, South Korea, after a weekend Hallowe'en celebration turned into a stampede in the trendy Itaewon district. There are many narrow streets in this neighbourhood, north of the Han River.

After my initial shock and sorrow, I thought to myself, since when did Koreans celebrate Hallowe'en? And then my mouth dropped.

Oh, God, it's our fault.

In 1997, DW and I were teaching English in Chŏnju, South Korea. Our students ranged from elementary-school-aged kids to university students and some adults. It was a good mix of people and, for the most part, we enjoyed working with them all.

Hallowe'en fell on a Friday, in 1997, and we decided that we would introduce our western tradition with the kids. We had learned from our secretaries, that morning, that they didn't know what Hallowe'en was and it was a festival that wasn't celebrated in their country.

DW and I decided that we would introduce it to our young students. We would introduce them to new words, like pumpkin, witches, ghosts, and monsters. We explained how kids would dress up in scary costumes and collect candies from neighbours by saying "trick or treat" at the front doors.

We then gave each student some construction paper and crayons, and instructed them how to make a mask, making one for ourselves as we directed them. They could draw any mask that they wanted, and when it was ready, we would help them cut holes for the eyes, mouth, and nose, as need be, as well as cut off any unwanted parts of the paper. We'd use string and tape to hold the masks in place, and we'd get each student to explain what they were.

I would then send my students to DW's classroom, to knock on the door and say "trick or treat." DW would do the same with her kids, sending them to me. We would hand out treats to each kid and then we had a Hallowe'en party throughout the institute, with the other teachers and their students participating.

It was our fault. We introduced Korean kids to Hallowe'en.

That evening, we met up with our fellow ex-pats at Urban Bar, and we were surprised to see all our fellow teachers were dressed in costumes. The Koreans in the bar were not dressed for Hallowe'en and many had told us that they had never heard of this holiday.

We gave them an education.

In 1998, Hallowe'en fell on a Saturday. One of our friends, who we knew from Ottawa but who was actually working in Seoul at the time, came down to Chŏnju to visit us for the weekend. The teachers from my university, who also lived in the same apartment building as DW and I, were having a party on our shared floor, and from there we were going to head to TwoBeOne, another popular ex-pat bar that offered live music.

You can read more about that evening, here, but suffice to say, no Koreans celebrated that evening and looked at us like we were freaks (being in drag, I particularly caught people's attention). At the very least, though, we introduced a lot of Koreans to our western holiday.

In the 24 years that have passed since that evening, I can't imagine how many English teachers have come and gone, introducing our customs and traditions to Koreans, young and old, including Hallowe'en. It seems to have rubbed off on our students, who have seemingly embraced the ritual and may have passed it on to their kids.

Almost like a virus.

I don't mean to trivialize what happened, yesterday, in Seoul. Learning of the crush of people and the loss of life for so many is truly devastating. My heart goes out to the people who are dealing with their trauma and injuries and the families who lost loved ones.

But it makes me wonder: what if we hadn't instructed our students to make masks? What if we hadn't dressed up, ourselves, and wandered the streets of our city on October 31?

Would those people be alive today?

Throwback Thursday: Life of the Party

I didn't have to buy a drink all evening.

Koreans don't typically celebrate Hallowe'en. At least, they didn't in 1998. If a Korean did celebrate this very western holiday, they did it with foreigners like me.

When DW and I celebrated Hallowe'en in 1997, with our hagwon (teaching institute) students, we made masks with the kids that we taught. We didn't extend our celebrations to our adult classes: in fact, it was my adult students who admitted that this holiday was purely western.

Because October 31, 1997, fell on a Friday, the ex-pats celebrated by dressing up when we met at our regular hangout, Urban Bar. While I wrote about this establishment for "social intercourse," as the owner called it, in Songsaengnim: A Korea Diary, I didn't write about Hallowe'en in my novel. I don't even remember if DW or I dressed up at all.

I have a photo that I shot of our ex-pat friends: one was dressed as the devil; another, an angel. One was a vampire; another, a zombie. Our good friend, Brad, dressed as Groucho Marx: he was very convincing with his big eyebrows, mustache, glasses, and cigar.

Yes, Hallowe'en 1997 was a non-event for me and DW: 1998 was very different.

Our dear friend, Tamara, who lived in Seoul, came down to visit DW and me, and was really into celebrating the hallowed evening with our friends. DW and I were living in the new apartment that my university had provided, where our floor was occupied by other teachers.

DW and my Korean friend, Kyung-hee, was back from Australia and decided to join us as well, though she decided against dressing up.

DW was dressed as a lumberjack, with a checked shirt, blue jeans, and a toque. She used an eye liner to draw stubble on her face and curly hairs on her chest. She even fashioned an axe out of paper and tin foil. Tamara was a bumble bee (I think—it was a long time ago and my friend doesn't even remember anymore).

I had lost a lot of weight while living in Korea, and could actually fit into one of DW's tiny dresses. She had bought one in Thailand: it was sleeveless and was cut well above the knees. I wasn't as curvy as she was, but I could wear it and still breathe.

Kyung-hee did my makeup. Quite heavily. A lot of foundation, bright eye shadow, deep-red lipstick. My hair was slicked back, flowery barrettes clipped in. I squeezed into a pair of tights that made my hairy legs look hairier. A bra, stuffed with rolled-up socks, gave me boobs to rival DW's, which were, tonight, flattened down to look more butch.

I looked hideous. Deliciously hideous.

I wore a necklace and carried an empty sparkling wine bottle. I didn't strain my voice to sound like a woman. In fact, I dropped my voice a little and adopted an Austrian accent, almost like Arnold Schwarzenegger. I told everyone that I was on the Austrian women's swim team.

The hardest part for us was to hail a taxi to get us down to the national university district. No one wanted to pick up a bunch of freaks. Our first stop was to our current haunt, TwoBeOne, a basement ex-pat bar with a stage for live music. Lots of ex-pats performed here, including yours truly, but tonight we were there to celebrate Hallowe'en and support our friend, Russ, who was performing with a Korean woman and another westerner.

Everyone was dressed up and there were, to our surprise, lots of Koreans in attendance.

As soon as I sat at a table with my friends, a young Korean man approached our table and started talking to me. I stuck with my role and explained I was an athlete who had just celebrated a victory at a Seoul swim meet. He asked if he could join our table, and no one objected.

He ordered a pitcher of beer and filled my glass. And refilled it. And refilled it some more. We didn't chat about anything memorable, but I do remember with clarity that he spoke to me, not as a man dressed as a woman but as a woman. It was surreal.

He invited me to join him on the dance floor, in front of the band, and I accepted. I poured some of the beer into my sparkling wine bottle, and brought it onto the dance floor.

The floor was packed, but that didn't stop one of my fellow teachers, Steve, from taking my camera, which DW had been safeguarding, diving onto the dance floor, sliding under me, and shooting straight up.

I should have worn black underwear.

After Russ' set, a few of us decided to wander the streets, in costume, in search of another venue. I thanked the man who bought my drinks and left him behind. By this time, I was feeling no pain (that would come, tomorrow). We found a bar that had big windows at street level. There seemed to be no foreigners in it but that didn't stop us.

No sooner had we found a couple of tables, next to each other, when two young Korean men came to us, wondering what was going on. One of these men invited me to join him and his friends at their table.

I looked to the table and saw that two women were at the table. I nodded to DW, who told me to have fun, and I joined my new friends.

More drinks were ordered. More talk about who I was (my Austrian counterpart). I hoped to make the Austrian Olympic team in 2000, in Sydney. Though these people knew nothing about me, they assured me that I'd make the team.

A song came over the sound system and the Koreans invited me onto the floor. Who was I to say no to my benefactors of spirits? All five of us joined the dance floor, and I noticed that DW, Tamara, Kyung-hee, and our other friends were closeby.

DW asked me if I was all right. "So long as one of the guys doesn't make a pass at me, I'm good."

When a slow song followed, one of the Korean women asked me to dance and I accepted. She was petite, even compared with me, and I had to stoop so that she could get her arms around me.

Her English was minimal, but she explained, speaking closely to my ear, that she was on a blind date and that she wasn't enjoying herself, that she didn't care for her date. She asked me if I could help her get out of it.

I said I could. I explained to her that when the slow song was over, she and I would go over to the table where DW and our gang sat. I would put her in one of the chairs. My friends would look out for her.

When the song ended, I made to stand up straight, but the woman still clung onto me, her arms firmly wrapped around my neck. I continued to stand and lifted her off her feet. I put my arms around her, so as to not support her with my neck and shoulders, and carried her to the table. I placed her in a vacant chair, told DW to keep her safe, and I rejoined the other three Koreans at their table.

Her date didn't seem to care that I had replaced the woman, and he continued to fill my glass. With him distracted, DW and my friends escorted the young woman out of the bar and safely into a taxi.

The rest of us stayed until the bar closed. Compared to the woman, I was not a cheap date. I held a lot more alcohol.

So, what do you think? Should I elaborate on this Hallowe'en tale in my sequel? It was certainly a night worth remembering.

Wordless Wednesday: Autumn Dancers

Photo Friday: It Ain't Sexy

Mummies. Vampires. Ghosts. Frankenstein. Ghouls. Zombies. Witches.

These are what I think of when I think of Hallowe'en. All Hallows Eve.

Superheroes and princesses, in a pinch, though they pander to stereotypes.

Sexy nurses, sexy firefighters, sexy nuns, sexy ebola doctors... WTF???

Sexy ANYTHING is not Hallowe'en.

My daughter knows. She does her own makeup.

Happy Hallowe'en!

Scarey Stuff, Eh Kiddies?

I love to scare people. Especially, at Hallowe'en.

I don't go after the wee ones: I'm not cruel. I don't want the parents in my neighbourhood putting me in their bad books. But the teenagers are fair game.

Over the past couple of years, I will don a black hooded robe and a skeleton mask. I'll sit, limp, in a Muskoka chair on my front steps, and make like I'm a stuffed dummy (no jokes, please). If I see a young kid approach my driveway, I'll pull off the mask, take the hood down, and pick up the bowl of treats.

For the rest, I wait, lifeless, until they approach the door. And then I abruptly come to life and let out a spooky moan.

And the screams are my reward.

One time, however, one of my Hallowe'en pranks didn't work out as planned. But it sure created a fright.

When I was in my teens, living with my folks, I would often hand out the treats. But I would always dress up, always as a ghoul or a monster. One year, I decided to do something different. Something creepy, but not particularly scary.

That was the intention.

I wore a jump suit. It was one that one of my friends had worn when he worked in a garage as a part-time job. The suit was a little big on me, but that didn't matter: I wasn't planning to move around in it very much. I messed up my hair, applied powder to my face to make it pale, and drew dark patches under my eyes.

I was going for the dead look.

In my parents' front entrance, a planter hung from a hook that was anchored to the ceiling. Not being a spooky decorative piece, I removed the planter and set it aside. On the floor, under the hook, I placed a step stool. Using a rope, I fashioned a noose, placed it around my neck, and put the other end around the hook in the ceiling.

You know where this is going, don't you?

I stood on the stool, ensured that I had enough slack in the rope to allow me to bend forward so that I could deliver treats to bags without it pulling on my neck. I was set.

As the trick or treaters came to the door, most were surprised to find a hanging victim giving out candy. While I scared no one, many cautioned me to be careful.

Until the tiniest child, dressed as a princess, arrived.

She was cute. All dressed in pink, with puffed shoulders, a sparkly tiara in her hair. She was less than five years old: this must have been her first Hallowe'en.

While I couldn't get out of my getup, I didn't try to act like I was dead, didn't waggle my tongue like I was being strangled. I put on my softest, gentlest voice, told her she looked great, and tried to lean forward to place the candies in her bag.

But she was just too tiny, too nervous, and wouldn't raise her bag higher. So I leaned further, trying to reach the bag, or at least get into a position where I could drop the candy into the bag.

Just a little further, I thought to myself, when I lost my balance, kicked the stool out from under my feet, and fell forward.

I hadn't tied the rope to the hook: I merely wrapped it once around so that it wouldn't slip off. For me, the whole thing happened in slow motion. I felt the rope grip firmly around my neck, felt the pressure in my head. For a second, it seemed that I actually hung from the rope. But I know that that wasn't the case.

But what did happen is that the hook came out of the ceiling, leaving a small hole as the anchor broke the drywall and sending me crashing to the floor.

I was unhurt, but I had succeeded in scaring the crap out of myself. And in making the little princess scream.

That was not the intention.

But one thing was certain: I had made it into the bad books of her parents.

Happy Hallowe'en!

Photo Friday: Naughty or Nice?

The other night, I attended another photo meetup in a studio, where I was able to practice working with a model and, of course, studio lighting.

The biggest challenge was getting the lighting to work with a Christmas tree without leaving a shadow on the white backdrop or on our model. And sometimes, a light would fail to go off.

Oh yeah, and I'm really new and amateurish at this.

But it was fun and I want to do more. What do you think?

Happy Friday!

Wordless Wednesday: In The Studio

From Tweetups to Meetups

This week, I branched out in my photography, entering a new social media forum at the same time.

It's called Ottawa Photography Meetup.

This Ottawa-area group, with more than 840 members (both photographers and models), is part of a larger, global Meetup social organization that gets people with similar hobbies and interests to meet and share experience and ideas. There are more than 9,000 groups in Meetup worldwide.
With the photography meetup, Ottawa-area photogs meet for various photo themes, such as photo walks, portraits, events, and more.

So far, I've signed up for two meetups: one, a self-portrait challenge, where I had to photograph myself and show a mood. There was no actual meeting of photographers, which provided a bit of relief (no pressure) but also seemed to lack the spirit of the meetups (no advice from experts).

I took many photos of myself but I quickly realized that taking self portraits is harder than it looks. Of the dozen or so shots I took, there was only one that I thought was usable. It's the shot that I now use for my Twitter avatar and my photo for The Brown Knowser.

I'm supposed to look contemplative in that shot. How did I do?

Last night, I attended my first actual meetup, in a studio. The theme was to photograph a model who was dressing in a selection of sexy Hallowe'en costumes. It was my first time working with studio flash lighting. Typically, I work with natural lighting when I can. I'm not very good with flash photography. But it's an area that I really want to improve upon. I want to be good at portraits.

It was also my first time working with a model. I have to say, I was nervous at first, but after a few minutes, after our host set up the lighting, recommended a suitable shutter speed and aperture, and after I took my first test photo and saw the results, I relaxed. Our model was experienced and was easy to talk to. I made sure to be respectful and involve her in a lot of what I was doing, and I also was sure to show her the results of my shots from the camera display, so she could see what I was after.

Because I was sharing the studio time with three other photographers, my biggest challenge, when it was my turn to shoot, was to remember to not take too long, to share the time with the model. Sometimes, my head would get into what I was doing, thinking about the next shot.

My thanks go to Mike, the organizer of this event, owner of the studio and lighting equipment. Thanks also go out to Marc and Pierre (Pete), who offered helpful advice and inspired me to keep shooting. I'd love to work with you again.
And a special thank you to our model, Angela, who was patient and accommodating. You have captivating eyes, my dear!

Angela poses for Mike, pretending a bird has landed on her hand; Pete waits his turn.

For tomorrow's Wordless Wednesday, I will show you the best of my photos. I would love to get your feedback on how I did.

Stay tuned...