Dear Friends and Family,

Today, after a lifetime war with my personality, I’m seriously considering changing my name. To Bridget.


For those of you not in the know, Bridget Jones is a fictional character with… you might say… an unerring instinct for trouble, beset by her own personality. She longs for poise, beauty, intelligence, admiration, and a love–life – but she is plagued by well, the opposite. No doubt there is a Bridget in every woman; nonetheless, in real life and more often than I’d prefer, I find myself in situations comedic to the point that I fervently wish that I were reading – not experiencing - them. In fact, over the years, I’ve accumulated a set of what my family calls “Laura stories” but that friends and I have dubbed “Bridget stories.”

Whatever you call them, I suppose you’d like to hear the latest Bridget story?

Of course you would.

Well, I kind-a, sort-of fell through a glass panel - in front of 30 students.

You see, my students were taking midterms and despite my poor grasp on the Korean language, our school sends me to proctor. The other day, I arrived early to the classroom in which I was scheduled to assist and upon deciding to not interrupt frenetic student test preparations, quite naturally I settled on top of the teacher’s desk. I had forgotten about the glass panel that nestles the teacher’s computer under the desk which, of course, immediately splintered under my weight. Luckily, I caught myself from falling on the glass and onto the computer. I was unhurt but I was horrified. Here I was, an adult, a teacher, and a role model (?) carelessly wrecking their classroom. And here I was, confirming for Korean students who are already tremendously discriminatory about body size, that fat people are destructive. To their credit, my students were worried – and when the shock diminished and laughter broke out, the laughter was relieved, not unkind. Two Korean teachers rushed in to clean up the mess (they wouldn't let me help) and all of this created more of a distraction than I’d prefer while my students were taking a test. Happily, the test seemed to go fine so only my dignity was injured.


With my intelligence and dignity taking yet another bash ala Bridget, I couldn’t help but reflect on my instinct for trouble, my war on it, and this lead me to ponder other Laura stories. I began my collection of comedic real life stories, rather precociously, in fifth grade. At that time, I was an especially uncool girl, gawky and not greatly liked, but yet I hoped to remedy my classmates’ lack of friendliness with an impressive solo in the school play. When it came time for my moment to shine, the teacher handed me a microphone and I sang my heart into that mike. Unfortunately, I had never used a microphone, unknowingly sang too close to the microphone, created ghastly, ear-splitting squeals from the speakers, and was so intent on winning over my classmates that I failed to notice the audience’s pain. Elementary students are not very forgiving and it was years before my classmates quit their screechy reminders of this incident. I have always felt, probably wrongly, that this moment sent my dream of being poised - and admired – back years.

Other notable Bridget stories include a Seattle taxi ride where I rained the driver’s receipts all over the front seat, a speeding ticket on the way to the SAT, decidedly not impressing a guy that I had a violent crush on while driving a car with squealing belts, and being searched by machine gun toting airport guards because of a violin tuner. However, my classic Bridget story occurred a few years ago, when my law firm sent my department to a psychobabble team-building training session where we were instructed in personality analysis. One of the guys with a “P” personality (someone good at persuading people) did something goofy, the trainer commented, and I piped up with,

“Yeah, Victor, do not hide your P-ness.”

This did not come out as I intended. The entire room exploded in laughter while I reddened and fumbled to mend my faux pas. Frantically, I selected the next personalities on the trainer’s chart and tried,

“That isn’t what I meant! I added a “ness” to the personality labels, you know like A-ness and O-ness and...” This caused another explosion of laughter and teasing. This story, which became known the “P-ness & A-ness Story,” both cemented the Bridget story label and set the bar for judging all other Laura-created Bridget stories.

Ok, so Bridget and I are not exactly "same same": Bridget is not a redhead and I not fictional (yet). But you know, like Bridget, I too long for poise, beauty, intelligence, admiration, and a love–life. Instead, I feel plagued by my personality, cursed by my penchant for trouble. When faced with my Bridge stories, I readily laugh because really, it is a choice between laughter or crying or manically tearing my hair out (or all of the above). And truly, these stories amuse. But they also create sharp pains in my confidence like burrs under saddles – and I’ve been looking forward to the day when they go away. Throughout my teens and into my 20s, I operated under the assumption that like baby fat, I would simply grow out of my aptitude for trouble. And I set a deadline: surely I would be poised, beautiful, and admired by the time I was a 30-year-old grown-up… and yeah. That idea was obviously fictional.

Counter to my hopes and intuition, it seems that departing from the United States in order to become an improved version of myself has only increased my ability to generate comedic stories. Let’s see: last fall, I discovered that my favorite outfit unphotogenic when it and me were posted on city-wide school advertisements, I have tracked piles powdered concrete throughout clean classrooms, needed the school nurse to bandage palms bloodied by falling up stairs, lost my wallet in a taxi cab, and created whiplash in an entire group of Brits by opining that, “No one uses the word row.” (row, in British English, means to fight. They use it all the time.). My co-worker Paul’s favorite Laura Bridget story occurred after a night out drinking soju - on business! Unused to soju, I walked into work the following morning a little worse for the wear. I had skipped my coffee at home and so I prepared myself a cup of instant coffee before sitting down at my desk and staring vacantly. A few minutes later, Paul approached to talk and my response was a start of surprise, which caused me to knock over my tiny paper cup. Coffee went everywhere: on my clothing, on my peer’s books, and somehow ruined my computer’s keyboard (which had been covered in plastic!). It took the entire day and enduring a fair amount of admonishments about the dangers of soju to replace my keyboard. Although on the bright side, that was the day that Paul actually learned to leave me alone ‘til I had had my coffee!

Anyway, away from the States I feel as if I’m living life akin to a newborn colt: intoxicated to be alive and out in the world. I want to see and smell and touch and experience everything at all once – and I set about doing this, galloping on unsteady legs. Oh, how I love this feeling! But I often fall. Sometimes literally.

A few weeks ago, our school took a break from lessons in order to hold a school Sports Day. This is a big day at school: we do not attend lessons, students arrange for special class t-shirts and in the weeks before the big day, students hone their skills and compete in preliminary games. Class 4 at our school ordered me a special tee, which had “Laura” imprinted on its back. I wasn’t so special - Class 4 did this for many teachers – but nonetheless, I was touched and flattered to be remembered. On the big day, our 520 students and most teachers assembled for the kick off relay race, run by students except for the first leg which is run by female teachers. Class 4 asked me to run as their female teacher and since I’ve been jogging on a gym treadmill since last October, I acquiesced. I was nervous but I was also flattered and excited because I wanted to do well for my beloved students. The gun went off and I raced away from the starting line but soon felt that the other ladies were faster so I dug deeper into the sand field to speed up. And consequently fell flat and hard. Trembling, I got up, groped multiple times for the baton and ran as fast as I could to get rid of that baton so I could hide. Class 4 lost the race – and wonderfully but rather horribly, came a close second place in the entire day’s contests. If only I had held myself to slow and steady! Instead, I had returned to the gawky, uncool girl who had again messed up in front school.

Or had I? After my fall, I brushed myself off and found a seat in the stands to cheer. Immediately students rushed up to find out if I was ok (I was not; I bruised my knee so badly that it was weeks before I could walk or run without pain – not that I told anyone at school). After the race, the runners rushed up to find out if I was ok and overrode my apologies with thanks for doing my best for them. Never once did any person from class 4 let on (to me) that I cost their 90 competitive students a first place win. Instead, throughout sports day and throughout the following week, again and again students (from all classes) stopped to express their sympathy and ask if I was ok. It didn’t take me long to realize that yes, I was gawky and uncool – but that my students liked me, loved me, despite my not being admirable nor gorgeous. I decided that perhaps it was time for me to stop warring with my personality and like myself – even if I lack poise and possess an unerring instinct for trouble.

Of course, easier said than done when you’ve just fallen through glass pane with 30 witnesses. And I have plenty of galloping left to do. So, dearest friends and family, stay tuned for my next Bridget story.

Love,
Laura

TFLHS students compete in the "traditional Korean sport" that
we've translated to "Human Bridge" during Sports Day 2007.

2008's TFLHS Class number 4, one of my 6 beloved classes.