Impressions of South Korea: Work Ethic 5

The hairstylists in our salons love the floor. I tell them my father-in-law and I spent 5 to 6 hours cleaning it. They keep on looking at it. The keep on smiling at me. I feel proud for one of the first times in my life although my father-in-law did most of the work.

I notice that I have been full of excuses. I've said "no" to my father-in-law in so many ways. I've told him that we can't do something for this and this reason. I've told him that he doesn't understand American culture. He can't do that because the employees won't do it. You can't force the employees to do something they don't want to do. I've asked him in my mind: "What is the point of doing this?" "Why must we do this again and again?" "When are we going to get home?" "I thought I was the boss. Are you the boss?"

Sometimes I think the whole point of it is to make me see how inferior I am to him. Sometimes I want to get through a 12 hour workday without losing my dignity. Other times, I just wonder how long he can keep it up. One time, while we are working together, he says, "You know how tired I am! Why aren't you helping me?" "Everytime I do something, you take over," I respond. I want to tell him how incompetent he makes me feel but I don't. I know what he wants to say. He wants to tell me that I do a shabby job. He wants to say that just because I'm Vice-President, it doesn't mean that I don't mop the floor or clean the carpet. I just don't care. I've given up because it just looks too hard.

I try to think of his name. What is his name? In Korean culture, you never call your parents by their name, no matter how old you become. There have been times I've completely forgotten my father's name. There have been times I have wondered if Koreans have an identity outside of their family or social functions. There have been times in which I've wondered why I wonder so much about such things.

My father-in-law left after a few more days. I was happy. I could be myself again.

It wasn't that simple though. I began to think about what he said. It was true that I had bipolar disorder. It was true that I had faced discrimation from some Americans. It was true that I had so many excuses for being lazy, for not doing things thoroughly, for looking down on people, for not doing manual work, and for blaming the whole entire United States for my problems. Had I been so completely shaped by the environment that I couldn't be self-motivating?

Over time, I found myself making the bed. I found myself vaccuming the floor. This was a way of showing love for little children who ate everything on the carpet. I found myself attempting to exercise. I found myself trying to mend my broken heart, trying to go on.

I'm still very far from where I want to be. There are certain limits that bipolar disorder and laziness create, but I can fight against my tendency to give up without a good fight. It is in the fight that one discovers the true limits of one's soul.