It’s a funny sight, seeing the five Korean women I share an office with, at 4.20 p.m. shutting down their computers, changing out of their school slippers, packing their bags and then, for the next seven minutes, sitting on the edge of their seats, staring at the open door to the hallway and to the world outside of the office. At this moment, there is a collective intake of breath, not only from the teachers but from the room, itself. An eerie hush descends upon the room as our five motionless bodies seem to be frozen in time. The only movement comes from the flickering episodes of “Community” on my computer screen, the only sound from the buzzing coming from within my headphones. At exactly 4.30 p.m., the school bell sounds and time catches up with us; the room, and the people in it, exhale heavily as we are brought back up to speed and tranquility ends. We rise from our chairs, exchange goodbyes, file out of the office and out of the school.
Outside, I choose the soundtrack that will frame the scene in which I walk home and, as I turn left out of the front gate, the song kicks in and an animated bluebird lands gently on my shoulder, whistling along to the tune which is playing between my ears.
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I walk downhill, the sun warming the back of my neck -- because, in this upbeat movie scene scenario, the sun is always shining. On my left is a mural, decorated on a concrete wall by the students at my school, the main feature of which is a large painting of PSY, mid-Gangnam Style. To my right is a small park from which I hear shouts of “JAMIE TEACHER!" and my students leap from the swings and sprint across the road to me, their arms outstretched, palms open for high-fives. They pull at my hands and, what initially appeared to be only five fifth grade students, has now become an army of children and, together, we are performing a perfectly choreographed, rehearsed and synchronized dance routine to the song playing from my phone.
Our dance troupe passes the lady who runs the shop selling cooked food, from what I am sure is just a tent connected to the front door of her house. She must hear us coming because she emerges from the gloom within and gives us all an exaggerated wave and a wide smile. We wave back, without losing our stride or missing a step, and she returns back into the darkness within her tent.
As we reach the main road, our dance ends and we merge with the crowd of High School students; a constant, steady flow of white shirts and blue trousers making their way to the subways, bus stops, restaurants and game rooms. The sea of people parts, creating a pathway down the middle of the pavement, and as I walk through this crowd of strangers we acknowledge one another as if we have all been friends our entire lives. I near the front of this ocean of Korean students but, before I get there, I am scooped up onto their shoulders and I ride the wave as we parade onwards to approving honks from passing cars.
Our procession passes the green grocers, the owner throws me an apple which I catch and take a bite from with a satisfying crunch. We pass the ‘launderette’ and the man in the window ironing a large quilt throws his head back and laughs deeply at the sight of us. I laugh, too, as if we have just shared an incredibly private joke of the utmost hilarity. At the corner of my road, the crowd gradually lowers me to street level and in one smooth motion, I grab the drink which is being handed to me out of a window by the lady who owns the coffee shop. I salute and wave goodbye to the crowd who disperse and continue about their day as if nothing had happened. All that is left to do is walk the short remaining distance to my studio apartment. I bow to the hairdresser through the shop window, I wave to guy standing behind the counter at the chicken shop and just as I enter the code for my front door and step into my hallway, the soundtrack ends.
Obviously, this ‘story’has been exaggerated somewhat, I don’t think you need telling that the ‘animated bluebird’ is, in fact, not real. The trick, though, is to try and decide what is true and I guarantee it is more than you think. That’s the kind of community I currently live in.
