English Recordings

Do you ever feel like you could change?

I remember hanging out with a friend of mine at a party, and hearing him talk about why he loved travelling. He said that with just a bit of money, you could walk into the nearest airport, and within a few hours, you could walk out into an entirely different place. In just a short span of time, you could find yourself in an entirely different landscape, with a different set of people, a different environment, and a whole different vibe.

If that’s true, I wondered, could you even be a different person? Maybe, just while you’re there? Would you really be the same person if you were in a different city? Nobody would know you, or have any expectations of you at all.

Koreans Divorce Patterns Undergo Changes

As the times have changed, reasons for divorce have followed suit.

In the old days, patriarchal sentiment within a family used to be the main reason for divorce, but these days, it is mostly about money and equal status between partners, a state-run institute reported Friday.

As more women earn money, they have begun to demand more of an independent role while men have struggled to keep their traditional status, according to the Korean Legal Aid Center for Family Relations.

The center has conducted more than one million counseling services since its establishment in 1956. An analysis of its services also showed the changing lifestyle of families.

"You cannot define what has exactly been going on between a man and a woman but the change of women's role in the family and society has spawned demands for counseling," Kwak Bae-hee, head of the institute, said.

In the 1950s, most women grumbled about their husbands' chauvinistic attitudes.

"When I asked my husband to fetch me something, he said, 'How dare you ask me to run an errand? Didn't you see my mother serving my father like a master?'"

This was a typical response from husbands in the 1950s, Kwak said. Housewives used to say in those days, "If I could be born again, I would like to be a male, even if it is a flea."

Husbands' infidelity or conflicts with in-laws were also common regrets but Kwak noted that not many of them led to divorce.

In the 1970s, when industrialization allowed many women to make money, women did not just mumble to themselves, but confronted their husbands' irregularities. But when demands for democracy were growing in the 1980s, women started to speak louder about their discomforts.

"I've worked hard to make a living but my mother-in-law took away all the money. My husband just sat on the fence. We are not talking to each other anymore," Kwak recalls one woman saying. Some men were reported to have searched for their wives who ran away after quarrels or domestic violence disputes.

In the 1990s through 2000s, the family structure changed. Many males were astounded to find their working wives "drinking with their friends till late at night, or leaving child rearing to the father and going to work every morning," the institute said.

With the Asian financial crisis hitting Korea hard in 1997, many men lost jobs, which left little space for them in the family as bread earners. More women had jobs and they were not afraid to divorce.

"My husband used to make a large sum of money. Then he was made redundant and is staying home every day. He beats me when he is upset. Now that he is penniless, I cannot put up with him," another woman told the counselor.

On the other hand, many men began to complain about the reverse domestic violence ― being beaten by wives or enduring insults for being "financially incompetent."

"It seems that retired males need more support to contribute to the family financially. We plan to hold more education programs for them and will activate counseling programs for couples thinking about divorce," Kwak said.

I often think about my English proficiency. For instance, how my speaking skill has improved and how my vocabulary level has developed, those kind of things.

In fact, I feel more relaxed and find it easier to speak English than before; however, the other day when a friend of mine from America asked me about a political issue occurring in Japan, I was completely tongue-tied.

Although I enjoy the time when I speak English on most occasions, I am still fearful of the thought that the topic might touch on the subjects that I can't convey well in English.

People often say that they want to improve their skill of English up to the level of a daily conversation, which sounds easy to do. However, I think that the daily-conversation level is the most difficult. It's because our topics are enormously abundant and endless.

Now, I am not satisfied with the narrow confines of my conversation level. I would like to talk about more and more wide-ranging topics in English.

My goal to study English is to establish a genuine rapport with friends, as I'm not interested in superficial friendships. I really want a real thing.

I consider my ability to arouse enthusiasm among my people, the greatest asset I possess, and the way to develop the
best that is in a person is by appreciation and encouragement.
There is nothing else that so kills the ambitions of a person as criticisms
from superiors. I never criticize any-one. I believe in giving a
person incentive to work. So I am anxious to praise but loath to find
fault. If I like anything, I am hearty in my approbation and lavish in
my praise.

(July 11th,2012) Green Curtain
Do you know what this is?
Yes, it's a morning glory.
They are running up to a classroom ceiling along its windows.
They are climbing up to a classroom ceiling along the windows.
How does it look?
Isn't it cute?
I think it's really cute and nice.
When I passed along a corridor at noon today, I found that the morning glory's flowers had bloomed.
So I asked the homeroom teacher for/of that classroom, and I took picture a of them.
Doesn`t it look like a green curtain?
Oh, this time I put up a video series called "어린 송아지A Little Calf".
I found it on You Tube.
These little babies are really cute! ^.^

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I want to say "Do you still love me" in croatian!

Granted, Yamada's top wrestlers shrug when asked about the hallowed nature of sumo. What they like is a good grapple. Plus, they get to chow down a kilo of rice a day, along with hotpot, fried chicken, potato salad, grilled fish, barbecued pork, stir-fried vegetables, simmered squash, noodles and salad. But they feel some Japanese spirit all the same. One of the Saitama Sakae boys' heroes is school alumnus Yamamotoyama, a 584-lb. (265 kg) behemoth who during the Nagoya tournament had to be removed from the ring in a double-wide wheelchair. "He's one of us, so of course we like him," says Daiki Nakamura, an 18-year-old top prospect who was named a high school yokozuna this month. "Seeing so many foreigners in sumo makes me burn with desire to succeed as a Japanese."
At Saitama Sakae's morning practice, that urge is on full display. Athletes build strength by hefting a 705-lb. (320 kg) tire or bashing their open palms onto an enormous wooden pillar. After a few practice bouts, one teen has split his lip, while another is bleeding from his elbow. "Every day of sumo practice is like a traffic accident," says coach Yamada. Fluorescent lights shine down on the scuffed ring, and the place smells like a locker room left to fester. But then 18 students, sticky with sand and slick with perspiration, form a circle around the ring, bring their hands together and bow their heads to the gods. For a moment, the future of sumo is united in worship. It is a most inspiring sight.

Enough with the Toilet Scrubbing
Some of the changes required of sumo are easy enough. The choicest matches, for instance, take place at just the hour when most Japanese are beginning their train commute home. Shifting bouts to evening prime time would boost ratings. The sport also needs to face up to its historic underworld ties and launch a purge that goes beyond the current betting scandal, just as Japanese baseball got rid of its yakuza links.
It will be tougher to reform the sumo stables, which need to loosen their grip on wrestlers, some of whom begin their apprenticeship aged just 15. Stable masters may argue that it's only through the severity of sumo life — the hazing, the curfews and the constant toilet scrubbing — that discipline is instilled. But if the monastic rigor of sumo stables is what scares off so many potential wrestlers, surely the rules could be relaxed. Does it really make sense for the JSA to demand, for example, that its athletes abstain from driving cars during tournament weeks? (See 25 authentic Asian experiences.)
In the end, what may save sumo is its spiritual heart. After World War II, Japan's Emperor, who used Shinto, in part, to justify his nation's bloody campaign, was stripped by the Americans of his divinity. For years, Japan maintained a sort of embarrassed silence over its national faith, which combines nature worship and a pantheon of deities. Nevertheless, sumo is still deeply connected to the Japanese religion. After the Nagoya tournament, Japan's Imperial Household Agency released a message from Emperor Akihito saying, "Despite the gambling scandal, the Emperor's feeling for the national sport stays the same." Suspended over the sumo ring is a Shinto shrine roof. Before matches, wrestlers sip holy water and purify the ring by sprinkling salt. Once in the sacred space, they clap their hands together to summon the gods. The referees wear peaked black hats similar to those worn by Shinto priests.
All the religious paraphernalia makes for a curiously spiritual — and theatrical — sporting experience. An average sumo match lasts a few seconds, but the surrounding pageantry is what separates sumo from the slapstick of the WWE. "Sometimes I just cancel practice and talk about sumo's traditions and culture instead," says high-school coach Yamada. "There is an elegance to the whole tradition. That's what gives it a Japanese essence."

Yet the flood of gaijin, while undoubtedly raising sumo's level of athleticism, is also eroding its popularity. Sniffy sumo fans and journalists scrutinize foreign wrestlers and pounce on any sign of un-Japaneseness. Take recently retired grand champion Asashoryu, who was deemed by the local press as lacking hin, or dignity. Practically everything Asashoryu did reeked of a lack of hin: failing to defer to a sumo elder in a bathhouse hallway, tugging on an opponent's topknot, pumping his fist after a victory. "If Asashoryu had been Japanese, there would have been some criticism, but it would not have been as severe," says economist Nakajima. Hawaiian-born Konishiki (who started life as Saleva'a Atisano'e) was perhaps treated worse in the 1990s, when the 633-lb. (287 kg) wrestler was denied an expected promotion to yokozuna by the JSA, presumably because he was a little too individualistic — a little too, ahem, American. (See pictures of Japan's stagnant economy.)
So how are the colossi of sumo supposed to act? "Like salarymen," kids Nakajima, referring to the faceless drones who toiled for Japan Inc. during the bubble years. Except it's not really a joke. Former wrestler Tououyama details a typical day in a sumo stable, where every athlete must live and train for the duration of his career: Reveille is at 5:30 a.m.; then comes a full morning of practice. Lunch is eaten in order of rank, followed by a session with a topknot stylist and a couple of hours of nap time. Then it's on to housework, a workout at the gym and dinner preparations. From 7:30 to 10:30 p.m., wrestlers are given free time. Then lights go out, with athletes all sleeping in the same room. Junior stablemates must act as glorified servants to their elders. "It was difficult until I got used to this life," recalls Tououyama. "The seniority system is absolute."
The problem, of course, is that with fewer Japanese desiring to be salarymen, an even smaller number want to replicate that experience while wearing a fat suit. Nearly every facet of sumo culture is designed to encourage humility. While other Japanese athletes make gazillions of dollars blasting homers in the U.S. or scoring goals in Britain, the highest-ranked sumo star gets paid what a senior Japanese executive does — $300,000 a year. Low-level wrestlers get just a living stipend. Changing stables is not allowed. And the sumo workplace stresses stoic reserve over individual flair. After matches, there is no savoring of victory, no showboating — and certainly no displays of petulance from the loser. Even in postmatch interviews, the victor rarely expresses joy, just a few mumbled words and rote gratitude to his stable bosses.