I’ve learned to keep crackers in my desk drawer and to eat small, frequent meals instead of anything too heavy.
But the biggest help has been the ginger tea.
Mr. Noh started bringing me the Saenggang-cha after that first faculty meeting when I’d bolted from the room about to hurl my insides.
Now it’s become a small daily staple—a steaming cup waiting for me in the faculty lounge most mornings, brewed with honey and a gentle hand.
Considering he’s busy in his role as the new gyogam of the school, I’m more than grateful.
It’s one of the only things that settles my stomach these days.
The final bell rings after another afternoon battling the pregnancy sickness. My classroom erupts into motion at once.
Children scramble to pack their bags, chatting to each other in a mix of Korean and the English phrases I’ve been drilling into them for the past few weeks.
I stand at the front of the room, smiling and waving as they file past.
“Goodbye, Ssaem!” they chirp, one after another, their small voices chirpy and cheerful.
“Goodbye! See you tomorrow!”
I watch them go with the fuzzy warmth small children usually give me. It’s one of the reasons I went into teaching in the first place and why I’ve often spent my free time volunteering at local orphanages.
It’s not the money or the prestige but interacting with children and helping guide them in their learning.
Once the last student has disappeared through the door, I sink into my desk chair with a sigh.
Kelly appears in the doorway only half a second later, a binder clutched to her chest.
“There you are! I was hoping you’d still be here,” she says, wandering over to perch on the edge of my desk. “Quick question. Did you understand the new section in the revised curriculum? The part about differentiated assessment strategies? Because I read it three times and still have no idea what they’re asking for.”
“Honestly? Not really. I was hoping someone would explain it at the next department meeting.”
“Fat chance. You know how those meetings go. Two hours of talking in circles and nothing actually gets clarified,” she huffs. “It’s gotten even worse since Mr. Noh-Memory joinedthe staff?—”
“Ahem. I hope I’m not interrupting.”
Kelly’s eyes double in size at the sound of the voice in the doorway. Mr. Noh’s appeared, tapping lightly on the frame, his expression warm and apologetic.
“Oh… ahhh… no…” she stammers, blinking. A rosy blush quickly migrates across her ivory complexion. “We were... I was just… um…”
Mr. Noh presses on, ignoring her babble. “Sorry to interrupt, ladies. Miss Ross, I just wanted to check—did the saenggang-cha help this morning? I was hoping it would make the assembly easier.”
“It did,” I say, offering him a grateful smile. “Thank you so much. I don’t know what I’d do without it.”
“It’s no trouble at all. My wife swears by ginger for stomach ailments. I’m happy to keep bringing it as long as you need.” He nods, then spares a glance at Kelly. “Karen, have you finished inputting your grades into the new system? I believe the deadline is end of day tomorrow.”
Kelly’s smile freezes. “I’m working on it. And, actually, my name’s not Karen. It’s Kel?—”
“Excellent. I will leave you two to your discussion. Keep up the good work.” He gives us both a polite nod and disappears down the hallway.
The moment he’s out of earshot, Kelly throws her hands up.
“Karen?Karen?Do I look like a Karen?!”
I choose not to answer her loaded question, diverting my attention to packing up my teacher’s tote bag.
“How hard is it to remember a one-syllable name?” Kelly rants on.
