You want to talk about an awkward situation? Try this: living in South Korea where you are considered a minority and hardly anyone speaks English.
It happened on July 21, 2002. I lacked direction in my life, so I decided that I needed to get away for a while. A friend of the family had just come back from teaching English overseas and highly recommended the experience to me. It didn’t take much convincing on his part. Before I knew it, I was on a plane to Daegu, South Korea.
The flight was a forgettable experience. I didn’t realize that my flight would involve four different airports and nearly 20 hours. The longest I ever had to travel before that was to Italy, which only took nine hours. I was on a plane from Toronto to Seoul for 14 hours alone. What made the situation even more awkward was the fact that I was on a plane with over 100 people, where no more than 10 of them were “white people”. Trust me, I was losing my mind.
When I finally landed in Daegu, I looked around and saw that I was surrounded by Asians. They were all staring at me. I wanted to hear what they were saying, but I couldn’t understand anything. My first thought was “what the heck was I thinking when I decided to do this?” I went through the arrival doors where I was supposed to meet the director of the academy where I was going to be teaching. What nationality do you think she was? You guessed it, Asian. I had no idea who this person was that I was supposed to look for. I figured she probably had a better chance of finding me, so I just stood there and hoped for the best. Sure enough, a woman came up to me and in perfect English said, “Are you John?” Needless to say, I was relieved.
Jin seemed like a very nice person. It was refreshing to be able to have a “normal conversation” with someone. Especially after sitting next to people on three different planes, who couldn’t speak a word of English.
The drive from the airport to my apartment was another story. I didn’t think I was going to make it to my apartment alive. Honestly, Jin had to be the worst driver I’d even been in a car with. She was cutting people off without even realizing it. Other drivers were laying on the horn and giving her dirty looks. I nearly soiled myself more than once. She was so worked up about knowing my life story that she wasn’t focusing on the road at all. There were so many times that I just wanted to tell her to shut up and drive, but I don’t think that would have left her with a good impression.
We finally got through that traumatic experience when I finally arrived at my apartment dead tired. You think that things couldn’t get more awkward? Think again. Jin rang the door bell to my apartment, where I was living with three other guys. She must have rang the bell four or five times before anyone came to answer the door. Finally a guy I was teaching with, Bill, answered. He appeared hung-over from the night before and not too happy about having to be woken up at 9 a.m. on a Sunday morning. He looked at me, then looked at Jin and said “Who’s this guy?” Jin responded by saying “It’s your new roommate who will be teaching at the academy.” He had no idea that I was coming or that I would be living in the apartment. I was thinking to myself, “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
I got in the apartment and Jin told me that my room was down the hall to the left. I decided to check it out. In the room I saw a piano, a couple of bikes and a bunch of boxes with stuff in them. I turned, looked at Jin and said “Is this some kind of joke?” I was supposed to have at least a bed and a dresser in the room. Jin was stunned. She didn’t know what to say. She just ensured me that everything would be taken care of and that I would have everything I needed by the end of the day. This was turning into a nightmare.
When Jin left and Bill went back to bed, I didn’t know what to do with myself. I was really tired, but there was no way that I could sleep after the experience I had just gone through. I decided to watch some TV. What I failed to realize was that every channel was in Korean except one – the American Forces Network (AFN). Believe me, AFN and I became pretty good friends in a hurry.
As awkward and unbearable this experience may sound, it did get better. Yes, I was part of a minority in South Korea. Yes, I was surrounded by people who couldn’t speak English. But, I learned some Korean to get me by and thoroughly enjoyed my one-and-a-half year experience.
*please mark this one.
Tuesday, February 20, 2007
The soccer field
There is one place where I can go to get away from it all. Free from the stresses of life. Free from responsibility. Free from being an adult. The soccer field.
Playing soccer is one of my passions in life. I love it because it allows me to be a kid again, getting to spend time with the boys. The competition allows me to relieve all my stresses and it’s fun (when we win of course).
The most memorable game I’ve ever played in happened when I was 18 years old. My team, the Halifax City Wanderers, was playing in the provincial semi-final match against our archrivals, Halifax Dunbrack. This game was very important for me personally because our opponent was a team I played for my entire life leading up to that season. I left a lot of friends behind to play for the Wanderers, coached by my uncle.
The game took place at the end of August. It was a scorcher. I tried to load up on carbs and fluids before the big game and tried not to think about it too much. A lot of my friends on the other team started the trash talk in the days leading up to the game. They thought we didn’t even belong in the playoffs and that we were going to be humiliated. I was really nervous. I didn’t think we had a chance against them.
I got to the field an hour before game time. Put my gear on as I normally would – shorts first, then my shin guards and soccer socks, followed by my jersey, with my head down the entire time. I looked up and saw the crowd. We normally didn’t get many spectators for soccer games, but this one was different. There had to be over one hundred people. Then the goose bumps appeared. I’d never felt this way before any game. I looked around at some of my teammates. They seemed nervous too.
I grabbed a soccer ball and started my normal routine of juggling, dribbling and passing the ball around. I always wanted to get a good feel for the ball before games. Plus, I didn’t want to stop because I knew that the nerves would set in again. Our team warmed up on one side of the field. I refused to look over at the other side because I could just envision some of my friends starring over at our team.
When the game began, tensions were high. I had to put friendships aside for a few hours because on this day, they were my enemies. The first time I touched the ball, I took a hard tackle from one of my friends on the other team. I looked at him afterwards and he just glared at me. I think he was trying to intimidate me, but that didn’t happen. The tackle only motivated me and the nerves disappeared.
The playing conditions weren’t the best. We were playing on a grass field that had a lot of pot holes. The ball was bouncing all over the place and we had to be careful not to turn an ankle. As the game wore on, fatigue started to set in. It had to be almost 30 degrees outside and my legs were getting tired. In the second half, they felt like jelly. I knew that I didn’t have a lot of gas left in the tank.
We were losing 1 to 0 when I was able to lose the player who was marking me and make a run down the field. One of my teammates saw that I was open and sent a long pass to me near the goal. I knew that if I got control of the ball, I was on a breakaway. Both of my hamstrings began to cramp up as I challenged for the ball in the air against an opponent. I ended up getting to the ball first and headed it down in front of me. I looked forward and saw only the goalie to beat. All of a sudden, I took a hard tackle from behind. One of their players had chopped my legs from under me. I hit the ground hard face first. Then I blacked out for a couple of minutes.
I snapped out of it to see my uncle starring at me with a few players in the background looking on. My uncle was asking me questions like “Are you ok?” “Do you know where you are?” I felt really groggy, but I knew that there was another problem. My vision was blurred looking out of my right eye. I had lost one of my contact lenses.
I had to play the rest of the game with a headache, blurred vision and two cramped hamstrings. Not a pretty sight, but I refused to stop playing. I couldn’t because we had to win the game.
We eventually tied the game late in the second half and won the game in a shootout.
For about three hours of my life, I was able to free myself of stress and responsibilities and follow one of my passions, on the soccer field.
Playing soccer is one of my passions in life. I love it because it allows me to be a kid again, getting to spend time with the boys. The competition allows me to relieve all my stresses and it’s fun (when we win of course).
The most memorable game I’ve ever played in happened when I was 18 years old. My team, the Halifax City Wanderers, was playing in the provincial semi-final match against our archrivals, Halifax Dunbrack. This game was very important for me personally because our opponent was a team I played for my entire life leading up to that season. I left a lot of friends behind to play for the Wanderers, coached by my uncle.
The game took place at the end of August. It was a scorcher. I tried to load up on carbs and fluids before the big game and tried not to think about it too much. A lot of my friends on the other team started the trash talk in the days leading up to the game. They thought we didn’t even belong in the playoffs and that we were going to be humiliated. I was really nervous. I didn’t think we had a chance against them.
I got to the field an hour before game time. Put my gear on as I normally would – shorts first, then my shin guards and soccer socks, followed by my jersey, with my head down the entire time. I looked up and saw the crowd. We normally didn’t get many spectators for soccer games, but this one was different. There had to be over one hundred people. Then the goose bumps appeared. I’d never felt this way before any game. I looked around at some of my teammates. They seemed nervous too.
I grabbed a soccer ball and started my normal routine of juggling, dribbling and passing the ball around. I always wanted to get a good feel for the ball before games. Plus, I didn’t want to stop because I knew that the nerves would set in again. Our team warmed up on one side of the field. I refused to look over at the other side because I could just envision some of my friends starring over at our team.
When the game began, tensions were high. I had to put friendships aside for a few hours because on this day, they were my enemies. The first time I touched the ball, I took a hard tackle from one of my friends on the other team. I looked at him afterwards and he just glared at me. I think he was trying to intimidate me, but that didn’t happen. The tackle only motivated me and the nerves disappeared.
The playing conditions weren’t the best. We were playing on a grass field that had a lot of pot holes. The ball was bouncing all over the place and we had to be careful not to turn an ankle. As the game wore on, fatigue started to set in. It had to be almost 30 degrees outside and my legs were getting tired. In the second half, they felt like jelly. I knew that I didn’t have a lot of gas left in the tank.
We were losing 1 to 0 when I was able to lose the player who was marking me and make a run down the field. One of my teammates saw that I was open and sent a long pass to me near the goal. I knew that if I got control of the ball, I was on a breakaway. Both of my hamstrings began to cramp up as I challenged for the ball in the air against an opponent. I ended up getting to the ball first and headed it down in front of me. I looked forward and saw only the goalie to beat. All of a sudden, I took a hard tackle from behind. One of their players had chopped my legs from under me. I hit the ground hard face first. Then I blacked out for a couple of minutes.
I snapped out of it to see my uncle starring at me with a few players in the background looking on. My uncle was asking me questions like “Are you ok?” “Do you know where you are?” I felt really groggy, but I knew that there was another problem. My vision was blurred looking out of my right eye. I had lost one of my contact lenses.
I had to play the rest of the game with a headache, blurred vision and two cramped hamstrings. Not a pretty sight, but I refused to stop playing. I couldn’t because we had to win the game.
We eventually tied the game late in the second half and won the game in a shootout.
For about three hours of my life, I was able to free myself of stress and responsibilities and follow one of my passions, on the soccer field.
Tuesday, February 6, 2007
My first visit to the Montreal Forum
As young as I could remember, my dad and I would sit down every Saturday night to watch the Montreal Canadiens play on Hockey Night in Canada. My dad was a diehard Habs fan. I think it was one of his missions in life to make me a Habs fan too. He would always tell me stories about all the Stanley Cups the Canadiens won in the historic Montreal Forum. He told me about the amazing experience he had when he saw his first game at the Forum and he promised to take me there someday. Unfortunately, due to his illness, he wasn’t able to fulfill that promise. But my uncle, his brother, stepped in for him.
I’ll never forget it. It was January 29, 1993. The Montreal Canadiens were playing the Philadelphia Flyers. I remember the walk to the Forum. It was very cold and Montreal got slammed with a snow storm that weekend, which made traveling around pretty messy. The roads were full of snow and ice. However, this wasn’t going to stop me, my uncle and 19,000 other fans from packing the Forum. I remember hearing fans outside the arena chanting “Go Habs Go! Go Habs Go!” The atmosphere was electric. There was truly a buzz in the air. We waited in line for quite a while to get into the arena, but it was worth the wait.
It was like a dream come true walking through the Forum doors, seeing pictures of famous Canadiens players of years past, like Guy Lafleur, Jean Beliveau and my dad’s favorite Maurice “The Rocket” Richard. I honestly thought that I’d died and gone to heaven. I could feel the presence of those famous Forum ghosts. I thought the fans were loud on the walk to the Forum, but you should have heard them in the arena. People were yelling “Habs rule!” “Canadiens are number one!” Some of them even started the “Ole Ole Ole” chant. I was loving it. Hearing everyone’s excitement sent chills down me spine.
After soaking in the atmosphere for a while, my uncle took me to the canteen before we went to our seats. He swore by the famous Montreal smoked meat sandwiches. He was right. After taking my first bite, I knew that it was the best smoked meat sandwich I had ever eaten (even though it was my first ever). But enough about the sandwiches, I wanted to get to my seat for the warm-up.
My uncle and I had seats behind the goal that the Canadiens were going to defend twice. The warm-up was awesome to watch. There I could see Patrick Roy getting ready for the big game, doing all he could to stop every puck that was fired at him. His teammates were peppering him with shots.
All of sudden, some Flyers fans came and sat in front of us. Let me tell you, I wouldn’t have been caught dead wearing a Flyers jersey in there. The Flyers fans were being abused. Canadiens fans were booing and taunting them from the moment they sat down. They were yelling out “Flyers suck!” “Lindros is a bum!” (Along with other profanities that I won’t mention). I could hear my uncle laughing hysterically at them and I didn’t know what to think. I kind of felt bad for them at first, but then I started to get hungry again because I could smell the buttery popcorn that the people sitting next to us had. Man, they were wolfing it down. It looked like they hadn’t eaten in weeks.
Anyways, back to the game. Most of it was a blur for me. I think that I was too caught up in the atmosphere of the building. I was still waiting for someone to pinch me. All I remember is my uncle giving me a big hug because the Canadiens had scored the winning goal in overtime. I was going home to Halifax a happy boy.
I was thrilled to have the opportunity to watch my Montreal Canadiens play in the historical Montreal Forum, especially since they moved into a new building shortly after.
Like my father, now I have a story to pass on to my future children – about the time I went to my first ever Montreal Canadiens game.
I’ll never forget it. It was January 29, 1993. The Montreal Canadiens were playing the Philadelphia Flyers. I remember the walk to the Forum. It was very cold and Montreal got slammed with a snow storm that weekend, which made traveling around pretty messy. The roads were full of snow and ice. However, this wasn’t going to stop me, my uncle and 19,000 other fans from packing the Forum. I remember hearing fans outside the arena chanting “Go Habs Go! Go Habs Go!” The atmosphere was electric. There was truly a buzz in the air. We waited in line for quite a while to get into the arena, but it was worth the wait.
It was like a dream come true walking through the Forum doors, seeing pictures of famous Canadiens players of years past, like Guy Lafleur, Jean Beliveau and my dad’s favorite Maurice “The Rocket” Richard. I honestly thought that I’d died and gone to heaven. I could feel the presence of those famous Forum ghosts. I thought the fans were loud on the walk to the Forum, but you should have heard them in the arena. People were yelling “Habs rule!” “Canadiens are number one!” Some of them even started the “Ole Ole Ole” chant. I was loving it. Hearing everyone’s excitement sent chills down me spine.
After soaking in the atmosphere for a while, my uncle took me to the canteen before we went to our seats. He swore by the famous Montreal smoked meat sandwiches. He was right. After taking my first bite, I knew that it was the best smoked meat sandwich I had ever eaten (even though it was my first ever). But enough about the sandwiches, I wanted to get to my seat for the warm-up.
My uncle and I had seats behind the goal that the Canadiens were going to defend twice. The warm-up was awesome to watch. There I could see Patrick Roy getting ready for the big game, doing all he could to stop every puck that was fired at him. His teammates were peppering him with shots.
All of sudden, some Flyers fans came and sat in front of us. Let me tell you, I wouldn’t have been caught dead wearing a Flyers jersey in there. The Flyers fans were being abused. Canadiens fans were booing and taunting them from the moment they sat down. They were yelling out “Flyers suck!” “Lindros is a bum!” (Along with other profanities that I won’t mention). I could hear my uncle laughing hysterically at them and I didn’t know what to think. I kind of felt bad for them at first, but then I started to get hungry again because I could smell the buttery popcorn that the people sitting next to us had. Man, they were wolfing it down. It looked like they hadn’t eaten in weeks.
Anyways, back to the game. Most of it was a blur for me. I think that I was too caught up in the atmosphere of the building. I was still waiting for someone to pinch me. All I remember is my uncle giving me a big hug because the Canadiens had scored the winning goal in overtime. I was going home to Halifax a happy boy.
I was thrilled to have the opportunity to watch my Montreal Canadiens play in the historical Montreal Forum, especially since they moved into a new building shortly after.
Like my father, now I have a story to pass on to my future children – about the time I went to my first ever Montreal Canadiens game.
How my family came to Canada
You are probably wondering how the heck a guy with a name like mine, Giovanni Cianfaglione, ended up in this country. I always wondered the same thing. I thought to myself, “Why would my family come to live in Canada after spending much of their lives in Italy? Who was the first person to come? Why?” Here’s the story according to my father:
After World War I, there was a major lack of work in Italy. As a result, a great number of Italians were jumping ship (no pun intended) and coming to Canada. Why Canada you ask? Because this is where the work was, where Italians could live better lives.
In 1919, my great, great uncle Luigi and his wife Francesca were the first brave members of my family to make the trip over to Canada. They, along with nearly 1500 other Italians, jumped on a ship called La Vulcagna and took the trip from Italy to Canada. Luigi and Francesca settled in Sydney Mines, Nova Scotia where Luigi was able to find a job working in the coal mines.
Life was good in Canada, but not so good in Italy. My other family members back in Italy were still struggling for work, but no one was brave enough to leave the country and start a new life. Luigi was raving about how life was so much better in Canada than in Italy. He tried on many occasions to convince the other family members to join him. It wasn’t until after World War II, in 1949, that my great uncle Donato decided to finally take Luigi’s advice.
Donato got on La Vulcagna, full of Italians, and headed towards Sydney Mines to meet up with Luigi and Francesca. Donato was able to get temporary work in the coal mines, but a year later, he got on a train to Halifax to work at the Oland Brewery, leaving Luigi and Francesca behind.
Donato was loving life in Halifax and he wrote to my grandfather Giovanni, who was still in Italy. He told him to also come to Canada. It didn’t take much convincing for my grandfather to join his brother. In 1953, Giovanni said “arrivederci” to Italy and “ciao” Canada. At the time, my grandfather didn’t have the money to take my grandmother Concetta and my father Rocco with him, so he had to make the trip alone.
My grandfather also landed in Sydney Mines where he worked temporarily in the coal mines, but like his brother Donato, he decided to move to Halifax a year later. Giovanni worked on the CN railroad, saving up enough money to pay for the arrival of my grandmother and father in 1954. So at the ripe age of four, my father began a new life in Canada.
After my grandfather, grandmother and father settled in Halifax, the floodgates opened. My grandfather wrote to all his brothers and sisters, telling them to come over. My grandmother did the same. Before you knew it, most of the family members were looking for real estate in the same neighbourhood.
It’s like the saying goes, everyone’s got a story. Well, now you know how my family came to this country.
*please mark this one
After World War I, there was a major lack of work in Italy. As a result, a great number of Italians were jumping ship (no pun intended) and coming to Canada. Why Canada you ask? Because this is where the work was, where Italians could live better lives.
In 1919, my great, great uncle Luigi and his wife Francesca were the first brave members of my family to make the trip over to Canada. They, along with nearly 1500 other Italians, jumped on a ship called La Vulcagna and took the trip from Italy to Canada. Luigi and Francesca settled in Sydney Mines, Nova Scotia where Luigi was able to find a job working in the coal mines.
Life was good in Canada, but not so good in Italy. My other family members back in Italy were still struggling for work, but no one was brave enough to leave the country and start a new life. Luigi was raving about how life was so much better in Canada than in Italy. He tried on many occasions to convince the other family members to join him. It wasn’t until after World War II, in 1949, that my great uncle Donato decided to finally take Luigi’s advice.
Donato got on La Vulcagna, full of Italians, and headed towards Sydney Mines to meet up with Luigi and Francesca. Donato was able to get temporary work in the coal mines, but a year later, he got on a train to Halifax to work at the Oland Brewery, leaving Luigi and Francesca behind.
Donato was loving life in Halifax and he wrote to my grandfather Giovanni, who was still in Italy. He told him to also come to Canada. It didn’t take much convincing for my grandfather to join his brother. In 1953, Giovanni said “arrivederci” to Italy and “ciao” Canada. At the time, my grandfather didn’t have the money to take my grandmother Concetta and my father Rocco with him, so he had to make the trip alone.
My grandfather also landed in Sydney Mines where he worked temporarily in the coal mines, but like his brother Donato, he decided to move to Halifax a year later. Giovanni worked on the CN railroad, saving up enough money to pay for the arrival of my grandmother and father in 1954. So at the ripe age of four, my father began a new life in Canada.
After my grandfather, grandmother and father settled in Halifax, the floodgates opened. My grandfather wrote to all his brothers and sisters, telling them to come over. My grandmother did the same. Before you knew it, most of the family members were looking for real estate in the same neighbourhood.
It’s like the saying goes, everyone’s got a story. Well, now you know how my family came to this country.
*please mark this one
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