The sound of silence.

Man, do I now realize how much I miss silence. By silence I mean that good, sweet, tranquil silence only the pure country or a close friend can provide. I had realized this before, when I lived in Madison. There I lived everyday over-exposed to the fast-paced business of others, via sight and sound.  I could put in my i-pod and semi-forget the stress of it all, but really, the only stress relievers involved running shoes and alcohol (not that I was an alkie, but I was in college- enough said).  Both allowed for my sight and sound to be corrupted by either uppers (endorphins, not drugs) or downers. I could mellow out for at least a couple hours, find my silence, or some form of it. But here? Man, here it's just not the same. Every corner, every street, every sidewalk (if there even is one) has some sort of commotion.  A walker, a street-seller, an old woman with a cane. Not that I mind too much the authenticity of Korea's people, I really find them charming. But to add to their incredible population, they also have extremely loud and fantastic street signs.  They blare from every corner selling God knows what in every color of the neon rainbow. Maybe I wouldn't mind them if I could actually read them. Yet, I have a feeling I would, as they remind me very much of Las Vegas- without the casinos. Funny really that I'd have a problem with finding something so simple as silence, but I think the reason why it's so hard for me here has to do with a) the annoying visual stimuli and b) the lack of a common place- i.e. people. Meaning, I need my family and friends!  I don't want to whine about how much I miss home.  Really, that's not what this is for. Personal feelings should be limited, but honestly- my diary can only take so much, and at least this way it seems like someone- anyone- may read this and therefore my words are not so blatantly echoed back at myself. Anyways, my theory is that I miss the silence of a common language- if that can even exist. Though, I think it does. I think that such a silence is most obvious between two people who really know each other- the whole in and out, good or bad, right or wrong- they know one another, understand each other, and still love the other unconditionally. Such a relationship is based solely on their ability to communicate. At the most basic form of communication is language.  A common language can be at its most basic form- English or Korean or Italian or Chinese or any language. But even more so, a common language can also be that between man and wife, brother and sister, mother and daughter, and the best of friends. With those relationships comes a bond that is so comfortable and beautiful that it is easily taken for granted. Everyday is not special, just as every conversation becomes easily forgotten.  Sad as that may be, there is beauty in their slight tragedy. For with the simple, everyday exchanges, each person grows more into their true selves, and subsequently happier.  The hum of monotony and stress of the world diminish to a slight whisper, and every so often pure silence can be found. The ability for any individual to find this peace is undoubtedly begun with a common language, then a common thought and finally a common soul- yes, the whole kindred spirits idea. Whether people realize this or not, it occurs with every quiet evening sitting on a porch, or every moonlit walk across the fields.  Those times when the only thing two people are doing is their daily chores and no words pass between them only because they already know the others thoughts, they do not have to say; it is in those times that true, blessed silence occurs. So, my theory is that I currently lack the most basic form of common language and thereby unable to attain that beautiful, comfortable silence with anyone, and I miss it. I miss my home where silence is a way of life, simplicity is just how it's done, and love is found in every new laugh line (I'd say in my parent's faces, but I know my mother would cry as I'm sure she's doing right about now.)  

And yet, though I miss everything that is familiar to me, I also enjoy every new and foreign experience. I guess that means I'm in a conundrum of sorts; a should I stay or should I go? Well, I'm still the tough son-of-a-bitch I came over as, i.e. my father's daughter, a proud Staff/Koxlien through and through.  Actually, that's probably every Norwegian- I mean look what we did to Europe before their dawn of technology and exploration, we kicked their asses with our bare hands!  If anyone has seen or read Beowulf, they'll understand- even if he is Swedish, I'm sure his cousin- Lars or Olie or Thor- could have tackled that 30 ft creature from Hell with nothing but his wits and mitts. Anyways, I like to think I still have a smidgen of that 'butt-whoopin' attitude, and when I travel- I like to think I have a lot (it's amazing what a person can accomplish with ideas of self-grandeur/false bravery! - though not really false if you actually go through with an incredible act).  So, I pretend everyday that I'm Lara Croft or Dark Angel, ready for adventure, but also in defense mode 24/7.  It's worked thus far, but I haven't had to actually kick any ass yet. Hm... I should probably stop puffing up my chest when I see sketchy people.  Oh well, point is I'm not completely flaking.. yet. I still have my wits and mitts, but my intellect and self-peace are suffering on account of the racket that surrounds me!

Note: I should thank Simon and Garfunkel. You, the Beatles and the Rolling Stones have copyrighted every great line, thank you.