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THE END. (or to be confused with the beginning)

Well, it's finally come. My last couple of weeks in Korea. I'm still a little aloof to the idea. I mean, it's just so unreal to me that thinking about everything I do here being my 'last' is unfathomable, ridiculous. Of course I'll return to Korea, teach these same children, eat buckets of rice and hang out with my foreigner friends every weekend, won't I? Yet, I know these things have an expiration date, there are lasts to everything, including Korea.

Walking around Suwon the other day I had that revelation, the one where I realized my toes and fingers could count the days I have left. I think in that same moment my eyes divided into four, my hands grew feelers and my memory bank let go of those terrible encounters with boredom and frustration and allowed for my hippocampus to be refilled with everything I love about Korea. Since then I've tried my hardest to make every experience count. While sipping my morning coffee and walking my twenty minutes to work, I take my time in a lackadaisical fashion fit for any French aristocrat, though I'm thinking of a specific one that lost her head. Like Ms. Antoinette that is, and just like her I'm noticing my splurges are becoming more commonplace, each event, food, drink, item having a far greater value than a week ago. I see the chocolate at Starbucks and say, "Of course I deserve that. It's my birthday in a week, I'm leaving Korea and I need the calories for my marathon training. There. Done. Chocolate in my mouth in seconds. Satisfaction granted and my mind is thanking me profusely as the caffine hits my prefrontal cortex, speeding up my short-term memory, my concentration and my mouth. I don't mind at all being like Marie, but my pocketbook, ass and boyfriend (who must then listen to my mouth make loud and fast noises for the next hour) do mind.

My end of days tendencies are not all bad. I no longer feel as much frustration with Korea as I did this entire winter. That change may be seasonal, but I think it also has to do with the realization that my life here is ephemeral. Thus, lacing up my running shoes today and I forced myself to take strange routes to make my last days here seem full, to make my experience in Korea full. I figured at least running has mostly positive effects for the people and things around me, whereas the chocolate drinks, rice cakes, shopping in Emart and bus rides do not. (All make me feel like a sack of poop after - chocolate and rice cakes = bloatation so bad I want to be popped with pins, E-mart = frustration and annoyance so bad I want to pop everyone else with pins, and bus rides = nausea and anger so bad I want to pop the bus tires and the bus driver's head with pins. In other words, not good things, thus put in the list 'to be avoided'.)

Apart from running as being my last and most positive way to say goodbye to Korea, (I also have a marathon in two weeks and therefore can kill two birds with my running shoes) I find myself opting for long walks around city parks where I can watch Korean life at its best. Children and small dogs are my number one favorite aspects of these parks, but I also find myself loving the older men who play GO on the park benches or ground - throngs of other older men standing around watching the games and smoking their Korean brand cigarettes while they talk strategy with their neighbors. There's also the older women. Their youth-like beauty long gone, they have a new beauty in their trench-like wrinkles and stern eyes. They rule the streets with their carts and wide stagger. I used to (and am sometimes still) be very intimidated and therefore skiddish when affronted by one of these tabby cats. Rightly so as they will push you out of their way and not softly. Yet, and a large YET because I can't believe I'm going to write this, but these women in their derelict and harsh states have also found a place in my heart. I will miss their brutal pushes and stares in so much as I will miss their tenacious and impregnable character. Meaning, I can now see (from a healthy distance) how they are the last of what was right and wonderful about Korea. That with their generation goes what Korea knew about survival, about pride in hard, dirty, hands on work. Thus, I must say I've come to realize that I will miss the elderly ajumas and ajushis, in so much as I deeply respect the lives they've led and the people they've had to become.

Now, I think this is a good place to leave this blog. I could go into the opposite feelings I have, i.e. the negative feelings I will be so glad to leave behind me in Korea. But, I believe I really like that saying about "if you can't say anything nice, then don't say anything at all." I said my 'nice', so I think get positive points. I therefore get to say in brief and so not so bad that I will not miss: loud music and speakers from stores advertising crap, miles of stores, miles of crap, K-pop, K-movies, K-pride in their history, K's asking me if I can use chopsticks, K's being surprised at me for eating kimchi and it not being too hot or for being able to speak passable Korean and you can read it, too?!, K-buses and bus drivers, the staring, the spitting, the mutability of K's when you walk into any place, Maxim instant coffee, coffee shops not opening until 11 in the morning, SMOG and POLLUTION, the same 'traditional' Korean shops, restaurants, temples, palaces, trails, mountains, sites and food ---> SAME SAME SAME SAME SAME SAME SAME and SAME, and lastly, I will not miss the clothing styles, the obsession of the younger generation to FIT IN, the ubiquitousness of high heels, short skirts, small dogs and cutesy jewelry/hair/make up/speech yada yada yada - the lack of feminism and the inadequacies of the K society because of that lack.

INHALE OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo EXHALE HOOOOOOOOOOOOOooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo.

I'm done. I swear.

There are tons more for that last list, but then again there also tons for that first list. I may have over exaggerated my 'new clarity of my last days', BUT I at least had some sort of nostalgia that most definitely was NOT there before. I can at least walk/run down the street and not want to push people over to see if they'll go down like dominos they're so close to each other. Instead, I found some peace. Not necessarily perfect peace, but its something. So, as it's (or was) a fresh feeling of mine towards Korea, I figured I'd write it here for my remembrance, my eulogy, if you will. Because though I'm still not altogether believing there's an end to this cute induced cement exile, I know that in just two and a half weeks I will be leaving, and for good. That my world will be thrown into a twilight zone of good cheese, warm friends and family and a good old piano that my fingers have literally itched to play since I was last home. That I'll fall so happily back into the life I've always known and gladly forget that there is such a place that has cement for every surface, and dust and pollution so bad it makes my head hurt sometimes after a run.

I think I may be scared a little actually, because after home it's a new country with a new life for me to fill with new things, foods, people, culture and language. Everything I absolutely love about traveling and world in one place, in Istanbul. I have huge hopes for it, of course. I'm terribly excited. I'll get to see the conglomeration of the east and the west, the hubris of both as they rub against each other. I can't wait!

So, I guess, this leaving nostalgia and fear is not just for the end of my life in Korea but also for the feeling of home and the fear of leaving it again for a new world. I'm frightened that I'll be too comfortable and content to leave it for something that I'll have to fight and struggle in. And, moreover, I'm scared about seeing all that I've missed out on these past two years and then coming to the realization that it will continue to happen as I get older. Did you know that you get older too? I didn't really realize that. Or that I'm getting older for that matter. I kinda did that Dorian Gray thing where I just assumed all my fuck-ups in youth wouldn't effect myself or my future. I keep learning that they do, but dang- I have a REALLY bad memory!

Anyways, in sum, I'm now just excited to have time left in Korea enough to enjoy it before I go. I'm excited to have time enough at home (well, never enough actually!) to see my friends and family and keep my piano company. And, last but not least, I AM excited to start my life anew again, however misdirected and fuck-up-like it may be. It's a beginning and I really, really like beginnings.

Don't be a puffer fish

Last week I took a quick vacation to Singapore and Bali. I needed both sun and a new environment, so a destination along the equator seemed like the best option for me and everyone around me. (Unsurprisingly, I'm not so fun when starving of vitamin D and fresh air.) So in Singapore I got the invigoration of being in a new city with new foods and lots of warmth, not to mention the added loveliness of coincidently coinciding the vacation with my cousin's wife who was visiting her cousins who live in Singapore. Because of the odd randomness that is our small world, I got to enjoy a wonderful Indian dinner with her and her family members in downtown Singapore on my very first day of traveling! For anyone who has traveled by themselves, you know that there is something extra comforting in meeting someone you know along your journey, and especially in the first leg of it! For the rest of the week I felt ever more at home not only in Singapore, but in Bali as well.

I only had that one day in Singapore, with the next day being my flight to Bali and a planned four to five day flop on the beach. I didn't want to be in another city for my whole vacation as I live in a city 24/7 now! Give me nature and sunshine and ocean and fresh air! Landing in Bali I could see almost immediately (even while in flight) that I was going to get the four things I craved with a lot of added spices that I didn't necessarily want but that would for sure make this a vacation to remember.

Once landed I changed my money at the airport, being ushered to the money changing window not out of necessity for myself but because the woman there was the first in a line of eight different money changing windows that were owned separately, had the same exchange rate but that were set up in a fashion that meant the business went to the people who were in the first windows and not the last. (The workers would wave you over like they were more government employees set up to help the traveler, when instead they're there to rip you off first thing.) I knew this but also needed to change my money. Bam, there goes ten dollars in bad exchange rates. Okay, I say, she needs it more than I do. And I go on my way to find a taxi.

There is a window for prepay taxis outside. You say where you're going and they give you a set price. Luckily, I have a head for math and already figured out what the currency was really worth. (100,000 Indonesian rupees is about 10 US$ give or take the rate of the day.) The taxi stand tells me it will cost me 125,000 RP to get to my BnB in Canggu. I tally in my head and realize its just 13$. Okay, I say, that's much less than Korea. So I follow the taxi driver to his taxi across the lot, get in and enjoy a 30-40 minute ride to my hotel.

In Korea they don't tip, so I sometimes forget to now when I'm elsewhere. This time though, I made a conscious effort to tip the taxi driver, again thinking that he needs it more than I do. Yay for my consciousness, but a frown for my supposedly great math skills. I confused the Korean won (where 10,000 won = 10 US$) and gave the guy a 5,000 RP, so approximately 50 US cents. He was probably thinking "Dang girl, why even gesture?" The folly wasn't realized till he left and I had settled in my new abode. Okay, I say, I'll redeem myself later with buying from the locals, or cleaning a beach or something. I change into my bikini and head to the beach with gumption.

There's a typhoon off the east coast of Australia. Bali is but a 1000 miles from Australia. Sounds far enough shouldn't it? Well, I can tell you now that it's not. 1000 miles is a hop skip and a jump for something like a typhoon. Like a titan giant arising from the depths of his cavern and causing a volcano that effects the entire Mediterranean, this typhoon was wrecking havoc on not only Australian weather, but was rustling up storm clouds across the south Pacific. Laying on the beach in my sun starved, white as the day I was born body, I attempted to tan myself in the dull hue of light eking through the haze of pre-storm energized molecules. There was definitely an energy in the air that I was still happy to be absorbing, but it wasn't exactly the energy I had hoped for when I signed up for a beach vacation. After an hour of pathetic sun bathing, I repacked my beach bag, put on my sun shirt and shorts and trudged back to my BnB where I listened to the rain start to fall outside my window as I watched Madmen on the High-def TV. Okay, I say, there's always tomorrow. I've signed up for surfing so can enjoy the sunshine then!

Because I went to bed so early, I thought I woke up far earlier as well. So I took my time and enjoyed my beautiful room and shower and television. I painted my toe nails, read a lot of my book, watched 30 Rock and believed I was killing time till 9:30, the time I had set up to meet with my surf instructor. The television tells me it's 9:20, a rerun of 30 Rock is on. I decide to go out and see if Leo, the instructor, is around. Nope, but there's someone at the front desk. I ask them if he's seen Leo and he says yeah, about an hour ago he was waiting for me. An hour ago? But its not even 9:30 yet! I look at the clock behind the desk, it tells me that no, actually, it is almost 10:30. I look back to the guy working, and try to explain that my HighDef flatscreen satellite fed TV told me the wrong time. He cocks his head to the side and cocks his smile the other way and says, "Huh. K, well I'll call Leo. Maybe wait here 10 minutes? Need to use the net at all?" No big deal, in other words. Don't worry about, said his crooked smile. Leo shows up, I drop my mouth in awe of his Brazilian biceps, fumble an apology and an hour later find myself watching Leo draw a diagram in the same beach where the day before I had just failed at tanning. He tells me that I'll have to find my own balance when I get in the water and on my board, but that I need to have an idea of where I'll be going and how it should go about. Nodding and nodding agreements to his adorable accent, within another hour I'm standing on a board a foot taller than me, riding a rush of rolling water in a fashion not all that different from the mocking dance I do to the Beach Boys' "Surfin' USA". Naturally, it being my first time and all, I took a few more falls than I did the surfin' dance. But for the most part, when I did stand I had a pretty good jive! Okay, I say, it all turned out okay. I got to surf, I found my balance,and now I just have to work on keeping it. On the walk and motorbike ride back I got to actually talk with Leo and with RD, the guy who had been working behind the counter at my hotel (he gave me the ride to the beach and back, as Leo's moped was far too cramped with two surf boards.) And talking with them I got to question them on their life in Bali and before it. It was by far the more interesting of conversations I have had in a long time. (Simply because they were not with people who have the same exact job and life as me. Holy crud, I thought, I forgot people have different lives!)

Did you know that Bali is very, very, very near the equator? Like just 8 degrees south of it? So close that the sun in the morning is just as hot as our sun in the afternoon in summer? I didn't know this. Thus, I learned something new! May have been one of the more painful lessons I've learned, yet it most definitely is one of the few I will never forget. Later in the day of surf awesomeness, I went on a day trip provided by the hotel with Leo being the driver and with two other pairs of guests being the sightseers. We all hobbled into the van with plans of a beach day on the west side of island. The couple from Ukraine were the kind that loved a good guidebook, and the mother-daughter (the girl being just 9 years old) pair were the kind that wanted to make sure the latter had a great time. In all they were a wonderful group, and provided another branch of interesting conversation for me the lone traveler. I really enjoyed the beach though it was a little dirty and by the afternoon the typhoon winds had blown in again and were obviously bringing rain like the day before. So we only got an hour on the beach before we had to make plans for elsewhere. The Ukraine couple whipped out their trusty guidebook and discussed with Leo some stops on the way back to our hotel. They asked myself and the mother-daughter pair what we thought, and us all being in adventure-travel mode agreed to anything they wanted to see. Within a half hour our make-shift plans were foiled by the rains and we had to pull over again to make a decision for our next stop. A thai-massage was agreed upon, with Leo's wife being a masseuse at a 'clean' place (i.e. not THAT kind of massage!) We started to drive there and I wasn't certain if it was the coldness of the rain or the high air conditioning in the van or both, but I began to get very, very cold. I mean my muscles started to shake, my teeth to chatter, my lips turned blue and I felt like I could fall asleep on one leg. It didn't happen all at once, but by the time we made it to the massage place I was trying really hard to suppress my discomfort. Inside we got to each take showers before our closed-room massages, and in the shower I realized what was going on with my body. In the mirror I could see that my back, from neck to bottom was a deep, bright, almost neon red. What was happening was shock from sun poisoning. I had no more electrolytes in body and I had damaged my skin so much that it couldn't retain heat like it is supposed to. I hurt of course, but I hadn't gotten to see how bad it was until I looked in the mirror. From just two hours in morning sun on Bali, I had the skin color of a Native American, or my father in July. I really wanted to go back to the hotel at that point, but couldn't because I was with a group day trip where we should be enjoying ourselves, getting massages and eating loads. So, I wrapped a towel around my scorched body and went in to brave the "medium-hard" hands of the young Balinese woman I had picked out at the front counter. Twenty minutes into the hour massage she realized I was not in a pleasurable pain but in a miserable one. I'm not certain if she figured out that the fever and chills correlated with my exceedingly dark skin, but love-bless her she covered me with an extra towel for the second half of the massage, then ushered me to a hot shower whence she had finished rubbing my marrow. I stood in there for 10 minutes just letting the hot water try and warm my soul a little. It worked a bit, as I felt kind enough to smile at her as I left, but then I curled into a ball in the front of the van and awaited death as I watched the rain slosh over the windshield and roads. I tried to keep Leo company after we dropped the rest of the guests off for dinner "downtown", but now can't remember if I did or not. I think I just hugged my knees in an upright fetal position and chanted to myself, "I'm okay. I'll be okay. This is only temporary. I had a good day. I surfed today. I can't wait for bed, for warmth. I can't wait for heat to return. I know it will, I just have to hold out till then. I'm okay. I'll be okay."

That night I painfully dressed myself in the winter clothes I had worn from Korea. 75 degrees, a sweatshirt, fuzzy socks, a hot shower and a hat and mittens, I rocked myself on my side or prone in an effort to generate heat and comfort enough for sleep to follow. I slept for nearly 10 hours.

The next day I had to change hotels/BnBs. Luckily, RD, the kind easy-going guy from the front desk offered to help me. My sunburned ass complained to my sunburned skull, but the sunburned skull did not care. It wanted to still have fun on a mystical, tropical island. So it did. RD ended up showing me around the island, taking an hour long motorbike trip to a huge statue of Garuda, the Hindu-Balinese god who is believed to be the protector of all transportation (thus the name of one of the airlines, and the airline that happened to later bump me up to first class on my return trip to Singapore... perhaps there's something to that god?), and thereafter we went to the beach where Eat, Pray, Love was filmed, and then after I took a nap and he went to work, he showed me around Kuta (the foreigner hub of Bali) that night. We went dancing, albeit in extreme pain on my end, and got to enjoy ourselves like real people. I couldn't help but think on my taxi ride back to my new BnB, how with a little bit kindness and ease from another person met with a little of those traits from myself, that we were able to have fun like old friends. And because we were able to do so, we both got a bit of balance from the other one. I was able to look out the window and think, "I'm okay. Today, though a little more painful in the skin department, was a good day. I had a very good day and I think I helped someone else have one, too."

My last day in Bali was Friday. I woke up later, I got going later, I did everything a bit later, and you know what? I didn't think about it one bit. Later was simply that, more late in the day. I walked along the beach for forty minutes just to have my breakfast/lunch at a new place. I sat there for two hours, sipping my avocado juice, enjoying my nasi goreng and finishing The Scarlet Letter in a time of my own fashioning. I didn't worry about seeing anything, doing anything, being anything more than what I was capable of. I enjoyed, is what I did. I sat back and let it be. The hawkers still crowed around me, the people still babbled, the rain still came and I still burned. Everything was not perfect, but it was not altogether imperfect either. It was simply okay. And I was okay with it being just okay.

On my walk back to my hotel, in my very nonchalant mood, I came across something that had washed upon the shore. I could see it rolling in oscillation with each wave, and as I got closer to it I realized it was a puffer fish. It wasn't puffed at the moment, but from its buggy eyes on the side of its head to the spikes encircling its body, poking out a little as it tried to grasp for a breath of water, I gathered that it was such, and that it was laying in doom. I had never seen a puffer fish before, at least not in the 'wild'. I stared at it at first, in awe of its weirdness. (They are really, very funny looking.) It's flippers tried to steer it, but were too weak for the strong and incessant waves. One wave would give it hope as it receded while another would break its hope with a crash and a push further up the beach. I realized quite quickly that the fish had no hope. I was to watch it die, to be its witness and cheerleader. I couldn't help it, you see, there's no help for a fish that's washed ashore unless you have a way to carry it over the current of the waves. I had to watch it die. It was the only humane thing to do. To be there with it until it breathed its last. At least, I thought that's what I could do. But I'm not as creative as Aussies.

Two Aussie women in their mid-forties are also walking along the same beach. They see the puffer fish and they see me watching it as it dies. Okay, I admit my freakishness. It's a pretty darn morbid thing to sit and watch something die without appearing to help or have any emotion for the creature. I do realize this. But, in all fairness, I was keeping it company while not scaring it in its last moments of life. The women approach, one tall and skinny with skin like tanned leather, the other not so much any of those characteristics. Huffy would be the best description of her. I glance at them and say, "Want to help it, but think he's done for. Better off as lunch." The tall one kind of smiles and nods while looking at the fish, Huffy puts her hands on her hips and ignores me altogether. I then watch Huffy, in her deep caverns of shallow thought, take off her flip flops and approach the fish. "No way" I think, she's not going to try and roll the damn thing back into the ocean is she?

FLIP. FLAP.FLIP.FLAP.FLIP FLIP FLIP.FLAP. FLOP. As soon as she rolled him, he blew up to full puffer fish size. By the third roll towards the ocean she was pushing a spiky balloon with bulging eyes and little fins that flip-flapped against the wet beach with every roll, her flip-flops making a similar sounds as she flip-flopped him. WAVE. FLOAT. ROLL. Guess what happens on beaches - Waves crash upon the shore! Did you know this? I did. But then again, I'm a know-it-all when it comes to common sense. If only Aussies were. I watched for five minutes as Huffy tried to huff and puff, flip and flop that puffed puffer back into the deep blue. FLIP FLAP FLOP FLIP FLOP. Would go Huffy. WAVE. CRASH. FLOAT AND ROLL. Would go Puffy. I assumed the latter was to die of a heart attack any minute, so I stuck around to full fill my duties in keeping it company (and also for the free entertainment of watching insanity in its prime - the definition being to do the same thing over and over again.)

With every huff of Huffy, I think Puffy puffed a little more. The puffing being the biggest problem as with itself full of air, it would float instead of sink when in the water. Er, "on" the water, I mean. Huffy didn't understand that it was puffing because of her huffing and that its puffing was going to be the biggest cause of death. (There could be a case stated for her speeding up its death, which I would then be the bad guy. But I think the best speeding of death, and the one in which I would most definitely have been the bad guy would be a case where I clunked it on the head with my flip flop, thereby sparing it the craziness of what was to happen next.)

Six men approach, island men. They are all wearing the same blue T-shirt. They must be employed somewhere along the beach, I deduce. With the strut of all wannabe macho men everywhere, they puff their chests in mock puffer fish fashion and ask if they can help. Huffy gesticulates to the puffer fish and the ocean, motioning how they should be together in marriage and then proceeds to place one flip on one side of the fish, and one flop on the other. She squishes just a little, the flippers of the fish flapping in fear and opposition, and picks up the fish in an effort to carry it over the waves. Guess Puffy was heavy because she drops him at first. He takes a big puff. She tries again. This time holding him with a bit more pressure, because nothing gets freaked out when you squeeze it too tightly? With Puffy between her flops, she then attempts, because the rip tide is too strong to walk in, to throw him over the waves.

If there had happened to be an Olympic shot putter around for Puffy, that idea may have been okay. But as there wasn't, and as Huffy's strength was about the same as a forty year old, non-exercised woman who hasn't thrown a ball in twenty years, the idea was an extremely, EXTREMELY futile one. Puffy became a magically flying fish, perhaps now making the genetics of all puffer fish a little bit different (give it a millenia and maybe they'll be fliers!), he flew about a meter and a half. He landed in water, I'll give Huffy that - she got him in his correct element, but as soon as he landed (or watered, in this case) that dastardly wave came in again to wash him back our way. Huffy huffed at this, and bent over to try again. But the males who had also thought this situation entertaining decided to think it also vexing and perhaps, hero-establishing. So the first one waves her off and says that it'd be much better if he threw the fish because he was stronger. She agrees this is true and consents to him being the new savior of the fish. (After all, it's all for the fish! She a selfless Samaritan! She will save one fish at a time because it will count to that fish! (I read that story, too, about the starfish and how it mattered to each one. I was inspired as well, and give you kudos for taking it to heart. But one thing about stories, they often omit common sense. Common sense and puffer fish that is.)

We all watched as the males tried to throw the fish back into the ocean. Puffy got to fly over and over again in its last moments. That's about all I can say for him. We walked away as soon as we realized that they were going to be no more successful than her. (I walked away because they were less entertaining, and because Puffy was pretty close to death.) So, I never actually saw him breathe the fateful exhale we all see in the movies, but I'm very certain it happened, and that it happened in confusion and fright.

Because Huffy was done with her huffing, I tried to express my admiration for her trying (and suppress my annoyance at her stupidity), and said, "That was a valiant effort. You are much braver than I!" Her friend glanced, as friends without their own minds often do, and Huffy didn't even glance. She found her nose and stuffed it into the air in obvious disdain for the freakish, morbidly fascinated girl who did not at least try to help the puffer fish.

As they walked away, up the beach and over to their hotel, I wondered, in my freakish, morbidly fascinated yet vegetarian mind, just what THEY would have for dinner... crab? lobster? cow? pig? fish?


So, that night, over my vegetarian nasi goreng, I thought about my trip and all that I'd learned within just five days. I thought about my apathy towards money and how I should learn to save more, my desire to push myself when I should stay home and rest, my forgetfulness for the most important things such as sunscreen and time when both are important to my well-being and others, and then of course my calmness towards something like death. Perhaps I should have tried to help the puffer fish. Maybe I should have been more huffy and thought I could help. But then again, had I tried to help it, it wouldn't have been real helping as I knew it wouldn't do anything. Instead, the vegetarian wanted a peaceful death, while the meat eaters wanted a natural death in the ocean - with Puffy being swept up in some gargantuan bycatch and being killed by suffocation only to be eaten by some rich-bitch friend of Huffy's? In that respect, I don't think I actually learned anything but the simplest lesson of them all -

Don't be a puffer fish. And don't try to huff a puffer fish to safety.

Because in the end, the fish died. The lady went and ate her seafood and I went and nursed my sunburn. We all went our separate ways and healed ourselves in the best ways we knew possible (apart from Puffy, he had to heal in the afterlife.) But we each were okay before the situation, and after. It was during that we needed to take a breath in a calm and collected fashion and think about what was happening. Puffy puffed, Huffy huffed. Neither were able to breathe correctly, and so not think correctly either. They each freaked out because neither were able to process the foreign-ness of each other's world.

Thus, my lesson from my Bali trip, "Don't be a puffer fish", is this: be okay, be smart, be calm, be collected and most of all? Remember to not huff the small things and to run away if you can from crazy people who want to pick you up with their flip flops in the hopes of saving you. Especially if they resemble Aussies with too much pride and not enough smarts. They tend to be attracted to things that go PUFF.

The story of my dear Red Dragon

About five months ago (so May?) I decided to invest in wheels, shiny red ones with three gears and a bell. I had been pondering the thought for a good month before I took the awkward- I now have to examine and pick a bike all in Korean without offending but also getting what I want and not what they want to sell me. (I've found most Korean shops push Korean goods more than those made in China. I think it's quite needed, but it also becomes a problem when you have a budget or you just want to buy the stupid, cheaply made Chinese goods and you're pressured, in another language, to not do so.) Anyways, buying this bike was a big step for me in making my nest here. It helped me explore faster and more ubiquitously than my two feet could take me- on or off buses and subways included.

Consequently, I used the bike quite a bit whenever I could. Mostly for days I was running late for work and needed the five-ten minute (depending on traffic lights) buffer my wheels could give me. Or for long rides into unknown 'dongs'(district) and 'gus'(area) I'd never dared to venture via bus. In sum, the bike was my bad-ass system of pretending to live a life of dire urgency and adventure. I wound it around the streets, flying off then poppa-wheeling back on and around sidewalk curbs and torn up brick paths. Steep hills became my roller-coaster, head rush in descension, and then my rage expelling punching bag vice versa. Meanwhile my thighs would be chugging and aching under the grueling uphill climbs, then up and over and they would morph into a relaxing, endorphin-rich high only extensive exercise can give you. By day's end I was always in an exhaustedly disheveled, but content state. The shapes of the pedals still reminiscent on my soles while my hands clenched, now imaginary, handle bars. Very, very good adventures on my red bicycle.

I think I got two grand months with it before it, or I rather, had to become a problem. I think it was more so me, as I did ride it quite roughly over terrible terrain, but then again, it was a mountain bike- is that not what they're to be made for? Anyways, one fine summer's day I was flying down a lusciously long hill, one where there was a sidewalk curb at the end rather than a normal handicap bend, and, in my excitement, I took it at a bit too much speed or harsh of angle and BONG. The front tire to my bike deflated immediately. And because it was so quick, I knew that the culprit was no rock or nail, but me, my weight and wild fervor for riding like a mad person that burst the bike's inner-tube, the life source of all bike tires.

Sadly, I walked back home, my bike looking less than impressive now, closer in relation to junk than a vehicle of madness. I brought into my elevator, up the seven floors to my stairwell and locked it up for what would be two months of exile.

You'd think that if I really loved the bike and to ride the bike at all, I would have gotten it fixed within days. But, and a tie in to the main excuse, about this time is when I met the monkey that would change my life. Thus, the bike that I meant to get fixed within the week or next was forgotten along with last winter's canned goods. *Also, it had taken me so long to buy the thing because of my aversion to dealing with Korean shops, thus it was now a tad too much for me to deal with trying to get it fixed. I'm a coward, I know.

September came sooner than I expected, and with it my land lord found their reserved impatience for my bike in the stairwell not so reserved. They asked me to move it into my one room apartment for 'safety'. *There have been a couple of thefts, probably by middle school or high school students, and thus they were 'worried for my nice bike.' My bike lock is steel, and in a stairwell on the top floor of a not so popular building. HM? Still, there's a whole extra story about this, but in sum the bike is put into further exile. It's led to the basement, locked to a water heater and left to starve for a good month. I cannot get to it as the basement is locked. I must ask for a key. This is another step too far for my laziness. I allow its starvation.

Now it's October, the weather is cooling as is my aversion to Korean bike shops I guess? Because for some reason last week I decided that it was 'about damn time I did something about it'. (Amazing how ambition sneaks up on you, isn't it?) Well, I had some and decided to use it on my dear bike that I won't be able to use much longer with the nights getting darker and cooler, and my time therefore being more sedentary.

What's most amazing about this story is the laziness I have discovered lurking within myself. I say this because not twenty yards across from my apartment is a bike fixing shop. The ONLY shop on my whole street. Why I could not bring myself to go there immediately, I don't know, especially after the red dragon was condemned to a dark crypt. I'd like to think I had the foresight, or extra-sensory input that told me what laid in store there. Like ESP for potentially awkward situations to be ignored so as to save me from wasted hours and minutes of confused contemplation. Only, it's not actually saving, just putting off until a time when I am feeling especially bold, or especially clueless, careless and ambitious. (Dangerous combination I've found.)

On with the story, last Thursday I took the ice cold plunge. I walked over to the bike repair shop, limping red 'dragon' in tow, and commenced the start of the largest uphill battle my bike has been through. It started simply enough. I said "Tie-ee-ar BAANG yogiyo". Indicating with my arms and feet and eyes and phalanges where he should expend his energy. If you've ever popped your bike's tire-tube, you know that it's quite an obvious diagnosis as the entire tire is flattened, the rim on the ground. I assumed he'd rip off my tire then tube, slap on a new tube, fit the tire over it and say 'pay me'. But this is not how things go in Korea. I know this, and yet still expect ease. Proof of bliss in ignorance I think. He tries instead to fill it with air from the compressor. Obviously, this does not work. It puffs up in hopeful health, but when the compressor ceases, the tire lets out a long sigh. The ajashi bike repair expert huffs and tries telling me (I think?) in Korean that it needs a new tube. I keep shaking all my extremities in understanding and concurrence, but over the next 5 minutes of him moving my bike inside his shop he tries explaining over and over. This is not un-normal for elder ajashis. They tend to over explain and worry over you understanding them. Sometimes its cute, and other times frustrating. This was a time for the latter as I think he was drunk, and had been for awhile.

I end up getting herded into his very small and very cluttered shop. Around me there are remnants of bikes past hung on the walls (for decor?), parts and bits strewn on the cement floor amongst the decades or maybe centuries worth of dust and dirt. In the back corner I see what could be a side business in roller-blade repair. Only there are just five sets of well-used blades layered with dust and missing certain parts that I cannot name. They remind of the derelict dolls in horror films, cracked in the forehead and cheeks, missing eyes and clumps of hair, arms are twisted and their once pretty dresses are molting. On top of the television there is a gnome next to a CB radio. Playing on the television is the intro to the first Harry Potter movie, the lettering is in Korean but the first notes so familiar to my ears I perk up as if I recognize the situation en total.

He offers me a seat. I sit down. The chair is a fold-up as is the table. It squeaks and I'm uncertain if I'm safe in that moment and the ones to come. I look up and he has brought the bike in with less inspection than I gave my chair. Why he turns his interest to me and not the bike unnerves me a bit. It is just him and I in his shop. The door wide open, but his drunken rambling (at least I assume he's drunk now, but at the time I thought maybe he was in the Vietnam War? -> He was missing his big right toe, talking in circles (from what I could understand of him), and had quite soiled pants. I couldn't not think such things and wonder.)

Next he offers me coffee. Something I should have refused. Actually, wait- I did refuse it and thrice over, but I still ended up drinking a sugared maxim stick anyways. And not only is it pure sugar and preservative crap, but its also hot as hell. Thus, I have to sit and sip it as he tries to carry on a conversation with me in Korean. I nod my head 'yes' when he points to the bike, then shake my head in ignorance when he points to me. I ask him how much it will cost. I hear no numbers. Just more rambling and in English "120". ?WTF? Okay, I assume he's confused and means 12,000 won (about 12 dollars). I say it's okay in Korean and watch as he starts to strip the bike tire. "We're getting somewhere!" I think, "Shouldn't be long now."

Of course it is long, you know its long just by reading this, I know its long just by association of Korea and ajashi and coffee offering. Another equation for you, it equals LONG. I would have sat there, too. The whole time. Sipping the hot sugar and nodding and shaking had it not been for what I think was his son-in-law who stopped by. (Probably to check on the sanity of his father/in-law for the day.) He asks what is going on, palpably curious over the young foreigner girl sharing a coffee with the old man. I'm just as curious and give him pleading eyes to save me. Their voices start to rise as the young one tries to talk sense into the old one, saying, I imagine, 'She can come back and get the bike later. She doesn't need to sit here the whole time. Why did you make her come in and have coffee? You know this will take awhile. She can come back." laugh, snicker and a wink at me messaging that the old man really is drunk or crazy, but either way is not respectable even in Korean society where you respect your elders no matter the time, place or situation.

I chug my coffee. It burns my throat. I stand up and motion that I can come back. I say 'han shigan', meaning 'one hour'. Then I say 'OK'? The old man motions for me to sit again, saying no, no, no, its okay. The young one, however, gives me a look which makes me think if I sit I'll be glued there forever in sugar coffeed and sooted chair hell. I nod my head to him and make my escape. "Han shigan!" I yell as I cross the 20 yards to my apartment entrance. I take the elevator so he can't see which floor I get off at via the glass walled stairwell.

Fruitless was my last measure. Forty-five minutes later my doorbell rings. I'm in the middle of writing my blog I wrote last week and so at first don't realize the strangeness of it. It takes me a second to think, "What the hell?". I go to the door and am really not surprised to find the crazy bike repair man. He's with my landlady, who he must have bothered to 'get my bike back to me', and then she, being quite a nice and orderly lady, wanting to help the foreigner girl at all costs, agreed to help him help me, seemingly a good thing. I nod in understanding, my bike must be ready early. I motion to put on my boots but he again tries to stop me from what I want to do. (A very stupid thing to do as most who try to stop me lose limbs.) I, however, want my bike back and stand up in curiosity. "What pre-tell do you want then?" I hear one word I recognize: "Copp-ee". Mwo? Are you serious? You want to come in and have coffee with me? I'm already disturbed from the previous cup, and doubly disturbed he now knows my apartment number. There are by no means I am allowing him in for a cup of coffee now. I'm still shaking my head, as it's not polite here to ask for coffee from a customer- let alone stalk them to their apartment, then throw a fit when they refuse both hospitalities of entrance and sustenance (if you can call Maxim that.) Thank goodness my landlady hadn't left us yet and saw what he was trying to do. She shooed him away with her ajuma reason and cackling caw. He didn't bend easily, but after I put my boots on and both my landlady and I went into the elevator, he had no choice but to concede to us. Down we went in the tin box.

The magic doors opened and we all walked out all together, my landlady now worried, as much as I, over the situation I was in. Thank goodness she was there because the bike wasn't even upright or put together yet. We all walked up to the shop and there she lay, belly up. I wanted to stroke her and tell her it was going to be okay. That she'll get fixed soon enough, if not by him then by me. I really could have done it myself had I the air tank and gadgets to strip off and then fit the tire tubes. I glared a little at him, not really understanding what we has doing to her. The procedure was simple, just stitches not a face-lift.

My ajuma savior-landlady argued for me then. She saw the bike, smelt his breath, then glared as well using all her ajuma might. "Why?! Leave her alone. She does not need to be here now. She'll come back tomorrow for it and it had better be fixed and ready to go!" Again, I imagined this conversation. But I'm fairly certain that's how it went because he gave a shamed grunt, with a few words of drunken, mad anger but a concession all the same. We turned back. I asked if it was all okay, and she just nodded with a smile, humored by what I'd gotten into. We entered the elevator, she got off on the second floor and that was that.

The next day I showed up with my co-teacher, her having heard the entire story that day and doubly confused over the coffee-stalking incident, and triply over the whole thing. We turned up and there my red dragon was, awaiting me in perfect condition. The crazed man I knew was there but not the same. Obviously sober now, he looked ashamed of the way he'd treated me the night before. He told my co-teacher that he'd checked the entire bike free of charge and that the total cost was 18,000 because of the new tire tube. I would have given him 80. I was very much done with it all by then. I nodded, he bowed to me and my co-teacher. The Korean formalities finished, I walked away with my functioning red dragon.

*To add to the tale, the ambition to fix my bike was not a combustion from nothing. I had offered to sell it to a new English teacher living near me. I figured since I don't use it much and that she was looking for one, that I might as well. I will have to sell it in March before I leave anyways. That was the initial reason, but now I feel a stronger affinity for it more than ever. I terribly want to peel up the pavement in retaliation for the fantastic situation I had to deal with, and very possibly will have to deal with in the future as the crazy, drunk man is my neighbor and now knows where I live. I'm thinking an adventure tonight might be the perfect solace and goodbye I need...

The main excuse

WAH! It has been so long my own blog doesn't recognize me! I finally clicked on the tiny tab that is my blog in hopes of seeing a new one magically appear. The page came up and all I beheld was 'August in a Flash' in rosey pink lettering, reminding me what a lazy, weekend scrounging hermit I've been. I wished it had written itself in long verses of thought, etching all the details I've already forgotten via the magic telepathic pen connected to my computer. It was quite depressing to find that this did not happen, obviously. But, like I said about August, this is a good thing. This means I'm busy and that enjoying myself in Korea, finally.

So what's new~ in short because that's all I seem to accomplish lately, short bursts of pent up energy escaping in weekend excursions with my boyfriend. Which reminds me... biggest change numero uno, and WHY I've been such a crap blogger:

1. The Boyfriend.

Yes, he exists. My parents have even SEEN him and he is flesh and blood. Well, they actually can't back that, he was in 'bites' on their screen in Wisconsin. But I can assure you, he is real. And for those who know me (and you only need to read a bit of what I say to figure it out), you know I'm the independent, "I don't need no boyfriend because I'm a strong, kick-ass girl" type. And even when I did have one, it still wasn't the A-typical relationship. It was high school, and long long ago for me. Now its five or six years later, and I have had no one to write home about. (I'm not complaining here, this was all pretty much by choice. Pretty much... I guess you could say there wasn't anyone who sparked my interest more than a foreign country, language or culture.) Now that someone has sparked my interest and is continuing to do so every time we meet up, I can actually and in print say that I do indeed have a boyfriend. Moreover, and please close your mouth mom, I can now understand just how much time one takes up. I think September was equivalent to a black hole, or some strange string theory loop where time becomes dual then exponentially dual and in that surreptitiously sucks all personal accomplishment (including body, mind and soul upkeep) into another dimension with less than an equivalent hour to 60 min ratio. It's only been two months, but this is what I take from having a 'companion' in full mathematical formula:

Boyfriend = Free time/External dimension ratio (1hr = 30 min) + External dimension fun = Happiness - Personal upkeep

Thus, September in total was a grand time though short, and throughout the whole thing I looked progressively worse for wear. Boyfriend, don't be offended, I really do like you. I'm just good at math.

2. Excursions with the monkey (aka the BF)

*Monkey is the nickname his classroom children came up with for him. (Last name is Mackie- confused with 'monkey, you get monkey mackie monkey mackie in chirping five year old voices.)

So, monkey and I sang away September in good fashion. The first couple weekends we hung out with friends, but the killer and most ambitious singing was done on a plane, then in a train, then along the streets and swerving alleys of beloved Hong Kong! We wandered and splurged and yelled and stomped and hiked and laughed and drank and got lost in circles upon octagons and triangles. We tramped all around Hong Kong for seven days and six nights, and you know what? We both lived. Er, more so, he lived. That was the only life in question I believe. Anyways, the reason we got this lovely vacation was in part because we coerced a plan in August and bought tickets before our schools could say "aniyo", or "no", but mostly because it was the Korean version of our Thanksgiving here, ergo no school and lots of free time! We left on a Sunday and returned the next Saturday, exhausted but satisfied with our venture. We had gotten to take a glass-bottomed cable car to the top of a wonderfully enchanted mountain topped with a golden Buddha and matching temple, then shopped our hands and feet into calluses at the bounty of markets in foods, clothes and things I'm still uncertain of, and then got to spend a glorious day on a remote hippie island covered with lush trees and even 'lusher' island folk, one of which was a lovely young girl that made her own beautifully eccentric jewelry out of spoons, old pictures, glitter and feathers, and who thereafter had dinner and drinks with us at a local restaurant ~ seafood was the menu but I got a dish filled with oilfied mushrooms and leaves! Delicious, I say, though maybe a bit too oily for the everyday. :S

Anyways, that was Hong Kong- strange food, people, happenings and ventures. Quite fitting for the gal only interested in the etrange!

3. Everything else

When not with the monkey, who by the way I am still talking to, I am off trying to run for the excessive amount of chocolate I eat now, to read for the lack of things I have to talk about that aren't him, and then to write for the expression of spirit I can exert on something that will last longer than a paratactic conversation with the BF, aka how we chat constantly but never in an A to B direction. It's more like A to z to fish to Alexander Hamilton to Q to Tigers to B. Somehow we get there, but its never by any means we can remember. The everything else for me is thus me trying to remedy our chaos with something that resembles a normal linear life.

Oh, also, I'm in Korea. Did you know that? I sometimes forget. Sometimes- but not today*. (See story below) I'm speaking more and more Korean and then forget that I once upon a time didn't know where the damn country was. I'm also finding myself in an increase of awkward situations that once would have shook me to tears, but now only phase me as hilariously ironic, interesting and perpetually confusing. *Like today I ended up having sugared up instant coffee with not just one ajashi neighbor, but TWO. The first is a guy owns a moped store and I know him and his wife(?) who also owns/works at the 7/11 store I often stop at. She's sweet and has a child who is my student (though I'm still not sure which student!) and thus offers me coffee all the time. I was in a peppy, skip-walking mood today so agreed to his hospitality. Now I think I've accidently set a date to drink with their family next Friday?

The second was my neighbor who owns a bike repair shop just opposite my apartment building. He often has customers, so I assumed he's trustworthy and good at what he does. My bike popped its front tire about two months ago and today I finally- FINALLY- decide to do something about it. Turns out the man is a traumatized Korean War vet who I'm certain has business because the neighborhood knows he hasn't changed his prices in fifty years on top of the fact that he's entertaining as hell. I brought my bike over in an excessively proud fashion because heck, I'm a girl who is kicking ass at her errands, only to shrink to a regretful and terribly confused customer of the crazy ajashi I'm now sipping more Maxim instant coffee with. (The stuff is battery acid.) I had to give him my number and name so he could call me (in Korean because I'll understand? - OK, I'll figure out who he is, but I already know the conversation: "Yobosaeyo? Nae. Jajeongo igoeso. Jigeum orraeso! jaksasdkgj ajls;dglhg sgh;las;flkjasg ghlasdlf;kj g jls;jks g j gl;kj ahasdflkjals;kdfj;lkj asghlka;sjf ;laksjg ; ah;lkjas df;lkj g;lkja asd Nae? laksjdf;lkjg;laksjf;lkajpoeiuqwelknpobijslkdmfpowiejfksalnf Nae nae nae, nae nae nae." And I'll reply "OK. OK. OK. OK OK OK OK OK OK OK OK OK OK....NAE" And so will be our interchange. I'm looking forward to it. Should be tomorrow about 6?

If you can't tell, I'm quite situated in Korea. If I had done this a year ago, I would have locked myself in my apartment and called a friend in hopes of the million dollar answer. But now I just keep going. I guess maybe the biggest change is myself and how I react to the world now- heck, I REACT. That's just the difference. I'm frightened but not frightened of failure or confusion or awkwardness or whatever else life throws at me because I know I can handle it, react to it, deal. Though it is still me and its still a dealing in a roundabout, "I'm a hermit but I love the world" way.

August in a flash

I think it's a good thing that a month has gone by without a blog. This means I have something that resembles a life, with appointments, obligations, fun, friends, experiences and so on. Or like my mom says, no news is good news! And in this case it is most definitely so. August went by like my senior year of high school, no sooner had it started than it ended, and I was left wondering where the time went. Moreover wondering what the hell happened. Thank God for pictures is all I can say! Thus, here's a glimpse for you and for me of just what my summer was all about.

First up was Jeju - the Hawaii of South Korea. It's an island just south of the mainland and is accessible via ferry or plane. I decided to fly as I would have to travel 6 hours just to get to a pier that would have an eleven hour overnight boat ride for me. I like my vacations to be a little difficult and therefore interesting, but not that interesting. I opted for the hour and a half plane ride that would take me to my exact destination. (I must be getting old to want something so easy!)

I got to Jeju City, Jeju Island on a Sunday afternoon. I had no hotel or tour booked, nor a plan in the world. (Outside a day at the beach that is.) So I spent an hour at the airport just trying to find a hostel and the means of transportation to get to one. I ended up taking a taxi to a place that would end up being my savior for my entire stay. It was called YEHA Guesthouse, a hostel type of boarding. I switched rooms probably three times during my four nights there, but I didn't mind. I had a place to sleep and keep my junk while I roamed the wilderness (faux wilderness?) of the island. My first day was an adventure walk around Jeju City. I found the wharf and downtown area with a bonus Indian restaurant (a place I returned twice more throughout the week!) Then also discovered a derelict water park, a roller rink, the origin of the first kings/princes of Jeju, and an outdoor Korean music festival. And this was just the first day...

Throughout the week I met new and different people. I went out with a wonderful girl I met on my tour a couple of nights. We tried our hand at a Korean nightclub and quickly realized we were not their usual clientele! Then went to the beach the next day and soaked up some rays with our books. When she left I bought a tent and spent three nights camping. The first of which was at the base of Mount Hallasan, the highest mountain in South Korea. Well, actually I pitched the tent at nine in the morning, then hiked the three hours to the peak for lunch. Met a fruit of a person at the top, who then proceeded to follow me down the mountain (though he had taken a completely different trail and was informed by me that there was no bus at the base of this trail like the one he started at... I'm now quite certain I have a honing device in me for this type of person. I'll be having surgery next month to extract it!) Anyways, back to my lovely solitude, I camped at the base that night in full Korean style. Meaning I was surrounded by Korean families and thus not really in solitude but enough so that I could relax and read my novel.

Next two days were a bliss of wandering the island and camping on the beach. I even extended my vacation one day to get some more rays, got burned in that good, almost won't peel way, finished my novel, found a chocolate museum, sound museum, botanical garden and mystical Buddhist temple. Even got a movie night on the beach due to some freak luck I possess and will not extract like the honing device. In all, it was a brilliant vacation! Island life had gotten to me and I did not want to return to the mainland. But not wanting to push my luck, I receded to my post, texted my teacher to let her know I had survived and enjoyed my "home training" for the rest of the second week.

The two weeks after that were camp weeks. This means I worked for four hours straight in the morning, had an hour of awkward lunch with the few Korean teachers who were working for the other summer camps (math, science, computer, etc.), slept for an hour or two on the cold concrete floor of my teacher's room cell, made a worksheet for the next day then went home and recharged my batteries for the next grueling fight. I probably make it sound worse than it is, because in reality it wasn't that bad and I do believe the kids had fun, which IS all that matters. Yet, to put the difficulty of teaching for four straight hours with minimal breaks (really no breaks for the teacher!): imagine you're given fifteen monkeys that are used to having the same routine everyday for the past four months. You are not supposed to follow their routine but instead have to do your best to change it, reinvent it, make it interesting for the monkeys so they don't go crazy and take over the classroom. Course, it also has to be educational and somewhat challenging for them because they are smart monkeys even if they are monkeys. So you prepare and prepare material you think worthy of inspiring and taming them only to find they react to little outside candy and K-pop (Korean version of Backstreet Boys). Your monkey interpreter (aka co-teacher) is also on vacation in their head and sees this as your show and their break. You now have to control the monkeys with entertainment at their level, teach them, get them to want to participate in things that are educational, then make sure they don't ruin the classroom. This was every morning for two weeks. I had to meet my parents at the airport on the last day of camp, and I can easily say I've never wanted to do anything more. Camp was grand fun, but there's a reason it's only two weeks and not the whole vacation. Jenna Teacher would be sent to the asylum!

Like I said, the parents saved me. They came to visit for just one week but I think it was the perfect amount of time. We got to hang out and enjoy ourselves, my parents got to see me and a bit of Korea, and I got to play tour guide for about as long as I can really stand. (I'm not a leader, I'm a doer. I believe my parents found this out! I think they'll have to buy new shoes now after this trip!) We walked and we walked and we walked and walked. The transportation here is cheap, but in order to really see anything you've got to just walk and take in your surroundings. I'd guess we put in about five to seven miles per day at the beginning. It was a slow saunter, but enough for us to pass out each night in exhaustion. Well, exhaustion from walking but also exhaustion from heat and humidity. It was in the nineties for the first three days they were here. The humidity feeling like it was at a hundred percent. Probably the only time of the year it will get this bad, and my parents came in the thick of it. We took naps and enjoyed the Korean dessert, Potbingsu, a kind of shaved ice topped with fruit, syrup and ice cream. I have many more stories of our journeys around the blocks of Korea, but I think I'll save them for their own posts. Just know that I did not control the weather, but it certainly wanted to test my parents! Then again, I did do the walking and they the following. Sorry Mom and Dad! Just hope your soles are still in tact!

Well, what do you know? I finally get to typing all of this and this is not letting me upload photos! I'll try tomorrow at school, sorry! I promise I didn't make you read of all this for nothing!

First Day Essay

My head teacher had me write an essay for a GEPIK book to be made this next year about teaching in Korea. I, naturally, forgot and ended up writing it the same day she needed it. It was supposed to be two pages and of teaching in Korea. Not sure I fulfilled the requirements, as it's three pages and about my very first impression of Korea. From leaving America and the excitement and anxiety of traveling to a foreign country for the purpose of living there. I went a little overboard, but I think I didn't realize how much I had to say about what I've done and am still doing here. I've definitely made it a lifestyle, and am only now really rocking it. It's only taken a year. Anyways, traveling back in time now to 2009...

A year ago, in March of 2009, I left a frigid winter in Wisconsin for a job in Korea. I had just graduated in that December, in one of the coldest and worst job markets since the Great Depression, and thus had found a teaching job abroad as my one and only option.

Waiting for the all the paperwork to be filed and re-filed was the worst part of it all. Multiple tanks of gas were paid with my parent’s credit card, my nights were spent on friends couches, and meals were sparse, usually Ramen. It seemed the only change since I’d graduated was my lack of classes. Ergo, I very, very much yearned for a greater change. Well, actually I just yearned for a purpose. Without classes to distract me, my looming future grew daunting and the only out was Korea.

I came over with the typical traveling youth gear, a huge hiking pack, a rolling suitcase, another small backpack on my front and a huge hippie purse filled with my airplane ride essentials. Eighteen hours total of traveling added to my two day lay-over for my missed flight, I was understandably exhausted, then nervous, then relieved when I saw a smiling Korean face hold up a welcome card with my name on it. I hobbled over to her, greeted her with all of my energy and then realized I’d just met the first person who would influence my life here in Korea. Her name was Jiny, and she was just as anxious and nervous as me to meet someone new and entirely different from anyone else she knows.

Her English was good but quiet and short. I had heard from a friend that most Koreans were intimidated to speak with native speakers, thus I understood her a little and was a bit relieved to be able to rest my brain for the hour bus ride to Suwon. We arrived near a towering Homeplus super store, a movie theater and shopping strip. I had to laugh at how similar the store fronts looked with any store in America. Home is where the shopping is perhaps? We retrieved my luggage, and my new co-teacher assisted me with my bags on the uneven pavement. We needed to walk a block to meet the head teacher with her car.

Sweating and evermore exhausted I met the second most influential person in my stay here in Korea. Her name was Mrs. Lee and she was exactly what I had imagined as a Korean teacher. Shorter, slim, smiley, she radiated goodwill from every centimeter of her being. She drove Jiny and I to what would be my home for the next two years, a small one bedroom apartment located at the top floor of a new seven story complex. I found the bed the best and most welcoming of all of it.

The next day Jiny picked me up in her Kia SUV and drove me the five blocks to a school I never would have found on my own. Entering the school yard I felt something like a déjà vu, like there was a place and purpose that had waited for me to come. I watched the little black heads that peppered the playground and outdoor stairwell, and felt a twinge of nervousness for my first day.

We entered the school and the first thing I was told was to buy indoor shoes. There were cabinets in every entranceway for the superman like change from indoor being to outdoor being and vice versa, and I was expected to participate in this transformation as soon as possible. For today though, I could keep my outdoor being and suffer no consequences.

Next we met the Principle and Vice Principle. I entered the main office unknowing of who was in there, but immediately felt anxiety when I realized this was my first impression on the Vice Principle, the Superintendent, and fellow teachers. It felt like the world stopped as I walked in. All of the black colored eyes focused on the unique, foreign creature with big, hazel eyes. The hazel eyes stared back and tried to take in the overwhelming feeling of being so very new and so very different. They managed for a second, but diverted, overcome with nerves, to the ground and other inanimate items. Hellos were made, and warmth was felt, but still I was glad to be brought to the English lab and shown my own private desk and computer.

The last and most impressing people of my stay here in Korea were introduced to me that first day as well, and the second day, and the third day, and fourth and fifth. The children I would teach for the next year and then some, gawked and stared and giggled and chimed shy (and sometimes not shy) Hellos to the new foreign teacher observing their classes from the back of the room. Walking down the hall I generated a ruckus I can only imagine as equal to that of a movie star. Some students feeling emboldened by my presence and their friends’ rang out a fond “Hello!”, while other younger students felt a bit more shy and just whispered amongst themselves, “Oh! Waygookin!” (Foreigner!) (That term and “Annyeonghaseyo” were my first two Korean phrases actually and have served me very well since.)

Thus, my first week, month, semester was simply me meeting and getting to know my students, fellow teachers and school. I learned how to teach in a constructive manner, how to control my language and use simple terms to convey my meaning, how to have fun in the classroom but to also keep it controlled and productive, and of course how to live and work with Korea. I would like to write about every little aspect of my stay here, but I feel it would easily become a book. Instead, let me just say that my time here has been one of the best of my life, and that I have been extremely lucky with my placement. I have a co-teacher that I can talk with and who listens to my suggestions, not to mention also helps me with every little problem I have, whether it be a cell phone bill, broken heater or assisting me with planning my weekend. Then there are the students and their unconditional love and happiness that radiate, much like Mrs. Lee’s charm, from every centimeter of their being. They are so happy to be with me, to learn English and to try to use it with me that I cannot help but feel a sense of purpose and happiness in that purpose everyday.

I should say that during my stay here I have heard of less fortunate stories, of people who have felt stuck and motionless in their job here, with co-teachers much less open and understanding than mine. I think that certainly, there is a form of bad luck in that and therefore a sense of uncontrollable suffocation, but I also think that a lot of what makes your stay here is you. If you have a positive outlook on things and people and life, then your stay here, however daunting and anxiety filled, can also be one of your fondest memories. Like the pastor who doubles as a crossing guard in the mornings said to me with all truth and hope, “Enjoy your stay here in Korea.” Something enlightening in that statement for me was the idea of choice. Since then, even on the toughest, loneliest days, I remember that this is so much more than what I could be doing, and that I can either enjoy it or suffer it, but either way it is my choice. I have chosen the former and feel that with every smiling child, every screaming English song, every speed or guessing game and with every conversation with Korean and foreigner. My best advice for the new GEPIK teacher is to be open, be understanding and to be excited about the year ahead of you because it will be a good year if you want it to be. Again, it’s all up to you and how you chose to enjoy it.

Enjoyment

In my last entry I was just a tad irritated by Korea. What can I say? It happens when you're an expat. Some days just seem longer than necessary and when one doesn't have many outlets, it tends to come out full force in the few one does have. Anyways, I'm writing here to say I'm much better now. Things are starting to fall into place and/or I no longer feel I'm falling apart every moment I step out my front door. One reason for this is it's finally summer, and warm and the daylight lasts until 8 or 9 and I can relax outside (finally!) in the cooler summer evenings, skipping the stifling June afternoons. I can also run at night and hide amongst the shadows of Lego-like apartments, dodging to and fro like Batman or an alley cat on the prowl. Then in the humid early evenings when the sun is still out and draining, I can read under a tree or in an air-conditioned coffee shop and fall into universes alien to existence here.

I've also begun learning French, a language I believed impossible five years ago, but now find conquerable in contrast to my new fortress, the Korean language. I have found a French tutor and am finally carrying on conversations I never knew I had in me. Things like film noir, or Albert Camus, or Nicolas Sarkozy have never peppered my thoughts as they do now. It's not that I'm becoming an expert or anything, I mean I can't speak at length or in depth. But, I find myself using them in comparisons or questions, and then am shocked at my own knowledge. It's then, when I see the headway I'm making, that I want to learn more. Seeing progress is helpful in itself; but it is evermore so a therapy for the restless expat.

Lastly, I've begun volunteering at an orphanage near my apartment. It's small and I only tutor two students every week for one hour. But I enjoy it, and feel that perhaps I just may be doing the same for them as French is doing for me. Opening doors in my mind that I thought were securely welded shut. Every week I have a new game, something simple but fresh so that when they try to recall words we learn they can correlate the word with the game of that week. Er, that's what I'm hoping for. Either way, we have fun and enjoy getting to know each other. Both the students are sixteen, and awkward insecurity is no friend of theirs at the moment. The first week they were scared to laugh at my jokes and goofy strategies, the second week they warmed a bit when I brought the games I'd promised along with candy (the trick of every ESL teacher!), and finally this last week they appeared to show some sadness when I told them I wouldn't be able to come this next week due to orientation (a three day get-away where I should learn to be a better teacher, but will most likely just meet people, hang out and play beer pong... not my choice, rather an obligation of my contract ironically.)

Anyways, I'm going to be arrogant and think I'll be missed this week as I'll miss them. They're bright kids, just don't have the same opportunities as their peers thus shucked to lower level classes and passed through school with no hope of higher education. Not unlike our schools in America really, only I think there's perhaps a bit more sympathy in America for orphans than there is here in Korea. Not really certain of the programs we have, but there's is very hush-hush and usually managed by a local Christian or Buddhist community.

To put my statements in perspective, to be an orphan here is to have no family lineage, the keystone of every Korean's life. So to have no family means you don't really have anything to honor and pride yourself on. Remember, in this country they put their last names first as a matter of pride their family. They also base marriages more on the fact of the families liking each other rather than the actual bride and groom to-be. Moreover, the reason the orphans are even orphans at all is usually due to divorce, where off-spring from a first marriage is not accepted as apart of the family of the second marriage thus they're sent away, usually to orphanages like this one I'm volunteering at. Blood is such a big part of Korean culture and psyche that it's also the reason I and other expats are such outcasts. We can't (and should never in some older Korean's minds) share the same blood as them. It's kind of like Harry Potter actually, the fight between 'pure-bloods' and 'half-bloods'. Those who taint the purity of their Korean blood-line with a foreigner spouse are looked down upon by older Koreans, like they've destroyed something sacred and have no shame in it. Even some younger Koreans stare and gawk at mixed race couples with their mixed race children, like animals at a zoo, if you're different you're fair game for eye-balling. My point is that it's not good to be different here. Being the same is good and being the best is your goal. Be the best among the same and you're a role-model for Koreans.

So, back to orphans, they're not as palpably different as mixed-race couples and children or as much as myself and other expats. Yet, they are different in the context of modern Korea. To not have a family to call your own is not a good starting point for a career. I doubt that even with the same education as their peers, the same looks and the same resume that they still wouldn't be picked for the job because of their disconnect from Korean society. But to add to that disconnect is a system against them, meant to keep them at levels of work deemed appropriate by society and the government. I asked my students at my elementary school what they wanted to be and their answers were all big and dreamy like a child's should be. Astronauts, soccer players, scientists, dancers. Given that my orphanage students are a little older and so a little less likely to dream so big, I asked them just to see and they didn't have answers. Neither believed they had any real choice in the matter. They just followed the system, did as they were told and lived day to day. "How was your week?" "Nothing special." "How about ten years from now?" "Nothing special."

Though I don't go often and really can't speak with my students with out the Korean translator with me, I really would like to help the students, to make a difference in their lives. It seems others feel the same but just don't know how to go about it. I can't help but think that perhaps that's all people, that everyone just wants to help, wants the best for their fellow man. Thus, with this new found optimism I'm returning full force every week with my games and spunk in the highest of hopes, thinking all the while about the story of the little girl throwing starfish back into the sea and answering the question of "Why? When they're are so many to be helped? Why bother?" and she replies with another toss of a starfish, "It mattered to that one." It's a very empowering story to run through your head over and over, and I think it's a bit more productive than my paranoid running theory.

Thus, on that note, my new progressive theory is that perhaps I can make a slight glimmer of hope appear on my student's horizons, even if it's very small and not remembered by either. I would like to think that like my progress in French for me, their sliver of progress for them gives them a boost of confidence in a world weighted against them. That with just a little handout of help that they'll think "Yes, I can." and that perhaps that can stretch on through their next, major rat-racing years. Extremely optimistic, I know, but if you think about their stories, about why they're where they are and why I'm sometimes unhappy where I am, then I think it's the perfect medicine. Nothing cures suppression like ignorant, love-filled optimism and enjoyment right?

Running

"A year alone can fool any mind, into thinking there ain't much to rewind."

My thoughts exactly. Most days here pass by me like spindles of a pinwheel, going round and round with the same activities, same friends, same life. But when the rarity of getting a whole day to myself arises, and I finally have the hours to pass on my own watch, I'm off-set, nearly nervous. I don't know what to do with my time. I think there must be some great activity I can accomplish, some Mona Lisa in need of painting, or some child in need of saving. I want to DO something but find myself suffocated for work or even play. I find myself starving for life.

In that suffocation, one could go crazy. Or shall I say one does go crazy, as that's where I feel I'm finally at because I'm paranoid as I walk down the street. I know what will happen, I know how many looks I'll receive just because I'm 'different', a 'foreigner'. I'm also scantily dressed for Korea, not America, but Korea in general. I'm wearing a tank-top with a short-sleeved sweater over it, rather short shorts and doll-like shoes with little embroidered flowers on them. I'm comfortable for the eighties high day that awaits me. I know I'll get stares of course, but then that spiteful, crazy voice inside my head says "NO! You have every right to dress the way you want, when you want, and most certainly on YOUR day off with high temps!" One last look in the mirror before I leave my self-centered island of an apartment and I'm off, out to turn some heads but trying my best to be apathetic towards it because I'm going to DO something today, not just hide in my shelter and watch a beautiful day pass me by.

It's paranoia I think as I walk down the street. I feel stares, I see old men and women stop what their doing as I walk by, hear conversations halt just to ogle me. It's then that I wish I could melt into the moss colored paint peeling of a building next to me and disappear, fade into black like Metallica always ominously sings in my ear. I just want to be where I'm normal!

It's not everyday that I feel this isolated. Most days I have school to think about, French to study, a novel to throw myself into, friends to meet in Seoul. I have a life, I swear. It's just on days like today, when the weather is beautiful and I have hours to squander that I wish for freedom, liberation from my worries of stares and thoughts of others. I long for America then. I admit it, I wish I was in the land of equality and freedom even if it's tainted with greed and sex driven sociopaths. At least there no one checks to see if I can speak the language, or comes up to me to ask about my religion (okay they do, but they're much easier to tell off than these Korean zealots!), no one stares unabashed as I walk in a store, and no one comes up to me asking for lessons in English (a quirk here that I understand, yet abhor because it's like a hard slap of a reminder that I'm different.) All these things and more dissipate as I cross into America (or even American army bases). The level at which my appearance matters goes down from 99% to 20% in importance. I can then stretch out on a lawn chair on a hot afternoon in just my tank and shorts. I can walk down the street without fear of being accosted by some rando wanting something from me, if even it's just a 'Hello'. I can be among people and pretend I'm at home amongst strangers; probably the greatest thing I miss. Pretty much, I can be me and not be self conscious about being so.

I'm certain that's why I'm now so into running. Just like I was in college and for similar reasons as well: asserting my individuality, proving I can kick ass, and finding peace amongst chaos; just a few on the list of reasons I've picked it up again here and can't seem to stop. It's a good thing for my body especially, which had wasted away on a winter of cabin fever and Korean style Ho-hos. The in-shape side affect is nice, and gives me a boost of confidence to leave my apartment/island. But running, the activity itself, is starting to act as my saving grace here. The sheer enjoyment I get out of it is so magnificent that I sometimes think I should just be like that legendary girl in college who ran everywhere, in just plain clothes, with books and backpack in tow, and with the longest hair I've ever seen bouncing to and fro on her buttocks as she surpassed all onlookers without care. My God I laughed when I finally saw the girl everyone gossiped about. It was so funny to see. Her and that hair- a perfectly constructed unit and now legend of my college years. I laughed but now I cry. I want to be like that girl here I think. I understand her now. It's so liberating to fly everywhere, past everyone and their judgments and eyes.

When I'm running no one comes up to me for English lessons, no one accosts me about religion. If they stare, I tell myself they're staring in awe at how fast that foreigner girl is. If I catch them staring I run faster, stronger; it becomes a matter of pride in myself and my foreign status that makes me push for the stars and beyond. No one can stop me. I am free but also of an island, one that is outside my small apartment yet which still serves as a home for my thoughts and self and safety from all else. Korea fades into the badly painted buildings and stair wells and not just my Metallica me. I become the queen of the road or pathway I'm cruising upon. I find my voice in my head and she's powerful now, unstoppable. She starts to chant a mantra and I start to run to its beat. She says, "Move out of the way because I'm not afraid of your stares today, I'm not paranoid. I'm ready for anything because I'm running, because I'm free, because I'm me and I'm home!" If this girl had a name it would be just like the movie, Kick Ass!

Madgab

One of my favorite games to play with my family is Madgab. If you don't know what it is, Madgab is a group game where one person draws a card with a contorted phrase on it and their teammates have to guess what the phrase is by hearing it, reading it and trying to decipher what the connected letters/words are actually saying. It's so much fun, and we always have a blast at family get-togethers (though I admit, I've found a cheat and it's not so much fun when I play.) But the others play fair and come up with some ridiculous conclusions that leave us in hysterics. For instance, my cousin tried guessing the phrase with a number of different accents. Her phrase was "Chest Hey Kitty Sea". (Yes, read that and take a guess at what exactly it is- not easy once you've read it!) I think she tried to guess it along with her teammates for the whole two minutes, but her especially going through a list of accents and coming up instead with a table of laughing hyenas, myself included! From the short consonants and long, drawn out vowels of Chinese to sing-song Norwegian to question and answer format, I swear my cousin said it in every possible format and still could not for the life of her and her kin, come up with the phrase she was saying over and over and over and over again. Actually, with some of her accents we thought she got it, she was so close to the phrase. Yet, she'd start on another accent to try and hear the answer in a new spectrum. I don't remember if she got it or not, but the answer was "Just take it easy." An answer we thought all too fitting for such a difficult phrase!

Anyways, I miss this game and my family to play with, but the reason I bring up this story is that I just realized that this game, though I thought I missed it, is actually all around me here in Korea. I swear, every where, everyday! From conversations with my co-teacher and students and fellow Koreans, to reading bad English on signs, to listening to K-pop (the Korean music here that's pretty much Backstreet Boys in Korean) to watching television. It's everywhere. "It" being bad English, bad contorted English!

For instance, a couple of weeks ago I went on a trip with a bunch of foreigners, but I ended up sitting next to one of the few Koreans (a gyopo, so born in Korea but moved to the USA when young). Her English was very good and we chatted for most of the train ride. While we were talking I didn't notice much Konglish (Korean-English that is pretty much their accent/pronunciation of English words put to Korean.) I didn't notice until we got to the turtle ship that is. "Wow, the turtle sheep is so amazing! I never knew!" she said. "The what is so amazing?" I caught my mind tripping up. I didn't want to poke, but she had told me before that she couldn't say 'ship' right and that her children made fun of her. So I joked with her a bit and made her say it again. Then I wondered how she says 'shit'. It's the same sound, so put in her words should come out 'sheet'. I asked her and sure enough she couldn't say 'shit' to save her soul. Her personality was so kind and innocent that I told her her mispronunciation must be meant to be, that to say 'shit' correctly would be the truest profanity against God and mankind and would bring apocalypse if she said anything other than 'Sheet balls in May'. She laughed and said, 'Aw, sheet.'

Moreover, still at the turtle sheep, I remembered my friend Jinah (the girl I wrote a blog about in March) could not say 'turtle' to save her soul either. It was a 'turter', the 'l' sound being often confused with 'r' here because of their tricky Korean letter ㄹ that is sometimes a 'r' and sometimes a 'l'. Thus, standing at the pride of Korea, the great turtle ship that defeated the Japanese so long ago, I could not think of anything outside of how, in the world of Madgab and Konglish, it is demoted to a 'turter sheep', with holes in its bottom to 'sheet', and with spikes on its 'loof' to 'kir' the Japs.

So, I guess what I'm getting at is that I never would have thought that such a simple game could prepare me for a life a world away, but it certainly has. These are but a couple of simple examples of the Konglish I've run into here. There are so many more! So, so many more! Other sounds that are often confused here are 'b' and 'v', 'f' and 'p', 'sh' and 's', and 'th' and 't'. Words like 'violin', 'river', 'love', 'for', 'thank', 'ruler', 'shop' and 'coffee' become 'biolin', 'liber', 'rub', 'por', 'tank', 'rurer', 'sop' and 'coppee'. Thus, imagine talking with someone and hearing, "I went to da Han liber yesterday and drunk coppee wid my priend. Tank you por sowing me dat sop." Can you say tricky? No, but I can say 'ticky'. It's bery ticky libing and speaking here. Bery ticky. It's a good thing, I think, that I can chest hey kitty sea, done two?