Re-adjustments

I cannot fail if I’m moving towards something. I only fail if I stop.  While researching how to give a good interview (because that is what I do with my days), I stumbled upon this incredible blog. And it got me thinking.
I have, I think, since my arrival back home, momentarily lost myself. The insane absence of writing should be the first and most obvious indication. I knew coming back was going to be hard. I knew I was going to have to deal with the fact that for the most part, I was returning to a state that was unaltered. Yes, a year had passed. But for the majority of people, places, and things, this was not enough time to make any detectable difference. And for myself, yes. A year had passed. But for me, so much had changed. I grew in a path that was parallel to my life back home, but was no longer intersecting. I could see both lines growing, but my new life was growing at a rate much faster than my old life. And I no longer new how to comfortably re-adjust. Coming back to something you’ve left is kind of like a child’s toy. You know the one where you are supposed to drop plastic shapes into their matching holes in a cube. The usual shapes being a triangle, a square, a rectangle, and a circle? Well, I felt like I was the square and I was constantly being forced into the rectangle hole. I belonged to the game. I was an essential piece, but I was being repeatedly forced into the wrong place. One that was getting me nowhere.

But alas, on this mid-day morning, I think I may have just taken the plunge. I believe I may have made it.  I cannot fail if I’m moving towards something. I only fail if I stop.

This I will not miss

Things I will not miss.

In the hopes of making my departure from Korea less of an open, aching wound, I‘ve decided to capture those things which I am happy to bid adieu. In my eyes, this post is quite comparable to the separation fight. What is the separation fight, you ask? (Just ask Andrew-he’ll tell you that I’m exceptionally good at this.) It’s when I pick a fight or let my annoyances get the best of me in order to start emotionally distancing myself even before physical separation occurs. That way, when we finally do leave each other and I’m still nursing the grudge, the distance will be less painful. Yes, I fully realize the dysfunctional qualities of this theory. And as much as it pains me to say this, it doesn’t actually make goodbyes any easier.
That being said, here are a list of things that I hope will make me feel better about leaving.

1) Walking. In normal situations at home, and anywhere else I’ve traveled for that matter, eye signals are key. You know, the one where you and an approaching pedestrian are walking closer and closer and a collision is inevitable if it weren’t for this, look. The one where you first establish eye contact and then glance down. Clearly signaling to the other “Hey, buddy. This is where I’m gonna walk. You, should not walk here.” And then adjustments are made by both parties in sufficient time so no one must stop. Well, in Korea, they like to play chicken. And they always win. In fact, they must think that by signaling with eyes, you are actually inviting them to walk into your path. It’s like they have no concept of trajectory. Maybe if I was ever any good at soccer I would know how to fake them out. But, I never was.

2) Spitting. Everyone spits. Age and gender aside, everyone spits. Big, juicy, loud, clear your throat kind of spitting. And anywhere is fair game-the sidewalk, the market, school, inside the subway. Good thing they are not good at trajectory or I think I would have been spit on many a time.

3) Toilet paper. Toilet paper in Korea is very multipurpose. You are able to find it everywhere. In kitchens as napkins, hanging from bus ceilings, in classrooms serving as kleenex, etc. Before moving there, keeping a roll of it on my kitchen table in order to wipe my mouth didn’t really cross my mind. But now that I’ve seen how many ways it can be used, I’ve realized just how incompletely we’ve been utilizing this great absorbent tool.  But…. the one place where it should shine in it’s role, the one place where it was meant to be, it is consistently absent. Korean bathroom stalls. You can use it to your hearts galore in buses, kitchens, or restaurants. But if you forget to grab some before walking into a bathroom, be warned, it won’t be there.

4) Cheese. Yes, there is cheese in Korea. But paying six dollars for four slices of Kraft singles does not make it high quality cheese. .

Well, there you have it. And in case you were wondering, I still miss Korea.

Pack it up pack it in

*whoops. technical difficulty number 1. i thought i had posted this on my last day in korea-but here it sits, in my drafts. anyhow, here is what was going through my head during my last day in the country.

As the one day approaches that I never thought would, I am left with so many questions. I don’t know what it will be like to assimilate back into a culture I haven’t seen in a year.

What, upon arrival here, seemed like absurdities bordering on pranks, have now become part of my everyday life. I don’t even find it peculiar that “cajun” dressing here does not mean spicy, but in fact, honey mustard.

Or that pizza comes topped with  sweet potatoes and sometimes spaghetti.

The question most desiring of my time, though, is how to pack up my experiences? After about five hours of nothing but packing books and shoes and souvenirs acquired over a year’s time, I realized I wasn’t quite sure how to pack up my last day of school. Or my first for that matter.  Physical objects. Fine. I can roll up my sweaters tight, align my books in an orderly fashion, tuck away my underwear. But experiences? How can I fold those up and take them home with me? Are they better suited in my checked luggage or carry on? Are they something I could forget in my apartment, like my toothbrush? Will they get lost on the long journey home? And even scarier still, what will I do with them once I, and they, do make it home? Where in my new life, in my new apartment that I do not yet have, in my job I do not yet have, will I make room? Are they doomed to sit on a shelf in my mind collecting dust? Or will I push them into a shoebox and stuff them under my bed. Only to briefly remind me of my time here as I stub my toe on it’s corner?  Or will I wear them like a cape? Grazing my shoulders and tied around my neck as a symbol to the world and myself that I can do amazing things. While I simply cannot answer this question right now, I have a hunch I will be unpacking them slowly, one by one, and over and over again for a long time to come.

do re mi fa so la ti do

When I first arrived here, I thought I would take up learning something new. Learning Korean seemed like the most logical. However, after a day filled with students, teachers,  studying and employing disciplinary tactics (which I would like to be believe were successful but more than likely were mere disasters) the last thing my mind wanted to do was sit down and study. So my korean learning days became few and far between. I did not, however, abandon the idea of learning something new. In fact, I started taking violin lessons each week with my friend Hyunjin.

Thursdays quickly became my favorite day of the week. Not only because I treasured my friendship with Hyunjin, but because to be surrounded by music again was so incredibly refreshing. While I have played the piano for most of my life, that in no way advanced me in playing the violin. The first couple lessons left my ears numb and shoulder unexpectedly sore with the task of bowing for an hour. Let me just say that I think people may have been overlooking a perfectly effective arm exercise; good bye dumbbells. Hello violin. I’m not exaggerating. My forehead and poor little violin were misted with beads of perspiration.  Once my muscles adapted to the exercise, luckily my fingers shortly followed. My neighbors, however, may have never adjusted. Bless their hearts. The only way I could justify playing at ten at night, was in the hope that I became good enough that the twinkle twinkle little star I pumped out lulled them to sleep instead of catapulting them to cover their ears with pillows.

What also made these Thursday evenings so special was the fact that my teacher and I couldn’t communicate. Without having the convenience of knowing each others native language, we managed to communicate through solely music and actions. He was incredibly patient. And on the night of my last lesson, he did something very unexpected. He mimed a crying motion and in his broken english said “i so sad. every week you make me so happy.”  How fantastically wonderful. I’m going to miss him. And this little guy…

Home

As my time here is coming to a close faster than I can fathom, my mind is torn between thoughts of home in Minnesota and experiences that are still yet to be had in my current home. I’m dreaming of what my life will be like after a year of being separated from family and friends and being included only as much as letters, and emails, and Skype calls can allow. My mind is overwhelmed with future possibilities and also desperately graspingonto the present, refusing to give up the time I have here without a full on fight. And so, Seoul is calling.

As most of you are aware, or even if you’re not, I love Seoul. It is a fantastic city sparkling with young life and modernization while infused throughout the whole, with huge icons that speak of the past.  As the second most populated city in the world, there is no shortage of cute boutiques, cafes, restaurants, museums, and people. When first arriving here, and alternately throughout the year, I’ve found myself wishing to live directly in Seoul. Right smack dab in the middle of it. Traffic, smog, crowds, and all. But after spending the last four days completely immersed in it, being tossed left and right by the subway, being elbowjabbed by old ladies who never bat an eye, and unable to hear my own thoughts amidst the steady hum of a city so alive, what did I do?

This morning, I laced up my running shoes and hit the trails behind my apartment. I ran and hiked and heard my own thoughts. I met approximately four people along the way and when reaching the top, I looked out over the city of Uijeongbu. I realized that while I love Seoul and appreciate its eccentric and eclectic culture, I needed to stimulate my own soul. I found myself retreating to that which gives me peace. I knew that here, among the trees, and mosquitos and fresh air I would be able to think. And appreciate all that I have been given. And I also realized that sometimes what we think we want is in fact, not what is best for us. I lived this year one hour away from all the crazy happenings of the big city and I think it made all the difference. I’m leaving Seoul with a love for it, not a disdain that I have seen grow in so many people who have lived there for multiple years. By having the choice to immerse or remove myself from the intensity at any given moment, I have had the best of both worlds. And after my quiet morning alone with my thoughts and the trees, I think I’m ready to explore that urban jungle once more.

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Rat-tail

One thing that I have noticed after moving to the populated urban area of Seoul, after spending the past five years in the outdoor haven of Duluth, is the lack of dogs. In Duluth, dogs are a more common companion on the beach or amongst the countless trails than friends. But here, among the high-rises and office tells, dogs owners are few and far between. But, let me tell you, when dogs do make their debut into city life, they don’t come unnoticed. And I don’t mean because they are a rarity. They stand out because they are pink. Or purple. Or gold. Did you know that South Korean‘s have gold dogs?And they are small. I mean small small.  The first time I crossed paths with one here, I did a side step, thinking I was about to pass an extremely colorful rat. But then I saw the leash and was equally confused as to why someone would walk their pet rat.  The second time it happened, upon closer inspection, I realized that these tiny beings are some incredibly small dog that has been pampered and in fact colored to the max. Nothing, however, will beat the sight I stumbled upon yesterday. While walking quickly home due an unexpected rain shower, I noticed a lady walking her two small dogs. These dogs, my friends, both had full-fledged  little doggie yellow rain jackets covering their bodies complete with little doggie hoods and little doggie purple rain boot. I think if there was someway to affix miniature umbrellas onto their tails, this lady would have had them.  It’s amazing to me really. Even the pets here are more interested in fashion than I seem to be.

Paper cranes

    Before arriving in Korea, there were two questions that without fail, followed my proclamation of traveling to and teaching abroad for a year. Question number one: “Do you know korean?” Question number two: “So, how exactly are you going to teach?” Both valid questions, but they were also questions that I didn’t worry myself with. I was too concerned about which pants to bring, which sweaters to leave, and how many shoes I could cram into my suitcase. And of course,  how I was going to say goodbye to my friends and family for a year.  
    So, now that I am nine months into this gig, I can finally answer that bugger of a question. And the answer is, scarcely. I can introduce myself, ask the price of shoes that won’t fit me, ask how someone is only to not understand their answer, count to nine with a few multiples of ten thrown in there, and not a whole lot more. Okay, okay,  maybe I’m being a bit melodramatic. I can say left and right as well. And as far as question number two? Scarcely is applicable here too. Everyday brings with it something new. And every class brings with it something new as well. I care deeply for my students, but I can’t help but feel a bit like an outsider. Even still. I mean, of course guessing games are fun, but when you have one crying first grader and one angry little boy yelling at her, it would be nice to know what he is saying. When the class clown yells something out during class and everyone bursts into laughter, I would like to judge my response on more than the students explanation of “Teacher, crazy. He crazy, teacher.” I mean, what if it really was a witty remark about what we are learning? I would like to laugh too. Or what if he is just drawing attention to the zit on my forehead? I won’t ever know.
    A little while back, during my first and second grade after school class, one of the students clearly thought his paper cranes were more interesting than the ABC song everyone else was enthusiastically singing.  So I asked him to give them to me and explained he could get them back after class. (I’ve become very good at universal sign language). Well by the end of class, I of course forgot. So he walked over to me, with his little backpack on, shoe bag in tow, reaching as far up as my knees. He looked at me with the most worried expression and started speaking very emotionally in korean. Bathroom? Do you have to go to the bathroom? Nope. Class is over for the day. It’s okay. You can go home now. Nope. Oh, don’t worry, you will see me again tomorrow. Don’t be sad!  Definitely nope. It was at about this point when he let out a huge sigh, and glanced at my desk with longing eyes before hanging his head. The cranes!!! As I ran over to my desk and gave them to a now smiling young boy, I realized how quickly that could have been cleared up if we spoke the same language. Until that happens, (which, trust me, will be a looong time on my end of things) I’ll just keep refining my skill of interpreting body language.

Change is good, right?

All I can think about is Grandmas. While mine cross my mind quite frequently, Loretta and Maxine are not who I’m referring to. Today, for the first time in four years, I am not among the pack of  runners waking up before the sun and nibbling on a breakfast needed for energy but nearly impossible to stomach on such nerves. I am not standing in the ridiculous line for a portapotty, hoping for one last go at a tinkle or more. Today, in Duluth, MN, thousands of miles and only a memory away,  is Grandmas Marathon. While exploring Changdeok Palace this afternoon,  I was hit with this realization and couldn’t help but long for my running shoes, my race number, and the sound of the bagpiper that without fail, is there year after year to cheer us on around mile three. So while my day was filled with strolling through an incredibly beautiful and historic palace, secret garden and lotus pond in the heart of Seoul, my own soul was running along the beautiful shore of Lake Superior: legs moving under me prepared to take me each step from the starting line to the finish.

A dinner for two

A few Fridays back, as the end of the day approached, commencing the start of my weekend, my mind was already lost in the windy streets and lively sectors I was about to discover, while my body was held captive in my office; stuck behind the windows and positioned next to the whiteboard. I wanted to do some exploring of the truly enormous city of Seoul. Having established some definite favorite areas, Insadong, Hondae, Itaewon, to name a few, I felt I was neglecting the indubitably yet to be discovered favorites. So, when four forty came around, camera in tow, I boarded the train bound for Incheon and sat down. I figured the best way to go about this endeavor was to just choose a random station to get off at. So that’s what I did.

After emerging from the subway, I took a second to get my bearings, and took off. I stumbled upon a profusion of little stores and outdoor vendors. The vendors had their goods laid out on plastic sheets trying eagerly to entice me. I walked among a maze of open store fronts advertising fabrics, rugs, locks and keys, and tailoring services. The streets were quite deserted and I felt like someone on display as I walked by each store, catching the attention of the one or two employes in each. Their eyes pulled away from the tv show they were watching to pass the time and lingered on me until I was no longer in their sight. I slowly meandered, taking in everything, until my gaze was shifted upwards. Up on a hill, I noticed a temple almost at the same time as  the sound of ringing  temple bells and a few ever so distant  chants met my ears. And so my direction changed, and up the hill I went.

Upon reaching the huge doors, which I swung open with a creak, a buddhist nun was standing there to welcome me, almost as if she saw me coming. “You want tour?” she asked with a smile. “Please wait ten minute,” she said as she descended a flight of stairs. I  was in the middle of snapping of shot of the beautifully painted temple when I heard some of the best english since arriving here. I looked to my left and was introduced to a monk. He said he would be more than happy to show me around the small temple. While I have been to countless temples since arriving to Korea, this was the first time I had someone to explain things to me. He was fantastically knowledgeable and friendly. As we came to the end, and I was preparing to leave, already more than pleased, he shyly asked me if perhaps I would join him for dinner.  So we went into the temple’s humble kitchen and filled our plates. What ensued was one of the most interesting conversations I have ever had. I began by asking him how he learned english so well. Turns out he was a philosophy professor and spent three years living and working in MIchigan. As a child, it was his dream to become a buddhist monk. But somewhere along the way, he forgot this dream and pursued other passions. About five years ago, the dream  resurfaced and he realized the deep need to find his true self before dying. So, there he sat. I had many questions and he an abundance of wise words. I was mesmerized. The immensity of the opportunity I was having was overwhelming. I could have sat their all night, but unfortunately duty called and he had work to do. So as we said our goodbyes and I made my way out of the temple, I couldn’t help but smile. Sitting in my office that afternoon, I had no idea where that Friday night would take me. But an evening spent talking with a monk and sharing a meal together,  far surpassed any of my expectations.

The opposite of autumn

I went hiking.

Then I went on a bike trip.

This is what I saw.

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