Enough for now.

Well, there's a hell of a lot I could cover in this post. It might be another monster. Where should I start? With the fact that I came home tonight, after watching my boys play (and definitively win 0-4) a soccer match and picking up a few groceries (things to cook a lovely dinner in, in an attempt to stop myself from contacting any number of people to engage in nonsense tonight, so that I can get the rest I so very much need, before heading out to Hongdae for some all-night Rockabilly fun tomorrow night) to realize that I've somehow managed to soil every single coffee mug in my apartment without getting around to washing a single one. The distress was only compounded by the fact that the dirty coffee mugs are the only things in the sink.

Such is the state of returning to Life after my brief vacation.

Well. I'll light another cigarette with the "fucky" (thank you Aigee) nigh-tuh club lighter I somehow managed to acquire last weekend, and dig in.

The new tattoo is the first order of business, I suppose. Sitting in the park in Hongdae observing the utter failure that was Seoul Fringe Festival on a sunny Saturday afternoon, I weakly suggested to Small Town that we should just get him pierced and tattooed instead. Of course, anyone who knows me knows I can't ever go on such a sojourn without completely raining on my friends' parades and outdoing them somehow. So after he got his ear pierced with a tiny stud, I got one of my ear piercings gauged (a pleasant new body mod pain experience to add to the catalogue) and after he got a small aqua blue band tattooed around his bicep, I got this beauty drawn up and put on mine:



There was something seriously shady about Hyungnim at the tattoo place. It was like being in the mafia's lair. He got about three inches into lifting his shirt off to display his full back tattoo, the "MEA CULPA MEA CULPA" under his left arm making itself visible in the process, when I decided I probably needed to marry him. But I didn't.

Contrary to what the interwebs like to claim about tattooing in Korea, it was a decidedly cheap process, coming to a grand total of 250,000 won (about $200 US). The actual artist was a man of few words, who deferred to Hyungnim completely and, oddly enough, hummed along to the background music while he worked.

There was the trip to Chooneon the day previous. Three of my coworkers and I piled into a car and headed out early in the morning. We stopped at McDonalds for breakfast, in honor of me being an American. It was the first time since vacation started that I had been in an all-Korean speaking environment besides class, and for the first three hours my head literally throbbed. I explained the situation to my coworkers, and one of them responded, "Ah. Your ears are beginning to open." Before, given my limited understanding, Korean was a sound in the background that I could choose to tune into or not, given my interest at any particular moment. Now it seems I don't have any choice but to listen to, and strain to understand, every word. It comes in whether I want it to or not, and I can hear every syllable clearly, even if I don't know what they all mean. It's utterly exhausting, and part of the reason I'm so tired after my first week back at school.

The boys. God how I missed them. Vacation was nice, as far as getting decent rest, eating properly, having time to actually study Korean, checking out new spaces around Seoul, dally around with my college student friends at all hours on weeknights, etc. But God, it was boring. No matter how much stress I'm under at work (and believe me -- it's back in full swing, already), I love my job and take as much energy from it as I give. I've had the first graders for the first time this week, and they are absolutely brimming over. It's the first week -- they won't be all smiles and full participation forever. I'm no fool -- I know that. But it's nice, anyway. A great change from the rogue half of the second graders who seem to think spending forty-five minutes licking a toilet would be preferable to sitting through my lessons.

Although, I have to say, their more timid classmates seem to have had enough of the fair few in each class that have developed a major stick-up-the-ass problem. In each class, I've been making more of an effort to ignore the scumbags (who usually take up all of my attention) and focus on the quiet ones who have been bullied into submission by their louder peers. And they've begun to fight back for me, loudly shouting out their vocabulary over the nonsense and eagerly calling me over to show me how quickly they've finished their assignments and ask as many questions as they can. They seem somewhat embarrassed. They're starting to make themselves known, and I'll do my best to focus on them and ignore the fuckwits for the rest of the semester. It's all I can do, at this point.

The third graders continue to plague their Korean English teachers with complaints about not having my class anymore. The Korean teachers told me over lunch that the students seem to blame them somehow. I still make a trip down each third grade hallway during lunch to say hello, and even the very, very few who were a bit of handful while I was teaching them run out to say hello. The grass is always greener, boys -- isn't that so?

I had my Korean final exam last night, which was surprisingly easy for what I expected. Of course, I've not got my score back yet, so I probably shouldn't say anything. I thought, going in, that I would be quite pleased with a score of 50%. Now, after the fact, I think I'll be disappointed with anything lower than an 80%.

After, I went out to celebrate with M, one of my classmates who's been in Korea for four years and is married to a Korean. We had a couple at a place in BP that I've heard a lot about, but never been inside of, and then headed to my regular hangout to have one more on the porch. At this point, whispering started amongst two sets of two Korean guys, competing to see which pair would strike up a conversation with the waegookin first. It's hard to pretend not to notice these things anymore. Eventually, one leaned over and inserted himself into my talkative classmate's monologue. They wanted to make good friends with foreigners. They wanted to take us somewhere for a beer. Of course, it was a Thursday night, and nearly 11 pm. I protested. But M insisted that we should "try everything once". I informed him that, actually, I've tried this approximately a hundred times in the last eleven months, and it usually all leads down the exact same, repetitive road to fucking nowhere. But I'm weak in the face of the suggestion of just one more beer. What can I say?

This is where we get to Aigee 2 and Aigee 3. I can't. I can't stop thinking about the students. It's creepy, no matter how cute the little guys are. It only got worse when they both immediately phoned their mothers to put us on the line and have us say hello. They still use "oma", which is basically the Korean equivalent of "mommy".

They, of course, asked for our phone numbers, but M and I gave each other knowing looks, having discussed how difficult it is to make proper friends living as an expat in Korea earlier in the evening. I took the lead, at first, with my veteran pal giving me nod of encouragement.

"Look. I'm not giving you my number for no reason. We meet a lot of people as foreigners in Korea. I'm tired of it. If you want to be friends, that's fine -- we'll be your friends. But you have to be real friends."

They stared at me with the most innocent eyes. They don't know how many times we've already been through this. I looked back at M, for a little help: "You know what I'm talking about, M..."

"Yeah. But they don't. You need to explain more."

After going through the whole speech, we agreed to give them our numbers on the condition that they actually use them. "I'm not putting another person in my phone only to have no idea who the fuck they are in a month."

They agreed that this would not be the case. "Every day I send to you the text message to ask how are you!" Well. There's no need to go that far....

The three 'men' had a stand-off outside when it came time to put me, the fragile female, into a cab. Sometimes I swear to God I'm actually living in the 50s. Aigee 2 threw his arm around my shoulder and informed the other two that they could head on, as he would take on the arduous task of making sure I made it the fifty feet to the line of taxis safely. M gave him a good up and down and said, "How about this? How about you two go home and I'll put her in a cab?"

"How about this...." I piped up. "How about I'm an adult and the cabs are right there and I'm not even drunk and you all fuck off?"

In the end, all three walked me over. Aigee 2 tried to stick his head in the window after I closed the door and tell the cab where I was going, not knowing where that actually was. "Oh for fuck's sake..." I muttered. "I can do it! Go away!" Rolled up the window.

Before I had completed the ten minute journey, my phone had rung three times.

1. Aigee 3: "Nice to meet you! You should go home safely! I'll call you tomorrow. What time is good? Okay! Go home safely! Nice to meet you!"

2. M: "I think they're good kids. They're definitely going to call later. Take care and sleep well."

3. Aigee 2: "I saw you called [Aigee 3]! What? He said you called him. Which one of us do you like? You don't know? Okay. I'll text you tomorrow. I'll see you next week."

Both texted before I got off work today, one in Korean, one in English. I texted M to check in with him -- same same.

Still no score from the university. I've safely made it to 9 pm without texting a single person to see where they're getting their pints for the evening. Now to complete the terrible task of cleaning my disgusting apartment, doing the laundry, eating something decent for dinner and getting my sorry ass in bed for a proper night's sleep. I have a ton of work to do next week, which will require some pre-game planning on Sunday, a trip to make to the hospital in the morning to pick up my med check results, a visa renewing to sort out, a re-scheduled work social on Monday, a plan to see a terrible sounding movie on Wednesday....

Huh. That's enough for now.

Bali, bali.

Oh. Exhausted. Real quick, and then hitting the sack:

1. I'm still alive.
2. I got a new tattoo.
3. Took a road trip to Chooncheon.
4. I need to work all the time. Without my job, my students, life is too depressing. Even when it's technically pretty great.
5. I've got the first graders now -- they're awesome.
6. The third graders are complaining to the teachers that they don't get to take my class anymore -- I'm awesome.
7. Korean exam on Thursday. I'm screwed.
8. Hot date with the handsome (married) PE teacher on Friday. And by "hot date", I mean dinner with my amazing co-teacher who's best friends with the handsome (married) PE teacher, who just happens to be coming along.
9. Passing strangers' reactions to me running into my students on the street and chatting with them never get old.
10. Yeah. That's about it. Minus a bunch of stuff.

But I'll get around to it. Which is what I always seem to be saying these days. In regards to cleaning the bathroom, however, it needs to actually happen soon.

G'night, my lovelies.

Time wasters.

Holy mother of divine shite. Boys are such a colossal waste of time. What I want to do today is this:

1. Skip Korean class.
2. Meet my kid S at the station.
3. Go shopping in Myeong-dong.
4. Buy a ridiculously fancy cake in a box and about four bottles of red wine.
5. Come back to my place to lay under the aircon, eat cake, drink wine and bitch until we pass out.

Why is it not possible?

We've both been in a bit of trouble lately. As everyone knows, we don't usually dabble in the boy nonsense, but when we do somewhat accidentally (somewhat out of boredom) stumble into it, it has a way of turning completely mental in record time. I'm holding to my guns about not getting too mixed up in this shit until I'm at least 30 and possibly the people around me have had enough time to grow the fuck up. I don't mean to generalize, but the situation seems particularly dire in the ROK.

Instead, I'll be heading off to Korean class shortly. Because I've got nothing better to do. I could do all of the above things alone, but that seems nothing short of sad. I need my sidekick. My partner in pretentious little bitchiness.

Life can be cruel.

This just went up on Dave's. Pretty classic. For those not in the ROK (or 'the know'), what's written on the envelope where the name should be is, simply, "foreigner".

Edit: Brian in Jellonamdo posted this as well.

Ah, Korea.

Shooting guns, eating steak, smoking hookah and convenience store drinking in Korean.

Well, I sure as hell made up for my boring Friday night in yesterday.

First and foremost, I have to start by apologizing (indirectly, of course) to all the Korean men I've harassed for taking pleasure in being called "oppaaaaaaaaaaaa!" Because last night, I found out that it's not that easy to ignore it, when a cute little thing like this:

spends the majority of the conversation saying, "아, 누나-ㅏ-ㅏ-ㅏ! 난 애기가 아니에요!" -- "Ah, Noonaaaa! I am not a baby!" -- and pouting.

Wait. This is so in medias res, it's not even funny. Let's back up.

The day started innocently enough with me leaving my somewhat disorderly apartment (no excuses -- was in the entire night before, remember?) at 11 am to meet Small Town at the station, where we would meet his coworker Patrick and his girlfriend Ruby to go into Seoul and "shoot guns and eat steak". We made the painful 2 hour subway journey to Lotteworld, where the shooting range and The Sizzler both reside. First up was steak -- I made myself eat the entire 40,000 piece of bloody meat, because it cost 40,000 won, and because I've actually never had a proper steak before (and probably never will again). It was pretty good.

After, we headed out past the skating rink and down a brightly lit hallway into a shady looking room with walls covered in photographs of guns and targets in the shape of men. In stark contrast to all of this, the room was full of what appeared to be fairly modern, young, good-looking Korean couples, holding their matching bags and giggling to each other about the entire situation. I guess this is still Lotteworld we're talking about, after all. By some twist of fate, when the woman asked in Korean which gun I wanted to shoot, I placed my finger, firmly and unknowingly, on top of the photograph of the most powerful pistol they carried -- the Smith & Wesson 686 357 magnum.

Shady smoking lounge at Lotteworld Shooting Range.

Couples shooting guns.

My gun.


When I got into the booth, the guy did his best to explain what I was supposed to do (and not do) to me through mime. I was thinking to myself just before cocking the gun for the first time, this all seems straight-forward enough and I'm pretty sure I know what I'm doing, but this may not be a bad place to have at least one fluent English speaking member on staff, just for peace of mind....

My first six rounds were total wank, two not even hitting the target at all. When the guy when to reload my gun for the next four, he did something remarkable with this fingers without saying a single word which somehow conveyed to me precisely what I needed to do to hit the target. The next four went right into the bulls eye and the first ring surrounding it. Assah.

This is where things get a little muddled. I had planned on parting ways with the group at this point and heading over to Hongdae to check out the festival, while waiting for Willie and co. to meet up for drinks later in the night. Instead, Small Town decided he would bail on the dance performance of a co-worker (?) he was supposed to go see that evening, and hang with me and Willie and co. At which point his sort-of-boss and sort-0f-boss's girlfriend decided they wanted to take us shopping in Lotteworld, since we had some free time.

Whatever. I hate shopping. And at this point I had had just about enough of the crowds and meandering around at the pace of molasses. But I tolerated it and even (gasp) bought a couple of things for the fall (out of the discount bins, of course -- I'm not paying 175 thousand fucking won for a t shirt -- ever -- thank you). I eyeballed the fancy espresso machines and gawked in horror at the prices on the electronic dictionaries (one of which I intend to buy very soon). It wasn't so bad. Outside, we three (minus the girlfriend of course) were sharing a cigarette when Patrick decided to invite us back to Incheon for dinner and "just one drink" before we went out in Hongdae. Now, mind you, we're two hours from Incheon and an hour from Hongdae. And Hongdae is an hour from Incheon. Small Town being Small Town however, he jumped at the opportunity to socialize further. Somehow in the confusion on the train I agreed to go as well.

I was pissed off beyond belief by the time we reached Bupyeong. I didn't understand why it was necessary to a. eat anything ever again after that steak meal; b. go all the way back to Incheon just to have a drink; c. ride the fucking subway for two hours to get anywhere ever -- hello? I know there's a bus that's both faster and more comfortable....

Waiting for yet another train....


Then they decide that we can't have the dinner/drink in Bupyeong -- we should continue on to Arts Center. I nearly blew a fuse and just went home. But I didn't want to piss off Small Town's sort-of-boss, especially when he really had been quite kind in showing us around all day. So off to Arts Center we went, where the couple redeemed themselves for this commuter-hell nonsense by showing us down a staircase I've walked right past half a million times and into a pretty swank (and expensive) hookah bar -- who knew?

Me and Small Town at over-priced hookah bar.


Afterwards, me and Small Town headed back to BP to check out the scene and see who was out and around. We ran into that terrible gyopo again and he continued to prattle on about how he did a photoshoot for Lilbowwow that was "off the hook, yo!" and how he was fucking some 20 year old, while his super slammin' girlfriend was away in the States. God.

Time went on. There were a few episodes with the locals outside on the street, but nothing to write home about. Small Town and I decided, around 4 am, that it was time to head home and get some sleep in order to make yet another attempt to go out to Hongdae to check out the festival today. Walking to a cab, we heard a, "Hello! Nice to meet you!" from behind us. We turned around to see a young couple, the girl dressed decidedly like a boy and bearing a tattoo in English down her forearm. I had been talking about girls and Korean girls and how I need to find some fucking female friends to Conor earlier in the evening, and doing my best to make an argument about how befriending Koreans who have tattoos just because they have tattoos is completely valid and reasonable. The two spoke literally zero English, so I chatted with them for a few minutes in Korean, translating back and forth for Small Town. They were headed to another bar, and although I hesitated, glancing somewhat longingly at the line of cabs (one of which could swiftly carry me home to much-needed sleep for oh-cheon-won), Small Town enthusiastically agreed and I decided to follow suit.

For the next hour or two, we sat at the table using -- of all things -- my broken Korean to communicate. It was probably the best practice I've ever had, and definitely the most I've ever spoken. At some point, that cutie from the top of the post showed up and the girl informed me that he was a Korean movie star. He was cute enough to be, if you ask me. He kept leaning over and touching my face, saying "Sexshi girl! Ee-peu-da!" to which I would always respond, "Aegee..." -- hence the continued "Ah, noona! Aegeega ahniyeyo! Ah, noonaaaaaaaaaaa!"

At some point, the bar closed. Walking out, everyone decided to return home except for me, the awesome girl and Aegee. We sat at a plastic table drinking Cass as the sun came up, speaking nothing but Korean the entire time. Before the boy who had originally been with the awesome girl went home, he wrote me this note:

Please be nice Bo-Yeon. She's my very lovely sister. She have a many pain and scratch on her's heart. I wanna you give Bo-Yeon's happy recollection. Please. Healing her's heart scratch. If you understand my words. Wink to me.

I told him before he left that I liked Bo-Yeon very much, and even though she can't speak English and my Korean is so low, I would like to be her sister, and help with her heart scratch in anyway that I could. As he walked out, Small Town leaned over to me and said, in all seriousness, "Now Liz. I reckon that there is a fair candidate for a boyfriend for you."

I didn't hesitate in my reply: "Yeah. He was a good one. A genuinely good person."

"He's got no ulterior motive whatsoever -- not even the trace of one. Loads of humility and quite candid about his own faults. And his only concern is... "

"Taking care of his little sister. I know. We lucked out tonight, with these ones."

"Aye, sure enough."

"This is why I'm studying Korean, [Small Town]. I told you I feel like it's better on the other side."

"No, aye. You've got the right idea, alright. You've got the right idea..."

All together at the bar.

Plastic table sunrise beer drinking.


Sunrise over Bupyeong.

You turn me on; I'm a radio.

What can I say?

First and foremost, I have to mention the cicadas.

I live in the city. Sure, there's the occasional tree, but for the most part, excepting the mountains, it's a pretty stark, neon-strewn urban landscape we're talking about here. Don't believe me? Here, have a look:


Now, granted, that's not exactly the street my apartuh is on. But you get the overall idea. Still, for the last couple of weeks, it's sounded like my grandparents' fucking farm outside my laundry room (or, as I like to call it, my veranda) doors.

Cicadas live underground for up to 17 years. After this period of time, they emerge and climb a tree. The males then emit an incredibly loud mating call (their bodies having been designed seemingly for this express purpose, and this purpose alone). After mating, the male immediately dies. The female cuts a slice into a piece of tree bark, lays her eggs, and then she immediately dies. The fucking-and-immediately-dying thing is bad enough on its own, but when you think about the fact that they live underground for up to seventeen years, waiting to do this....

Uh. I'm sure there's something profound to be taken from all of this, and I definitely felt profound the first time I heard it. But in the end, the only thing your mind returns to is the thought that these creatures live exclusively to fuck. Or reproduce. Or whatever.

Is it depressing? I don't know....

Anyway, they're out there, humming away. Along with what sounds like approximately four million crickets. It's bizarre -- I've never been in a city environment where these kinds of creepy crawlies have been known to do their thing.

Other than that, I've been (somewhat) going to Korean class, which has been a load of fun, actually, lately, do to our improved skills and the new-found ability to make jokes in Korean. Of course, it's something along the lines of exactly what goes on in my boys' middle school classes in English. But still. We're learning and growing. Even if the learning and growing involves references to double barber poles.

I've also been out with a different Korean guy every night this week (save for Tuesday night, when it was two), with varying degrees of resulting boredom. Of course, a couple of those were with what are quickly becoming dear friends. Those ones were alright.

I don't know what the deal is. I find it incredibly difficult to just sit in on a night off and keep myself company. It's bound to be something that would be considered relatively pathetic by the person who was my former self, but I've changed a lot, in spite of myself, over the course of the last ten months. Open-minded sounds like too positive a term, but it's something close to that. Maybe just open, in general.

I've a lot more to say, but I'll save it. For, probably, never. Tomorrow I'm off to shoot guns and eat steak (that's literally all the information I have), before probably meeting Mr. Willie in Hongdae for a drink or two. Sunday? Sunday, who knows. But I'm in to work on Monday to re-sign my contract, committing myself, finally and officially, to another year in the ROK. Did you see that one coming? Has it really almost been a year already? Aish.

Life plods on, ever forward, my dears.

Seoul Fringe Festival

The Seoul Fringe Festival is on in Hongdae. Started yesterday and runs through the 29th. Get on yer bikes, kids. If you've never been to a fringe festival before, you don't know what you're missing. It almost -- not quite -- but almost makes up for the fact that, in a couple of weeks, I'll be missing Howl! Festival in Manhattan.

바빠예요.

Can anybody tell me what's cuter than this?

"You want to... drink beer... with me.... tonight?"

No. No one can.

Who knew non-traveling vacations could be so busy? I owe this place a seriously detailed update. Unfortunately, you won't get it tonight. But it's coming soon. Things are pretty great though, overall. I'll fill you in soon. Watch this space.

It's not easy to learn speaking, right?

나는 요즈음 매우 열심히 공부하고 있어요. 하지만 나는 말할 수 없어요. 나는 소심한 사람이에요. 괜찮 아요. 난 극복할거예요. 화이팅.

Translation

가라앉는 별에 걸고,
그대들의 친구는 길을 잘못 든 것도 아니요, 틀린 것도 아니다.
욕망을 말하고 있는 것도 아니다.
그곳은 틀림없이 그에게 계시되는 영감이다.

-- 크란 제53장


English translation from the Arabic:

By the star when it goes down,
Your Companion is neither astray nor being misled.
Nor does he say (aught) of (his own) desire.
It is no less than inspiration sent down to him.

Korean translation of the Arabic translated into English, using my meager Korean:

By the sinking stars,
You friend is not going the wrong way, is not wrong.
He also does not speak of desire.
The revelation to him is apparently inspiration.


Korean translation from the Arabic translated into English, using a translating program:

Sink on the planet,
No friend, it's the wrong way with you, I'm not wrong.
I'm not telling you desire.
There is no doubt the inspiration revealed to him.


I'm sure you can see where this is going. It's going to be a busy week.

Homesickness.

So, I had it all planned out on the train ride home from Korean class last night. An extra week's vacation afforded by my generous VP would lend me enough time to make my way back to the States for a week, and still come back in time to serve my "quarantine" without missing any work. At the moment, my baby brother is Stateside, as is my darling S -- these two facts occurring in sync is not something that seems likely to happen again anytime in the near future.

You see, I'd book the flight this morning, fly in on Monday. Ask S to pick me up at the airport. Then, simply, as happened on my first trip home from New York, knock on my family's front door, without the slightest bit of warning.

I like surprising people. People, with cell phones and facebook and twitter and whatnot, don't do enough of that these days.

Unfortunately, the price of last minute flights to DFW brought me quickly back down to earth, as I sat alone in my dark cubicle in the office this morning.

The result has been a day-long homesickness, which has even bled over into missing New York as well.

I had my last adult class this morning. My adult class, for the last two weeks, has consisted of two students' mothers and my head teacher's husband and twelve year old daughter. It's been absolutely lovely. The husband and daughter even came back early from a visit to Halmoni's just to make it in time for our last class. One of the mothers brought in beautifully prepared homemade bin dae duk, with all the fixings, and as we all sat eating after class had finished, we finally had some time just to talk together. Of course, most of the questions centered around my family and my home. When they went to leave, the husband -- a somber retired ajeoshi in his 50s -- mustered his best and bravest English to tell me, "I had a very good experience with you. I will miss you." I made the daughter pinkie promise she'll come visit me in the office, after vacation.

I'm of the opinion that ajeoshi are among the most misunderstood people in all of Korea. They've got an old-world hardness about them that can seem impossible to penetrate at times, and they are definitely easily classified as "rough and tumble". But they've also been among the most surprisingly kind people I've met since I've been here. To break through that hard shell is one of the most rewarding experiences anyone can have.

When my ajeoshi first came to class, he did little besides stare hard ahead and grumble in Korean to his daughter. Great. Exactly what I needed -- 24 teaching hours with The Grinch and a fetus. But, by the end, he was confidently asking brilliant questions, and telling stories about dancing waitresses at a North Korean restaurant in China. I'm a bit upset, because due to this new system, and the fact that a lot of the teachers (since they can now talk to me in Korean) have gotten rather revved up about forcing the VP to start a teachers' class, my adult class might get yanked. And I won't be able to see any of them in the new semester.

Sigh sigh sigh. I was originally just going to talk about the things I miss about New York. I'll list them here, as a sort of non-sequitur:

1. Waking up to my sun-filled apartment, fixing the coffee and climbing out on to the fire escape to drink the first cup, while smoking, in the summer. Particularly, doing this while Iva was in town for a visit.

2. Diners.

3. Talking about crude subjects with anyone and everyone.

4. Gays.

5. Believing that buying a cup of coffee from Au Bon Pain and sitting on a bench in Union Square was a completely valid plan for an entire day.

6. Street markets overflowing with junk from absolutely every corner of the earth, one on every corner.

7. Brooklyn pizza.

8. Knocking snow off boots before stepping into ______ to meet my friends in the winter.

9. Black people.

10. Talking about art, poetry and philosophy to just about anybody I met.


In other news, I hyperventilated myself into a ridiculous frenzy tonight over a big, fat nothing. Number one thing to remember in coming days: I probably see myself, at this moment in time, as more of an outsider than anybody else does. And boys are never as smooth as they make themselves out to be.

Alright. So I'm kind of a drama queen. Whatever.

Wouldn't trade it.

Hm. I suppose I should update. I used to be good about managing at least something everyday, but then life picked up significantly. I know you've all been crying yourselves to sleep over the whole affair.

The trouble is, these days when so many days go by in between, I honestly don't know where to start.

I'll start with Tuesday night, which involved me skipping my Korean class again and taking a couple of Korean friends (C and co.) out to meet a couple of foreign friends (Miss K and co.). The Koreans knocked off after dinner and I decided to proceed to the bar, despite the fact that I was an hour from my home, it was fifteen minutes till the subway stopped running, and I had work at 8:30 am. Still, it was definitely C and co. who had the wrong idea. For sure.

Blah blah blah. Beer beer beer. Darts and magic tricks and some guy who just got out of a mental hospital. Ran into some other local expats at the bar, one of whom I like very much, one of whom I dislike very much. Chatted with the one who I like very much a bit, which was nice -- we never really get to talk because there are always a million other people around. He's cool. Chatting with some pointless Korean guys who, of course, gave me their numbers and who, of course, I will never call. I need to clean out my phone.

Miss K's friends are all lovely, by the way.

Yadda yadda. Got home at 5:30. Made it to work and taught for two hours. Stayed awake the rest of the time. Flash forward to Friday when the Korean Body Builder was texting, but ultimately heading out of town (as was just about everyone else) to Busan, but who called later (at one am) to see if I wanted to come. No thanks. Made plans with Willie for Saturday night, after I met C and co. to go to a coffee shop. There's a whole story there, but I don't want to get into it here. It was fairly bizarre, though.

Uh. Saturday morning went into Hongdae on my own and realized that, since I've been in Korea, I don't do anything at all alone anymore. In New York, I used to go into the city all the time on my own, just to dawdle around, pick up a few things, hang out in a coffee shop, see a movie, etc. Some of my favorite times in New York were spent on my own -- I think it's a valuable part of the experience of living anywhere. But there's something about Korea that compels you to be connected all the time. Always with someone, always texting someone else. Phone calls in Korea are the same in Korean and in English -- "Hey. Where are you? I'm here. Let's meet there. Hurry up." It seems no matter where you are, you're always around the corner from someone.

Anyway, I've been nervous about all the free time my upcoming (non-traveling) vacation is going to afford me. Two weeks with no work, even with Korean class, was looking pretty boring. But now I'm quite excited about the notion of making daily little expeditions into the city on my own, and seeing some things I haven't gotten around to yet. Life is easier when you've got a little cash in your back pocket -- NY was always limited by how much money was on my metrocard, whether or not I could afford a cup of coffee -- the price it cost to occupy a seat somewhere. Not so, these days.

Seoul is really different in the mornings. Walking through Hongdae, normally an over-crowded, humming, pulsing university neighborhood, before noon was an entirely different experience. It reminded me of how certain neighborhoods in Manhattan (particularly Soho) would be completely empty in the mornings. Trucks unloading their whatever. Shop owners cleaning the previous night's debris from in front of their lots. The city waking up. It's exactly the same. It's one of my favorite parts of the day.

Last night I met Willie and Suki in Sinchon for dinner, which wasn't really dinner so much as anju, but it was good. Suki's got a pretty interesting story and reason for being here. It was good to be in a small enough setting to get to talk to her a bit. After, Willie and I headed to Hongdae to meet some of his friends. Bar hopped for a bit, but ultimately decided we'd wandered into a completely stereotypical group of Korean expats, including one pre-law kid from Oklahoma who has been here for six days. After he asked us what it means when a Korean woman pinches your neck, we decided it was time to find a new scene. I don't mean to be acting like an old-handed veteran already, but sometimes these new kids....

You get old in Korea fast, considering most only stay for a year, if that. Especially if you're paying attention. On the stairs on the way out, we ran into a woman from New Zealand who was telling us how she'd just spotted the Korean guy she'd only known for a week (who she thought was like, so sweet and cool and was like, so into her) on the street outside holding hands with his Korean girlfriend. Everyone who's anyone figures out pretty quick that the average Korean toying with the idea of dating a foreigner more than likely already has a Korean beau. You don't trust a guy after a week -- that's for damn sure. Probably not anywhere, but especially as a foreigner girl in Korea. And you certainly don't assume that the average Korean man will, at any point, be taking you home to meet Umma.

Anyway, we headed back to Homo Hill, where the vibe was quite different from last week. A fascinating cross-section of society, W and I were mostly observers for the evening. At one point, trying my hand for the first time at making it to the subway's reopening at 6 am, some extremely creepy guy in a yellow striped shirt latched onto me, and when he decided to ask me if I lived alone, I turned to W and informed him that I thought it was just about time I be heading home.

Quite proud of the fact that my cab driver didn't speak a lick of English, yet we managed to hold a (completely broken -- but still) conversation in Korean for most of the thirty minute drive back to my humble abode in Incheon. Cab drivers are the best for Korean practice.

Now, I'm trying to talk myself into doing a little Korean studying, instead of cooking pasta and watching some cheesy Japanese film about host boys. Guess which one has really already won. No plans for the coming week, but I'm sure that will change soon.

Strange days here in the ROK. A lot seems to be changing pretty quickly. Last weekend, I became obsessed with sorting everything out and giving everything its definite category. This weekend, I've decided to just go with the flow a little longer. You don't learn things here (or anywhere) by demanding to know. The only thing to do is to sit back, pay attention, and try to slowly piece it all together. Live and learn. And ultimately, that's what life is all about. And why living in a foreign country -- trying to work it all out -- is infinitely more interesting than doing the same old shit back home, where everything (or most things, on the surface at least) is understood. Wouldn't trade it, kiddos.

If there's anything I hate in this world, in this life, it's being bored.