free falling...

fork, spoon, knife in the road

2012-01-21T21:16:00.013+09:00

It's interesting to see the progress I've made as a human being. Perhaps it's not progress so much as evolution. Lately, I've been wondering if I have made the right choices in my life, if I have been treading the correct path. When I was young, my mother told me to walk the straight and virtuous path, for it was straight and virtuous. However, as expected, I chose my own. One that has been winding, bumpy, and full of potholes. I've had great adventures with amazing people in various places of the world. I've made fantastical discoveries about human nature and life itself. Yet, it seems to come down to the proverbial grass on the other side. Is there more? Is there reason and cause for that straight road?

Browsing through pictures of friends who have taken this path: marriage, family, mortgage, I find myself wondering if I could have painted that picture. I question my position in life. In the simplest of terms, in the most literal of ways, in the least romantic of words, I question if I will ever be married and have a family. The irony is, I'm not even sure I want it.

[a subway ride]

Are we ever truly happy in our lives? Or are we simply satisfied that we’ve reached the status quo and complacent with our successes at the different stages of our lives?

[happy little picture holders in a happy little coffee shop]

Which brings me to my new day’s resolution (since I’ve mentioned before that I don’t believe in new year’s resolutions). To better record the ups and downs of my manic mood shifts, from wanting, desiring, needing normalcy, to craving, yearning, needing something… different. To be honest in my writing. Mostly, be honest with myself in hopes that I can someday settle on an agreeable decision on what sort of life I wish to live. What kind of path I aspire to take.

[my attempt at a carrie bradshaw setup, sans cigarette and sex talk]

But to never forget to be grateful.

aeternum vale, 2011

2011-12-29T09:34:00.008+09:00

In the day to day scheme of things, we don't quite realize what's enfolding in our lives. In the grander scale of things, a year in a life is small. We're talking about 1/75 (an average) of your life. Yet, I'm a firm believer that the small slices of those years, the slimmest of slivers, make up for some of the most significant portions of our existence. A brief encounter, one wrong word, a slight glance. These all lend to the everday beauty and mystery of our humdrum office day.

Nonetheless, these fleeting vignettes are beautiful and mysterious precisely because they are... fleeting. The true richness and substance, I believe, comes from the lessons that are reinforced year after year. You know the kind. Not quite with the Hollywood glamour. The lessons that are evident in slowly receding hairlines, finely shaping wrinkles and softly protruding stomachs. By no means do I consider myself old, but young? Not so much. Or does that thought just reveal my silly youth?

Those lessons we learn year after year: honesty, courage, friendship, family, love... aren't learned in one momentous occassion. No. They're learned in the truthful face of a child, in the bravery of the breaths of a dying woman, in the loyalty and concern of friends thousands of miles away, in the tireless efforts of a mother to ensure a sturdy, loving home, and in the actions of a man of few words and no material things to offer but with a limitless amount of patience and warmth. These are the lessons that don't require an act of grandeur but slowly seep into you, shaping and encouraging you to become a better peraon. A better person not for the sake of yourself, but for the sake of all those who have given of themselves to you, selflessly, generously, lovingly.

I've never believed in new year's resolutions -- why wait till the next year for something you can do tomorrow, today, now? What I will settle for is another year of learning. Learning from those willing to teach. Learning from those smart enough to know the worth of a good conversation. Learning from those brave enough to love.

Here's to another fortunate year of learning, laughter, living and love.

Happy new year.

words.

2011-12-19T22:46:00.005+09:00

It's been a long time. A long time. A new job. A new home. A new cat. The same me.

Included in my new job is a generous helping of irony. You know, the kind of serving your

mom heaps onto your plate the weekend you're visiting home from college. I enjoy the work. Don't enjoy the hours. Enjoy my co.workers. Not so much my boss. Enjoy the location. Despise my computer that shuts down thrice a day and which the IT guys insist is a.okay.

Part of the job is to explain things in a simple, straight forward, no fuss manner. Easy enough. But the irony? Turns out, explaining the simple things is pretty damn difficult. How do you explain 'but' without using words that a non-English speaker could understand? Erm...

But it's like that in life too, isn't it? The simplest things seem the most difficult to express. The simplest things using the most lucid words, just doesn't seem to clear the line of simplicity. Herein we learn the great worth and value of words.

I've met people who have spoken great things, made great promises and flailed their arms in grandiose expressions. Their words encompassed a large amount of space and reached to the outer edges of their aura. Still, it was only an outline. There was nothing inside those words. A chasm of nothing. Emptiness.

I've met people who have spoken very little. Each word heavy with meaning and depth. These are the people who find it difficult to speak. They seem to know just how costly their words are, just how invaluable. They find other ways to express their unspoken words, often at the expense of their comfort, their ease.

I still fling my words around, hoping something will stick, something will have some bit of significance. I hope to learn soon to be one of those people. Those people who speak with great effort to employ a simple message with a simple few words.

my roommate

2011-09-16T23:07:00.003+09:00

"For you, I'm only a fox like a hundred thousand other foxes. But if you tame me, we'll need each other. You'll be the only boy in the world for me. I'll be the only fox in the world for you..." The Little Prince

Often, when I'm faced with a crisis (term used loosely, for a privileged one as me, what serious crisis could I have?), or contemplating various aspects of my life, I often refer back the The Little Prince. Perhaps the simplest story in the world with the most honest and bittersweet answers to life. It's offered me many a hopeful word.

My little cat has fallen ill. To someone who has always been a bit scornful of those who pamper their pets, my day has come. I cannot believe how sad I am about Louis. She had an allergic reaction to something and has to ingest pills, endure stinging eye drops, and worst of all, has to wear a neck collar to prevent her from scratching or itching her face. To a creature born to roam freely and express her curiosity in the most unrestricted of ways, this seems to be utter confinement for her. She mopes around, still unused to the restrained movements. Her mews have gone from declarations and demands to pitiful requests. Her eyes are constantly downcast, tired, dejected.

I can scarcely believe this is the tiny beast who would jump onto my vanity and scatter all my hair products and make up onto the floor. The unbelievably energetic critter chewing up any loose papers, wreaking havoc in my already crammed and messy home. The unapologetic, stubborn little monster bellowing for her favorite canned tuna any time I opened the fridge.

That tiny energetic little beast is gone now. I feel completely incompetent as a pet owner, and have failed miserably as a roommate. I hope she gets better soon. Here's to better times...

today

2011-09-03T00:26:00.003+09:00

The Beatles had Yesterday, Annie had Tomorrow and Rent has No Day But Today.

The saddest thing about aging is coming to the realization that nothing is ever truly what you had imagined as a child. It's that moment you realize that hard work and desire isn't enough to succeed. It's your first heartbreak. It's when your eyes are opened to the fact that your parents are people, not superheroes. It's finding out that they never do tell you what happens after "happily ever after." It's discovering that people actually do things to hurt other people. It's when the fanciful, wistful dreams you had will never quite materialize the way you hoped for.

Fortunately, just as the myths of Pandora tell, we have hope. These days I'm learning that we all invest our hope in different forms. There are those who believe in God, who hope in an omniscient being to provide good in an otherwise bleak world. There are those who believe in the Earth, in a natural and organic way of life, ever cyclical, ever connected. Then there are those like me, who believe in people, that no matter how terrible, how cruel and appalling, there shines light from the human spirit. I choose to hope in people, and an inner good that lays within, that simply needs to be nurtured, encouraged, cherished.

I'm complaining too much these days. Each 24 hours holds much good, fear, laughter, evil, hope, deception and love. It's not about yesterday, nor is it so much about tomorrow, but more of the now. Perhaps there should be more of yes. Yes to adventure and journey. Yes to pain and growth. Yes to here and now and this and us. To live without fear and mostly without regret. To live with optimism and hope. To live for today...

...well, maybe till 2012.

life is a highway

2011-07-05T01:26:00.003+09:00

The other day, a new acquaintance asked me, "So, what's your dream?" A younger, more ambitious, more naive me would've answered with a confidence and assuredness that only youth can convey. By no means do I consider myself an aged and discerning sage of the whirling dervish of life. However, I do feel I've lived many lives, not in such a dramatic fashion as some, but many lives nonetheless.

I answered that question with as much surprise and disappointment as I'm sure the listener was ought to hear. "Don't really have one..." The moment those words were released into the world, my heart fell with a heavy thud and I longed for the few years ago when I had felt so invincible and all.knowing.

So I took some time to reflect on my own words, my own thoughts, my own genuine and honest desires. I looked through my scanty collection of philosophy books searching for a brief dialogue to sum up my psychological state of being. I was able to find it in Krishnamurti's On Love and Loneliness, "It is possible to think rightly, to live freely and intelligently, only when there is ever deeper and wider self-knowledge." This wraps up my egotistical life to a point. My longing for a break from repression and obligation. My propensity for from bureaucracy and monotony. My hankering for adventure... and the open road. A freedom where there are no ties, no burdens, no fences.

As my mind wildly imagined the grand possibilites of such a life, "the tugging" was there. The ever present nugget of knowledge to recall of duty and calling, of commitment and commission. "The tugging" always comes with John Donne's immortal reminder that "No man is an island." So I'm jolted back into the most realistic of realities. I cannot venture forth alone. Tis not allowed.

Then what to do for my intermittent feelings of restlessness and the unquenchable thirst for the infinite open road? I believe I've found the answer. Do as Tom Cochroan does so joyfully (if not a bit awkwardly) atop sandy boulders with a guitar strapped to his body. Sing aloud, declaring, "Life is a highway, I wanna ride it all night long." I surely do... and looking for someone "going my way."

the same

2011-06-06T01:33:00.005+09:00

"I'm not a bit changed--not really. I'm only just pruned down and branched out. The real ME--back here--is just the same." -- Anne Shirley

I've been re.reading the Anne of Green Gables series. Actually, reading wouldn't be the correct verb. I've been devouring them like a whale devours plankton. They always bring me back to such a refreshing and innocent place in life. It's a place full of hope, spirit and ambition, where failure is a possibility, but not trying is never an option. Theses stories are infused with wishes and dreams and all good things that are attainable should one choose to stay firm and true to their beliefs. Thy exude optimism and romance, morals and high standards. Simply, they hold the bright purity of our childhoods.

In my youth, I held Anne Shirley on a pedestal. To me, she embodied the perfect being. Full of ambition and whim, cheer and enthusiasm, she was a person to be imitated. I remember myself as a small fifth.grader, yearning for her "auburn hair" and "starry gray eyes." The freckles, which abounded on my brown face easily were not of wont but tolerated for Anne Shirley also was freckled.

It's been sixteen years since those yearnings, but little has changed in the want. I still desire to be as dreamy and wistful as Anne. I thirst for her ambition and will of spirit. I long for her knack of adventure and humor. Yet these yearnings from those long sixteen years ago are now mixed with experience in reality. It's mixed with mangled dreams and a broken heart. It's mixed with a realization that perhaps the lovely romances from the series, backdropped against rollicking winds and exquisite nature, aren't available in the here and now. Not in the here and now of crude noises of the streets and grating grumblings of disgruntled passerbys.

So it's a strange feeling to desire something so innocent and pristine when the world doesn't seem so. It's a strange feeling to desire something so virtuous and idealistic when I don't seem so. It's as if I'm still the same as I was sixteen years ago... but then again, I'm not.

silver white winters that melt into springs...

2011-04-20T00:12:00.004+09:00

I have a secret. Despite the aloof exterior, those closest to me know how soft I am on the inside. We're talking soft as the creme filling in a fatty, sugary, deliciousy donut. Soft as the wispys of a young dandelion. Soft. But that's not my secret.

My secret is to be loved. An all.encompassing kind of love. To be loved to a point where you feel lifted but grounded, inspired but honest, protected but free. Where two people truly accept one another, as they are, as they will be.

Sometimes I wonder if ever I'll experience it. It's a thought that both saddens me and gives me hope. Never sure of what the future holds, for now, with the aid of Maria, I'll settle for some of my favorite things...

...raindrops on roses, laughing from the depths of my stomach, whiskers on kittens, a warm wind in my face, bright copper kettles, a good, redolent brew of coffee, warm woolen mittens, surprises from loved ones...

meloncholy...choly...choly...

2011-04-12T23:25:00.003+09:00

You know how when you were a kid, there were all these things that you had planned? Things you planned on doing, things you planned on seeing, things you planned on experiencing. A hodgepodge of promises you make to yourself, to your young self, still fresh with wonder and eagerness to set about on making good of those promises.

Lately those promises I made to my eleven.year.old self have been coming back to me. Eleven was before any hardship, heartbreak or religion. Eleven was when I remember wanting to live a pure, clean and idyllic life. Even then I wasn't yearning for the house and picket fence, but a life of adventure filled with excitement and love -- the excitement and love usually reserved for the big screen. I would live my life as nobly as the kings and queens in Disney movies. I would be as brave as Rainbow Brite as she constantly faced those who would extract the color from our lives. I would be as glamorous as Jem, virtuously standing up for the weak while rocking out in (appealing albeit guiltless) rock star fashion. All this whilst maintaining the childish innocence that allowed me to literally roll on the floor bursting with laughter at the mishaps and endearing nature of Alvin, Simon and Theodore.

Those promises I made myself have been echoing into my ear, bouncing around the insides of my brain, wedging themselves into the crevices of my mind like a bit of popcorn kernel stuck between your teeth. "When are you going to make good of this promise?" my eleven.year.old self asks me, "When?"

These days is saddens me that I can't give her a straight answer. I can't say for sure what'll happen or why things have happened the way they have. I'm sorry to her that I haven't lived up to everything she had dreamed. But then there's always hope. It's that which keeps most of us going. So though those promises may echo in my head, and though that little girl may ask "when" and "why," I'll have that much to provide her. Hope.

art pursuit

2011-03-12T19:26:00.003+09:00

It's a comforting thought to know that the grime of the city can be washed away with a soothing shower at home. But sometimes, rather than removing the smell and touch of the city, I want to be immersed in it. Enveloped. Held. Saturated in the flow of assiduous Seoulites. Steeped into a crowded abyss of strangers and neon lights.

Sometimes Seoul seems like a strange and bizarre place. Everyone (almost everyone) has black hair and dark eyes. They walk quickly and without regard to anyone else. The buildings can tower above the bustling streets bare of trees and other forms of our oxygen.producing friends. You step down underground, levels and levels underground, to find complete worlds beneath the streets. Convenience stores, book stores, clothing stores, cell phone stores, transportation, toilets, whatever you need (aside from imperative sunlight), you can find underground.

How this has become my home, I'm not sure. For the most part I'm happy here. Though lately, I've been craving art. To view and experience something heartbreakingly moving, creatively free and startlingly passionate. A city as busy, crowded and competitive as Seoul can put a damper on libertine spirits. Yet for the simple fact that there are so many, I'm pretty sure I can find something wonderfully unbridled and truly unhampered by societal restrictions.

A r t i s t i c i n d u l g e n c e.

green grass

2011-03-07T18:37:00.005+09:00

Why is it that you always want what you can't have? While spending a lovely two weeks at home, I couldn't wait to come back to Corea. Now, it seems that I'm longing for home... but I know that this must be a transition period... it must be.

I forgot how much life another person brings into the household. Living under the same roof as my mother and sister reminded me just how important it is to have that daily interaction with the people you love. Between the stress of a new home, moving, cleaning and organizing, I feel much more alone here. I find myself finding every excuse to be around living, breathing bodies, whether they be familiar or unknown. I call my friends for company any chance I get. I lose myself in the crowds of the city, hoping to feel some comfort or connection with strangers.

Perhaps it's just a passing moment of weakness as I try to adjust to a new job and new neighborhood. Perhaps it's a period of growing and learning. Perhaps I need to get a pet. Perhaps I need to go back to America. Whatever the reason, the feeling, the mood, I hope it passes soon.

take a sad song and make it better

2011-03-02T09:07:00.002+09:00

I recently moved into a new place. My old place was a literal haven under the smog.encrusted skies of Seoul. Nestled in the embrace of Umyeon Mountain, spacious, clean and quiet, you could literally tuck yourself away into your own thoughts, losing yourself for hours engulfed in Hemingway and Austen, or entranced by movies, or even just silence. I had it good. I was lucky.

My new home sits under the shadow of Namsan Tower. It's burrowed within the unbelievable numbers of homes in Itaewon. There's no spaciousness here. We're crammed into tight quarters atop hills that induce huffing and puffing that could rival the Three Little Pigs' nemesis. There's no cleanliness here. I'm spraying raid, attaching those roach killer things in every crevice and nook possible, but still I wake up after two or three hours of sleep, deathly afraid that a roach has somehow crawled its way down my throat. There's to quietude here. The Russians upstairs argue loudly whilst smoking their cigars, the Filipinas across the alley chatter animatedly as their children laugh their joyful laughs and the Nigerians right next door prattle deep into the night on topics that are a mystery to me.

Friends who helped me move could only wordlessly place my boxes on the floor as their eyes took in the wretchedness of my new abode. Family members have stopped by and lectured, scolded and admonished me for my hasty decision to move into the place. I myself, have lied in my bed, regretting the impulsive manner in which I choose this new dwelling.

Yet while wallowing in the weariness that comes with distress of keeping guard against unwanted pests (cockroaches!), I found a great joy and comfort in the fact that so many people worried for me. I was so grateful that these people cared enough to actually want to see my place, not to judge, but only to make sure that it was safe enough for a single girl living alone in the city. They wanted to help in any way possible, be in donating furniture, assisting with the move, providing meals or even just presenting me with random knick.knacks to liven up an otherwise dreary place. So like John, Paul, George and Ringo told Jude, in any situation, you just gotta "take a sad song, and make it better."

simply home

2011-02-25T16:27:00.008+09:00

I'm wrapping up a lovely vacation at home. Spending time with my family, catching up with old friends and indulging in all my food cravings, I couldn't have asked for a better time. There are no prettier trees, no quainter houses, and no fresher air than in NoVa. Upon my arrival two and a half weeks ago, I told my mother that I felt as though Seoul was my home now. The brief silence before her response told me that those words had stung her heart slightly.

Since then, I've been contemplating the idea of "home." We usually believe home is where our parents are or where we grew up. I've always considered NoVa home. I grew up here since the second grade, lived in the same house since the fifth and created numerous memories and attachments to this area. My homecoming was sweet and much needed. Sweet indeed, and much needed for various reasons.

I thoroughly enjoyed my meetings with an assortment of friends from middle school, high school, college and my young adult life. Meeting with them was like taking a peek into the different stages of my life, allowing me to fondly reminisce the growth, pain and joy I had experienced during each period. It reminded me that I've lived many lifetimes as strangely distinct yet obviously the same person. Separate Lindas in separate lifetimes.

So came time for a gathering of the people I was closest to before my departure from America. Much had changed in a matter to two years. Although I earnestly delighted in seeing my friends and their families, that was also the moment I most wanted to return to Corea. I wanted to return to my own place, return to my job, return to the bustling, busy, blaring vortex of Seoul. I became cognizant of the fact that NoVa was no longer the place I belonged. The realization that my life was no longer where "home" was, hit me with a slowly numbing kind of shot to the arm.

Where was my "home?" Was it where my family was? Where I grew up? Where my friends were? Maybe it's not just one place. Maybe home is simply a feeling you feel. A feeling of sentiment and acceptance. A feeling of comfort and peace. A feeling of joy and excitement. Perhaps "home" is simply where you are loved, a place where you can share love. If so, I believe I will have many homes in the many lifetimes that are before me.

an end to continue

2011-02-06T09:24:00.002+09:00

I came to the hospital late last night to visit my grandmother who had been admitted earlier in the morning. There's a whole basket of things wrong with her, starting with diabetes and kidney failure, not to mention old age and numerous other ailments.

As I look at her in her bed, helpless and often in pain, I can't help but wonder what we're meant for. We ask young children, "Do you know me? Do you know my name?" I find my aunts and the nurses asking my grandmother the same questions. "Do you remember me? Do you know my name?" We revert back into little children as we grow older. We're treated like little children as we grow older, feebler, weaker... more vulnerable.

It's a sad state to see a human being in the last stages of their life. She brought six children into the world, all daughters into a society and era that placed higher value on males than females. She brought them all up working a rice cake store, scrounging, saving, surviving. There are countless stories that I'll never get to hear from her, countless questions that she'll never answer.

Does she know her end is near? Does she feel pain? What is she thinking? As she opens her eyes and looks at me, there's a split second that she recognizes me: the eldest daughter of her eldest daughter. After that fleeting moment, she's closed her eyes again, groaning softly.

Her story continues with me, but I'm not sure how to tell it.

winding down

2010-12-21T16:13:00.005+09:00

This was me on September 1, 2008. It has been 72,748,800 seconds since that day. Or two years, three months and twenty.one days. I stood there in the atrium of my apartment on my first day with no umbrella as the rain poured mercilessly outside. I stood there with no clue as to where I should go. I stood there waiting helplessly in a country not truly my own.

I remember as I introduced myself to my first class. Trembling at the core, fearful of ridicule and failure I looked into a mass of dark brown eyes framed by dark brown hair. The classroom seemed impossibly full of curious stares and my voice rattled its way up my vocal chords and somehow fluttered out of my mouth. "Hello, everyone. My name is Linda. You can call me Ms. Linda or just Linda is okay too..."

I will never forget that first class. They welcomed me. They asked me questions. They engaged me into their academic lives. I remember clearly Brad and Jennifer and Tiffany and Thomas. They've long forgotten me by now, but I remember them dearly and warmly. My first encounter with students... as a teacher.

It's been 1,212,480 minutes since that first day. It's beginning to hit me that I'm leaving a place that I genuinely love and care for. There were numerous headaches for sure, but the sprightly greetings from students, the concern and sincerity of co.workers and my classroom, my domain, those things were all worth the frustrations and late night lesson planning sessions.

My heart is starting to ache with longing and I haven't even left yet. I'm going to miss Bongwon.

cultural differences

2010-12-20T10:18:00.002+09:00

A few weeks ago, I started a "Culture" unit with my students. After discussions on "cultural barriers," "stereotypes," and "culture shock," I asked my Corean students to provide me with a list of the top five things I should observe about Corean culture. They were also to add one question about American culture they were curious about.

Here is a compiled list of various answers and questions I received. I hope you find them informative/amusing.

About Corean culture...

Older people eat. first.
Eat kimchi.
Eat dog meat.
Dead day, all family head down. (This refers to the tradition of ancestral worship on special holidays).
When you talk with older people, you cannot eye-contact.
When you drink Alchol, turn your face little bit to the left.
Wear Hanbok when special day.
Teacher hit me.
In home, take off shoes.
Special Korean education system. (Referring to 학권s as well as their cut.throat competitive ranking methods).
Use chopstick.

Questions about American culture...

Why are Americans fat?
Why Americans wear shoes in home?
What kind of cloth do American middle schoolers wear? (Since all Corean middle/high schoolers are required to wear their school uniforms).
Why do Americans like Paris Hilton?
Why Americans have gun?

Good questions, kids...

letter to the person that you wish you could be

2010-12-09T17:41:00.001+09:00

utter failure.

i pretty much gave up on the 30-day letter challenge after a series of events kept me from expressing myself in written form. actually, i just got lazy.

however, in light of recent news on one of my idols, i decided to write one last letter. or rather, one last piece related to the 30-day letter challenge. here is my entry for "letter to the person that you wish you could be," which won't be so much of a letter as an explanation of sorts.

"why i want to be angelina jolie"

first off, i don't necessarily like the woman. i'm not sure, but if i were to believe tabloid reports, she's broken up more than one marriage, and that's something i abhor. but then again, who could ever possibly resist her?

she's bagged possibly the most gorgeous man on the planet, producing three stunning children along with raising three other unbelievably cute ones. she travels the world, plays kick.ass characters, rides around on a ducati, flies planes, is a goodwill ambassador... all while looking ridiculously hot.

what's there not to like? some wanna be like mike... i wanna be like jolie. hot dang.

letter to the person you miss the most

2010-11-16T17:40:00.004+09:00

day fifteen.

dear mom,

where would i be without you? you have given me everything and i am what i am because of you.

i was present when you raised me, yet i have only an inkling of what you went through. what you went through as a single mother. what you went through as a woman alone in a foreign country. what you went through alone.

there was plenty of issues for which you could've broken down, given up, thrown in the towel. yet, you always forged on. you exemplify strength and perseverance. never once did you cry or complain in front of us. never once did you ask for pity. never once did you make us feel guilty or burdened.

you always carried yourself with class and pride, holding your head high, never allowing others to look down on you or at us. you taught us in the most effective and efficient way, not through words but through action.

i miss you so much. i miss your presence, your concern, your encouragement. circumstance has me here, thousands of miles away from you, but i miss you every day.

thank you for everything. thank you a million times over for every little thing. miss you. thank you. love you.

-linda

letter to someone you've drifted away from

2010-11-15T17:39:00.006+09:00

day fourteen.

dear og girls,

it's been a long time. feels like ages ago when we all headed to 동대문, reveling in the marvels of this city, taking timed photo shots and buy not couple t.shirts, but group t.shirts (yes, 독도 IS korea's!). feels like ages ago indeed.

it's funny that we all came here to this city at a crossroads in each of our respective lives. we came from different places and since then we've certainly traveled different paths. however, for a moment, we stood together. we were all novices in this complex hub of a place. we shared our stories, we shared our souls, we shared our experiences. each one was so different, so unique, but we had a damn good time, didn't we?

we've drifted apart, though some of us do keep in touch occasionally. but i hope you girls know that you all hold a special place in my heart. my first year in the motherland was wrapped in layers of emotional turbulence, and you were a part of that. a very dear, very positive and very helpful part. had it not been for you girls, i would've experienced a loneliness that scares me to even think about.

i think fondly of our long conversations, our random 3am adventures, our jam sessions, our meals. it was a lovely, lovely time and i thank each of you for your share in it.

wherever you are, wherever you are headed, my best wishes are with you. <3

-linda

letter to someone you wish could forgive you

2010-11-14T17:39:00.000+09:00

day thirteen.

dear friend,

i'm not exactly sure what i did wrong, but i do apologize.

-linda

letter to the person you hate most/caused you a lot of pain

2010-11-13T17:38:00.000+09:00

day twelve.

dear mister,

often times i've thought of "cutting you out." but it's true that blood is thicker than water.

often times i've wondered who you are. who you truly are.
often times i've written down the words i long to say to you. genuine, heartfelt words.

it's so odd to me that i could simultaneously loath, pity and love someone. i'm told i'm the spitting image of you. my mannerisms mirror yours. i've a similar personality, similar habits, similar peeves. i'm proud of the likeness, but irked as well. i respect you in the things you've accomplished, but disappointed with you in your arrogance and selfishness.
one of the things i'm most hurt about is that because of you, i'm disenchanted by members of the opposite sex. unable and unwilling to trust. so you left me with that, you hurt me with it.

but regardless of the pain, i foolishly love you. i've seen those babies who cling to their neglectful and incompetent mothers helplessly because they just don't know better. i know better. i really do. but blood is thicker than water.

as cynical as i've become because of your actions, the counteractions of another guardian has kept me hopeful. and so, i'm hopeful for you.

-linda

letter to a deceased person you wish you could talk to

2010-11-12T17:38:00.003+09:00

day eleven.

dear 할아버지,

you passed away before i ever really got to know you. needless to say, i wish i hadn't been so afraid of you, so afraid of your quiet, yet charismatic demeanor, so afraid of your wrinkled hands, so afraid of your liver.spotted bald head. at that young age, i kept all members of the opposite sex a good distance away, fearful and perturbed by the differences between males and females. i saw men as intimidators, belittlers, oppressors.

i'm sorry i always skirted away from you when i saw you. i wish i had been audacious enough to run to you, jump on your lap and ask you the kind of questions that only little children can ask. had i been bold and perky, the way young ones are apt to be, perhaps i could have gotten to know you better.

i'm sorry i didn't appreciate hiking back then. i wish we had gone on one hike together. i imagine there would've been very little talking, very little verbal dialogue. yet, perhaps there would have been other forms of communication. there would've been something you could have taught me, shown me.

the stories you must have had to share. did you ever share them with anyone? living in a house occupied by seven women and no men is a story in itself. your jaunts through nepal and annapurna. your life during the war. your history, dreams, wishes, hopes. where are they now? buried with you under that mound of grass in paju? i'm sorry i wasn't there to receive such invaluable nuggets of a life lived.

wherever you are now, i hope there are trails for you to explore, fresh air for you to breathe and an endless open sky for you to gaze upon.

-linda

letter to someone you don't talk to as much as you'd like to

2010-11-11T17:37:00.006+09:00

day ten.

dear loved ones,

i definitely don't talk to you as much as i'd like to.

this will be a slack entry. forgive me.

-linda

letter to someone you wish you could meet

2010-11-10T17:37:00.003+09:00

day nine.

dear mike,

what can i say that hasn't been said already? what praise could i heap upon you that hasn't been heaped upon you already? even in the fourth grade, i was acutely aware of the blatant commercialization of you in "like mike," yet to this day i still prefer gatorade over all other sports drinks. "if i could be like mike..."

in all things dealing with mankind, there will forever and always be comparisons. comparisons with current league leaders, upcoming prospects, even with the different phases of your career. however, you transcend the sport. you rise above the rest. simply for the fact that you wanted "it" more.

your fierce drive and competitive spirit showed the world what desire can produce. granted, you were bestowed with the physical gifts and born talent of an athlete. yet, you yourself have stated time and again that it is your appetite for winning, your thirst for greatness and your love for the game that provided the fuel to jet to the top.

you became a world.mega.super.star, eclipsing your title as "athlete." you became a brand, a symbol, an icon. a generation or two later and even my students in corea who have no interest in basketball or any other sport know who you are.

how did you do it? how did you find the motivation? what are your secrets? what was, what is your fear? you've shared so much with the world, yet i still want to know who michael jordan is. beyond the high.flying acrobatics. beyond the clutch shots. beyond the suave exterior. who is mike?

-linda

letter to your ex/love/crush

2010-11-09T17:36:00.002+09:00

day eight.

dear coco,

you're one of my three. even before the whole tonight show debacle, you were one of my three. sure, they mocked me. they ridiculed me for allowing you and your crazy titian hair onto my list. they teased me when i stood by your intelligence and wit. they couldn't see yet what i saw. you see, you make me giddy like the picture above.

you're one of those guys who doesn't open up to just anyone. sure, your face is unnaturally pale, yet not quite sexy like those fellas in twilight. sure, your lanky appendages seem to have a mind of their own, flailing about, twirling, twisting, stretching to unbelievable shapes and forms. your facial expressions aren't much to brag about either.

but you've got something special. you've inspired many to join "team coco." your followers are staunch and loyal. beneath the goofy, screwy act you put on, you somehow manage to exude humility and class.

your new show premiers tonight, and although i'm unable to view it from my current residence, i do hope to catch re.runs online. best of luck to you, mr. o'brien.

-linda

letter to your favorite internet friend

2010-11-08T17:36:00.000+09:00

day seven.

dear lindsay,

am i a loser that you, my sister, is my favorite internet friend? i've already written a letter to you, so this one will have to be less... well, just less. cause we both know neither you nor i can handle too much mushiness.

anywho, i always have a blast when i talk to you online. for a brief moment, i'm transported back to our cozy little home. i feel like i'm there with you and we're teasing mom as she falls asleep downstairs watching corean broadcasting. we giggle, we share, we support. you give me a taste of home and family that i'm desperately lacking here.

although i'm a semi.opponent of the impersonal nature of technology and social networking sites, i am so thankful for the marvelous wonders of video chatting. thankful for you, too. "see" you soon, little sister! <3

-linda

letter to a stranger

2010-11-07T17:36:00.000+09:00

day six.

dear stranger,

i see you most every day on my way to school. passing through the marketplace, i see you hauling iceboxes of fish and other seafoods from your truck to the fish stand. blue rubber galoshes, worn.in denim jeans, faded track jacket and canvas gloves. this outfit you wear day after day, but the thing that really catches my eye is your smile.

you smile when all your other colleagues trudge from truck to stand, burden not only by their iceboxes but also by their heavy expressions, laden with despair and exhaustion. you smile although you're surrounded by grayness, by fatigue.

i like to think it's because you've a happy home to end your days in. i imagine that you drive home in your blue truck to your neighborhood. i imagine you close your eyes for a split second as you open the door to your apartment, raising your head a fraction, taking in the aroma from the fresh.cooked food simmering on the stove. i imagine you walk into your home, greeted by a dear wife and happy children. i imagine you overcome with the warmth of love that only family can generate. i like to imagine that such a place exists in this busy, crowded and maddening city.

perhaps all this is incorrect, but your smile gives that hope. your smile that stands out in the marketplace. in this busy, crowded and maddening place of seoul, your smile gives that hope.

keep smiling, stranger.

-linda

letter to your dreams

2010-11-06T17:35:00.000+09:00

day five.

dear dreams,

where have you all been? i remember cherishing you dearly, holding you close to my heart. i remember never fearing of failure, never afraid to share you with the world.

at some point i realized that there are some things that are impossible. there are some things that can never be. it saddened me. i cast you aside and convinced myself that i had new dreams. more realistic dreams. attainable dreams.

i just turned a year older, and the past few years have taught me that although not all dreams are attainable, they should never, ever, ever be thrown into the attics of our lives. i learned that my dreams have meaning, hold honesty and carry the roots of my thoughts and desires. never should i bury them away or scoff at myself. in doing so, i'm hurting my own wants and needs.

dreams, i'm dreaming you up again. i'm finding hope in you and in myself as well. dreams, come back to me and walk with me down this path. i will be stronger this time. i won't reject or rebuff you. stay with me this time around.

-linda

letter to your sibling

2010-11-05T08:29:00.008+09:00

day four.

dear sistAr,

no one, and i mean no one, knows me like you. you have seen the ugliest, dirtiest, vilest sides of me. you're the person i've been meanest to. you've seen me cry, wail, hit, claw, crawl, bite, spit and hurt. yet, you've always, always, always been there for me.

i admit i resented your undeniably sparkling cuteness when growing up. you seemed to have a knack for garnering love wherever you went. so i sat on you, bullied you, and even literally stuck a fork in you. but still, you were always there for me.

you cried for me in your own bed as i was being punished downstairs. you "let" me take the best foods from your plate. you always "lent" me money. although as the older one i should have been the more generous, you were always willing to give.

i've watched you grow from a confused, unsure and uncertain rebel into a bright, optimistic and loving woman. my heart feels great joy to see you admired and respected by those around you. your kindness never ceases to surprise and remind me of the good in this world. i see you radiate hope, enlivening your environment, sharing joy and delight.

thank you for never failing to give me the reality check i need when off in one of my narcissistic binges. thank you for constantly acting like the patient older sister when i'm annoying the crap out of you. thank you for unceasingly listening to, sympathizing with and humoring me. and of course, most importantly, thank you for truly understanding the genuine caring and loving relationship between roseanne and jackie.

-linda

letter to your parents

2010-11-04T10:14:00.010+09:00

day three.

dear parents,

you gave me life, you gave me food, you gave me love. everything i have, everything i am, i owe to you.

you two aren't together and i admit i went through the textbook adolescent, bitter stage of resentment. however, even through such a breakup, i believe you both represented the utmost class, dignity and respect.

never did you make us choose. never did you put us in the middle. never was there a hateful word uttered from your lips.

of the countless things you've gifted me with, i thank you most for the freedom. because of your sacrifices i'm able to think freely, live freely, love freely. you've sacrificed your own visions to provide me with choices, whether it be to live the straight life or to pave my own twisting, curling, winding trail. supporting, encouraging, uplifting. allowing me the freedom to make my life my own, yet always protective of me. how do you manage it?

i wish with my whole heart you two were together. yet, i realize with unspoken words that there was much heartache on both sides. it's almost romantic, if not tragic. as parents have hope for their children, i still have hope for you... for both of you. i hope for deeper, truer, more meaningful happiness for the remainder of your lives.

i most definitely do not thank you both enough for everything that you've done, that you're doing, that you're sure to do in my future days. thank you.

-linda

letter to your crush

2010-11-03T11:52:00.010+09:00

day two.

dear bartender guy,

i saw you do your thing the other night at tony roma's. you were flinging cups, bottles and liquids all over the place. you were smiling. you were stylish. you were smooth. i was smitten. but that's what a crush is, right? it's more the idea of someone rather than the person themself. and to me, you symbolize an idea. maybe it's wrong for me to stereotype, to put you into a box of my own ideas. yet, i'm gonna do it anyway, because it's the idea that i yearn for.

you were smiling. the things you were doing with the glasses, bottles of liquor and cubes of ice were worthy of a vegas act. it was obvious there were hours upon hours of practice time behind the ease in which you handle mixing drinks. enjoying the job. passionate about your choices. that's what you represent.

you were stylish. tats, careless johnny depp.ish facial hair, messy do. you had the whole bohemian aura about you. and it's precisely that aura that is so enticing to me. disregard for the nine to five. a diss to convention. you live your life making art out of alcohol. and we all know creation is far more exciting that conformation.

you were smooth. while your partner dropped a few cups, never did you falter. continually smiling throughout your set and never letting on that you knew that the eyes of every woman in the restaurant was on you, you delivered an exciting and error.free performance. and like all men who know they're skilled at something, you had swagger. you've been immortalized forever in this post, but i'll probably never think of you again. thanks for a fun show.

-linda

in.spur.ay.shun

2010-11-02T12:00:00.006+09:00

I've been wanting to write. To write and write and write. I've hit a wall in terms of inspiration. Often, in times of desperation, we turn to things we usually might scoff at. So, I turn to this. I've been pushing this back for awhile now, but time to stop procrastinating on inspiration! To write, one must write. And so write I shall.

day one.

dear jhL, nee jhK,

i've known you for over fifteen years. you have been there for me time and again, whether it be listening to me droll on about my woes, or comforting me with your amazing culinary skills. you're the only person who truly gets my sarcasm and humor. with a split.second glance, you can decipher the hidden meanings behind my words and catch on to the slightest of changed tones. i never have to explain myself to you.

how lucky i am to have someone in my life who

understands me. regardless of our different and varied views on life, acceptance is a key trait you've taught me.
you're about to teach and bestow these things to a new one. i am words beyond excited for this new addition to the world. surely, she will impact those around her in great and astounding ways, for she has an amazing mother to show her the importance of friendship, tolerance and love.
i don't say it enough, but thank you.

-linda

wrinkle embrace

2010-10-20T12:04:00.001+09:00

I love the pairing of a good melody with moving lyrics. Add on a unique, soulful voice and it's game over for me. Hence my love for Brandi Carlile. The Story is truly one of my favorite songs as it touches on something so important in all of our lives. "True love."

In high school, one of my English teachers tried to teach us the concept of "true love." In vain, he dissected Pride and Predjudice, The Princess Bride, Romeo & Juliet, the works of Wordsworth and Shelley to try to show us the beauty and the importance of love. Of "true love." Yet at the time I was cynical to it all. Romance is something to be left in the pages of literature, to be discarded as you leave the theater and forgotten once the DVD ends (or VHS at the time).

Recently, however, I've been realizing the innate need we all have for "love." The nooks and crannies in our beings that are never quite filled in spite of a generally gratifying and happy life. I go about my business fully content and amused by the everyday occurrences of living -- the uninhibited laughter of students, the late bloom of a solitary rose, the quaint and encouraging text messages from friends. The possibilities for my future are unbridled, undetermined and unknown. This is exciting, no doubt. I realize that I can take a class in Greece for a month. I can travel to Burma during the winter. I can take off on my bike for a week, traversing the Korean countryside. The possibilities are endless. The opportunities are plenty.

Despite this independence and abandon of a stable life, or perhaps because of that, the romantic in me will never die. The chance, the hope, the desire to experience the literature, the movie, the song lies in me, as I believe it does in all of us.

I've no doubt, that like the rest of the population, at the end of my journey, I will have a story to tell. It's a matter of who will I tell it to.

p.s. if you have time, look for brandi's acoustic version of this song on youtube. uh.may.zing.

quiet

2010-10-04T20:46:00.010+09:00

There's a tiny stationary store at the bottom of the hill before the ascent to my school. When I first got here two years ago, there was an ancient woman working the store. Back bent, hair white and as tiny as her tiny store, she would sit on a plastic stool and smile a tiny smile when I bowed my head in greeting. She would be at her store every day until one morning, I found the store closed. It stayed closed for a few days but opened up again a few days later. This happened for months until one day, I realized that the store hadn't been open for a long while. A year passed and the store stayed closed. Just last week, as I was walking to school, I saw the door ajar. While passing, I took a peek inside and saw a man and a woman cleaning out the store. One can only assume that tiny old woman... well, you know.

This made me immensely sad for some reason. Even sadder than when my own grandfathers passed away. There was this woman I grew accustomed to seeing day after day. And now, she no longer is there. She's no longer anywhere.

The same goes with friendship. Up till now, I haven't felt lonely in Corea. I enjoyed all times spent with friends. I enjoyed all times spent alone. However, after a recent unpleasant interaction with a friend, the quietness of home seems far bigger and vast than before. It's almost as if the pit in my stomach has manifested itself into my apartment, covering me in a noiseless cocoon of dread. I'm sure this feeling will pass, as time allows all things to do so. Time will bring the sound of laughter and hope and cheer that is needed. But for now, it's too quiet.

sacrifice for hope

2010-09-11T13:43:00.004+09:00

If a lot of rain is labeled as cat and dogs, it's raining tigers and bears in Seoul. Ha.ha. We've pretty much been getting rain non.stop for the past two weeks, save for a two day break in there somewhere. I'll tell you, rain is splendid when you're holed up nice and cozy with a bowl of popcorn and a good movie on the screen. It's not quite so splendid when you've got to walk around in it all day. It's pretty darn miserable, in fact.

But let's go past that. Past the rain. Past the drenched clothes. Past the extra weight of carrying around an umbrella. Past the inevitable splash from cars zooming by. We've more important things to discuss and explore. Such as the end times that is predicted on the Mayan calendar. I kid.

One of the joys I've had during my time in Corea are the my weekly meals I take with my father. These "sessions" have allowed me into the mind of the man who bears the title of "dad" but has done little in the past fifteen years to truly earn it. He's been the translucent and shadowy figure unable or perhaps unwilling to fill the vacant chair at the dinner table all these years. For so long he was simply that. The missing one. The one that left. The yearly phone call.

So, I'm fortunate enough to now get to know him as a person. I'm beginning to fill in the middle part of that venn diagram I had created for him. The left side was the ideal father. The right side was my father, equivalent of Darth Vader in my childhood and adolescence. The middle has become reality. He's no longer an evil blurry silhouette in the lurking in my memories. Nor do I believe is there a perfect mold of a man who could actually be the perfect father. However, there is a man. There is a man who has been broken. There is a man who has regrets. There is a man who believes.

That man is my father. A dreamer in his youth. A dreamer with big plans, big ambitions, big hopes, as a young man should have. Yet when things didn't go his way, he was unable to sacrifice. I say unable and not unwillingly because as I get to know this man, I see that it is not in his nature to sacrifice. To him, his goals were and still are black and white. One way or no way. He couldn't sacrifice for the love of his wife. He couldn't sacrifice for the love of his children. To this day he lives without sacrifice. I see it in his face. I hear it in his voice. I feel it in our conversations.

Yet his deep set convictions stirs in me both outrage and pity. Anger because I still can't get it through my twenty-six year old mind that this old man doesn't understand what it is to sacrifice. Pity because he was unable to witness the beautiful sacrifice my mother made. A sacrifice made out of both necessity and of love. Inability to sacrifice can hurt those around you immensely. Most fortunately, I saw and felt the sacrifice my mother made for her family. Most fortunately, her acts have given us hope. Hope from cynicism. Hope from doubt and pessimism. Therefore I still hope for this man who is filled with empty ambition, empty hope. I hope for this man who is unable to sacrifice, for when you sacrifice, I believe you give hope to others.

반포 continued...

2010-08-10T12:30:00.001+09:00

Four to five times a week, I come here. I bring a drink, maybe a bag of chips and just sit on the steps next to the water. There's a certain sliver of time that the smog of the city actually enhances the composition of the sky as the sun sets behind the construction, lighting up the gray clouds with orange-pink streaks. The heat has subsided by now and the river provides sighs of relief that bristles through your hair and whispers lightly by. At 8:00PM, the water show begins and artificial light colors the bursts of water that fly out of the bridge into the river.

With the fading daylight, I watch the people. I watch families walk by, mothers calling out to their stumbling, bouncing, round balls of toddlers. I watch friends lay out a nighttime spread of Corean goodies as they shout with laughter and merriment. I watch couples lean their heads upon each other, fingers intertwined, taking in the last moments of the day together. I watch runners breathing hard, wiping the sweat from their brows as they make the last stretches of their jog. It's a curious mix of supreme joy and contentment mingled with a sense of overwhelming loneliness. It's not a sad feeling, more of a sensationally peculiar range of emotions.

Once the sun has bid adieu, Namsan Tower shines brightly and proudly atop Namsan "Hill." The rest of the city turns on its lights and from afar you can see the trains roll by on various bridges. There's so much to take in. I still can't believe this is my home. I can't believe I'm living alone, independent and self.sufficiently. It's a wonderful realization and a liberating one as well. I'm free.

summer nights are a-passin' by...

2010-08-09T15:10:00.004+09:00

If I had any readers, I've probably lost them by now. I've been away for quite awhile. I'm behind on e.mail, letters, communication in general. It's not that I've been too busy. I've just been away from the computer for long, long stretches of time.

I have nothing interesting to add to my blog. Not that I ever did. But the search continues, will forever continue for the truth. The purpose and point of everything. However, I'm too content at present to search whole-heartedly.

Summer nights for me have been spent at Banpo Bridge. At 8PM there's a water "show." There's also something about being near the river, with families riding bikes, couples strolling hand in hand, friends sharing laughs over beer and snacks. I like surrounding myself with these things though I'm only an observer. Life is good.

history

2010-07-15T15:26:00.004+09:00

One of the things I envy my students is their history class. I recall flipping through my American History textbook in fourth grade and distinctly remember feeling a disconnect. There were pages and pages with pictures of, let's face it, dead white guys. Washington, Jackson, even Franklin and Custard as much as they had accomplished, as significant as they were, I wasn't a part of their lineage. There was no connection.

My Corean students learn about their history. Their history is their heritage. Yes, the United States is a vast melting pot, diverse in all its glory. However, it's still not completely my country. The students here, should they wish, can find their way back to their ancestors. Their ancestors whose blood run in their veins and whose language, culture and history are all interlocked, interwoven. Interspersed in the lives of my students are the direct effects of their progenitors.

In no means do I begrudge that I grew up in America. So many opportunities and experiences I was able to have was simply because of the fact that I lived in what some people consider the leading country of the free world. However, I don't know the history of how I came to be who I came to be. The events before my parents' immigration are muddled and lost in this country that I'm still getting to know.

Good thing for lifelong lessons and adult education!

sistaR

2010-07-10T10:22:00.002+09:00

Upon completion of college, I went through a summer of unemployed.ness, broke.ness and semi.depression. But I'll always remember that summer as the one where my sister and I watched all the episodes of Roseanne. She'd get home late, come downstairs and plop herself on the smaller couch because I'd be lying in my semi.depressed state on the bigger one. Wordlessly, I'd flip onRoseanneand we'd watch episode after episode in syndication. Most people I know don't like it, but I think we both bonded over the dysfunctional relationship between Roseanne and Jackie. They fought, bit and clawed at each other, but in the end... in the end... Roseanne and Jackie were sisters through and through.

She's the one who's seen me in all of my highs and lows. She's the one who really keeps me grounded when I start going a little crazy. She's the one who knows me best. There's really not too much to say except that she's my sister -- embodying all aspects of the term.

Happy birthday, Lindsay!

over-share

2010-07-05T15:36:00.001+09:00

Funny how this medium invites readers to take a glance into a part of my psyche, but in doing this, it seems I grow further and further away from some. It's a one-sided deal, this blogging business. I share and people (should they choose) take a short journey with me into a random space of time into the inner workings of my mind. Yet... I have no idea what's going on in their lives. This is both the beauty and downfall of modern technology. We can share as much or as little as we want and the randomest of people will stumble across your tiny square of virtual space. They'll think they know you. They'll think they know what you grow through. They'll think they can relate to you. But is true connection ever across an area unseen and intangible?

Perhaps it's not a direct connection. There's still space, time and mathematical equations associated with space and time that separate us from each other. It's not a direct connection. But maybe it's enough. It's enough distance. It's enough sharing. It's the most delicate graze across your arm. It's the almost imperceptible breeze on a summer night. This blogging business -- maybe it's just enough to get something across. Maybe it's just enough sharing.

"i wake up to the sound of music, mother mary calls to me... speaking words of wisdom, let it be..." the beatles

ch.ch.ch.cheeeeese

2010-06-29T08:53:00.003+09:00

I passed by a woman this morning on my way to school. I pass by her often and immediately recognized her gait from afar. I pass by many "regulars" on my way to school but this woman stands out for one unpleasant reason. She has a "poo-poo" face. You know the kind. Squinty eyes, scrunched nose, puckered lips. An expression of irritation and weariness worn on the visage, amplified by the general aura of disgust inundating her mere personage. Brings me down just picturing it.

Now, she may be quite the nice person. Perhaps she laughs easily. Perhaps when she visits her daughters, her grandchildren run to her screaming with delight, grabbing onto her legs, in turn brightening that dark face of hers. About her life, I have no clue. However, her face, her disheartened and daunting face, is the calling card she's pressed into the palm of my mind.

But I'm a firm believer in learning something from anyone, anything and any situtation. And I've learned that I definitely don't want a "poo-poo" face when I'm at that age when things seem hopelessly bleak. A pleasant smile with a hopeful gleam in the eye will suit me just fine. I'm determined to open my eyes wide, unscrew my nose and cheese with as many teeth as possible.

Just found out the other day that I won't be able to visit home this summer. Woe. But a smiling kind of woe.

choices

2010-06-24T12:37:00.004+09:00

I am riding on the subway with a fairly new acquaintance. We've just finished playing basketball and find out we live in the same neighborhood. We find ourselves on a 35-minute subway ride with the vast possibilities of conversation laid before us. After the standard sharing of jobs, schools and relationship status, we talk about our mutual interest of basketball. When we started playing, which teams/players we like, where and when we play...

Somewhere in the conversation, I'm not sure when and why, he mentions I seem bright and happy. I space out...

When I come to, he's looking at me with a question on his mouth and surprise in his eyes. "What?" he queries.

"I don't know..."

"Were you thinking if you really are that way?"

Yes. I was. Funny how a compliment can release a flood of insecurities... of memories... of anxieties. It feels like it's been years since someone had told me otherwise. It feels like it was a different lifetime ago when I let myself become something different than what I wanted to be. I've been carrying the weight of someone's words, almost willing myself to actually believe them. But no, I'm not what another defines, but only what I choose to be.

Funny how a simple compliment can be so complicated. Bright and happy, eh? So I choose to be.

giiiiirl! humble yo'self

2010-06-18T10:40:00.005+09:00

The above pictures were taken by two girls I tutor on Thursdays. One of those girls is a tall and lanky sixth grader with scowling eyes that hide a great amount of fear and also a great yearning for kindness and love. The other is a plump little third grader with eyes that take up half her face along with the knowledge that batting the lashes attached to those saucer eyes will get her pretty much anything she wants. These girls devour me on Thursdays. They never let me take pictures of them, but insist on playing with my camera phone and taking unwanted pictures of me. I am teased, picked on, whispered about and laughed at. And I love it.

They had progressed a great amount in the past few weeks and I promised them a dinner trip. So yesterday, we headed to Kanana, a pizza cafe, where they proceeded to eat up the entire store (three medium-sized pizzas, a pasta dish, sodas and 팥빙수 -- I myself had three slices of pizza and a cup of coffee). The store owner literally shook his head with disbelief.

These two girls are world weary. And they're honest. To them, facts are facts. Beauty is beauty. Ugliness is a given. There's no beating around the bush. No subtleties. No filter. I sat there yesterday, as they explained to me why one person shouldn't be perfect. If you are perfect, you are disliked. Therefore, a pretty girl should have a bit of nastiness to her. A rotund girl better make sure she has a good personality. If you're plain looking, you ought to be smart. "Don't you want to strive to have everything? Don't you want to strive to always be a better person than you are now?" I asked them stupidly. They shook their wise little heads in unison. "No one can have everything," they explained to me, "and if you happen to have everything, you're sure to be the target of malicious jealousy."

"But I think you both are very beautiful inside and out," I tried the flattery route.

"My face isn't great, but I'm tall and thin," said Eunche, not buying into the compliment."

"And I'm pretty, but I'm short and fat, but smart," said Sunju.

I laughed at their simple logics. "And look at you," continued Sunju. A little knot of worry formed in my stomach and I stopped laughing. "Your face is fine, but you're not as nice on the inside as you are on the outside."

"Yes," chimed in Eunche, "Your outer appearance is fine, but your Corean is terrible."

No fliter, I tell yah. And I love it. I love them.

all the reds!

2010-05-25T14:31:00.002+09:00

You can bet I'll be practicing this little ditty before bed every night. I bought my red support T-shirt from my local GS25 and am quite excited to be in Corea for this World Cup. 화이팅!

land of the lost

2010-05-16T16:19:00.002+09:00

One of the random nominal joys in my life is to act out movie scenes while listening to my ipod. The conditions of my morning commute make it an ideal time to "reenact" the last scene of Closer. Since I walk to school against the flow of traffic, I set the volume just right to Damien Rice's "The Blower's Daughter" and pretend I'm Alice/Jane.

I once dreamt of a place of lost love. It was a hazy place with muted colors and blurred lines. The figures were ghostly and translucent. The only sounds were whispers and faint whimsical singing that was constant. These were the spirits of a lost love. There were many variations of them -- death of a loved one, spurned love, unrequited love, misunderstood love, forbidden love... Every and any relationship that had once experienced love and was now no more came to this place, a limbo of time, space and all other dimensions.

I dreamt that I met the lost love between my parents. They were young. They had yet to develop the fine lines around the contours of their faces that I now see. They'd yet developed the jade of love that comes from divorce. They were young and they were together with the glint of hope for one another in their eyes. I met them strolling hand in hand next to a subdued glimmering stream of water. I asked them many questions. Where were they now? What happened? How do you experience love one day and you cease to experience it the next? Where did their love go? They slowly turned to look at each other and then slowly looked back at me. Their mouths were moving, but only fluttering words and indiscernible sounds reached my ears.

Then I understood. No amount of questioning, probing or dissection would ever provide a satisfactory answer. Unanswered questions always linger in the presence of lost love.

branching out

2010-05-10T12:12:00.003+09:00

So, been a bit M.I.A. Between midterms, school festivals, school trips and basketball-packed weekends, I feel unglued when sitting in front of a computer. With the arrival of the much anticipated and long overdue warm weather, I find my e-mail/Facebook/Youtube/Blogger time has significantly decreased. Even now, I can't wait for school to get out... so I can run outside and play.

People ask me all the time when I'm going back "home." Makes me wonder where and what "home" really is. I've met sorts of different people here and my "sabbatical" from church, was supposed to be spent questioning the very beliefs I've held for the past nine years. And I've questioned. I've explored. I've wandered. Turns out, I enjoy the wandering more than I've ever enjoyed the constrictions of before. I feel a sense of freedom in knowing that my actions are my own. My successes, my failures, my decisions and regrets are of my own will. There is nothing else. There is nothing more. I've gotten many a negative reaction to this, but it works for me, just like certain boundaries and lifestyles work for others.

Freedom. Now that's something to "rawr" about.

an arbitrary list

2010-04-22T10:47:00.005+09:00

Number one. I've been in a funk lately. It's really showing in my writing. Maybe there's not enough stimulation or input of the arts. Must change this.

Number two. I had dinner with a friend last night and was amused by the unusual situation I was in. I haven't identified myself as a "Christian" in a long time. Yet I've retained my friendships with various Christians who still share with me their callings, visions, and relationships with their God. I find myself on the outside looking in. Unable to believe in what they would share with me, but understanding the vernacular, the Christian idioms, the feeling. I'm just incapable of carrying on the same beliefs I thought I had before.

Number three. I'm starting to fear the future. But I wonder if it's also fearing me.

Number four. My student told me she broke up with her third boyfriend of this year. Lots of my students share with me tidbits from their "love lives." I'm bemused by the fact that they actually have busier love lives than me.

Number five. The weather is getting warmer. Time to play outside.

Number six. Must get out of funk. Time to get funky.

like-minded

2010-04-15T10:09:00.003+09:00

I'm not considered a real, authentic teacher. At least, I don't think that's how the students view me. I am, however, a real, authentic foreigner. This unique position provides with various details into the Bongwon Middle School psyche. I hear bits of gossip about students' relationships, such as this certain third grade girl who is dating a much shorter first grade boy. As one of my students so excitedly put it, "That is illegal!" Almost.

I hear about fights that happen on and off school property. About the bully who is so concerned with his own health that he doesn't ever bring a cigarette to his lips but forces other students to do so.

I hear about the girls who hike up their skirts and smoke in the bathroom. They're simply too cool for school. Their eyelashes droop from the weight of the thickly applied mascara and their cheeks shine eerily from the caked on foundation.

I hear about the sundry of nicknames students have bestowed upon the teachers. Here are a few: Toad, Psycho, Goblin, Flying Squirrel and Catfish. Funny thing is, to me, they totally make sense. I've definitely seen "the Catfish" as a catfish. As a teacher, it's a given that students will gossip about you. Apparently, I'm half-white, I'm half-black, I'm actually Chinese, I was in the military back in the states and I'm secretly married. I asked them what my nickname was, and they wouldn't tell me.

It must be pretty bad.

scary

2010-04-09T09:18:00.002+09:00

I stood out on the street and watched a great group of people making their way down toward the plaza. They would have to pass our store. Fists waving in the air and voice rising above the frenzy, an uneasy knot began tying itself in my stomach. I ran inside the store where my mother and sister were baking bread. We should've drawn the curtains. Preoccupied with hiding all our ingredients and supplies, I looked outside our wall-to-wall front windows and saw some of the mob passing by. I looked one second too long. One of the mob caught my glance and in doing so began to make his way toward our store. He wore a heavy wooden mask resembling Lord Farquaad and his movements were stiff and rigid. When he approached our glass door he poked at it with a wooden finger. Poke. Poke. It wasn't forceful but it was threatening. He continued to poke the door as we cowered against the wall. The poking finally broke through the door. As the glass shattered onto the ground, we screamed...

I don't often remember my dreams and hardly ever have nightmares, but this dream was one I remembered quite vividly. Perhaps it's because I've been watching the History Channel declassified series on Chairman Mao and Stalin. When people ask what I fear the most, I answer with silly replies such as spiders and pigeons. But the thing I fear most, above all things is Man. When watching mob scenes on TV and in movies, I still cannot believe that people are capable of being so cruel to one another. Also, my dream reminded me that in a mob, there are only a handful of people who truly believe in the cause they are fighting for. The rest are there in a violent agitated state, looking for an excuse to behave abominably.

People are scary. They can do such good, yet are capable of such evil. A wary dichotomy.

natives

2010-03-29T09:50:00.000+09:00

I heard that one of the speakers at the latest SMOE orientation advised the new teachers to really try to get to know the Corean culture. Turns out that this speaker is my neighbor and he's a good guy. A good guy and right on the money. He explained that hanging out with foreigners, you'd hear the same stories, the same complaints, the same weekend jaunts, the same gripes... I made a conscious decision when I came here to try to get to know natives. I think I've been half successful.

After a few months spent with mostly Corean Americans, I somehow found myself on two separate basketball teams with native Coreans. One a women's team and the other a men's team. Saturdays are spent with the gals playing ball, followed by fried chicken (or pho) and beer. Sundays are spent with the guys playing ball, hitting the PC room to play Kart Rider, playing more ball and then meat and soju. I'm the most surprised at this development during my sojourn in Corea. I thought I'd meet a few Corean American friends, share some light laughs and giggles, and be back in the states in no time. But things have changed and are changing. I'm finding a home here, a community and a network of new people that I'm so grateful to have met.

I miss people from home, but if and when I ever do go back, I think I can safely say that my time here was different than most foreigners.

so, senator... so janitor...

2010-03-23T14:25:00.004+09:00

...so long for a while, remember you're never fully dressed without a smile!

Sometimes, I'll look upon the expectant faces of a class and feel utterly exposed. I haven't prepared enough. I'm not as funny as I think I am. I am a fraud of a teacher. Some young faces will do that to you. The bored ones. The sullen ones. The hurt ones. Yet other faces bring a rush of pure joy. Some of these faces are just so bright, so sparkling with life and happiness that they can truly turn a dreary day right around.

Every day I try to remind myself that it's the unlit faces that need the most love. They're gray for a reason. As one of the teachers put it, "They're just asking for love without really asking..." During a difficult class or towards the end of the day, it's difficult to remain perky and energetic and the overwhelming desire to jump into a warm bed with the smell of a nice campfire lingering in the air and the knowledge of hot tea on the bedside table can be maddeningly seductive. However, the class must be taught -- the show must go on. And it must be taught well and go on with a smile. So I imagine Annie while little dancing figures in my head remind me to enjoy my current post and to relish in the envelopment of youth... or fear becoming like Miss Hannigan!

birthday in the sky with diamonds

2010-03-18T19:50:00.005+09:00

Meet Sun Ju (on the left) and Eunche (on the right). Yesterday was Eunche's birthday so we celebrated today with two chocolate muffins and some fun worksheets. Sun Ju is less shy about taking pictures so she posed obligingly with the standard Corean pose. Eunche, feisty Eunche, threw me a death stare, sucked on her popsicle with disdain and did her best "I'm too cool for school" pose. It's an improvement from before when even a picture like the above would've been impossible.

It was Sun Ju's birthday two weeks ago and I gave her a gift with a card. She's a little younger and gets super excited about such things and tore open her present and ripped open the card that I had decided to write in Corean. While the two were gigglingly non-stop at my many Corean mistakes, Sun Ju suddenly read the last line in which I had written, "I love you!"

You know those movie scenes where the girl tells the guy she loves him after the second date and he's like "Woa..." That's exactly what Sun Ju did. Her eyes got big and she was surprised to see the words. I still haven't concluded whether it was a good surprise or a bad one. Only time will tell, I guess.

I love these two very much. I only get to see them once a week, but I've been thinking of asking the orphanage if I can increase my visits. It's still difficult to hear a "Hello," or "Goodbye," or "Thank you," from them, but at least they acknowledge my coming and going with a slight nod or shake of the head. I'm not sure how these little shekkis wormed their ways into my heart, but I always do love the difficult ones.

Eunche and I had a rare conversation last week about adoption. I asked her if she'd like to be adopted and she answered yes, but that she would miss the orphanage. She then told me about another girl who had lived there that had eventually been adopted by her tutor. I saw in her face the want for a real family. The thought had crossed my mind before, but at that moment I desperately wanted to provide for her something solid and lifelong. I asked her what the possibility of her getting adopted was, and she said unlikely, seeing as she was older and adoption is still a bit taboo in Corea. I tell you... my heart shattered into a million pieces. How come the kids who need love the most, never seem to get it?

no fear

2010-03-16T13:55:00.001+09:00

A non-Christian friend once told me she was turned off when people would write things such as "God is so awesome!" as their facebook or gchat status. I brushed this off as her personal preference. And it is.

However, as I venture into newer areas of my life, unknown paths that I am wanting to take, it seems that some have tried to strike fear into my heart. On one hand, I am appreciative of their concern. On the other, I am totally, utterly turned off.

Do we live our lives out of fear? I choose not to fear. I choose to live up to the choices I've made so far and the ones I will make in the future. The reprecussions will come, I am sure, and I will accept them as is. But to live in fear? I decline.

happy white day!

2010-03-14T10:20:00.002+09:00

Cute video. Makes me happy. Celebrate love.

i hear ya

2010-03-11T09:51:00.006+09:00

The groundskeeper at our school is a small bit of a man. His thick-rimmed glasses overtake his face and he always wears an old black cap with some sort of gold military marking on the front. He's in his seventies but walks sprightly and talks even sprightlier, exposing a mouthful of missing teeth.

He was clearing the snow in the morning yesterday when I got to the hill. After my obligatory bow and morning greeting, he accompanied me on my trek up the massive hill to school. I do hate to be disturbed during my morning routine. This is one of the ways I've changed. I don't enjoy seeing people I know in the morning till I get to school and would rather not speak until I'm sitting in my office chair. However, how could I be rude to this old man who had once mistaken me for a middle school student?

As I was breathing heavily due to the massive hill, this old man gave me a brief history lesson on the Corean war. Honestly, I hardly remember a thing he said. But I do remember the tone of his voice, the excitement, the pain, the eagerness to share. How desirous was he for conversation. Wanting someone to listen, even just hear. We all want to be heard, listened to. I'm sure he has a chestful of nuggets and anecdotes to share and I hope he'll be generous enough to share with me a few. Should he choose to do so, I'll lend my listening ear.

And I hope one day, many many years from now, I'll be lent a young, sympathetic ear of my own.

the routine and the age gap

2010-03-09T12:11:00.005+09:00

It's already been a week into the new school year. I've grown accustomed to the routine of my routine. I've come to know the faces of all eight drivers who drive the 마을 13 bus. I know whether or not that bus will catch the left turn signal. I know that when I walk out of the subway, a crowd of people rushing past me means that I have time to catch the green light at the crosswalk. It seems mundane to have memorized such a schedule, but the damn pigeons crowding the marketplace located right before my school makes every morning dangerously exciting.

Some times, when I'm late, I'll see this one particular boy on the bus. The thing that catches your eye about this little tyke is his briefcase. The first time I saw him was in the summer. He looked like a tiny Harry Potter (but then again, most little boys in Corea look like a tiny Harry Potter), sans cloak and wand. He wore a light blue, short-sleeved, collared shirt with navy blue shorts, white knee socks and brown shoes that my grandfather would've worn. His blue and red Transformers backpack was square and rested neatly on his shoulders. But the crowning glory of this little getup was definitely his briefcase.

Every time I see him, I want to ask what could possibly be in the briefcase of an eight-year-old. Or why even an eight-year-old has a briefcase for that matter. I often stare at the brown leather and gold catchings and wonder who gave it to him and whether or not he actually likes carrying it around. Perhaps some day I'll summon enough courage to ask the boy.

I was a little late today and saw briefcase boy on the bus. It hit me how much he had grown over the past few months. He'd gotten a bit taller, but his briefcase hadn't. Just the way I've grown but my students don't. The incoming first grade class looked younger than ever. The age gap just keeps on growing as I go on about my routine. I find myself in a dichotomy as my inner Peter Pan desperately tries to fly back into the past where there was meaning and truth in every sound, in every cloud and in every romp in the sand. Yet some version of my future self keeps bugging me to move forward. Forward to reality. Forward to stability. Forward to a different kind of truth.

I'm stuck in this middle, this kind of vortex that sucks you in and makes you comfortable. And everyone seems to be worried about it except me.

when the lights cut out

2010-03-05T22:49:00.003+09:00

While the whole nation was intently watching their national hero, one little boy sank to his knees and laid his head upon his bed. As his countrymen held their breaths each time their national hero spun into the air, he let flow sobs of sorrow, remorse and confusion. When the whole of Corea immersed themselves for a few minutes into the brilliant bright lights of the figure skating rink in Vancouver, one small eighth grade boy was left to question how there could be such a huge hole in his heart. How would he live without his mother? How would he and his father and his younger brother and his younger sister survive? Did death mean she was gone forever? And what was forever?

This whole country celebrated the accomplishments of an extraordinary 19-year-old girl who carried with her the expectations of over 50 million people. But her story is repeated in the countless athletes who devote their bodies, their minds and their time to the sport they love. The hard work, the dedication, the times they almost gave up... For every athlete that rises to the top, there are numerous others who worked just as hard. However,due to a variety of circumstances they just couldn't reach the coveted spot on the podium.

This little boy lost his mother on the day his country jubilantly gathered together to rejoice one of the proudest moments in their sports history. It was a sudden and tragic loss, unforeseen. Some would call it a freak accident. Yet regardless of how it happened, it happened, and this boy and his siblings were left without their mother.

He returned to school today, surprising his teachers who hadn't expected him for another few days. He walked in the hallways empty and lifeless. He was silent. He was spiritless. He was walking but he wasn't there. He was walking and he didn't even know it. He was walking when soon a few of his friends went to him. They encircled him. They hugged him.

A beautiful figure skating phenom dazzled her country and amazed the sports world. People caught a glimpse of a sparkling, glamorous kind of Corea. What some of our teachers got to witness today was a different side. A small almost minute side, but real and uplifting and poignant.

the impossible dream

2010-02-25T22:57:00.005+09:00

I have a friend who is a sports fanatic. I'm talking really severe. After Yuna's breathtaking performance he sent me no less than six e-mails within 24 hours with various news articles and video clips about Yuna. Thing is, this is totally understandable. If you've read any article about her, you know that she is an absolute sensation in Corea. The only thing I disagree about with in those articles is the amount of "pressure" this country puts on her. Yes, there are expectations for her to win gold, but those expectations are based more on hope, rather than demand. Coreans are extremely proud of her regardless.

Sometimes, my dad likes to tease me about the time I cried after watching Kristi Yamaguchi at the 1992 Olympics. I begged him to let me take ice skating lessons. I wanted to be Kristi. I still remember her blue outfit (my favorite color) and her blue scrunchy. Watching Yuna, I can imagine girls around the world begging their parents for ice skating lessons. How can they not? Figure skaters are beautiful in their glittery dresses. They're powerful with their triple jumps. They're graceful with their spins and spiral sequences. A great blend of athleticism and artistry.

Anyways, back to my sports fanatic friend. We were discussing reasons we watch sports when he said something that really moved me. Using Yuna as an example, he said, "...and all those Korean ahjumas who like her too. they are living that princess life... away from repressed middle class wife-mom status." How true that is. As spectators, we're transported into the lives of these athletes, even if it's for the few mere minutes or even seconds it takes for victory. These ajumahs probably work just as hard, if not more, than Yuna. Obviously, it's in a different field with far less success, compensation and glamor. But they're working their asses off. They're putting in the time. And when they watch their beloved skater succeed in the eyes of the international community, they're succeeding by just being a part of her country, by just watching her, supporting her, cheering her on. They've become a part of her journey, learning what a lutz is, what a flying sit spin is, what under rotation is, seemingly overnight.

Sorry for the rambling and inept post. But, it is Olympic season after all and I'm a little screwy with excitement. The Olympics. It's better than Christmas. It's the REAL most wonderful time of the year, every two years.

the olympic spirit

2010-02-19T11:49:00.003+09:00

I LOVE THE OLYMPICS.

The accomplishments. The heartbreaks. The compelling back stories. It is drama in its rarest, truest form. Being in Corea for this year's winter Olympics has been an interesting and eye-opening experience. I'm privileged to experience just how much this country rallies behind its athletes. During the Lunar New Year, the country experienced heartache when a seemingly podium sweep of the 1,500 meter short track race was marred by a mistake that took out the second and third place South Corean skaters on the final turn of the final lap. My family members were in an uproar and I'm pretty sure the neighbors across the hall were just as upset. For a minute I was worried my U.S. citizenship was going to turn this rowdy bunch against me. I joke. But you know, Corea's a small country, and any opportunity for it to show its might on an international stage is cause for wild celebration.

No other athlete has the country's hopes on her shoulders as much as Kim Yu-na. The majority of clips on TV have been of Yu-na. The country has watched her closely as she blossomed into the number one ranked skater in the world. And as the way things go with popular female athletes, not only is she good, but she's good-looking to throw in the bag. I've hitched my interests to the bandwagon and am most looking forward to her 007 and Gershwin performances.

One of my favorites stories so far has been the pairs skating couple of Xue Shen and Hongbo Zhao from China. It's one thing to be the best in the world. To diligently train for an arduous four years. To top the medal stand at the greatest competition on Earth. However, to do all that with your spouse. I imagine it's a feeling multiplied ten-fold.

Can't wait for another week of Olympic vignettes and exciting results. Someone teach me curling, quick!

avert thine eyes

2010-02-10T18:13:00.004+09:00

The past two days have been spent lounging on Nai Harn Beach. It hosts guests mostly from Europe, who it turns out love to flaunt what they've got. These European travelers are not young, adventurous thrill seekers. Nay, they are older folks, in town for exotic food and a relaxing weekend. What this means is a beach full of unabashedly nearly naked senior citizens. Yes, we're talking about teeny tiny Speedos for the gents and thong-style bottoms with no tops for the ladies. What are we not talking about? We're not talking about fit, nubile bodies. These are leathery, burnt, saggy appendages coupled with drooping other parts. From a distance, it can be difficult to place a woman from a man, as she has no top, but he's got a serious case of gynecomastia.

My reading of choice for this trip is Hemingway's For Whom the Bell Tolls. Enjoying the warm breeze, the sun on my skin and the gentle swoosh of the ocean, I was thoroughly involved with Robert Jordan and Maria, when suddenly, a shadow was cast over me. I looked up from my book and was surprised to see leather, burnt, saggy appendages coupled with drooping other parts, a teeny tiny Speedo and a pair of Ray-Bans looking down at me. "You are reading Hemingway?" he asked me in an unmistakeably Italian accent.

I was exceedingly thankful that my eyes were hidden by my sunglasses, for I could not stop staring at the heavy, lopping stomach that seemed to be inching closer and closer to my face. "Yes," I answered, while thinking "Please don't let that come any closer..."

"How is it that you can read such a book in English?"

"Well, I'm from America." That is one small "bathing suit."

"Ahhh! American! How you come here?"

"Just for a little break." My lord... he is orange.

"Not many Americans here. Americans usually go to Caribbeans."

"Yes." The folds in his neck flap when he talks.

"I'm from Treviso. Hemingway was near there."

"Treviso?" So that's what a jiggling bowlful of jelly looks like.

"Yes, yes. Near Venice."

"Oh... yes." Could that bathing suit be any smaller?

I was embarrassed out of my mind and kept my answers as short as possible. Taking the hint, the old man frolicked into the sea.

Ah, the joys of travel.

waiting...

2010-02-09T00:00:00.002+09:00

Sawatdee from Bangkok!

I’ve been sitting here in Suvarnabhumi Airport for a good three hours waiting for my transfer flight. The awesomeness that is technology allows me to annihilate these three hours (plus one more) by surfing the World Wide Web, engorging in useless information and perusing pictures of friends and loved ones.

I’ll be arriving in Phuket in a few hours. I’m looking most forward to the warmth. I’m looking least forward to couples. Flying in from Corea ensures that there is no shortage of honeymooners to the sun and fun of Phuket. And when I speak of Corean honeymooners, I mean couple Tees. This is a brilliant Corean phenomenon where couples wear matching T-shirts, or even complete outfits. I sat next to a newly wed couple on my way here, who were decked out in matching red hoodies, black chucks and complementary white T-shirts looking something like this:

A brilliant Corean phenomenon, I tell you.

Any bitterness aside, I feel extremely grateful that I can take a mini holiday such as this. I’m always thankful for the many opportunities I’ve had in my life. I like to think that I’m storing up both good times and bad in my bag of life. It’ll be a nice bag to dig things out of in my old age, when I want to share with the younger brood about various experiences.

Then, until next time, Sawatdee!

the long winter

2010-02-04T10:00:00.000+09:00

It feels as though it has been winter for over a year. We hardly experienced a fall and fell straight into a kind of cold that seeps into the hollows of your eyes. On one hand, it's great walking up the hill to school and not step into the office dripping in sweat. On the other, feeling cold all day at work isn't a pleasant feeling.

My body, mind, emotions have been on hibernation this winter. I've been literally dragging my apathy around like a comfort blanket. Questioning how to shed apathy and learn compassion, passion, feeling.

Did you know that there are two sides in every story? Rarely do we ever see the whole truth. The whole truth hardly ever presents itself boldly, but tucks itself away into a small crevice, unsure if it wants to be discovered or not. In a search for the truth, difficult questions must be asked and when difficult questions surface, hurt and pain arise as well. Hurt and pain cause denial, distance and discomfort. However, in most cases than not, the truth is discovered at some point.

Are we avoiding the inevitable?

if i could change the world...

2010-01-25T11:00:00.004+09:00

Rick
If I could change the world, I would change the number of people present by one-sixth. I would unite all languages because nowadays we have a lot of language. I would take away a factory because they are so many destroy the nature. In the event of nature we can't live until now. If people die out the earth is much better than the present. I would change the murder law strongly Nowadays we are law is feeble. If a murder kill the people, my law is kill the murder. I would eliminate president and members of the National Assembly because they are liars. Nowadays president and member of the National Assembly are incompetent. I think change them. I would subtract the money for rich person. Then the world is better than nowadays. Other people think I am wrong. I think they are wrong.

Erica
Today I will writing about this topic, 'If I could change the world.' One, I will make a rule, 'Don't throw the trash on the road.' But if people don;t keep the rule, I'll make people pay the money. Then, people will not throw the trash.
Two, I'll make people use an overbridges, a subway, and a bus, because the Earth has a lot of air pollution. So we have a duty to save the Earth.
Three, I will abolish the college entrance exam. Then people will be comfortable, and they can get into any school. Good college or bad college, but honor students will be upset, because they studied hard to go to the good college. So I'll make bad students can't go to the good company. Then honor students will not be upset with that.
Finally, I wold make people can't buy drugs. Then people will be healthy and fine, but if we can buy drugs, we will be not healthy and sick. Drugs are very bad, so we never eat that and don;t think about drugs.
If I could change the world, I'll do the best about making good community.

I know I'm not supposed to have favorites, but these last two boys, I really love.

John
If I could change the world, I would make there be no fight. It is dangerous. When we fight, we injure each other, but when the fight is bigger, many people die. It is the war.
Long time ago, when the human appeared, there were also fight. However, it is different nowadays. Because there was no food, they fought to gain more food.
However, we fight because of greed. We have enough food but we always want to get more, more money.
In Haiti, where there was an earthquake, there is many supplies to help them but they fight to get more supplies. If they don't fight, all people could get supplies.
If we don't fight, the world would become warmer.

Kevin
If I could change the world... I don't want to change anything so I will not change anything. Why? Because we need everything, but I want to change one thing: my life. I want to change my life to be fun and exciting life, because these days, my life very boring life. Anyway, if I can change the world, I don't want to change anything, because everything will be need. If I change them, it will be hard to live.

letters to haiti...

2010-01-20T11:46:00.003+09:00

Vicky
Hi Haitian. I'm Vicky from Korea. I watched many news about earthquake in Haiti. During I watched news I think Oh! it's ver serious problem. So we need to help them international. So I deced help Haiti. We will collect money for Haitians. I'll do very hard! So You mst cheer up! I'll pray for you... Bye.

Allisa
Hello, I'm Hee-Joo Kim and 15 years old. I'm from Seoul, Korea. I heard about Haiti earthquake. I'm so sorry to hear that. Are you ok now? I'm worried about your health, food and water. I want to help you. I'll persuasion people to help Haitian next Monday. Actually, I did not experience an earthquake, but I can understand you. Your situations are very bad. Also, there are many injured people. I want to be a doctor in the future. That's why I'm really sad about that. I'm only 15 years old, and I can't go to Haitian by myself. Please be careful in Haiti and never use violence. Take care everybody. I'll always pray with you. from HeeJoo

Jin
Dear Haitian,
Hi. I'm Yeon-Jin Kim. I'm from Seoul, Korea. I write this letter, because I want to cheer vigorously for you. I saw newspaper. I thought 'I have to help them!' HOwever, Haiti is very far, so I can't go. For all that, I have letter. I sometimes pray for Haiti. Earthquake is spontaneous. We can't stop that. So I'll punish the earthquake. Cheer-up~~~

HyeJin
To Haitian. Hello, I am student in Korea. I write the letter for you. You are down and surprised, but don't be down!! Many countries and people in world say to help you. I am student, so I don't have big power to you. I can't give everything to you, but I wil give my mind to you. I am worried. I am very sad. Are you Okay? Don't be down and sad. You will be happy. Many worlds people will help you. Don't be scared. Smile. Fighting.

Audrey
To someone in pains. Hi, I'm Yeseul in Korea. Whole world, including our country heard about your saddest story. At first, I didn't care about your hurt, but, after I watched the news, I felt compassion. I'm sorry to hear that. What I'm mostly concern about is children. If I think little children are starving when we have lunch, I feel very sorry. We're going to work to help you. We will fundraise for the nessasity of helping Haitians, so don't worry.
Though you're in a tragedy, you and your country will get through this because people around the world are praying for you and paying atention to you. In case of me, sometimes, I'm in trouble, I think of my merry future, then, the troubles go away. How about thinking about future after ou get through this? I think that's a good way.
Earthquake is a kind of natural problems but they're caused by human-kind. Because we don't care about the nature, this kind of tragedy is provoked. Arhentina and other countries around Haiti had earthquakes too. So it's a serious problem.
I know you're thirsty and hungry. If Icould go there now, I want to give you lots of food as much as I can bring to there. Don't be depressed! Believe that you can survive! I'll make my fingers across for you!
Yours Truely

Nicky
To Haitians. Hello. My name is Yeon-jae Choi and my English name is Nicky Choi. I am a Bongwon middle school student in Seoul, Korea and I am a 14-year-old girl.
I heard in the newscast that a very strong earthquake hit Haiti a few days ago and that so many people were injured, caused by the earthquake.
I was very sorry to hear that and felt sad about the fact... :( Although South Korea is located far away from your country, I wanted to help you because I think all people on earth should help each other. I tried to search how can I help you but it wasn't easy. I know water and food are the most important things you need. However, I am only 14 years old so I do not have much money and cannot earn money either.
At last, I found a way. I thought it is very important for you to have hopes as well as to have food, especially for children. If Haitian children lose their hope, the future of Haiti will disappear. I wanted to say to you, "Look on the bright side." Also, I wanted to let you realize that all people on earth hope you to recover your health and they are always on your side.
Please remember.
LIFE is the best fortune. There is always someone who's got it worse than you.
At the end of the letter, I want to say one word. "Everything's going to be okay. Don't give up!"
I hope you will get better soon.
I am keeping my fingers crossed for you.
Thank you for reading my letter. Bye.
Tuesday, Jan. 19th 2010
Yeon-jae Choi (Nicky Choi)
Bong won middle school.

hiburrrrrrnation

2010-01-13T23:54:00.006+09:00

It's a bit cold these days.

Beijing was ridiculously cold. The thing with Beijing was that it was so spread out. The distance between bus stops and subway stations were so much longer compared to Seoul. Because of this, the whole city seemed gray when it snowed. When I got back to Seoul, things were colorful. The snow melted quickly and the store signs that are stacked atop one another five stories high gleamed in the sunlight.

It's cold in Seoul. All I feel like doing these days is sleeping. It's almost like a drug. I try to get as much sleep as possible. Break time, bust time, subway time, home time... I sleep. It's not only physically. My emotions have been yearning for sleep as well. I don't want to feel. It's strange. I spent the last year chasing Happiness. I chased her to this city. I chased her to Cambodia. I chased her in the streets. I chased her with my friends. She held my hand through difficult times and she made me laugh as I explored various options. But now, I've been ignoring her. I've been neglecting my other emotions as well. I haven't talked to Sorrow in awhile. I screen calls from Desire and I've distanced myself from Compassion.

Coldness requires hibernation. During this sleep, this gray period in my life, I'm not so much hoping for but wondering if a little gleam will wiggle its way into my daily grind. My mind has been a wide, gray city of swirling snows... it's been a Beijing. When will it regain some Seoul?

west meets east, like tupac meets biggie

2009-12-23T08:37:00.011+09:00

I'm an avid Indiana Jones fan. The scene at 0:50 is one of my favorites. Cute Asian boy. Handsome white man. Card game. Hilarious. Stereotyped? Perhaps.

Every so often, the Seoul Metropolitan Office of Education gathers all the native English-speaking teachers together for workshops. The material given at these workshops are mostly pointless, but it's a good opportunity to network and freely speak English all day. They attempt to give us some "culture" by taking us to places like Suwon Fortress or to a Corean opera. Most of us agree that the best Corean culture can be found in a small 삼겹살 restaurant and a bottle of soju. Hoo-ah!

Now, when you stick a bunch of foreign teachers into one room, complaints and discontent run rampant. This is inevitable. This is expected. There are problems with age hierarchy, rigid bureaucracy, language barriers, payment dates, workloads, cultural misunderstandings, vacation conflicts and many others. I know all these. I understand them. I experience them.

At these trainings, I usually find myself straddling the line between East and West. My thoughts are torn between two conflicting sides. A part of me agrees with all the grievances expressed. Yet another part of me is angry that these foreigners are actually airing them out. We're operating in a Confucian-based society and they're expecting things to be the same as the country they came from? Doesn't make sense to me.

I'm taken back to when I was a child. I'd do my best to torment my younger sister -- and I was pretty damn good at it. However, the second anyone else would put her down or make her feel bad, my temper would flare up and I would not have any of it. I suppose my thinking was, "She's my sister to torment. Go find your own."

In a way, I feel the same about Corea. Although I know that their difficulties are justified, I don't like to hear them talk about it in the manner that they do. When they do, they're insulting the country that borned my parents, my family, "my people." My younger years would've found me angrily dismissing them as ignorant and the typical arrogant American/Westerner, but this time around I tried my hand at being diplomatic, trying to share my thoughts on why things were the way they were. Can't say it was all successful, but not all discussions are for the purpose of persuading. Sometimes, they just help us to know where our loyalties lie. Sometimes, discussions can surprise us.

But the past two days leave me wondering... can we ever truly cross the unavoidable barriers to understand another culture...

age of innocence

2009-12-18T08:52:00.004+09:00

This is literally "my friend." She stays by my desk at school and keeps me nice and toasty. Aptly named, wouldn't you say?

Every day in middle school is filled with drama. Someone broke up with someone. Someone said something about someone else. Someone jumped onto their desk during class. Someone broke their tooth during break time. It's these funny little stories that teachers discuss and laugh about over lunch.

Yet, sometimes, there are stories that pain the heart. Middle school is the beginning of adolescence. Realistically, these kids will experiment with smoking, alcohol and sex among other things. Sometimes I will hear about these occurrences and my heart feels as heavy as a wet sponge. I wish I could take away these life passages that kids tread to adulthood. I wish I could help them keep their innocence as long as possible. It's when I remember these things that the kids seem so old. So much older than I was at their age.

This week was movie week. I had to watched the first 45 minutes of Ratatouille ten times and The Incredibles nine times. No need to explain the monotony of repetition. However, the thing I most enjoyed about watching the same scenes over and over again was the laughter. I could count on the students to laugh at the silliest joke. To giggle at the inane humor. To coo at the cute characters. Their laughter and enjoyment brought back their childhood. I wish I could bottle up that essence, that essence of innocence, and apply it to my life whenever I was feeling a bit too grown-uppish.

retrospectivity

2009-12-15T12:22:00.007+09:00

If you've ever climbed to the top of a mountain, you know the marvelously delicious feeling of freedom. The torturous hike up is quickly forgotten. Evil thoughts on what you'd like to do to the mountain are tossed aside. Instead, you focus on the crisp mountain breeze skipping on your skin. You breathe in the deliriously refreshing mountain air deep into your lungs. You gaze down into the beauty the world has to offer.

In the same way, our hardships have a way of bringing beauty into our lives. We may mourn or live in denial. We may become depressed or maddeningly happy. We may crawl into our shell or rebel to the umpth degree. However we process our emotions during periods of difficulty, we are resilient. We survive. We learn. We grow.

The holiday season brings with it a hodgepodge of emotions. There are those who are unbelievably happy to be celebrating the holidays with loved ones. There are those who are melancholy to have no one to celebrate with at all. There are those looking back on the past year regretting decisions, choices and words. There are those wanting to hold onto a magical year that birthed them great joy and wonderful memories.

I hope regardless of our emotions, we all know what lies for us at the top. That we find hope in knowing that there will be growth, maturity and beauty in the bumps and sharp turns on our individual life paths. In retrospect there is beauty, and in that beauty we can always create a new beginning.

cold feet

2009-12-10T10:06:00.006+09:00

I invested in these shoes because it is unbelievably cold at school. From what I can gather, most schools in this district have faulty heating systems. The teacher's office is drafty, the classrooms are only semi-warm (due to pubescent middle school kids) and the hallways... well, it's colder there than outside!

Being in our heat-challenged school all day, my feet have been the coldest part of my body -- aside from my heart (haha). Regular boots don't cut it. Wearing two pairs of socks cuts off my circulation, resulting in cold and numb feet. I actually contemplated purchasing a pair of Uggs... but when I got to the store, I just couldn't do it... I'm an anti-Uggs kind of gal.

So, instead, I ended up buying a pair of Rubber Ducks. They are perhaps the ugliest pair of shoes I own, but they are keeping my feet so damn warm. Oh but they're really quite ugly. The only consolation I have aside from the warmth and comfort is that they are a nice shade of what I like to call "O.G. blue."

At school, some of the kids laughed and pointed at my Rubber Ducks. I was sad for half a moment before remembering that I'd be traipsing all over Beijing in them in a few short weeks. So there, shekkis.

cause we focused with it, we supposed to get it -the roots

2009-12-08T09:28:00.002+09:00

It's a story that's familiar to many of us. We've heard it time and again. We've witnessed it, experienced it, lived it. Young and wide-eyed, they packed their few belongings, leaving their family, their friends and their culture behind, and traveled across a vast ocean to the land of opportunity. The land of fulfilled dreams teeming with hope and promise. It would also become the land of sacrifice.

We know, at least partly, of the sacrifice our parents made for us. "We came to this land for you, for your future." If you're a second generation product, then you've heard this. This claim that reveals so much dedication, love and desire, yet holds so much pressure.

We've seen our parents hard at work in jobs we wish we could do for them. We've observed them toiling, sweating... persevering. Still, they didn't complain to us, holding their tongues, holding their dignity.

We've seen this. And as we grow under their expectant eyes, we're torn between pursuing our freedom and honoring their sacrifice.

I suppose this is the age where we think we know it all. We have plans, or semi-plans, and our own dreams and aspirations. But duty, obligation and gratitude will always linger in our hearts. My parents went to the great country so I could pursue education to a level that they never could. Is it my commitment to repay them for the gift they've given me? Or have I the right to live as I please?

After seeing what they've gone through, I lean towards the former. Though I don't believe I'll find it pleasurable, a few years of hardship could be sacrificed on my part to bring them gratification and confirmation that the choice they made so many years ago was the right one.

first snow

2009-12-05T22:44:00.005+09:00

The season's first snowfall. It was a whirling, swirling, beautifully dashing dance. It came suddenly, a like toddler's temper tantrum and stopped just as suddenly. There were hardly any traces of snow, save for a cluttering of flakes here and there.

For the past few days I've been thinking much about Tiger's "indiscretions." For some reason, it deeply hurt the romantic inside. Yet another disappointment, albeit from a star athlete with millions at stake. What makes a man risk it all for a few moments of lustful, sexual pleasure? The man truly had it all. The world was his proverbial oyster. As much money as one can dream of, talent leagues beyond his peers, two daughters and a beautiful wife. Who are we kidding? A hot ass wife.

It got me that all the media outlets kept emphasizing Elin's beauty. It was reported again and again that she was a former Swedish model. The news repeated that Tiger's wife was beautiful. Many people were confused because they couldn't understand how he could be unfaithful to his beautiful wife.

Would it make any difference if she were average, nay, ugly? Clinton's "indiscretions" were laughed at, made into the punchline for all late night hosts. But people merely shrugged their shoulders. Obviously, Monica isn't as much of a looker as Elin, but really. We're talking about the leader of the free world. He cheated on his intelligent, strong (too strong?), cankle-cursed wife. How come people weren't as outraged then?

I guess the pretty people get most of the luck, all the sympathy.

to choose

2009-12-04T12:13:00.001+09:00

The above picture was taken during a point of extreme bliss in my life. This was perhaps the most blissful I have ever been. It was during a two week hike around Mount Rainier in Washington State. In two weeks, ten of us trekked nearly one hundred miles with a total elevation gain of 22,000 feet, in various terrains ranging from dry grassy patches to slippery snowy slopes. To complete such a trip with my thirty-pound pack carrying all essential items to provide for me was a feeling of supreme self-reliance and euphoria.

It's funny, how often I refer back to those two weeks. It's as though I measure all other subsequent happy times with what happened on the trail. We were each given "trail names," as a way of shedding our society-based selves in our new environment. I was called "Bandit."

It's this identity of "Bandit" that I am constantly chasing. Who was I there? What made me so happy? Can I ever recover that feeling? Bandit felt free and uninhibited. Bandit was open to new ideas, willing to look at things from various angles. Bandit was calm, peaceful but excited.

I wonder if in all our lives we all continuously scamper after that perfect moment, that perfect feeling. But is this chase worth it in the end? We all must deal with various choices in our lives and a part of those choices entail fear of regret. Then again, we can choose to view the things in our lives in a positive light or in a negative light. The freedom of choice. How marvelous.

hip.hip.hooray!

2009-12-01T10:26:00.000+09:00

I witnessed a small miracle the other day. Every Tuesday, I tutor Eunche. She has no parents and perhaps because of this, she has no manners. She refuses to say "Hello" or "Goodbye" to me. She never says "Thank you." At times, she glares at me. She contemptuously reminds me that this is Corea, and scornfully asks why my Corean is so terrible. Sometimes, she makes me feel as though I am three inches tall -- barely.

Yet, last week, as I was about to step one foot out the gate, I heard it. I turned around in shock. "What did you say?" I asked.

"What are you talking about?" she retorted with that wiser-than-the-world look she applies on her young face.

"Nothing," I said. But I did hear it. She muttered her "Goodbye" and I heard it. Working with this difficult rapscallion has been one of the more rewarding experiences during my time in Corea.

I think I'll treat myself to some good food... maybe some 설렁탕.

a seoulful thanksgiving

2009-11-26T16:57:00.007+09:00

These are the students in my afterschool class. Today, I asked them to write what they were most thankful for. We then shared and discussed what each other had to say. Here are their writings verbatim.

Erin, 맹다영 - front, far left, standard peace sign
I'm most thankful for my friend. because sometimes, he smiles for me and makes me happy. he heard my talk, too. And if I have some heppen he hears my heppen and helps me. He is very thankful for me.

Jin, 김연진 - back, far left, standard peace sign
I'm most thankful for my bed, Because it makes me comfortable and it is my first bed. Bed and I have many memories. For example, 12 years ago, I wet the bed at night.

Audrey, 김예슬 - front, third from left, ghetto peace sign
I'm most thankful that I'm not a handicapped person. I'm most thankful that I'm not a handicapped person because there are so many people feeling very depressed. therefore, It means I'm thankful to my parents, too.

Thomas, 나공민 - far right, ghetto peace sign

I'm most thankful for being born Usually I think that we can eat delicious foods, make friends or make family because we was borned before. If I didn't born maybe I can't enjoy my life also it would be very unlucky and terrible. Finally I'm most thankful for being born.

Brittney, 유보경 - front, second from left, standard peace sign
I'm most thankful for school. I like to have new friends. if I'm not going to school, I don't have lots of chance to make friend. However, I can meet many friends and get great experience with them. I love school life. Sometimes I fight with friend too. When I fight, I feel bad, but when I thinking about that day after that time, I think that is just one kidful happend.

Nicky, 최연재 - back, second from left, standard peace sign
I am most thankful for a person who made ice cream. Because I love eating ice cream! I have been liking ice creams since I was a baby. If there were not ice creams in the world, I would be very sad and The world would be boring.

Vicky, 권경금 - far back, gray sweater, standard peace sign
I'm most thankful for my family. Because my family are loving each other I'm only child, so I'm lonely. But my uncles played with me When I don't solve the math problem they helped me. Also my aunts helped me everything My grandmother, is growed me Because my parents were so busy. So I thank for my grandmother so much. finally, my parents are borned me and take care of me I can't say anything to my parents. Because... I don't know I have another thing feeling my parents... So I love my parents!

Bea, 서승연 - front, leaning over, about to make a sign
I'm most thankful for my family. Because, whithout my family, I couldn't love anyone. Well, sometimes my family make me mad and make me sad. However, most of times they make me happy. If I can born in another family, I'm not sure that I can grow better than now.

Grace, 이가영 - back, about to beat down on someone
I am most thankful for healthy. Because health is the most important than anything. If I'm not healthy, I can't play computer games, watching TV, can't go school. In the World, many people don't healthy I'm happy that I'm healthy.

As for me, you can see I've got a lot to be thankful for -- we've all got a lot to be thankful for. Happy Thanksgiving :)

"i'mfinethankyouhowareyou?"

2009-11-23T10:17:00.003+09:00

This is the standard answer. Spoken without any breaks. Whenever I ask my students, "How are you?" The answer 90% of the time is "I'mfinethankyouhowareyou?" Followed by a giggle. Even they know how superficial it is.

In grade school, we make these promises to our friends. "BFF." "Best friends forever." We think that we really will be friends forever. Then, middle school, high school, college comes around and people move, people change, the world changes. We lose touch -- though in modern times, we think we're staying in touch through the medium of technology. Facebook, Blogspot, Gchat, Skype, etc. But nothing, nothing, nothing can ever take place of live interaction, face-to-face conversation.

There's another cute promise we used to make. We scribbled it into our yearbooks. "K.I.T." "Keep in touch." I'm terrible at this "K.I.T." business. Friends to me have been more of a convenience of location. People nearby. Once they're gone, once I'm gone, it's gone too.

But lately, I see that I've harbored naive expectations from some of my friendships. Being in a different country, I see that things just are not quite the same as when you're around the same town. Not only that, life situations change, and along with that the way people think, the way they express themselves, the way they interact, all a part of the evolution we participate in throughout our lives.

In my search for meaningful conversations, I've noticed that even people you just meet want to tell you their story -- if you're willing to listen. So even if they say "I'mfinethankyouhowareyou?" I'll do my best to read between the words and letters. To read into the tone, the voice, the face. For candid, point-blank conversation should be cherished, as there may not be many more.

coldity

2009-11-18T13:51:00.003+09:00

The koi pond in the atrium where I live displayed a thin layer of ice this morning. Winter has come for her yearly visit. The cold bites into any exposed skin and makes its way deep into my blood, coursing through my veins. And it's only November! The cold has come to stay and I find myself in my second winter in Corea. The knees begin to buckle a bit and red noses are found all around. But the winter sky is beautiful. It's clear. Clean. Fresh. It's piercing. Funny how the winter sky is so different from the summer sky. Maybe it's the bare branches that wave around in the air.

I recently wrapped up "Farewell to Arms." Frankly, I found it fairly disengaging until the dialogue between Henry and Count Graffi. I believe this conversation sums up the brilliance of Hemingway. Here it is:

"Would you like to live after death?" I asked and instantly felt a fool to mention death. But he did not mind the word.

"It would depend on the life. This life is very pleasant. I would like to live forever," he smiled. "I very nearly have."

We were sitting in the deep leather chairs, the champagne in the ice-bucket and our glasses on the table between us.

"If you ever live to be as old as I am you will find many things strange."

"You never seem old."

"It is the body that is old. Sometimes I am afraid I will break off a finger as one breaks a stick of chalk. And the spirit is no older and not much wiser."

"You are wise."

"No, that is the great fallacy; the wisdom of old men. They do not grow wise. They grow careful."

Is he brilliant, or is he brilliant?

It makes one think twice about wisdom. Where does it come from and how does it grow? How can one attain "wisdom?" My second winter in Corea and I haven't become any wiser than my first. Sometimes, I feel more foolish, more lost, more disoriented than I did when I was sixteen. Perhaps that is because I realize there are limitations to people and to situations. That there is only so much we can do before breaking down. Maybe it's the realization that there are more important things than the things at hand, that there's a greater picture, a bigger painting with more colors, more details, more strokes of the brush. Maybe it's all an excuse...

"Do younger nations always win wars?"
"They are apt to for a time."
"Then what happens?"
"They become older nations."
"You said you were not wise."
"Dear boy, that is not wisdom. That is cynicism."

Let's not grow cold with cynicism and age. Let's grow warm and wise throughout our years.

foreign experience

2009-11-11T08:38:00.003+09:00

I've got a new man in my life.

He's sexy.

He's smooth.

He's got a cute little butt that makes the ladies look twice.

He's half Japanese, half Latino.

Meet Julio!

I like to call him my Latin Lahvah. He's a Honda Julio, and they pronounce the "j" in Corea, though the "h" sound is much sexier. Heeeeyyyyy boyyyyyyy~

for today and for tomorrow...

2009-11-10T08:23:00.005+09:00

I've been here for over a full year now. When I first got here last year, I saw the trees lining the curved road to my school in their late summer bold green dress. They changed into their autumn outfits of brilliant reds, oranges, browns and yellows. Then they blanketed themselves in sparkling white snow, hidden cozily under layers of fluff. Again renewed, they blossomed into soft whites and pinks, coyly dancing for the students with every whisper of a wind. Now, I'm seeing them slip into their fall clothes again. It's unbelievable. I've been here over a year.

You'd think that in a year, I'd have changed some. One of the most common questions I've been asked is "Has your Korean improved?" Sadly, it has not. I haven't become wiser, more patient, smarter, richer... You'd think I'd be quite down about this. But I have learned a few things -- mostly about myself, what I want, what I desire.

Our twenties are some hectic times, aren't they? Most of the conversations I have with friends revolve around unfulfilled dreams, naive regrets, finding the meaning in life, potential prospects and inevitably, marriage. I'm enjoying these conversations because I know that they are momentary. They are exciting. They are unsure. Soon, most of us will be settled down and our conversations will certainly venture into the cliche of mortgages, children and retirement plans. Until then, let's enjoy those discussions that induce our deepest uncertainties and cherished dreams.

Ad vitam paramus!

double dog dare

2009-11-06T16:02:00.002+09:00

After "teaching" at school all day, my Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday nights are spent tutoring elementary school children. I realized just how often I am surrounded by children. I wish I could say that my patience has grown ten-fold, but sadly, I cannot. However, my understanding on just why patience is such a virtue has expanded exponentially.

Any time I've exercised even the tiniest bit of patience towards my students, I've been rewarded greatly. And they never cease to amaze me with their warmth and affection, regardless of their premature world-weary guise. Most kids it seems, just want a bit of love, and most kids it seems, will more than gladly return that love.

One student of mine, a rambunctious, mouthy and insecure fifth-grade tomboy, has been an especially difficult test in my patience. But one particular conversation plays itself over and over again in my mind. When I tried to scare her into studying a bit more, I mentioned that once she got to middle school, English would be that much harder to learn. In an effort to help her understand that I was on her side, I said, "You know, if you have any questions on your English homework either now or when you're in middle school, you know you can ask me, right?"

She looked at me as she usually does, with disdain, and replied "I bet you won't be here in two years." There was the challenge snaking its way between her disbelieving words. I didn't answer for a minute and only looked at her round little face and sharp, discerning eyes. She has dark, flashing eyes and they can be piercing at times, but this time I caught something different. Her vulnerability showed itself for less than half a second and I had caught it. The classic case. Holding people at bay for fearing of rejection and abandonment.

"I'll be here when you're in middle school," I said.

And so now, pondering my next steps, this conversation weighs heavily on my mind. When is it okay to break a promise?

the circle game

2009-10-26T13:23:00.000+09:00

One of my dearest memories as a child is one I don't quite remember. My mother told me she caught me crying while watching an episode of Peanuts. I wasn't wasting my tears for hunger or because I tripped and skinned my knee. It was because at that young age, I was feeling empathy for perhaps the first time. I was crying for someone, albeit Charlie Brown or Linus. For some reason, this resonates in my mind as the realization that I could feel.

There are times in my life that I dearly wish I could feel as purely as I did at that moment. To cry for someone else, not for my own. Too often, I walk by the extended hand of a homeless man -- a man reduced to sprawling on his stomach in public -- hoping for the few coins pedestrians toss into his box of desperation. Daily, I walk by the old woman with the hunched back, dejectedly selling rolls of kimbahp and homemade sandwiches for less than a dollar. Repeatedly, I walk by the vacant eyes of young people slumped over on the sidewalk, too intoxicated to notice the puddle of their own vomit they rest on. These times, I wish I could shed tears for another being, placing myself in their dirty rubber shoes, their fraying hairnet, their soiled clothes. These tears do not materialize.

For every sad thing in this world, there are brilliant reminders of the joy we can find. When I come across some students, their smile, their mere face lights up my darkened heart. When I walk past a caressing couple, their loving glances and embraces remind me that love stories still do prevail. When I see a young person helping an old woman with her groceries across the street, the good in life is affirmed.

Perhaps this season of apathy will pass. Perhaps I'll be able to feel as I did as that young child. Perhaps in the near future, the tears that are stored up at the moment will overflow into a series of waterfalls for love, for change, for others.

"And the painted ponies go up and down.

We're captive on the carousel of time.

We can't return, we can only look behind --

From where we came.

And go round and round and round...

In the circle game."

-joni mitchell, circle game

excavation

2009-10-23T17:55:00.006+09:00

I came home last night dreading the silence that was certain to greet me as I walked through the door. Usually I crave the peacefulness of home, safely tucked away on my couch, sheltered from the staggering noise of the city. But for the past few days, my mother has been home with me. Filling my apartment with noise and laughter, infusing the air with smells from her cooking. Her constant shuffling was at time irritating for someone as up-tight as me, but it was still more than welcome. Her chronic worries about my health, her random nuggets of advice and simply her presence impregnated my living space with life.

So it was with a heavy heart that I reached my key to the door. I dreaded the quietness that was sure to envelope me with sadness.

As I turned the doorknob there was sound. It was music. Mildly surprised, I went to my stereo and found an index card taped to the speaker. "Linda, I couldn't lock the door and was afraid someone might come in, so I hid your camera behind the trash can and hid your money in the cup on the shelf and left the music on so people would be tricked into thinking that someone was home."

They say that you don't know what you have till it's gone. For me, I didn't know what I was sacrificing till I got it back. I haven't really dealt with much homesickness since coming here last year. Caught up in the impetuous life of the city, there have been more than enough things to keep one occupied and busy beyond belief. But for the past few weeks, I had my mother back. Just having her there to worry about me, to talk to me, scold me, encourage me has been an amazing rediscovery of love. When I said my goodbyes to her in the morning, my heart literally ached with how much I loved her, and I felt so sorry that she was sad upon leaving her daughter. I wished I could protect her from that sadness.

I'm a lucky girl to have the mom that I have. I'm sure most of us are lucky to have the moms that we have. There's nothing like them broads.

all

2009-10-14T13:51:00.002+09:00

"And when you get down to it, Lily, that's the only purpose grand enough for a human life. Not just to love -- but to persist in love." -August Boatwright, The Secret Life of Bees

It never ceases to amaze me how much my mother loves. I'm sure the majority of people will agree that a mother's love exceeds in strength and endurance over almost anything else in the world. It is a love that persists.

I realized as of late that I want it all. In the past, forgoing one desire for another seemed necessary, but for some inexplicable reason, a selfish inclination has bubbled to the surface. I want it all...

To explore unknown crevices of life. To laugh uncontrollably and with no restraint. To love persistently. To uncover hidden meanings in the smiles of babies. To drop from the sky with fear and relief coursing through my veins. To soak in as many sunshine baths as possible. To create. To swing from a vine with complete disregard to my age, sex or any social expectations. To spend a night atop a mountain with only my sleeping bag and the stars for comfort. To share these life excitements.

It might be asking for too much, but I'm not yet sure. I understand that big risks mean big rewards. The first step is to accept that you want what you want. Next step: how to get there... ?

mean old witch

2009-09-28T13:06:00.003+09:00

I slept for ten plus hours last night. I woke up feeling refreshed and not tired for a change. Ironically, when I got to school I felt incredibly old. I couldn't relate to the kids today. They seemed a lot younger than me. I wanted more sleep. Yaaawwwwn.

mom's the word

2009-09-24T12:04:00.001+09:00

The person who has undoubtedly been the most influential person in my life is my mother. I've discussed before how the absence of my father was a constant presence in my formative years. However, no one could touch how my mother has shaped my life and infused her characteristics into me.

I was brought up like a boy. Crying was forbidden, weakness was prohibited and pushups were the answers to all disciplinary mishaps. In this way, I saw the female sex as the definite feebler gender. Keep in mind, this is at a point in my life where things were black or white. Strong or weak. No in betweens, no leeway.

For these reasons I saw my mother as overly passive, powerless and unforgivably gentle. When my father left, my fear of and respect for authority left with him. It seemed I had none left for my mother. When she tried to enforce discipline, it was with a smirk I obeyed, or with disdain I did her bidding. Ahhh, youthful regret. How I remorseful I am of my actions.

In the past few years I've been able to see a bit clearer where my mother had been and what she had gone through. I can't imagine having to raise two kids on your own in a country where you can hardly speak the language. The fear and uncertainty that must cloud all decisions. It's unbelievable the strength she mustered to hide any tears, any doubt, any weakness. She showed me a woman's strength, which extends leaps and bounds above any physical strength a man can show. The quiet strength that accompanies resolve and determination. She accepted no help, but more importantly, she accepted no excuses.

I've still a lot more to learn from this woman. She'll be here in a week. I can't wait!

who would've thunk it?

2009-09-21T12:24:00.004+09:00

If someone had told me even a few months ago that one day I'd find myself sitting in a hotel room with four native Koreans from 경상도, whilst breaking bread over Korean beer and receiving a spontaneous lesson on the difference between Seoul speak and 사투리, I'd have laughed it off as a occurrence never to manifest. How wrong we can be in our lives and all the better for it!

This past weekend, I participated in a woman's 3-on-3 basketball tournament in 강릉. Suffice to say there were several pleasant surprises on our trip. The first being the discovery of girls in Korea who were quite adept at the game of basketball. It was great to play with females, and not all teenagers either. There were some woman well into their forties who were exact in their footwork and knowledgeable in the game.

Another surprise was the fantastic team and "managers" on our travel. They all hailed from the southern province of 경상도 and some spoke with severe 사투리 accents. It took all I had to try to comprehend their words. However, they were most patient and jovial in their teachings.

As I sat in that room with the four of them, I had to laugh to myself at the various quirks in one's life path. I never wanted the typical Korean-American experience during my time in Korea. I didn't want to attend a large Korean-American church or associate with only foreigners. I wanted to somehow infiltrate the essence of Korea, not through outings to tourist attractions or meals at the best restaurants, but through interaction with your everyday Seoul citizen. I hope this is just the beginning of such a practice.

See ya'll next time.

a i r

2009-09-18T08:25:00.004+09:00

I had a layover in Los Angeles on my way back to Korea. As we flew at the smog level above the city, I realized I hadn't breathed enough in Mongolia. What a gift to simply breathe.

layers

2009-09-15T10:10:00.001+09:00

My father has never been one to advise me on my love life. He's never lectured me on the dangers of dating, the doggishness of men or the cruelty of love. Ironically, he uses the most words when he declares to me that he isn't much of a talker.

The conversation came unannounced. After our weekly dinner, we usually find ourselves in a random coffee shop that he declares he never frequents (we're much alike in this manner of "declaring" things). From a man who has never asked me about boyfriends or broached the topic of marriage, the word "onion" escapes his lips. I looked at him questioningly and a bit startled.

"A woman should be like an onion. You ever try to peel an onion? It's got layers. You can't ever get to the core. You can peel it until it's this small, but you can peel it still. It's got layers."

Understandably, scenes from Shrek flashed through my mind. That great green ogre and the stupid, yakking donkey.

"Okay dad. Don't worry."

"An onion," he says.

I think about this that night as I lay in bed. The differences between men and women. The supposed simplicity of men and the alleged complexity of women. The divergence that can amount to great love but also great despair. Funny how loving someone can seem like the easiest thing in the world, when actually it is perhaps the most difficult and arduous journey we can take in life. Since, after all, all good things revolve around love, it's not quite so simple, is it?

blog of dreams

2009-09-11T13:30:00.001+09:00

Stephen's Quintet from the newly renovated Hubble Telescope

"If you write it, they will come." Encouraging words (paraphrased) offered from a friend.

At times I feel as though the Internet has simultaneously managed to create a wonderful medium to link ourselves with anyone and everyone in the world, while also encouraging severe egocentricism. This strange dichotomy both unites people yet isolates them as well. We create for ourselves a small cubby of a space in cyberworld, where we unleash our thoughts and views on any and all topics and if we're lucky enough to have readers, our voice matters. We can be far from home, yet pictures reveal to us the events that take place in your absence. We're connected in this sense, but also reminded that life goes one without you... no matter what. Sometimes, that can produce a small knot in your stomach, or leave you with the strange taste of iron in your mouth.

Life is continually moving... moving... moving at warp speed, moving at a snail's pace. Some people have told me that I am brave for coming out to Korea, but mostly, I am enveloped by fear. Fear of the unknown and fear of choice. Stifling, suffocating fear. We're all so fortunate to have so many choices. Gone are the simpler days of growing up, settling down and laying to rest in the same place. The world that was once so big and mysterious is now much smaller as modern technology and media have made it easier to explore and traverse.

What to do with this gift? This gift of choice, freedom and possibility? So many have no choice, but I have far too many to keep my head on straight. So what to do until my head stops spinning from one grand prospect to the next? Just keep on writing... they will come.

marla and me

2009-09-07T14:34:00.003+09:00

This is Marla. You might have met her a few posts back. Few people have made me as happy as this here little sparkler. I miss her. A lot.

I find that this blog tends to spew a bit much on the loss of innocence, regret, nostalgia... but there's something indescribably beautiful and heartrending about our past. All of our pasts. Some of us have lived many many lives in many different forms in many different places. I suppose it is the great gift of life for us to choose our next life. And the great tragedy would be to find ourselves too complacent with the life we've chosen.

But is that the great tragedy? I look at someone like Marla, tiny as she may be, and see the value of simplicity. In that great, expansive land of Mongolia, in her tiny village, in her tiny house, in her tiny, squeaking plastic shoes, she's found the joy of life in a few verses of a song, in the fluttering of a butterfly's wings, in the scent of a purple wildflower. How can this sort of complacency be so terrible? Sadly, the more we experience, the less satisfied we become with the concept of simplicity. The more our eyes drink in the many colors of the world, the more our palates taste the spices from various lands, the more we dip our emotions into the ink jar of pain blackening so many nations, the more we feel a need to leave our nests and contribute to the history of another's timeline.

And so I go back and forth. Always wondering, questioning which is the right direction, which is the right path. What will it take to live a life joyfully? One's circumstance or one's outlook on circumstance? It's difficult to determine an answer.

All in all, one thing holds true. If we all lived like Marla, the world would be a better place.

korean lessons

2009-09-02T14:33:00.002+09:00

A few weeks ago, I had my summer school classes teach me about Korea in English. They could choose from Korean culture, Korean etiquette, Korean holidays, the Korean language or Korean folklore. Here are a few tidbits from this fun experiment...

On Korean meal etiquette, by Amy
I speak Korean mear etiquette. You muse not eat before an adult. You must meal not raise a rice bowl to eat. You must meal not make sounds while eatting.

On Korean etiquette, by HyunJae
1. When you eat food you must not make a noise.
2. During having a meal, you must not get up.
3. You must have a meal after old man eat any food.
4. You must get up after old man finish eating and get up.
5. In an apartment you can't raise a pet.
6. In public transportation you must not call loudly.
7. When you drink alcohol you must drink with two hands and look the other way.

On Korean holidays, by Beatrice
In Korea we celebrate 광복 day on Augest fifteenth. The Japaness colonialized Korea that day. Japanese emancipation Korea this day we call the 1945 Liberation day. Korean very want emancipation but Japaness duruing 1910~1945 they colonialization. Korea colonialization time very many people struggle Japan. This day many people meet family they go to country or they parents house. There they eat 떡국 and they have 차례. We play 욪놀이. It's very funny game.

A Korean folktale, translated by Jin
Once upon a time, there was palacein ocean. A king living in the palacein was very sick. So doctor said "This illness must treated by rabbit's liver." Then king said "Who want to go to the land?" Many fish didn't want that, but turtle which had brave wanted! Finally when turtle arrived at land, he saw rabbit. He said, "Do you come to our palace? Its beautiful palace and there are delicious foods. Rabbit was interested, so he decided to go there.
As the rabbit arrived at the palace, the king said "Give me your liver!!" The rabbit was frightened, so he had an idea. He said "I don't have my liver, rabbites always put own liver in home. Because liver is very important. Then the king allowed the rabbit to go back his home with the turtle.
As soon as the rabbit arrived at the land. He escaped. The turtle knew that he was deceived by the rabbit. Finally he bumped his head on the rock, and he died.

...oops, there goes gravity

2009-09-01T16:03:00.003+09:00

Back to reality. Funny how Korea has become my reality. I remember in the beginning, when it seemed that I was stuck in this crazy vortex of a city, wandering the streets wide-eyed and dazed. I got back last night at 6:30 PM, and came into work this morning by 7:00 AM. Surprisingly, I was overjoyed to see my students as well as my co-workers. I brought back boxes and boxes and boxes of the fat-free, low calorie, smart pop kettle corn, popcorn from Redenbacher's and they've been an absolute hit in the office. These 아줌마's are downing them like I was downing janx at the JOY wedding.

My time at home ended in a literal bang. It was just really great to see friends all gathered together for a celebration such as a wedding. I don't think anyone knows how to have more fun than my girlfriends in the states. How we end up always laughing and making the kinds of memories that we do, I'll never know, but we do! I was moved more than I thought I would be at the sight of my best friend floating down the aisle. She looked so unbelievably grown-up, I physically felt the distance between our life choices.

For two weeks, I was able to meet with friends and gather tidbits of information and catch glimpses of their current lives. Most have settled down... literally settled down into houses and mortgages. Amidst all of the "settlingness," I couldn't help but wonder how many of them were truly happy. Were they beyond any doubt satisfied with their choices? Were there any regrets? Any desire for the freedom before such mature commitments?

I worry for some of these friends and am elated for others. Wherever their hearts may lie, I sincerely hope that they find an inner happiness that will keep a smile on their faces even in the most difficult of times. A kind of joy that will be a consistent reminder to be thankful, gracious and loving through heartbreak, disappointment and malcontent. Cheers to joy.

time, mortgages and grown.uppen.ness

2009-08-27T07:46:00.002+09:00

Being back in the states has been a whirlwind of meetings, gatherings and food. The thing that's changed the most is how people have grown in the short span of a year. When I speak of growth, I mean making a commitment to spend the rest of one's life with another being. In two days, my friend that I've known since the seventh grade will be making this commitment. It's nothing short of crazy.

It seems I've nothing to contribute to conversations revolving around mortgages and babies. This can affect one in two obvious ways. One is the feeling of being left behind. Friends are moving forward, making grown up decisions and settling down. The second feeling is of gratefulness for precisely not settling down. For the freedom to move and do as I please, unburdened with the concern of another. Which then brings into question... do I want that kind of "burden?"

It's an endless cycle of questioning, pondering and never coming to a definite conclusion.

I do know though, that NoVa has been too quiet. I've been itching to get back to Seoul, where I feel as though I have my own life. Longing to get back to my students, church and the people that I'm just getting to know. In America, friendship seemed effortless and free flowing. In Korea, there's a more concerted effort in getting to know people and making time in a perpetually busy schedule to meet, support and encourage each other. Yet, it's precisely that challenge that has made the friendships there so rewarding.

If there's one thing that this trip back home has taught me, it's that I'm just not ready to grow up, and I'd rather take a peek into the box. Not yet ready to step inside the box. Not yet.

where's home?

2009-08-17T21:03:00.002+09:00

The moment I stepped onto the plane bound for LAX, I missed Korea. Strange to think I was headed home, missing home. The past year has been exceptionally good to me, and Seoul has been a major factor of that goodness.

It was surreal to see my street, the neighborhood, my house, my room... A welcome feeling of returning home, but still I long for my own place back in Korea.

Although I'm looking forward to the next two weeks of seeing old, friendly faces, eating good, hearty food and seeing familiar, fun places, I can't wait to be back in the city that has been a comforting home for the last twelve months.

But till then... let the fun commence!

a thousand words

2009-08-13T22:19:00.008+09:00

It's said that a picture is worth a thousand words. There seems to be something profoundly unique about capturing a moment on film, freezing time, standing still for just a second. In Mongolia, one of the most enjoyable times was when I let some of the kids play around with my camera. They went berserk, taking pictures of anything and everything. The concept of stopping the essence of time in a small device and viewing it again and again seemed to appeal to them immensely.

The most refreshing, revitalizing and remarkable aspect of the Mongolia trip was the purity and sincerity of the people we were so blessed to meet. The physical Mongolia in itself is breathtaking. The sky stretches limitlessly, the fields sprawl unapologetically, and the cows, goats and sheep meander languidly in the greens.

However, the beauty of the people, the generosity of their hearts, the simplicity of their lifestyle, the radiance of their smiles and the honesty of their spirits was unparalleled to the magnificence of the landscape. I was so touched by Dorcho the missionary, who left Ulaanbataar when God called him to the small village of Batshireet. He exemplifies strength of spirit and his quiet demeanor is most respectful. I wish I could share about all the people that taught me various lessons there, but that would really take quite a long time. If you want to know, you can ask.

There is one person, who I must discuss. A nine-year-old girl named Marla, the missionary's oldest daughter. Between the two of us, there was only a handful of words that we could communicate. Most of the time was spent laughing, giggling and singing three Mongolian VBS songs. She is quite possibly the most joyful little girl in the whole universe. Marla is a mirthful creature, her smiles never cease and she will join you in song at any moment, regardless of her off-pitch tone -- which makes her even cuter still. Every time I saw her smile, I could not believe God could create a being so sparklingly lovable. I was amazed by her cheeriness and was blessed by her innocence. Often, children remind you of how old you are, of how much you've grown since you were their age. Marla reminded me that I was still a child, free to break into silly songs and engage in sillier dancing at any moment.

I miss this girl with all my heart. She'll probably never even know the impact she's had on one cynical, twenty-something Korean-American with a ridiculous penchant for 냉면.

A picture may be worth a thousand words... but some memories are too priceless for any worth.

www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=297713&id=500280572&l=c259d991c9

green fields and nomads

2009-08-02T12:25:00.003+09:00

I'm off in a few hours.

The excitement that was nonexistent has literally built up in the last two hours. There also lies a slight feeling of anxiety, a feeling of inadequacy. Did we do enough? Did I do enough? Are we ready?

Pastor Sang spoke in the free gift of grace last week. Never is it in our own power, our will or even our own abilities. The grace believer receive is free, forgiving and sustaining. It is to this thought that I cling onto as we head to the land of rolling fields and sparsely scattered people. As God's workmanship, we are enough.

Today is the beginning of a busy, busy month -- far busier than I would prefer. But I am grateful for the opportunities afforded me this August. From going to Mongolia, to interacting with my students, to witnessing my best friend enter a lifelong partnership, to spending time with loved ones, my heart almost quite literally bursts with gratefulness. I know I am undeserving of these priveleges, and I only hope I can convert this thankfulness into something more useful, more beneficial to the people around me.

"and i think to myself... what a wonderful world." louis armstrong

basketball: part two

2009-07-31T12:55:00.006+09:00

Over the years, basketball has provided for me various opportunities to experience various roles. I've been the scum, cockroach of a team, the middle "man," the top dawg, as well as coach. These different roles have allowed me to appreciate the uniqueness of a unit. As scummy or as low as we feel, we all have something to offer in the larger scheme of things. And as important as we perceive ourselves, we must remember that we do not achieve great things on our own or through our own power. Looking back at all the teams I've been privileged to be a part of, each one has been a distinctive, memorable learning experience.

Usually, I find myself to be the only girl on the basketball court. I enjoy the relationships I develop with members of the opposite sex while playing basketball. However, as much as I love simply playing, I yearn for the camaraderie of gals on a team. The concept of "team" is so important in the sport. I feel a wave of nostalgia... I miss... grueling practices, team drills, sharing Ben-gay after a tough tournament, traveling together, laughing together, being coached, elation over new uniforms, excitement and anxiety before games, bus rides...

Playing in college for one of the top teams in the DIII South Region taught me a vital lesson in the concept of "team." Till then, I had been one of the top players of many underperforming teams. In college, I was the scrubbiest of scrubs. I was the player they stick in during the last 30 seconds of a game so that the starters can receive their well-deserved round of applause from the audience. Although I had been playing organized basketball for six years up to that point, being at the bottom of the barrel was a first. I realized as much as I couldn't contribute during game time, the scrubs really were needed to create the best team possible. I could feel a different kind of pressure during the practices to perform well, not for myself this time, but for the team. Every layup drill, every offensive and defensive set run through, every suicide run, I had to push myself to push the team. This was where I learned the true meaning of "a team is only as strong as its weakest link." Cliche!

One other basketball experience I'll share is the time I coached a church youth basketball team. This was a group of girls who had never played organized basketball before. Yet, the resiliency, the determination and also, the pure-hearted goodness of each girl was amazingly touching. I pushed them to the limit and each time they responded with perseverance and graciousness. This was a team that I was immensely proud of and from this group of girls I learned that true grit and good attitudes far exceed skill level when it comes to success.

As I try to adapt my basketball experiences into my everyday life, I can see just how each of us is needed to contribute to the diversity of human life. Perhaps some of us will never have an opportunity to be a leader, or others may constantly be put into that position, yet if we can trust in something bigger, we can use our circumstance to strengthen the whole. When we are called to be followers, we should follow with wisdom, encouragement and hope. When we are called to be leaders, we should lead with courage, honesty and discernment. It is just as difficult to be a good follower as it is to be a good leader. I've been on both sides, and will look forward to the next time I am called to be a part of a team... esprit de corps!

basketball: part one

2009-07-23T13:00:00.000+09:00

Very few people understand the intimate relationship I have with basketball. It's strange, I know, to put it in such a way, but my relationship with basketball has brought me both great joy and great pain, just as any relationship with another living, breathing being. In retrospect, the few people who have been supportive have to no end been the best encouragement I've ever had. My mother, who drove me to countless games, spending hours and hours, driving miles and miles. My sister who has always rooted for me all the years. My best friend who always understood that I would choose basketball over most everything else, yet still was there to welcome me with lemon-pepper chicken. A small group of brothers who I shared some of the best times of my life on the basketball courts till four in the morning. These people have been integral pillars in my basketball experience.

For a time being, I was made to feel ashamed for something I loved so much. Yet, the blame lies solely on me. Doubting and questioning myself ultimately made me feel less of a being simply for an unexplainable and undeniable desire I held within me. There is so much more to life, yet who can rationalize a passion?

During this period of uncertainty, my good friend DC assured me the "passion would return." I wrote off this shot of optimism as a useless placebo and felt I had lost a good friend forever. But God does not plant expendable passion.

It's funny, almost ironic in a way, that I am rediscovering my friend in the country my parents left. I've come across of group of people, random gentlemen, some young, some old, who have truly encouraged and spurred on my love for the sport. It's meeting people like them that helps me to remember that basketball has given me opportunities I would never otherwise have had.

For a long time now, I've struggled with the question "what are you passionate about?" I had discarded basketball because I felt ashamed. But running away from something that makes you happy is just running towards the wrong end of the tunnel. My friend Jae said, "I envy your passion for basketball... I wish I had something I loved that much." Hearing that, I realized... yeah, I am kinda lucky.

bullseye

2009-07-16T19:22:00.000+09:00

When the details of our lives begin to effect our well-being, we also find the need to re-prioritize our weekly activities and commitments. Lately, I've wondered where my priorities lie. With my hands in various vats of obligation, I feel as though I'm unable to fully commit to one thing or another. The main reason for this is because exactly how am I supposed to know what to shoot at first? What takes precedence over another thing?

So comes my decision to really sit down and iron out the fibers of my life, what keeps me going, what keeps me happy, what keeps me sane and in touch with the world. With this comes a semi-identity crisis. Am I a teacher first? A daughter first? A student first? A sister first? A friend first? A servant of church first? Am I me first?

Delving on these thoughts helped me to realize just how selfish I am. For certainly, my first and most important priority is to make myself happy. I cherish happiness and ferociously grab onto it like an alligator to its prey. To manipulate my situation so that I can be happy is usually my ultimate goal. May God strike me down now.

These days, the thing that makes me most happy is playing basketball. Summer nights spent under the lights, running up and down a court pumps the happy endorphins into my system. Ice cream makes me happy. My students make me happy. But there are certain obligations that must be kept to maintain a balanced life. Maybe the balance comes in happily accepting these obligations; facing the unwanted with a wanting attitude.

My priorities list has yet to be prioritized, and as I attempt to do so, I realize that it's just not in me to list them out and rank them on a scale. So skewed they may be, skewed they shall stay.

raindrops on roses

2009-07-14T23:59:00.002+09:00

"We been through every kind of rain there is. Little bitty stingin' rain... and big ol' fat rain. Rain that flew in sideways. And sometimes rain even seemed to come straight up from underneath." -Forrest Gump

It's monsoon season in Korea. At times, the rain really does seem to come straight up from underneath. The trick is to position your umbrella according to the kind of rain that happens to be falling at the moment. Admist the grayness, the plethora of umbrellas provide splashes of color to brighten even the grayest of days.

I often find myself taking the easy road in life. I try to avoid difficulty and manipulate my way past obstacles. This is a very bad pattern to follow. Times of trouble and hardship create character and strength of spirit. I wish I was braver, but I've got to work with what I've got. Recent conversations with some friends have shed new light on things in my life. I realize how edifying and encouraging words can be. How we have the ability, even so far as the responsibility, to empower our friends in any capacity.

Just as there are all sorts of rain, there are all sorts of advice. There's the kind that can sting a bit, slightly irritating because we know it's true. There's the kind of advice that can surprise us wholly, dismantling our neatly aligned beliefs. There's also the kind of advice that is refreshing, soothing and reassuring. The great thing about advice is that it's entirely up to you whether you choose to take it or not. Sometimes, we need to take the advice we're given and run with it.

Fold up your umbrella and run into the rain.

tis the season...

2009-07-08T15:16:00.003+09:00

photo courtesy of hannah johnson

I've an insatiable, uncontrollable desire for two things this summer: 냉면 and watermelon. It's literally out of hand as I find myself eating 냉면 at least five times a week and watermelon most nights. Just can't get enough.

This summer poses to be a busy one. School lets out on the 17th. I start teaching summer classes on the 20th for two weeks, followed by a week in Mongolia, another week of summer classes and then two weeks in the states. The fall semester commences the day I arrive back in Korea. I worry for time to breathe. I feel overwhelmed with all that's on my plate and fret that I am half-assing my way through this period of life. On top of that, I feel uninspired. The desire to creatively communicate has left me. This causes me to wonder about the brilliant minds who kept themselves in such pain for the sake of their art. Affliction, internal turmoil and misery truly can infuse great material for an artist. But I do not experience any kind of true misery. In spite of the load of work ahead of me, there is peacefulness and merriment in my life due to the observation of little things such as the chubby little legs of a toddler running alongside his mother, the coy smiles of couples walking hand in hand, the dew-heavy scent of a summer morning, the dance of colorful umbrellas on the sidewalks under a misty gray sky, the peals of laughter in the school hallways... If not for these things, would life be worth living?

On a side note. I've often been asked how I subsist at home. Do you cook? What do you eat at home? For any of you who were curious, here is the answer. Behold, the refrigerator of a single girl living in Korea with no talent for nor desire to learn domestic work: