Digital Camera, RIP.

Oh my darling little baby--you've been dying for some time now. I took you to Apsan yesterday to go hiking with Se Jin--the weather was perfect and we got a ride from her brother because he was worried about us (silly overprotective menfolk)--and you died. Perhaps you were intimidated by the beauty of the mountain. I'm sorry you're dead. I will cry until I buy a new one...

Hiking is amazing. Apsan (literally translated, "Front Mountain") had some respectable rock scrambling, even though it was a pretty short hike. I saw some pretty intense colors on the mountain and it made me sad for my camera's death. There were cats and strange birds and the usual exercise platforms on the way up the mountain. Many people were using them, which made me (and my exceptionally-tired-from-dancing-the-night-before legs) want to cry.

As usual, the 50 year old and up ajummas and ajosshis were whipping past the younger folks, myself included. I'm not sure whether it makes me hopeful because I can be healthier well into middle age or to cry because I'm pretty much the most in shape I've been in my adult life and yet, they are still more capable. America is an evil land of delicious food and too much convenience. Our wealth has made us lazy and fat, dammit. I love my country in many ways, but there are many things that other places just have better ideas about.

Se Jin is a great hiking companion, because her pace is pretty close to mine most of the time and we're ready for breaks at around the same time. Plus, she's just a really fun person. We talked about all kinds of great stuff and she taught me more Korean, like the gerund forms ("ing" in English).

After stumbling down the mountain, we caught a bus that went straight to downtown and got yummy Indian food. It was a lovely day, but I was pretty exhausted by the time I got home. A few minutes with Marquez and I passed out on the couch.

I was woken by the cold and crawled under the blankets for a very lovely sleep. My ondol heating (the floor gas heating) only sort of works since Mr. Yu had it worked on, so my apartment is still very cold. It makes it hard to be motivated to do things around the apartment at night. But that's ok.

And in other good news, I've overcome my weight loss plateau and am back on track towards my goal. I'm officially 10 kilos down since I arrived in Korea. Yay!

I needed that.

Yesterday was fantastic.

I headed downtown for class feeling less than stellar because I hadn't slept too well the night before. However, as usual class was lots of fun, so I was feeling much more chipper when three gals and I headed out to find a new restaurant for lunch. We fell upon the mecca of cute--a little coffee shop that served a very tasty cheese ddokboki for less than $4 and was, apparently, THE hot spot for high school students on first dates. It was rather silly.

Then I set off with Tracey on my mission to find a stylish winter coat. You see, I brought my ski coat, which has been fine for warmth, but when I go out in it, I feel dumpy and uncool. I miss my red coat, but it had outlived its time. Tracey was kind in showing me around to some of the cute, trendy downtown shops that weren't too expensive. I saw quite a few things I liked--a sweatshirt that said "New Yorker, Garden State" in a green shade, for example--but the trouble is that I am not built like a Korean woman. Or even close to it. Thanks to the 80s trend here, many of the styles were floaty around the hips so they fit my curves, but I still have shoulders and boobs. Apparently women aren't supposed to have either, you see. So nothing fit. I even went to the department stores where things were majorly overpriced.

I was just about to give up, when I wandered into a store next to Kyobo bookstore and saw a minuscule section labeled "Big Size." I found a cute black coat in what would be a US size medium that fits well and makes me feel much happier wandering around downtown. I decided to reward my good shopping day with a caramel macchiato from the Kyobo Starbucks and reading a bit of my next book for the bookclub (I'm already in love with Marquez).

But, when I got there, I happily ran into two students in the advanced class, a teacher named Trey from Atlanta and a Japanese student named Yumiko. Trey has been here awhile and was introducing Yumiko to a Japanese friend of his, Yoshi, who's been a professor here for about 6 years. It turned out that Yumiko and Yoshi are from the same small region in Japan, so they were having a blast chatting in Japanese with their local accents. I had a fine conversation with Trey in the meantime; he may even join the book club!

Trey had another engagement, so I went to dinner at The Holy Grill with Yumiko and Yoshi, both of whom speak near to fluent English and Korean, so we had a lot of fun. The Skins game was on the TV, which was a little surreal. The food was great (again). I tried their chocolate cheesecake; it was heavenly. We had a good time talking and Yumiko agreed to meet up with David from the beginner class later that night (this took some convincing because she lives in a dorm with a curfew). And apparently Yoshi's a popular guy around the expat community because he seemed to know everyone, including the owner of The Holy Grill, so I chatted with a bunch of different people over the evening.

The it was off to find David and the birthday party, but first stopping by to see Yumiko's boyfriend, a Korean student studying Japanese who works part time for one of the handphone companies. We got lost a couple times because her sense of direction is worse than mine, but we met him and the conversation turned Korean because while he speaks Japanese and they speak English, Korean was the only language we all could sort of understand each other in... Oh my!

At Thunderbird's for the birthday party, I met some awesome people, including another girl from Maryland, and ran into a bunch of people I'd met before in various circumstances. Then we got the strong urge to dance, so it was off to Club Frog, or as I like to call it, the place you're likely to get pregnant without removing any clothing. I danced my little heart out. And then Yumiko's boyfriend got tired, so they left and Frog was giving me a headache so Yoshi and I headed to Bubble. Bubble had a lot more room to dance, so I broke out my inner PG county and lost 3 kgs in sweat alone. This was confirmed on the scale this morning. I was impressed with Yoshi's ability to keep up with my dancing (I don't meet many men who can do that, so I usually tone it down to make them feel better...).

We bid adieu at 3 am.

As he put it, sometimes you've just gotta dance it all out.

Dance it all out, everybody.

Why Diana's love life is so ridiculous (Part 3)

I can't do it. I can't blog about Tom #3 (or as my father lovingly calls him "Tom the Turd"). Not in the way I want to. Sigh. One day... I swear.

Onward, then. It's terrible to call the next guy a rebound, because Ric's an awesome person who is still a friend and the only ex who I know for a fact reads this thing on a semi-regular basis. Unfortunately, upon much reflection, that is what I believe he was for me--an eight month breather to get my head on straight.

After I ended things with Tom #3, I was heartbroken in a way I've only just now begun to recognize. However, that time was also the shortest I've ever been single between serious relationships in my entire life. I lasted all of a week and a half. I'm not exactly proud of it. What can I say? It was my extra senior year of college (after the mono junior year I needed another semester, which I turned into a year so I could be a resident assistant, take theater and writing classes, and, originally, finish the math part of my degree and spend more time with Tom #3 who was a year behind me...). I was needy.

The circumstances of our getting together are bizarre, even without the rebound melodrama. We had been in a community theater production together when I spent that summer on campus. He wasn't a college student anymore (at the time he was in customer service). I knew he liked me (even before I broke up with Tom #3, though his amorous pursuit had become more intense in the week since I announced my status as single).

We had spent one Saturday afternoon together, and he continued to entertain me as I went "on duty" in my residence hall. We were flirting and talking and watching movies when a junior girl came into the office.

"Are you a cool RA?" she asks. I'm not, but the way she says it lets me know that it would be in the best interest of serving my duties to let her think I was.

"What's the problem?" I say, trying to sound my "coolest."

"There's a girl outside who's a little drunk. She just needs to come in and go to sleep, but she's afraid you'll write her up."

Ugh. Drunk shenanigans again. "Don't worry; I'd rather she's safe. Tell her to come inside."

"Cool."

I want to go back in time and kill this bitch. Twenty seconds later she and two other friends carry a freshman girl inside who is so far gone on alcohol poisoning that she is unconscious, barely breathing, and pukes all over them in the entrance hall. They drop her into a pile of her own vomit (literally) and run, because she was pledging the organization they were in charge of and they didn't want to get in trouble. I call 911 and the campus police while a good friend of mine who happened to be hanging around the dorm even though she lived somewhere else, holds the girl's head in a position where she can't choke on her own vomit.

I spent the next three hours dealing with the incident (and other related ones). It really shook me up bad, because if this girl hadn't started puking when she did, causing them to drop her, they would have left her in her bed, possibly to die. By the time I remembered Ric, I assumed he'd be gone.

Nope.

He had been the one to break out the mop and clean the front entrance of the dormitory (we don't have a night cleanup crew at the dorms on weekends at my small college). And he held my hand after it was all over. I needed someone to hold me.

And of course, it turned more romantic over the next few weeks...

Ric was the only guy I've dated seriously who shared my arts--writing and theater. This made things pretty intense at times. And a little competitive. I think some of the best things I've written came from this time in my life. For that, I will always be grateful.

Ric's a really nice guy. A really nice, normal guy who wants, more than anything else in the world, to be melodramatic and fucked up. It would never have worked in a million years. Because I'm the precise opposite--a really fucked up and melodramatic person who wants more than anything in the whole world to be normal. He wants to be the hero and rescue someone, but he doesn't have the ambition most of the time to actually do it. He gets bored easily, but his idea of a date is to watch movies or play video games with no other interaction. And sometimes he drinks too much and brags about it or he gets angry and punches holes in walls so he can show the scars and holes off later. I was more disturbed by his exhibitionist compulsion to show off the one or two bad habits he had than I ever was by those bad habits.

In the end, he dumped me. Thankfully. I was horrible to him those last few weeks because I had finally figured out that I wasn't in love with him. We're so much better off as friends. He still pisses me off sometimes (like when he recounts nuances of our early romantic relationship details--the kind of sweet stories you tell about your current beau--at a party with mutual friends and another more recent ex of his sitting right there, more than three years after we've broken up), but I love him and I hope he finds whatever it is that he is seeking.

And though your name ain't really Ric, I'll send this little message out to you: I know you read this thing, I'll apologize now if my recounting of this tale pisses you off. You know I haven't said anything here I wouldn't say to your face--and I've left a lot of things out about us and about you that I cherish and things that I abhor in my memories, but they are ours alone, forever. Call me anytime.

Hell, when I really think about it, that message applies to all my exes and all my friends and family. Some more than others. Such is the nature of memoir writing (which is as good a genre as any for this blog). Honesty in writing is such a relative term. Can I ever give true words to the experiences that transcend them?

We're back!

When I got home last night, the thermometer said I was over 100. This morning, I'm fine. In between there was a lot of moaning and sweating and wishing for miracles and angry cats because I forgot to feed her until I got up again at 2 am... Remind me not to blog while sick again, please. It's pretty bad.

So that's the bad news. The wonderful news is that at taekwondo today, Sa Beom Nim gave us our belt tests and kindly (against all ordinary tradition) told us we passed and that we'll get our new belts on Monday! Rocking! I was, quite frankly, a little sick of pink.

Speaking of pink, though, I've almost finished Sex and the City by Candace Bushnell--the book that started the the amazing TV series and will soon have a movie come out. It's very interesting to see the creative process at work, especially given the recent Writer's Guild of America strikes. Bushnell is a fantastic, lively essayist with an ear for dialogue and a knack for being at all the right parties in New York during the 90s to get some bizarre and awesome material. I've been really enjoying reading her work and the glimpse into the very tiny Manhattan subculture of those possessing the privileges (and burdens/responsibilities, although most of them recklessly choose to ignore this side of things) of power, beauty, and wealth.

But the tv writers turned it into a heartwarming show about female friendship that relates to way more than just the ego-maniacal, self-centered, sex-crazed New York "elite." The show's appeal to the masses has less to do with its New York setting and loose morals and more to do with the evolving and powerful friendships between the four main characters as they look for love in a city that is decidedly "too cool" for romance. That takes some skill. And sounds like a dream job to me, still.

I need to get serious on the sending out my writing thing. It's like... the worst thing that will happen is that it gets rejected and remains unpublished, which is what's happening now anyways!

Ugh.

I'm at work right now and so sick I feel like I've been run over by a truck. Or five. Sick enough I'm using such god awful cliches.

I think it was the sushi for lunch. I had yummy sushi, but I must have got the bad piece. I hope, like most food problems, it is resolved in the morning with only minimal damage. I missed TKD today. It was very sad.

Then again, I have been awful tired lately. Maybe it's been coming on for a couple weeks.

Linsey was very concerned when she saw me flopped over in my chair at the last break. Samson and Simon offered to take me home but I only have one class left, and even though Calvin's in it, he's pretty cowed today 'cause Jenny caught him cheating on her test. They probably won't have done their homework (god I'm such a bad teacher for hoping this is the case), so I think I can manage five minutes of play acting fury and disappointment followed by silent exercises. Many, many silent exercises.

I started this entry to keep my brain functioning, update you with details of my life you have no need or desire to know, and satiate your obsessive need to know my inner thoughts (ha ha). It has served its purpose. Please forgive any writing abhorrences.

I'm sure I can convince Samson to drive me home. Then it's sleep time.

We return you to your regularly scheduled program.

I'm just not up to the task of blogging about the next relationship today. He may be the only one I've ever really loved. Breaking up with Tom #3 was, hands down, the hardest thing I ever had to do. It was not made easier when his best friend told me, a week later, that he had actually bought the ring; although breaking up with him was the right thing to do, I am still afraid I would not have had the heart to say no.

I'm going to a book seminar for the Oxford Book ESL teaching series that makes ESL versions of classic tales. It's at the same time that I am supposed to go to taekwondo. It will be the first time I've missed TKD since I started, and that's included a time with a pretty serious cold. I'm kinda proud of not missing a day, so it's doubly disappointing. On the plus side, I was able to explain to Sa Beom Nim when and why we wouldn't be there using the future tense and he complimented my Korean--which was kind of him. Maybe if I'm really good, I'll go jogging tomorrow morning. It's been awhile since I've tried, and I think I'm in better shape now, so maybe I'll do it just to see if I am.

Today Sa Beom Nim broke out the mitts again for the first time since I pulled something a week and a half ago while practicing side kicks. I love the mitts. It gives me the chance to make contact with my kicks with minimal possibility of injuring someone else. I'm still more afraid of hurting someone else than being hurt, which I need to get over if I'm gonna spar with people. The satisfying smack of the mitt when I kick it gives me a little rush.

I think we're being prepped for belt testing. Sa Beom Nim had Samantha and I each run through the highest pomsae we've each learned by ourselves and talking to us after. The third pomsae form is a bit more challenging than the first two (I feel) because it adds another stance, back stance. I can feel myself improving with speed and power from two months ago. He criticized my heavy landings again. I still am landing too hard on my feet, directing power into the floor instead of into my kicks and punches. I need to work on that.

I saw an ad for a new yoga studio in my neighborhood. I'm curious. Maybe one of the Korean teachers could help me find it. I love TKD and totally intend to keep it up, but I miss the serenity and meditation of yoga. It's hard to force myself to do it alone in my apartment (although I still do sometimes)--I'm still trying to make sure I do my strength training two or three days a week.

Hopefully today's long breaks will allow me to finish the newsletter at Oedae. It would be silly if the "fall" letter came out in winter... oops! I miss Gwen.

Why Diana's love life is so ridiculous (Part 2)

Jeff came next. At a week or so under two and a half years, He remains my longest relationship to date (probably because most of it was long distance--we went to different colleges, although who knows?). Jeff was (and still is) a great guy.

He went to the same high school as I did, although he was two years ahead of me. He was tall and thin with curly black hair (yes, I have a physical type... I get over it in later relationships...). We always had a playfully flirtatious friendship based on a bizarre shared sense of humor. He would yell, "Smurf!" at me when he saw me walking down the hall, and I would look around in amazement, asking, "Where? Where?" He loved to make puns, and I would gamely roll my eyes at them. When he went off to school in Philly, we kept in touch through e-mail and a linux chat program run by my crazy techie dork friends at Blair called "ytalk".

Over Thanksgiving break of my senior year (his sophomore year of college), we got together to go hang around the Rodin art exhibit at the downtown DC galleries. I saw the first original plaster version of The Thinker, which is much smaller than you'd expect it to be, and flirted mercilessly. By the time he returned for winter break, we were a couple.

Although a large percentage of this relationship was conducted through instant message and telephone, out of necessity, we saw each other on breaks and taking Amtrack trips every couple months. Jeff did tai chi and majored in Astrophysics. He had a habit of trying to correct all of my bad habits, like my tendency to apologize for things that aren't my fault (which I kind of appreciate now) to the awkward, heavy way I walked when I was overweight (which I still don't). Jeff encouraged my punning ways and introduced me to writer Spider Robinson. I learned how to be a girlfriend mostly from Jeff.

My adjustment to my first year of college was torn emotionally because of my continued commitment to Jeff. By the time I became fully enmeshed in my St. Mary's life during my second year of school, got over a long term depression, and lost a lot of weight, we were growing apart. Jeff was applying to law schools, a radical departure from the astrophysics he had been studying. I was switching from a focus on theater to a love for English. I turned vegetarian and started doing yoga.

I became concerned about my place in his life. I began to suspect that rather than love me, Jeff loved the idea of having a smart, pretty girlfriend. Whenever he realized how intelligent I was (like when I started taking Linear Algebra class "for fun"), he would get nervous--like it was ok for me to be smart, but not ok for me to be smarter than him.

And I met another Tom.

This Tom was not my physical type at all, except in height, but he was funny as all hell and sweet beyond belief. We became good friends, but I found myself thinking about Tom often.

I was smart enough to realize that my feelings for Jeff were not as strong as they once were well before anything with Tom came to fruition. I was not content to fill a role. I wanted to be loved for who I was (still do). I took a job on campus for the summer studying Optics with my Physics professor and went up to Philly for the last time to say goodbye to Jeff just as the year was ending. There was a lot of crying and cuddling and talking. But then, it was over.

The shock of ending a relationship that had lasted so long took awhile to get over--but my crush on Tom grew and he did become my next boyfriend...

Jeff and I have stayed in touch on and off over the years. I wish sometimes our friendship was still strong. I always think of Jeff as my most normal (psychologically... I'm only really attracted to quirky, strange people) ex-boyfriend. I was even going to visit him (he's a practicing lawyer still in Philly now) before my departure to South Korea.

But then he dropped a bomb on me one day this summer. He confessed that he had a very serious addiction that he is now in treatment for, and while he has not gotten to the apologizing stage of his treatment (you know the whole 12 steps thing?), he told me it impacted the years we were dating a lot.

So much for normalcy.

I've thought a lot about it, since he told me. About how someone with that pathology as my norm-reference for relationships could explain some of my own unhealthy relationship behavior since then. About how much courage it took him to tell me that, so many years later. About how fucked up I was (psychologically) during the time I was dating him, although both of us were fully aware of my depression and the issues I was working through at that time because I'm that kind of pathetically open person, and how his being there for me might have been a way for him to avoid dealing with his own problems. About what might have happened if I hadn't broken up with him (I don't know that he would have broken up with me...). About what our relationship would have been like if we'd spent more of it in each other's presence instead of in different cities...

Maybe when we have a relationship like that, we forever leave a little piece of ourselves with the person and forever carry a little piece of them with us. Maybe it's arrogance to assume that healing after a break up means we are "over" the person who was such an important part of our lives for so long. I spend a lot of time and energy trying to prove how "over" my exes I am--for what reason? My life after each relationship will never be the same as it was before that relationship. Why not acknowledge and embrace the interdependence of humans in this world?

Because, quite frankly, the thought of being with some of my exes reviles my inner being. I don't have many "what was I thinking?" moments, so much as, "why the hell didn't I see that then?" moments. But to be honest, I couldn't have seen it at the time. For whatever reason, that time in my life had a blind spot that has since been illuminated...

More thoughts to come.

Why Diana's love life is so ridiculous (Part 1)

One week from today, I celebrate the one year anniversary of my relationship with myself. That's my suave, clever way of saying I've been sans boyfriend--single--for a year. So in this week's blogs, I'll be sharing some misadventures in dating for your entertainment and my complete humiliation.

You see, although I tend to have fairly stable (Sam says "boring") relationships, the endings of these things tend to be spectacularly melodramatic. Not because anyone's heart is broken or we slash each others' tires or anything, but because apparently dating me was the last holdout of sanity for most of my exes. Meaning that, shortly after breaking up, most of my exes seem to have gone batshit crazy off the deep end. The level of insanity varies, as do the specific DSM IV diagnosis for each ex, but this pattern seems to hold true for far too many of them.

Although maybe from their perspective, I'm the one gone loony by relocating to the bizarre land of South Korea... But I'll share some of the stories and you can decide for yourself.

Be warned that some of the names of the gentlemen involved may be changed, lest we tarnish their reputations. Poor lads.

My first real boyfriend was the first in a long (ok, three) series of boys named Tom (spelled in various ways). I was 15. I thought I was kind of pathetic being 15, pretty cute, heavily involved in theater, and still never having been kissed. Then there was this cute, funny actor with black, curly hair. I have a thing for guys with black, curly hair... He paid attention to me, so of course I wrote poems about being in love with him (I wasn't... but I was fifteen and a would-be poet).

Then one late night backstage after Chinese food, set construction, and flirting incessantly, he kissed me. I was on Cloud 9. High school was so easy, in retrospect. You kissed someone and then he was your boyfriend. He gave you a rose or two when the show opened or closed and you tried to manufacture times when you could be alone.

Tom #1 thought the poem of Shakespeare's that begins "My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun..." was the most romantic thing ever. I knew that was obnoxious, but I smiled and nodded and looked forward to never having my looks praised. But I guess I was wrong. During one of those stolen moments of fumbling, awkward makeout sessions, I had stopped him from going any further, and he turned to me and said, "God, you're so hot. If I was any other guy, you'd so be raped right now."

Um... the fuck??? Although 15 year old, unconfident me didn't say anything to this jackass comment, even then I knew it was full of shit. I'm supposed to be grateful to you for not forcing me? What strange world do you live in, dude, that this is a compliment?

Oh yeah. The one where you are secretly in love with your best friend, Ben. Now, I don't know if this particular fellow has come out of the closet yet, but I'm pretty damn sure he will. The signs were all there. I just pray it's before he gets married to a woman and has children...

And eventually, he made out with my friend Susan (who didn't know we were dating at the time) at a New Year's Party in front of all our mutual friends (who did know...) while we were still technically "going out," thus ending this charming first attempt at love.

After him was the Thom who stalked me with all the roses. I recently got back in touch with him to find out that he's much better looking than he was in high school, finishing his Ph.D., running a photography business, and married. I wonder if he's still a psycho. I hope not... Especially because he told me his wife is pregnant.

My god... they're breeding.

After the stalker, I took the longest break from relationships I've ever had since that first kiss (although who knows when this current stretch will end). Partly it was because I was madly in love with my best male friend and partly because I was experiencing the most serious depression of my life during my junior year of high school.

These first two romantic forays were not serious, though of course they felt that way at the time. I came out of it all pretty unscathed...except for the unhealthy pattern of forgiving too much and accepting too much shit from guys in exchange for affection. Sometimes I wish I could go back to the younger parts of myself and shake some confidence into them.

But then I wouldn't appreciate how awesome self confidence is. And let me assure you, it is awesome.

An awesome day...

I slept without waking to an alarm clock during reasonable hours for the first time in quite a few weeks. It began my day well.

I was supposed to meet a girl downtown for lunch who I had met in at the T-bird's Halloween shindig. She agreed to meet, but never responded to my last text where I suggested meeting at Kyobo at 1:30, so I wasn't sure if she'd be there. I called her a couple times (she didn't answer) and hung around the bookstore for a bit, willing myself not to buy anything because I just sent all my money back to the US to pay bills and I have tons of unread books in my apartment. I was just about to leave and go grab lunch when a cute, Korean guy approached me.

"Hello, where are you from?"

"Hello. I'm from America."

"I am a student from Kyungbuk University, and since you are a native speaker, I was hoping I could practice my English with you."

Well, I'm thinking, at least he's up front about using me for English practice. I agree to speak with him (although normally I prefer to practice my Korean with random Koreans I've just met). While he's cute, I'm not feeling much of a connecting vibe--being used for my English and all--so I tell him I haven't had lunch and need to go eat.

"Do you mind if we ate together and could continue our conversation?" He grins sheepishly. He has a very cute grin. I'm a sucker for these things.

He doesn't like Indian food (which is what I was craving), so I suggest Japanese instead. He's from Daegu and says he knows a place to get great Japanese. Walking around downtown he says his English (confirmation--he's Catholic) name is Simon. We're getting along pretty well at this point, so I'm thinking it's cool and then...

We end up at the food court of Dong-A department store.

Now, I'm a pretty laid back gal when it comes to where and what to eat if I'm hanging out with my new cute Korean pal who is openly using me for language practice, but even I know better places to get less pricey sushi in town and I've not even been here three months.

But the food ended up being decent with a moderately sized plate for about $5, so I was relaxing and thinking things were cool again. But then the check comes and he not only fails to offer to pay, but doesn't give me the change from my $10 (man won) bill! Ugh.

He offers me Baskin Robbins as a present for helping him practice language and I want to ask him for my change instead, but I hadn't had good ice cream in such a long time. I'm a sucker for almond mocha fudge...

It's my own fault really for volunteering to be a language whore, but I still think it's just bad manners to steal someone's change unless they're offering to pay for you!

After being stood up, or something, and spending too much on food that wasn't Indian, I thought I'd cheer myself up with a Starbucks Caramel Macchiato and reading the rest of Siddhartha before meeting my book discussion book. Good decision. Very good decision. So good, in fact, that I got two. And went back to Kyobo to treat myself to Candace Bushnell's Sex in the City, the collection of columns about New York life upon which the tv show is based.

***

Later I meandered over to Italy Italy to meet up with the book group. I knew Meg from Korean class at the YMCA, but I'd only met Mike once before when he was drunk and hadn't met Nick or Tim before. However, this turned a strange but eventful day into a really great and memorable one as we started discussing the search for meaning in Siddhartha's life and comparing it to our own choice to live abroad. We had some really amazing intellectual conversation, the first bottle of red wine I've had in about three months, and awesome make-your-own pasta. I'd forgotten how much I thrive on discussions of spiritual debate. I have a lot from that meeting I'll be chewing over in my mind for the next few days or longer. Once I have some sorted out, I may post here about it. Or not. We'll see...

Our next book is (at my suggestion) One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel Garcia Marquez. I'm quite excited. I've not read Marquez before, but given my love for magical realism, interest in Hispanic literature/culture, and the high recommendations this book has gotten from people I know whose tastes I respect, it should be a fine choice.

The best part of today, I realized on the subway right home, is how normal everything felt. I keep thinking I have to have big, exciting adventures to make my life abroad more interesting, but when it comes down to it, it's the simple everyday connections and the openness to possibilities of all kinds that makes life exciting. And fulfilling.

It's almost like coming here has turned the mundane exotic--and that's a pretty awesome feeling.

Why?

Why is every single older man in Korea so desperately concerned about my lack of boyfriend? Seriously, from taxicab drivers to the retired school teachers I met on the subway today, everyone acts like it's the biggest problem in the world that I am single. Not that I'd mind meeting someone cool, but I'm really enjoying being on my own at the moment. It seems like that's just not allowed over here.

So strange.

Friday was pepero day (well, technically it's 11/11, since pepero candy is long and thin) and the secretary brought in this awesome homemade pumpkin rice cake thing, so I ate a lot of food that was free. It's nice to be appreciated. I think I've gotten more presents in my three months of teaching than I did in my three years stateside. Sure, I had a few students who were appreciative of my efforts over there, they just REALLY know how to treat teachers here.

But I think it's more than that. The hospitality and kindness of Korean people seems bottomless. While Americans are a more outwardly friendly lot, I have been shocked by the generosity of many people I've met here. It's odd because strangers (like on the subway and the street) are more rude than they are back home--no greetings, mostly just shoving and glares with the occasional spitting right in front of you--but the people I have any kind of relationship with--my landlord, Sa Beom Nim, the students' parents, other Korean teachers, friends I meet--go out of their way to help me enjoy my experience here. I can never hope to repay any of them, even if I am here for years. I try... but it's overwhelming.

I am so lucky sometimes. I live a pretty blessed existence.