Epilogue - Prologue

It's Friday afternoon. I am sitting in a living room in Minneapolis surrounded by fabrics and the sounds of Yoko Ono. There is a blue typewriter sitting on the table as I type away on the laptop. This morning's bus ride took me past fields of windmills and harvested corn. It also included the classic "your beautiful where r u from?" cell phone text pick-up attempt. My mother and I baked pies for Thanksgiving and my hometown visit included catching up with old friends and listening to their children say cute things like, "Do you like dead animals? I do," said while stroking a freshly plucked pheasant feather. And, "Do you wanna play dolls in my room? Look!" placing a wiggling Mermaid Barbie tail inches from my face. We made it rain sequins in the living room instead.



I have been looking forward to being here, back in the United States. My flight from Seoul to Tokyo went well, until I noticed that my next flight's boarding time was earlier than my current flight's arrival time. In missing the connection, I essentially re-enacted a scene from a John Candy/Steve Martin flick. The re-routed schedule took me through Chicago (where I was extremelly irritated by the 5 business calls happening around me in the tram from Terminal X to Terminal Y. Eventually, I realized that business calls had probably been happening around me quite frequently over the past year, I just couldn't understand them, so I got over my irritation), and I ended up in Boston 2 hours ahead of schedule. I subsequently ran into the woods of New Hampshire for nearly 2 weeks. That time was used to absorb the last month or so of my time in Korea. I called Korea a couple of times and lamented the lack of seaweed. Sheela and I took time to live slow. Hunting season had just begun, so international orange was the color scheme of choice.

After a mini-tour of New England to collect my things and say hello, I went to Philadelphia to touch down like a tornado and lifted off again for Minneapolis. One week here wasn't enough. I came back to catch a train to New Orleans. I'll attend the public library book sale, perhaps a Bloody Mary buffet, the Santa Run, and a Cover Band Show, I'll look at a room to move into...I'll get back to my old life. And then I'll leave. In 2 days.

The storage unit containing my father's life must be attended to. I will gladly do so, and I will gladly get to warmer weather, and I will gladly again be in the city of my birth. The real question is, how long will I stay? I am trusting that life will provide. Somehow a place to stay and work on the matter at hand will present itself, and things will work out. They always do.

Oh, the dilemma of where to plant roots (temporarily, at least). North? South? This moment has lasted quite a while. From the instant I left Gimcheon for Busan, I have been living out of my suitcase with no home to head to. It's not that bothersome to me, actually, but it is a bit difficult to explain to others. At first, "Home", meant the USA. Now that I'm here, there is another decision to be made.

Whiling the Time

Days 162-173

There is a consistent feeling of waking from one dream into another; one surreality into the next. On top of that, actual dreams are more vivid and memorable than ever. Why, just last night I held my favorite giant purple chicken, with glowing mink fur in lieu of feathers, on my lap in our old neighbor's climbing tree. We talked for hours while friends dressed as characters from Robin Hood gathered at a party hosted by my grandparents.

On my third day back to Korea, I am released from work after two hours. With my unexpected afternoon, a trip to the city seems in order.

Upon reaching the train station, I am nearly an hour early for the local train to Daegu. I buy my ticket and wait outside in the sun, watching a throng of older men take turns tossing four sticks, one side rounded, the other flat. Occasionally they argue, and pass around W1,000 bills. At one point the argument gets so heated that one man turns in a huff, takes his bike and walks away. After cajoling and jeering, he heads back to the circle to place his W1,000 bet once more.

The time to leave arrives and I become lost in thought on the way to Daegu. I vaguely recall a mental note on something about a sub-commentary to self on internal monologue. Something about experiencing life as a constant narration. Who knows? Whether I'm narrating to myself or to others, narration is happening, right? Within us all, right? What? OH. I'm in Daegu already. Time to meander.

These seem to be the days where one may say "...and she lived her life quietly and contentedly among the foreign world of which she was now a part," or some such drivel. The once healthy drive to write even a sentence for every day has diminished markedly. There are many possible reasons for this.

I have a renewed interest in NPR and pancakes. My Sunday home activity is: waking early to make pancakes and brown sugar simple syrup, and some coffee, while listening to NPR. My weekend away, well, that is something different altogether, but there seems to be a Westernized theme.

Saturday morning, I wake early to head for Daegu once again. This time with a purpose other than aimless wandering: Korean lessons with other foreigners at the YMCA. That's right. The YMCA has outreach even in Daegu, South Korea. 91 years of it, to be exact.

I struggle to pronounce 만나사 반가우ㅓ요 (mahn-ah-saw ban-ga-wuh-yo (i.e., nice to meet you)), while my classmate struggles to unwrap a triangle gimbap.



Afterward, I meet familiar Gumi-ites for a stroll around town with a stop at a virtual roller coaster and an introduction to a restaurant with genuine Western breakfast at 2pm and an un-sugared Bloody Mary.

Sunday, post-pancake, I go to Gumi, a nearby city, to deliver a keyboard and see a movie. The Watchmen,

"An adaptation of Alan Moore's landmark comic book series, Watchmen is a story set in an alternative 1985, where the world is ticking closer to the brink of nuclear war, and a plot to eliminate a band of ex-crimefighters is instigated, but why? and by whom?..."

turns out to be just under three hours long. An uncommon opportunity for Scrabble presents itself post-movie, and I spend two more hours in good company, involved in movie discussion, swapping jokes, and racking up a pretty high losing score at my favorite board game. Ween knew gnu knew no new pundits for pun times. Oh, Scrabble!

Day 174

Finally, the 백만 Won that the bank lost in transfer shows up in the right place. Whew! A sigh of relief for that one! A new week begins today.

one, two, skip a few...

Day 81

The 111 Bus stops in front of my apartment building. The 111 Bus goes to Jikjisa. I put two and two together and wait for the 111 Bus in front of my apartment building. When it stops, I ask..."Jikjisa?" "anneyo (no). haha! anneyo!" Is he serious? Why is he laughing. I don't understand. I just want to go to the damn park! Take a breath. It's not that bad. This has happened before.

In fact, the reason I believe that it is possible to go from my apartment directly to Jikji-sa, is because the ONE time I took the bus, I ended up going halfway out to Jikji-sa before the bus driver stopped and told me to get off. (See Special Edition Post)

I have a plan. I will go get the 111 Bus at a different stop. I don't know what the difference will be, but I will try it. It works. 20 minutes later, I am dropped off at Jikji Park. A short walk past resturaunts and green space filled with weird sculpture, I am in the peaceful temple grounds. The air is cold and fresh, wet snow crunches softly underfoot, the occasional cat crosses my path, and then there's the chainsaw. I'm not sure where, but it is present. A chainsaw.

After a couple hours, I make my way home. I upload photos to flickr. I say goodbye to my computer. I go to bed.

Day 82

What does one do on a day of rest? What is rest?

The battery has finally died on my Mac. I keep trying to plug it in and see if it will charge or if the computer will turn on again. Ever. My trusty Mac. It kind of survived a drop...a screen breaking drop early on in life. And it's been with me since the end of 2002. It's old. It's like an old dog. It was like an old dog. Now it's like a dead dog. A dead dog that contains information.

Angela left a laptop when she left Korea. She had purchased a new one to replace her old DELL Inspiron. The keyboard has a mind of it's own. CAPS LOCK goes on and off at will, generally staying on for numbers and punctuation...which eliminates numbers and proper punctuation. I'm shocked that it's working now, but maybe it has decided to be kind. In any case, I'm thankful to Angela and the keyboard right now. So thankful.

Day 83

one...

Day 84

two...

Day 85

skip a few...

Day 86

Attempt to sign up for pottery at Gimcheon Women's Center. Fail. Thwarted by complete rudeness. Am so frustrated, I struggle to hold back tears and one or two escape as I stand at the curb waiting for a taxi. Young Mi makes an attempt to comfort me, but she is also shocked at our reception. It was nearly their lunchtime, I tell myself. They don't want things to be difficult for the teacher, I tell myself. They don't know he knows I want to take the class. These things are true.

Must work now. I try to forget about the morning's setback and build up my energy to match that of 8 year olds. In comes a package! It's from my Grandmother! My heart is warmed. I decide to open it right away...and the gifts inside...even though it's not Christmas. I unwrap a quilted wall hanging made by her, and looking at the stitches, I am overwhelmed. I feel a knot form in my throat and my eyes well up. I frown and try not to cry again, but I can't help it. TWICE!!! Twice in 3 hours! I hate crying. This is ludicrous. I must pull myself together! I can and do so.

10 minutes later I am teaching. During class, the secretary interrupts to ask what she should do with a second, larger package I have received. CHRISTMAS! It is Christmas for me on December 12th.

Day 87

Morning train. Seoul station 11:30. A short wait and I am greeted by Myeong Hee, who happened to be coming to Seoul separately. I get lunch with her then leave to meet the friend of a friend I've exchanged a few texts and a phone call with.

The friend of a friend is great. He has two visitors aside from me and he's decided to be tour guide. Our first destination is not open, so we wander the crowded streets of seemingly endless Namdaemun Market. Knick-knacks, kitchen ware, pants, shoes, sweaters, slippers, ginseng products, candies, food stands, people, coats, repeat. Post Namdaemun, we wander some more and head to 'Seoul Int'l Photography Festival 2008' which is taking place in the former Seoul Station. Wallpaper crumbles, paint peels, concrete and pipes expose themselves next to crystal chandeliers and chamber ceilings with painted motifs. I love this place.

Hongdae follows, bringing a wild bus ride, a graffiti filled park, an atmospheric hookah lounge, and a (delightful) club (of sorts) that resembles a Dr. Seuss village minus all color aside from red and white. Santas on a bar crawl make their way in and add to the bizarre nature of the moment. Wandering, dancing, people watching, more dancing...we wrap up the night in a club that seems more like an 80's movie than real life. I really wouldn't have been that surprised if Emilio Esteves and Judd Nelson had shown up with Molly Ringwald between them.

Day 88

I part ways with my new acquaintances in the early afternoon, and after a day of not quite aimless wandering of the streets of Seoul, I catch a train home. I arrive, make some soup, and sit down to type.