The most recent book to become available on Libby was Human Acts: A Novel. I started reading it last night and finished it today. Though this was not a chapter in Korean history I was familiar with, I was overcome with nostalgia for my time spent there in 2001-2002.

Nostalgia washes over me. I remember experiencing illiteracy for the first time. I could read the hangul letters, and sound out words on signs, and had no idea what the meaning of said words were. Everything was new. Each day was an explosion of learning. How to order in a restaurant. How to pay the electric bill (at the post office?!?). How to navigate transportation systems. The kindness of strangers.

And the seoye classes. My job as an English teacher didn’t start until 3 pm. So every morning I took seoye classes with Mr Song. Me, and seven Korean grandfathers. Seoye, or Chinese calligraphy brush painting, was something one traditionally did in retirement. But I loved the beauty of writing and art, and asked if Mr Song would allow me to take classes with him each morning. He agreed, though he spoke minimal English, and I spoke minimal Korean. Each morning, for hours, we sat at our desks, brush held at a ninety degree angle to the paper, and practiced strokes. Mr Song would often come by and place his hand over mine, coaxing my hand into the correct position to make beautiful brush strokes. I would smile and offer an enthusiastic “Khamsa-hamnida!”

About a month into classes, the group decided that one day a month would be spent on a field trip to a cultural institution to expose me to more Korean heritage. Again, because of their limited English, and my limited Korean, I’m not sure that I understood the full depth of what they intended to impart. And I appreciated the great kindness they showed. Our first trip was “The Welcome Party.” They introduced me to black pig (delicious) and the correct way to pour and receive soju (dangerous).

They taught me the Korean song for the 2002 FIFA World Cup, “Oh Pilseung Korea.” We sang it through the month of the World Cup, waving the Taegeukgi flag and cheering for the national team that eventually landed fourth in the tournament.

Nostalgic, I found my bag of seoye materials in my craft room. I probably haven’t examined the materials in 20 years, yet they’ve made the move with me from apartment to condo, from San Francisco to Asheville. I took out my onion skinned practice papers. I marveled at how proficient I used to be.

I spread the felt cloth over my dining room table. I opened my ink stone and began to grind the onyx black ink. I twisted my brush into a fine point, and began my exercises. For hours, I awkwardly practiced strokes – numbers first, then common characters such as happiness, longevity, and strength. I’ve lost the natural flow of strokes. But I haven’t lost the overwhelming feelings of calm and peacefulness as I silently place ink to paper. I’m grateful.