Brain Breath

The posters are everywhere. Plastered to doors, in hallways, on poles in the street. A serene, smiling Korean man, eyes closed. But his face is distorted, like a spoon’s reflection. Very, very wide. Adding to the distortion is his minute bodyand his tiny hands.

As we were leaving my apartment, I pointed at the one taped to my door and poked Sang Jae.

Hey, what is this for?

“Brain breath.”

Excuse me? I thought for sure I must have heard wrong.

“Brain breath.”

No, I had not heard wrong. What is brain breath?

“You know.”

No, I don’t.

“Brain breath.”

I heard you, I just don’t know what it means.

“Breathing for brain. Relaxing. What’s that word? Think good thoughts.”

Meditation?

“Yes. That’s it. Brain breath.”

Through The Looking Glass

It threatened to rain all day. The skies were a hazy gray. Drops would start, then stop. Late afternoon I decided I didn’t care if it rained or not – I needed to get out of the house.

I donned my hiking gear and started out. I’ve seen people disappear into a hedge not far from my house. It seems like there is a mountain there, maybe there are trails as well. I, too, slipped in between the hedge. A soft carpet of fallen pine needles greeted me. Even though I was mere feet from the busy street, I felt as though I had stepped into another world. I looked around. There didn’t appear to be any formal path. I walked around. I saw a steep ascent, with a rope strung beside it. I guess that’s the path.

I started up. I grabbed the rope. The few trickles from the sky had made the somewhat rocky, somewhat muddy path slippery. I continued with care. I was the only person in sight, yet I wasn’t alone. The chatter of the insects, birds, and critters was almost deafening. I swatted at the gnats and mosquitoes that attacked my damp face. I waved my arms, trying to dislodge myself from invisible spider webs I continuously encountered. About 20 minutes into my journey, I noticed a clearing to the right. Between swats, I saw a perfectly manicured garden. Rows upon rows of corn, beans, squash. What a strange place for a garden. Who would make the effort to climb this mountain, with tools, to tend a garden? Obviously someone, as the vines and stalks were flourishing.

I continued upward, still not another human in sight. The path became narrower. The rain became harder. It didn’t matter. The canopy of trees sheltered me from most of the drops and I welcomed the ones that got through, hoping they would cool my hot skin. As I grabbed hold of a tree and hoisted myself over a steep incline, I noticed a weight bench to my right. What a strange place for exercise equipment. Who would climb for a good 40 minutes, then rest upon a dilapidated bench, to lift weights? Odd.

The path finally leveled out. I more or less skipped along, enjoying the sounds of the forest. The sudden movements of animals unseen. My thighs burned from the upward trek. I took long strides, stretching my hamstrings with each wider and wider step I took. I noticed a glimmer to my left. I walked closer; it appeared to be a sign. I walked around it. No, it wasn’t a sign. It was a whiteboard. On top of a mountain. What a strange place for a whiteboard. At this point I spun around. This just didn’t make sense. Was this really happening? What were these strange things? To my surprise, no one was following me, preparing to laugh at my bewilderment. The items didn’t seem to have been planted. They really did belong there. In some strange way or another. I felt like I was in a Lewis Carroll story.

The trees became thicker, the atmosphere darker. To the right, to the left, were many graves, marked only by the mounds of dirt that remind me, for some inexplicable reason, of Hostess Snowball cupcakes.

I continued. The terrain took an upward turn. Up, up, up. Burn, burn, burn. Swat, swat, swat. More insects swarmed around me. I darted through a group of dancing dragonflies. Something else sparkled in the distance. I walked hesitantly. I still had not seen another human. All of the sudden I was upon a large clearing, filled with weight benches, mirrors, hula hoops, jump ropes – basically, an outdoor gym. Clocks were tied to the trees. I wandered in and out of the equipment, musing that if this were the States, there would be no equipment. Everything would have been gone the first night it had been left out.

The path started downward. I met an elderly man. Then a stout woman. Then a young couple. The path divided. I noticed there were quite a few cheap, plastic, dimestore clocks tied to trees. I had an odd sense that I didn’t quite know where I was.

I reached the end of the path. I peeked out through the hedge. I didn’t recognize the street or any of the buildings. I turned around and started to retrace my steps. I walked along the familiar path, coming to the outdoor gym, the tombs, the whiteboard. Somewhere after the whiteboard, I must have taken a wrong turn. I heard loud voices in the distance – people yelling? I continued. I came upon a larger garden than the one I first spied. The path seemed to lead me right into the center of the garden. I followed. The voices became louder. Drills? Protests? I was concentrating so hard on not slipping on the narrow, muddy descent that I didn’t notice where I was going. The path suddenly ended and I was at a opening in a wall. I bent down, ducked under, stood up. And froze.

I recognized where I was. The Daegu Metropolitan Police Agency. More specifically the Daegu Metropolitan Police Agency training grounds. Men were repelling down the side of the building. Men in formation were doing whatever men in formation do. Supervisors were supervising. I thought for a moment. Hm. This is a rather precarious situation. But I’m really not doing anything wrong. I just happen to be here. Where I probably shouldn’t be.

I began walking along the wall. I could tell I had attracted attention. Men were pointing. Someone was yelling in a bullhorn. Maybe to me, maybe not. I couldn’t understand the words. I briefly glanced up, mustered the most innocent look musterable, smiled the sweetest smile smileable. Then glanced down and walked as quickly as possible until I reached the safety of the sidewalk. With every step I took I expected to feel hands clamp my shoulders, questions shouted at me. But, no.

I kept my eyes focused on the sidewalk until I reached my apartment. As curious as I am, I had seen enough strange things for one day.

Fresssssssshhhhh….

This evening, Sang Jae and I were walking right at dusk, that perfect time of evening. The air wrapped us in a blanket of warm softness, not the oppressive heat so common during the day. The light slowly changed from amber, to a barely perceptible pink, to a deep lavender, before fading to a deep darkness.

“I want to eat pork.” Okay. That’s fine with me. We wound our way through the alleys, dodging small children on rollerblades, avoiding cars that drove just a little too close. We came to his favorite kalbi restaurant, the one with the jovial cartoon pig on the front. You wouldn’t be so happy if you knew what they were serving inside, poor little piggie, I thought to myself.

We entered, tossed off our sandals, and sat down at one of the tables only inches off the floor. He ordered. Pork for two. I like going to the kalbi restaurants with Sang Jae. He eats almost all of the meat. I eat almost all of the side dishes. There’s never any arguing over who gets what. I devour the tiny dishes of peanuty spinach, spicy kim chi, vinegary lettuce, chilled seaweed, sesameed turnips, all the vegetables he could care less about. As I was carefully maneuvering my chopsticks to clasp a few pieces of lettuce, I noticed something moving in my bowl. Upon further investigation, I discovered a small black bug. I’m not sure what it was, other than alive. Sang Jae noticed me examining the creature. “No problem. Eat.” I don’t know… “No. Very good. Bug in salad means very, very fresh.” I considered this logic. He’s got a point. As I continued eating the lettuce (avoiding spearing the bug) I thought to myself, This is what I’ll miss about living here. The oh, so original points of view.

Rat Tail

I’ve written before about the lack of rats I’ve seen here, despite the absolute opportune conditions. Today, I met my match.

The typhoons continue. Steady, solid rain. For hours that turn into days that turn into nights. I’m somewhat disappointed that they aren’t storms. No thunder, no lightning to spice it up. Just a slow, monotonous, continual downpour from the heavens.

I was walking to so-yae, my umbrella not really doing any good. As I stepped in puddles I couldn’t avoid, water splashed over my sandals, soaking my toes, splattering my bare legs. I was walking in perfect time with a small, elderly Korean woman in front of me. I focused on her unusually bright yellow umbrella scattered with bold red flowers, right at my eye level. For blocks I walked behind her, left, right, left, right. The rhythm lulled me. I wasn’t focusing on the rain, only the steady pace of the yellow umbrella in front of me.

Suddenly, I was startled by a movement on my right. The umbrella, and woman, had jerked to one side. I snapped out of my hypnosis. I looked down. I screamed, “Oh, my god!” There, only inches from my wet, bare toes, was a ferocious rat, baring his sharp teeth, his beady eyes glaring. Our eyes locked. Yes, logically I realize I am what, 100 times (if not more) his size. Nonetheless, my stomach was in my throat. I don’t like vermin.

I stared at the creature for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, I bared my teeth and hissed. It worked. He scampered off along the stone wall lining the sidewalk. The elderly woman looked me up and down and began laughing hysterically. I smiled. She started walking, I once again fell in step behind her. At the stoplight, we waited to cross the street. Another elderly lady approached. My friend with the bright yellow umbrella animatedly told her what had happened. They both stared at me, speaking rapidly in Korean, laughing the whole time. Not understanding anything they said, I smiled, then crossed when the green man appeared.

At so-yae I related my morning of terror. Mr. Lau, funny man, asked me where the rat was. I reiterated it had been on the sidewalk, just a stone’s throw from where we now sat. “No, no, no, where now?” I’m afraid I don’t understand. He then pantomimed picking the rat up by the tail, snapping its neck, and barbecuing it. All the grandfathers laughed hysterically at the look upon my face once I realized his meaning. I really hope this was their idea of a joke…

A Moskiter

“I live on the place neer the mountain. So there is many moskiters. A bad Moskiter. Today again I had stooted by moskiter. It is very ichy. I hate.”

From a student’s journal. I couldn’t agree more. Damn moskiters.

If You Say So….

From another student’s journal:

“… to eat the mak-chang. Mak-chang is a large intestine of cow and it looks like a chewing gum. Its color is white and so delicious.”

Makes me think twice about chewing gum.

The (sort of) Camping Trip

I came home from school last night around 9:30, exhausted after my turnaround trip to Pusan then a full evening of teaching. As I began to fix dinner, the phone rang. “Lori, it’s Sang Jae.” Hello, how are you? “Guess where I at?” I don’t know, where? “The lake. Yesterday.” You’re at the lake that we discovered yesterday? What are you doing there? “Fishing. Camping. I come get you. You outgoing. You love to go outdoors. So you come here.” I started to explain that that really wasn’t what outgoing meant, but decided against it.

Not too much later, he arrived at my house. Are you really camping? Do I need to bring anything? A pillow? He pointed to my sweatpants laying crumpled on the floor. “Those. Mosquitoes are bad.” I stuffed the sweatpants in my pillow, along with a small flashlight. I grabbed a bag of tangelos and we were off. As we drove up to the lake, I wondered where he and his friends had set up camp; I couldn’t remember any flat clearings from our walk on Sunday. I was just a little surprised when I saw they had set up a tent in the turnaround area at the lake, basically, on the road. And one small tent. Five people. I looked around. Where is the other tent? “Only this. No problem.” Hmmmm. Maybe I better reconsider this camping thing. Five people, one small tent, pitched on concrete.

I said hi to everyone there. One friend was playing the guitar, one was collecting rocks to build a campfire ring, the other was just hanging out. They had been there all afternoon. Sang Jae led me over the guardrail, down to the edge of the lake. He showed me the net of all the little fish they had caught over the course of the afternoon. Bright, shiny, silvery fish, no bigger than my hand.

We returned back up the slope to base “camp” where a fire was burning brightly within a circle of rocks. They threw a screen over the circle of rocks and began tossing chunks of meat on the screen. The smell was incredible. Sang Jae tossed me a pair of chopsticks and I picked up a piece of meat, blew on it, then popped it into my mouth. Delicious. Mmmmm…. Something about food cooked over an open fire that just can’t be beat.

During dinner and afterwards, the boys were playing the guitar, singing various songs, doing shots of soju. Soon thereafter, a couple of them climbed over the guardrail, stumbled down to the lake, stripped down to their underwear and dove in. I am a water baby. I love the water. To see others enjoying the chilled water on a moonlight night and me sitting on the sidelines, well, I just couldn’t stand it. But I also realized that shedding my clothes as they did wasn’t really an option either. I thought for a moment – ahh, I brought my sweatpants. I’m wearing a sweatshirt. I’ll swim in my shorts and sportsbra. When I get out, I will still have dry clothes to sleep in. And with that, I dove into the water. They all turned around, amazed to see me in the water. Sang Jae yelled to me, “You think like man. You cannot be controlled.” Maybe that was supposed to be a compliment, I’m not sure.

I swam far into the center of the lake, feeling the water get icier and icier as I got farther from the edges of the reservoir. Long after they got out, I was still swimming, turning round and round, over and over, in the water, loving the feeling of my skin parting the cool water, relishing floating on my back, gazing at the few stars in the darkness and perfect half moon shining brightly in the sky.

After I was satisfied with my swim, I sat on the rocks in the moonlight, listening to the chorus of frogs nearby. In the warm night I dried quickly. I picked up my tevas and made my way back up the bank.

At that point I think the effect of the soju was wearing off and the boys decided that five of us sleeping in one tent pitched on concrete probably wasn’t such a good idea after all. We began breaking camp. “Lori, did you drink?” No, I didn’t have anything. With those words, Sang Jae threw me the car keys. We packed everything in the trunk, then all five of us squeezed into his small car. Ugh. The odor of probably not so clean lake water, soju, and fish was overwhelming. At that point I was *really* glad we didn’t camp out. Being able to take a hot shower then crawl into my comfy bed was a perfect end to a perfect evening.

Pusan, Take ?????

Once again, I awoke to my alarm clock ringing at the ungodly hour of 6 am. Ugh. I am so not a morning person. I threw a book in my purse, made sure I had my passport claim slip, and headed to the train station. I felt a drowsy sense of deja vu as I said to the ticket clerk, “Pusan ju-ship-shee-yo.”

I boarded the train, noticing it was unusually cold in the car. As the conductor passed through, several people commented to him how cold it was. He went to a control panel at the front of the car, adjusted some knobs, then continued into another car. At each stop the same thing would happen. The car would stop. Passengers would exit, enter. The cold air would once again blast down upon us. The conductor would eventually walk through the car, people would complain, he would open the control panel, make adjustments.

About halfway through the trip this climate control battle was accompanied by a new passenger’s screams. He probably was 3 or 4, and was completely unsatisfied with everything. And very vocal about it. In the 6 months I’ve lived here I’ve been very surprised at how quiet children are here. The babies generally don’t cry; the children I’ve seen in public seem to be very quiet and well-behaved. This terror compensated for all the others.

Sleep was impossible. Reading was impossible, due to the fact I was using my hands to vigorously rub my arms to try to warm myself. I was very happy when the automated voice came over the loudspeaker and announced, “Next stop. Pusan. Please collect your valuables and have a safe trip,” in 3 languages.

This time getting to the Chinese consulate was, proverbially speaking, a piece of cake. My “taxi talk” is quite good. As I entered the consulate, I noticed only 3 of the 4 windows were open. Window #3 had a very long line, but everyone in line held the visa application form I had completed so hastily last week. There were a few people in line at window #2, so I pulled out my passport claim ticket and walked up to window #1. The lady smiled, took my ticket, and said, “Sam man o chun won, jushipshee-yo. Thirty-five thousand won.” What? Ugh. I should have known better when the English speaking man on the telephone told me there was no charge for the visa. Nothing is free. I opened my purse and pulled out 4 10,000 won bills. Then gasped as I realized that was all I had with me. Oh, no. I didn’t have enough cash to purchase a train ticket to get back to Daegu. Now I’m going to have to find an ATM. That either has pictures on it, or English subtitles. This could be an adventure.

The kind lady who took my last won motioned for me to get in line at window #2. Once there, another smiling lady offered me a receipt and my passport. I looked at the visa. Oh, no. They had issued the visa under my married name, not my current, legal maiden name.

After I got divorced, I started the process of changing all important papers, licenses, etc. back to my maiden name. It was a pain. Do you realize how many relatively important documents contain your name? Your driver’s license. Your credit cards. Your hotel frequent stay programs. Rental car accounts. Frequent flyer accounts. Telephone bills. Utility bills. Car titles. Your passport. For each I had to submit a name change application form, a “legal” copy of my divorce decree, and usually, a fee. I was very surprised when I applied to change my name on my passport. It was one of the easier changes to make. Download the form off the internet, complete it, mail it, along with my passport, to a passport agency, expect it back in a couple of weeks. No fee, relatively little hassle. What I didn’t realize is that my passport looks exactly the same, except at the back, on page 23, in very small type, someone typed, “This passport was amended on Jan. 26, 2001 to change the bearer’s name to read Lori Alison McLeese.” No one ever looks at page 23. In hindsight, I wish I had just said I had lost my passport, paid the $75 fee, and gotten a new one. It would have made things much easier. Over the past eighteen months I’ve constantly had to explain to airline personnel why the name on my ticket supposedly doesn’t match the name on my passport (as I said before, no one looks at page 23). And I’m usually trying to explain in another language. I don’t know any Chinese. It’s going to be an interesting trip.

Luckily, I found an ATM with relatively little hassle. Just a few attempts at machines I *couldn’t* figure out how to operate, desperately pushing the cancel button, and praying my card would come back out.

The return trip to Daegu was scream-free, normal temperature. As I entered my apartment and realized I only had a few minutes before I had to get ready for work, I felt I had already put in an entire day. But, I have a (hopefully) valid visa for China and will be on vacation soon. Life’s not so bad.

The Typhoon

Supposedly a typhoon was coming through today. It’s been on the news. It’s been in the papers. The umbrella salesmen have been out full force. So, unlike most Sundays, I planned to stay inside. I rented a few videos; I dusted off a couple of books I’ve been meaning to read. I spent all morning doing “indoor” things, waiting for the typhoon. Every so often, I would go to my sliding glass doors (covered by opaque material), open them, peek outside. Yes, the skies were definitely ominous, but no rain, winds, or destruction in sight. Finally, by early afternoon, I was completely restless. I called Sang Jae. Let’s go somewhere. Let’s go hiking or something. Anything. I want to get out of the house. “But Lori, typhoon.” It’s not raining yet. “Okay. We will go. But only in car.” This wasn’t exactly what I had in mind, but it was a start.

He arrived soon thereafter and threw me the keys. “You drive.” Where? “Anywhere. Let’s go.”

We headed towards the World Cup Stadium, a relatively undeveloped area of town. We passed the stadium, where many children were at play – rollerblading, flying kites, chasing each other. We continued up a smaller, more winding road, barely wide enough for two cars to pass. As we drove higher, I wondered what could possibly be at the end of the road. All of a sudden, a lake came into view. A beautiful, dammed, greenish blue lake. We both drew in breaths of shock. I didn’t realize there was a lake up here. “Me, too,” Sang Jae replied. We drove to the other side of the lake and parked along side the now dirt road.

The road continued up the mountain. We began walking. A stream was to one side of us. Several people had spread picnics along the water’s edge, mostly groups of elderly women. The soil was slightly muddy due to the heavy moisture in the air. A syrupy stickiness surrounded us. We avoided the puddles formed by random trickles crossing the road. We stopped to try to identify the various lush green plants alongside the road which was becoming more and more like a path.

Finally, the road ended. There, in the shadow of the mountain, a temple was being constructed. I started forward. Sang Jae stayed put. Come on, I said, Let’s go look. “I don’t want.” I shrugged and continued. The temple was unusual in that it was made entirely of cement. Every last detail. The form was the same as other temples I’ve visited, the intricate eaves, the beautiful carvings, but instead of being constructed from wood, it appeared concrete was poured into a mold then left to set.

I walked around a bit then headed back to where Sang Jae was standing, watching me. We started back down the path. “Do you know why I don’t like?” No, why? “Because. At the temple, they want me bow. I’m Christian. I don’t want.” But, Sang Jae, I’ve never been asked to bow when I enter the temple. “It’s different. I’m Korean. They expect from me. I don’t want.”

We walked for a few more minutes in silence, enjoying the gray day, wondering how long it would be before the typhoon arrived.

“Do you think that Buddha comes true?” What? I don’t understand. “Say to Buddha, what’s that?” Prayer? When you bow to Buddha and ask for something? “Yes, that. Prayer. Do you think it’s true?” Wellll, I think that when Buddhists pray to Buddha, they believe in the power of prayer. Just like when you pray to God, you believe. It’s just about the same. “No. Not same. God is alive.” Sang Jae, Buddha was alive, too. He was a person. He was a spiritual leader. And technically, God as a person isn’t alive today. Only his spirit is alive. “I still don’t want the temple.”

As we walked along the stream, I realized that this was the most in-depth, meaningful conversation I’ve had since arriving here. And it lasted all of 5 minutes. As we reached the car, the drops started. We stopped by the lake to watch a fisherman checking his poles. The drops started slowly at first, then continued more and more rapidly. We scurried back to the car, escaping the deluge by moments.

To Russia, With Love

I tutor a young Russian girl, Masha. She’s 5 (Russian/English age) or 7 (Korean age). For the past 5 months, every morning, I’ve gone to her house and we’ve read books, sung songs, or played games in English. It’s been quite enjoyable.

She will be going back to Russia for a long summer vacation in a couple of days. When she comes back, I’ll be gone. I’ve resigned from my teaching position. From Korea.

There is a lot I don’t write about on the blog. LoriLoo was created by a good friend, Bryan, as a going away present when I left San Francisco. A way to let friends and family know what’s going on. A way to record my memories. I’ve wanted to share and remember the good things about my time here, not focus on bad. I absolutely don’t regret my decision to teach in Korea. But it’s time to move on.

Masha and I talked about her upcoming trip to Russia. We drew pictures of the plane. We discussed what she would do in Moscow. I gave her a going away present. Today was my last day tutoring her. She greeted me with a bottle of chilled Russian vodka. Oh. I looked at her mom. Surely I wasn’t expected to break out vodka shots at 8:30 in the morning? No, no, she assured me, it was for me to enjoy later.

After our lesson, Masha’s mom and I exchanged addresses, telephone numbers, etc. I said good-bye to Masha and gave her a big hug. It was at that point she realized something was different. She spoke quickly to her mother in Russian. Her mother answered her. Masha turned to me with a look of astonishment. Then sadness.

It seems she thought I was going to Russia with them. I would stay at their summer house with them. We would return to Korea together. I apologized and said I would try to visit her in Russia one day. I promised to write. To send her English books.

As I walked away, she ran down the walk, on the other side of the fence, blowing me kisses. Good-bye, Loooooooooori!. Good-byyyyyyyyyyyyyyyye…