My Life Follows A Script

It really does. I suspected it. Now it’s been confirmed.

I was helping Sang Jae with an English paper. Correcting verb tenses, suggesting phrases. As it was printing, I picked up a plain paper covered book beside his computer. It was marked with several of those tiny, flimsy, brightly colored post-it note tabs. I started flipping through the book. I’m nosy. I am. I want to know something about everything.

It was a phrase book. Korean on the odd pages, English on the evens. Situational phrases. Job Interviews, At the Airport, Relationships. Oh, this should be interesting. I started reading. Most conversations were four exchanges. I came to one. “I cannot marry you.” “But why?” “Because you are a foreigner. It would create too many problems.”

Oh, my god. I am a living ESL dialogue.

Yet Another Addition To The Resume…

Maybe it’s because I was always described as “smart.” Or maybe it’s that deep, deep-rooted desire to be Miss America. I don’t know. Today, I was nominated to be “Blog Babe of the Week.” I couldn’t have been more thrilled. I couldn’t have been more flattered.

I was hesitant to open the email when seeing the subject heading. Mr. Nam had warned me that there was a very dangerous computer virus that came out in Korea only on April 26. Was this the virus? Tempting me? But no, it was for real. Life is good.

Palgongsan Revisited

I love my days with Mr. Nam. I never know what to expect. Today was no exception.

He called me last night. “Miss Rori? How is your condition?” Hello, Mr. Nam. My condition is good. How is yours? “Good. Thank you. Climbing? Mountain? Tomorrow your holiday?” Yes, I’d love to go hiking tomorrow. It is my day off, so I don’t have to be back by any particular time. “Dr. Park come, too, okay?” Sure. Sounds good. “Tomorrow morning. Your house. 10 am? Maybe 10:15 am?” Okay. Just call me when you get here and I’ll come out. See you tomorrow. “Yayyyy.”

This morning he arrived alone. Where’s Dr. Park? Mr. Nam pointed to his cheek. “Reservation. Dentist.” Oh, he had a dentist appointment? “Yes. Had to keep. But Mr. Koo come with us, okay?” Sure. We pulled to the side of the busy road where Mr. Koo lives. Not exactly the side, just over a bit from the center lane. Mr. Nam has a driving style that is very, unique. Cars were zipping past, honking. Mr. Nam saw Mr. Koo in the rear view mirror. “Ahhhh – he comes.” Mr. Koo started to get in the back seat on the passenger’s side, but was blocked by a street post. As he began walking around the rear of the car, Mr. Nam put the car in reverse. Mr. Nam! Mr. Koo – there! and I pointed. “Ahhhh – yes.” Mr. Koo didn’t seem phased in the least that he had just about gotten run over. “Annyong ha-say-yo…”

On the way there, Mr. Nam and I talked in English, Mr. Koo and Mr. Nam talked in Korean. At one point, Mr. Nam asked me how much of their conversation I understood. I told him virtually none, just a few words here and there. As we got closer to Palgongsan, I noticed there were many brightly colored round lanterns hanging from trees and sign posts. What are those for? I’ve noticed them being hung all around town. “Buddha’s Birthday. May 19. Big, big celebration. Many people walk the road with lanterns. Good to see.”

We had almost reached Palgongsan when Mr. Nam’s phone rang. It was Dr. Park. His dentist had stood him up. He was angry. He would have rather been hiking with us. Mr. Nam suggested he meet us at the summit at Katbawi. He didn’t want to do that.

We were admiring the flowers along the road when Mr. Nam’s phone rang again. I could understand he was telling someone where we were. Then describing something at Palgongsan. But that was it. After he hung up he said, “Mr. Kim, other friend, meet us too. Okay?” This was turning into quite the expedition.

We reached the parking area. It was probably about half full. More than any other times I’d been there. Mr. Nam explained, “Today. After rain. Very, very clear. Many people climbing.” Of course. We had heavy rains this week, and it was true, the air this morning was incredibly crisp and fresh. Even though there were ample empty spaces in the sand parking lot, Mr. Nam chose a tight squeeze between two already parked cars, with people exiting from one. The elderly driver of the parked car stared at Mr. Nam as he inched his way forward in the sand, but he didn’t appear perturbed, and didn’t say anything.

Mr. Nam, Mr. Koo, and I got out of the car and started walking. “Coffee? We will wait for Mr. Kim.” Okay. Thank you. Mr. Koo got three coffees from the vending machine (it’s scary how fond I’ve grown of this concoction) and we sat and sipped, the two men smoking as well. We finished and Mr. Nam started walking again. But, don’t we need to wait for Mr. Kim? “Yes. Yes. This way.” We walked to the bus stop near the park entrance. This made no sense to me, but I didn’t say anything. I figured someone would eventually tell me the plan. I just needed to wait.

I’m beginning to think my time in Korea is a lesson for me. A lesson in accepting things as they come to me, trusting that everything will work out. In San Francisco I was an advance planner. Not obsessively so, but I usually had my weekend plans cemented by Tuesday. Here, I’m learning to be more in the moment.

And sure enough, a few minutes later Mr. Nam told me that Mr. Kim was coming to pick us up and drive us to the Katbawi entrance. This still didn’t make sense to me, but I accepted it. I had stooped down to tie my shoelaces tighter when I heard Mr. Nam say, “Mr. Kim, mania for climbing. Today, hike 10 hours. Tie your laces tight. Hahahahaha.” I glanced up at him. Okay and smiled. This made him laugh even more. I think I’m beginning to recognize his sense of humor. Though I wonder. Some of the things he says are, well, odd. Is this a function of his personality, or his language ability? Because I’m sure my personality doesn’t come across accurately when I speak Korean. I just don’t know enough vocabulary.

Within minutes, Mr. Kim approached in a SUV. We all hopped in and he sped off, up the winding mountain road. His driving style couldn’t have been more the antithesis of Mr. Nam’s. Mr. Nam drives somewhat slowly, ignoring most other cars on the road to do what he wants – stopping in the road, crossing lanes, turning across traffic, but he never has an accident. Mr. Kim, on the other hand, raced as quickly as he could, throwing us from side to side of the car as he careened around the sharp curves. Sudden stops and instant acceleration accompanied the sharp turns.

We reached the parking lot and he continued past it, up, up, up farther. To the parking lots of the restaurants and souvenir shops. Now, back in the States they’d tow you if you parked somewhere without being a patron, but again, I figured I needed to just go with it. We got out of the car and began our trek. Lots of people were on the path. Mr. Nam explained Katbawi was a very famous spot. Many people trekked there to pray to the Buddha atop the mountain. “Kat” translates to “traditional Korean hat” and “bawi” to stone. The Buddha is wearing a flat stone hat. It is believed that people who reach the Buddha will have one wish granted.

We had hiked for maybe 20 minutes when we reached a small temple. We walked around, looking at this building, that pagoda, drank some spring water, then continued. We passed a sign that read “Katbawi – 900 meters.” Wow. That was quick. Or so I thought. The last 900 meters was all uneven stone steps. Have you ever tried to climb a kilometer? It’s hard.

I knew we were nearing the Buddha when all of a sudden, out of nowhere, vendors appeared. Coffee, Buddhist bracelets, back scratchers, candies, sodas. Mr. Nam stopped to buy some candy. He said it was pumpkin candy, but I’m not sure. All I know is that the vendor had to use a hammer to coax the knife through the block of sweetness, as a sculptor uses a hammer and chisel to create his masterpiece. And I’m supposed to eat this? I put a piece in my mouth and it immediately stuck to my teeth, without me even chewing. I let it sit there, gently sucking on it, figuring eventually I would be able to chew it.

We reached the summit. Wow. Not what I expected. A stone plaza, with a hundred or so prayer mats closely arranged. Almost every one occupied by someone praying, arms out, together, kneel, arms down, hands opened, back up again. Metal pipes creating a sort of scaffolding. A food stand. A cart with incense burning. But where was Buddha? Mr. Nam told me to follow him. We walked behind the people praying and there was Buddha. Nestled into the rocks. I started to take a picture, but couldn’t get one without the scaffolding in the way. Mr. Nam grabbed my arm and led me in front of the people praying. I tried to resist. I don’t think it’s proper to stand between someone praying and what they’re praying to. “It’s okay. It’s okay.” I quickly snapped a couple of photos and scurried off to the side. The pumpkin candy was finally soft enough to chew. Mr. Nam, what is all the scaffolding for? “I told you, Buddha’s birthday.” I gave him a blank look. “For lanterns. Everywhere – lanterns. For Buddha’s birthday.”

We started down the path on the other side of Buddha. There was a sign, in both Korean and English, explaining the history of this Buddha. Mr. Nam turned to me, “I wrote this. English. Just for you.” I laughed. We descended many steps, to a small temple. “We eat lunch-che, here.” We took off our shoes and entered a long dining hall. Mr. Nam and I sat at the narrow, low tables; Mr. Koo and Mr. Kim stood in line for our lunch. They returned with two trays. A bowl of rice and a bowl of soup for everyone. And two small dishes of “mu” – the tart pickled turnip that I love so much. I began to eat the soup. I had eaten a couple of bites of rice when Mr. Nam said, “If you don’t like, you leave.” No, I like it very much. I looked around. The men were already finished. I hastily finished my meal, then picked up a piece of mu to eat. I had just put it into my mouth as Mr. Nam started to say something. I bit into it. Ugh! It was like eating a cube of salt. Mr. Nam said, “I think not good.” Yes, I think you’re right.

We began our hike again. We continued along a different path, one on which we were the only hikers. The path narrowed until I could barely fit my boots on it. I grabbed onto trees, trying to keep from sliding down the mountain. I looked up. Mr. Nam was disappearing over huge boulders. For 30 minutes I oscillated between hating being on such a treacherous trail and marvelling at the beautiful sights. Green. So much green. Sprigs of new grass. Fresh leaves on the trees. Buds of flowers just opening. A blossom here, a stream there.

Every now and then we would stop and look at the view. At one point we could see Daegu in the distance. At another we could see ranges and ranges of rolling green mountains. So different from when I visited just last month. Then, bare and gray. Now, every shade of green imaginable, light, medium, dark. I stared in awe. We continued. We reached a clearing. Mr. Nam explained it was for “119” emergency helicopter landings, in case a hiker had an accident while climbing. “Mr. Kim called 119 for you.” I looked at him quizzically. “Helicopter take you NC to visit parents.” And we laughed.

We were hiking along at quite the clip when Mr. Kim disappeared off the trail. Mr. Nam called to me. “This way.” But, where are we going? This doesn’t look like the trail. “Bett-a trail. To Dong-hwa-sa.” Mr. Kim hikes like he drives, so he and Mr. Koo were out of sight in no time. Mr. Nam and I continued along the makeshift trail, stopping to identify flowers, look at trees. We had been hiking for about 3 hours when the trail divided into three separate trails. He looked at me, I looked at him and shrugged my shoulders. We tried one trail. After going a few feet Mr. Nam stopped and said, “Maybe this not right. Maybe we try another.” We turned around and tried another trail. Soon we could see Dong-hwa-sa temple, we were approaching it from behind. As we got closer, Mr. Nam turned around to me, crouched low, and said, “Be vel-ly quiet…” Immediately, “We’re hunting wabbits…” ran through my head. I giggled to myself and tiptoed along the path. We arrived to the gated area where the monks study. A big sign hung on the gate. What’s that say, Mr. Nam? “Keep out.” Oh. “Maybe we’ll go this way.” I followed him.

We wound around, farther away from the temple. He started mentioning his favorite songs, Smoke On The Water, Hotel California, and Steps to the Sky. What? I’m not familiar with that last one. He started to hum. Oh, Stairway To Heaven. “Yes-sa! Yes-sa! So good.” We came to a stream. It appeared we were at the end of our path, but not yet to our destination. We looked around. We climbed over some rocks and saw the bridge near the temple. Look, Mr. Nam – we’re there! But when we looked closer we were met by spirals and spirals of barbed wire, preventing us from accessing the bridge. “Don’t go there.” Okay. I started to turn around then heard, “Rori – come this way,” and he was headed to the exact spot he just told me not to go to. I smiled.

We approached the bridge. He carefully moved one spiral of barbed wire, leaving just enough room for us to step on one of the bridge supports. We then clung to the stone bridge rails, walking along a large pipe, until we reached a spot to safely (?) climb over the railing. It felt strange, sneaking onto temple grounds. But, with Mr. Nam, anything is a possibility. We casually walked to the main hall and saw many people dressed in period dress. What are they doing? “Oh, traditional dance. Perform.” Everyday? “Maybe.” We walked a bit farther and saw camera crews. Mr. Nam laughed then said, “I called KBS and said you come Palgongsan. They ready interview you.” I giggled.

We eventually met up with the two others and returned to Mr. Nam’s car. From there we drove to Mr. Kim’s car. Ahhhh, it makes sense now. In the car, Mr. Nam calculated we had hiked 12 kilometers. “Next time, 18 kilometers.” Okay. Sounds good. The men laughed like crazy. I thought they were serious. I guess it was yet another joke.

We reached Mr. Kim’s car. Mr. Nam turned off his engine. “Pancake?” Oh, yes! One of my favorite dishes here, pa-jeon. A thin egg and flour pancake usually with lots of green onions, carrots and squid in it. Delicious! We entered the restaurant, took off our shoes and sat down. Within moments the pa-jeon and a platter of tofu and spicy parsley had arrived. I savored each bite, ohhhh, so good. I made a mental note to find out how to make this from one of the moms.

After our snack we got in the cars to go home. “I think, I think, you look sleepy. Rest, Rori.” The perfect end to a perfect day.

Shopping

I am not a one-stop shopper anymore. I used to be. I used to prize convenience above anything else. But now, I’ve established relationships with vendors. Not very deep ones, but enough so that they will smile as I approach them, and usually throw in an extra something something after weighing my intended purchase. I buy my rice and eggs from the lady on one corner (whose daughters always rollerblade in the street and say “Hell-llllo” as I pass), my fruit from an old man outside the video store, my vegetables from the old women outside the bank, and my liquids from the corner store less than a block from my home. Even though beverages are more expensive there, it’s worth it not to have to carry them very far.

The elderly man who sits behind the counter is perplexed, though. He’s never seen me buy solid food. I stop in about every other day, usually purchasing two or three bottles of water, plum juice, orange juice, “refreshing water” or soda. And everyday, as he calculates how much I owe, he laughs and says, “You! Wa-tah pa-ty!” and laughs hysterically. At first, I didn’t understand. I guess I still don’t. But now I laugh along with him.

Beggars Can’t Be Choosers

It’s amazing how the smallest tasks can render me paralyzed from ignorance. Completely unable to function. I have now been living in Korea for four months. I have been collecting small gifts for people over those months. A postcard here, a trinket there, a souvenir. I’ve been meaning to send them, but… well, somehow they always end up in a pile in the corner of the Pink Palace.

Upon realizing I *still* had not mailed Emily’s birthday present (her birthday was in *January*), I decided it was time to act. What has deterred me from mailing these things you might ask. A simple answer: I don’t know where to buy packing materials. Envelopes, tape, boxes, normal stationery store supplies. My stationery store here carries 412 different varieties of Hello Kitty pens and pencils, but no mailing envelopes.

Every time I’m out shopping, I glance around, thinking I’ll find packing materials in the most random place. That’s how I normally discover things here. To no avail. I asked the Korean staff at school. “Stationery store.” Okay, maybe I overlooked them. Back down to the stationery store. I searched every aisle. I tried to ask, and was met by confused looks. I found something that resembled mailing envelopes, but they were quite thin. They were brown, though. Brown usually indicates it’s acceptable for postal use. So I bought them. Lots of them. I figured I would double, or triple, them if necessary.

But what about boxes? No luck. So I started searching alleys. There is a sporting goods store near the school. There were a few shoe boxes behind the store. I surreptitiously glanced around, didn’t see anyone, picked up a few boxes and casually walked away. Someone once told me you’ll never get caught doing something if you act like you’re supposed to be doing it. So I acted as if carrying discarded tennis shoe boxes was the most normal thing in the world.

Back in the Pink Palace Operation Mail Korea began. I spread out the items and began constructing mailing containers, using rolls of scotch tape, cardboard from the boxes, and leftover bubble wrap from my packing of fragile items on my journey here. And postcards. I didn’t realize how many postcards I’d bought, and intended to send, since I’ve arrived.

I loaded everything into a bag – boxes, envelopes, stacks of postcards – and headed to the post office. As I locked my door, I remembered my bills. I bolted inside, gathered my bills, and made my way to my final destination. I entered; there was no line. I took a number anyway. The clerk called me to the counter. I handed her my bills first, then the stack of 50 or so postcards, then the boxes. She gave me a look as if to say, “It’s bad enough I have to deal with someone who butchers my language, but this????” I smiled. She started counting, punching numbers into her calculator, weighing boxes, instructing me to complete customs forms, checking weight charts, then when it was all done, handed me a piece of paper with a number on it. Good god. I didn’t realize I could spend so much at the post office. But then I subtracted my bills, divided by four (for the amount of time I’ve procrastinated) and decided it wasn’t so unreasonable after all.

I paid her the money, exact change. I was putting my receipts into my bag when she called for my attention. I looked up. She handed me a box. Oh, no, this isn’t mine, I started to explain. “Service-a. Service-a.” What? I get a free gift at the post office? No way. It was even wrapped.

Once home, I shook the box. Hmmm. If I was a post office, and wanted to give a free gift to customers, what would I give? Stationery would be the obvious choice. Or pens. Or pencils. Something to encourage customers to use more of my services. But it didn’t feel like any of those things. Hmmmm. It was fairly heavy. Maybe spam? I’ve seen many gift sets of spam lately. No, not heavy enough for that. Candy? Maybe. I finally couldn’t wait any longer. I tore off the paper.

Soap. Three bars of peach flavored (? – can something be flavored if it’s not intended to be eaten?) soap. Whitening soap. To make my skin even whiter than it currently is. Just what I need. Well, it was free. And it smells kind of nice…

The Argument

I was writing peacefully today, practicing the Chinese character for “goodness of the heart.” All of a sudden, the grandfathers were in my room in the art studio, arguing back and forth. I stopped, looked up, turned around on my stool and watched. Korean, Korean, Korean back and forth. Louder and louder. One would say something, grab someone’s work, and write a character on it. I couldn’t figure out what they were so passionate about.

After about 7 or 8 minutes, Mr. Lee turned to me. He was quite flustered. “Chon-ha!” Chon-ha, chon-ha, chon-ha, chon-ha. Mentally I went over all the words I know. That wasn’t one of them. Mola-yo. I don’t know. “Chon-ha. King. Chon – big palace. Chon-ha, person who lives in palace. King.” Okay. “Old times. In court. People appeared before king, bowed, said, Chon-ha! King. King’s words were law. Words from king’s lips law.” Okay. “Now. Misuse. All the time. People call generals, important people, Chon-ha. This is wrong. Must stop.” Okay. “Must tell people, not say Chon-ha. Only for king.”

At this I pondered. Is he appointing me the messiah of this message? Because I really think that there could be a more effective choice. Namely, anyone but me. I looked around. They were all staring at me. Okay. And with that utterance, everyone calmly returned to their work tables, once again concentrating on the Chinese characters in front of them…

“But, How…

…do you learn so-yae if teacher doesn’t speak English? Because you not *really* speak Korean,” a Korean friend asked me.

Well, I understand enough Korean phrases. Like, well, Ee-row-kay. Like this. And he shows me what to do. And if I do it wrong, he says, Ani-o. No. Or, if I do it right, he says, Cho-ha-yo. Good. Or Chaaaaal Sa-shee-mee-da! Good writing.

As I exclaimed this last phrase my friend stared at me in disbelief. Then burst into hearty laughter.

What?

“Don’t say that again.”

Why?

“That is so country. That – dialect. You sound, you sound, oh. Don’t say it.”

But, how do you really say it, then?

And he told me. But I can’t remember. Because everytime I think of “good writing” I hear all of the grandfathers exclaiming heartily, “Chaaaaal Sa-shee-mee-da!”

I even have a country accent in Korean.

It’s been a hectic week. Final exams for the students are upon us. I’ve spent an unbelievable number of hours helping to write final exams. I’ve spent even more hours in meetings. I’m having second thoughts about this whole head teacher thing. I may be coming down with something. My throat has that ticklish, scratchy, not-quite-sick, but soon-will-be feeling. And at the end of the day, when confronted with the choice between sleep or writing, sleep usually won out. But I’ve missed writing. Really, really missed it. I’m beginning to think it is as important for my health as sleep is.

Lessons at So-Yae

No matter what else is happening in my life, I know I will be so entertained for at least 2 hours a day during my so-yae lessons. I knock on the door, enter, announce my arrival with a loud, “Annyong Hashim-hikka!” and all the grandfathers glance up from their writing tables, offering “Wel–come!” “Good morning!” “Annyong Ha-sayo!” “Annyong Hashim-nikka!” “Hell–lo!” I usually have enough time to prepare my materials and complete a sheet or two of characters before I hear, “Ko-pee time!” and we all gather on the small couches for a cup of coffee and what I can only imagine is thoroughly entertaining banter back and forth between the old men. I catch words here and there, but mostly just enjoy observing them.

Mr. Lau, aka “Funny Man,” had yet another joke. He told it and all the men just rolled. Tears streaming down their faces. He hit Mr. Lee (the translator) and pointed to me. “Tell! Tell!” This is what I heard: Why is a mermaid part fish? I asked Mr. Lee if this was a joke or if he really wanted me to answer. He told me, no, no, joke. Okay, then, I don’t know. Why is a mermaid part fish? “Because she’s not a pig!” I’m assuming something was lost in the translation. But for some reason, it struck me, too, as very funny. Maybe just seeing the men laugh so hard, and repeat the joke over and over. But I couldn’t stop laughing. And when the men saw me laughing, they started again.

Teacher Song got up and announced something. All the men got very quiet. Teacher Song walked over to his radio/cassette player. He motioned to me. “Music-a.” Okay. “Music-a appreciation.” Okay. I assumed he would put in a Korean music tape. Maybe traditional dance music. Maybe music using the traditional instruments. He pressed play. This is what I heard: “Thanks for the times that you’ve given me…” Yes, Lionel Ritchie. Himself. And Teacher Song singing along. Everyone listening in awe. “Once-a, twice-a, three-a times-sa ladyyyyyy.” I tried to be reverent, I really did. But I couldn’t help but giggling. At which point Teacher Song came over to me, and said, “Sing-a, sing-a!” No, really, you don’t want me to sing. Really. “Nori-bang. Nori-bang.” Okay. Maybe so. Maybe one day we’ll go to nori-bang (karaoke room) and sing. After the music ended, we all rose and returned to our writing tables.

As I was practicing the Chinese character for autumn, thinking to myself how much it looked like a boy and girl running through a field, Mr. Lee turned to me. “Appointment, today? Lunch?” No, I don’t have an appointment for lunch. “Let’s go. Korean food.” Sure. Thank you.

After our lessons we all walked a few blocks to a local Korean restaurant. I’m getting used to (sort of) attracting attention whenever I enter an establishment. But the looks on people’s faces were even more curious as I walked in, a young, tall white woman, towering over 6 post-75 year-old Korean men. We sat down on the floor around the low tables with burners in the center. Mr. Lee turned to me, “You like bibimbop (rice mixed with lots of vegetables)?” Oh, yes, it’s my favorite! He ordered for everyone at the table. Glasses of water arrived, followed by endless trays of tiny side dishes. Green beans, kimchi, seaweed, dried fish, turnips, spinach, mushrooms, broiled fish, potatoes, more turnips, potato salad. Then the platters of raw meat. Slabs of meat. Oh. I guess I won’t be getting bibimbop after all. Oh, well. The men placed the meat carefully on the burners, I used my chopsticks to strategically place the raw cloves of garlic so they would roast, not burn. They expressed amazement that I could use chopsticks. “Where did you learn?” Here. In Korea. “Oh, proper way. So good.” As they grilled the meat, I picked at this side dish and that one, so happy to eat the vegetables no one else was interested in.

Then the soju arrived. “Here, soju!” But, it’s the middle of the day. “Yes, soju!” Okay. Toasts all around. To this. To that. I was still on my first shot glass, sipping with each toast. “Rori-ga! Drink-a.” I smiled. Yes. Yes. I am. No, no more. Thank you. I was almost full when the waitress arrived with more platters. What’s this? “The rice.” Good god. Why can’t I ever remember the rice rule? That it’s not a meal until you’re eaten rice.

A covered stone bowl was placed in front of me. Mr. Lee showed me how to remove the lid with a cloth, then scoop the rice from the stone bowl to another bowl. But, why can’t I just eat it from the stone bowl? “No. Look.” He then emptied his stone bowl of rice, but a layer of burnt rice clung to the sides of the bowl. He picked up a big teapot, poured a milky liquid into the bowl, and covered it. Okay. I followed suit. I ate my rice. So delicious. Fluffy, steaming white rice, with just a few jujubes, a few chestnuts, a few nuts in it. Mmmmmm…. Mr. Lee motioned for me to uncover the stone bowl. I did. He instructed me to eat the liquid which now looked like dishwater. Really? “Yes…”

It was delicious. Subtly sweet. Still hot. The rice had come unclung from the sides of the bowl, mixing with the hot liquid, but still retaining some of its former crispness. “You like?” Yaaaayyyy. Ma-chi-dda isso summnidda. They all laughed. “Korean – very good!” We finished the meal with coffee and green tea. As we left the restaurant, the sun shone warmly, causing us to shed our jackets. What a wonderful morning….

We’re Not In Kansas Anymore, Toto…

Okay, I said I would be selective about what I posted, but this is unbelievable. I have to put it out there, just to confirm it really happened. Because when I wake up tomorrow morning, I’m sure I will be doubting.

I had a business meeting tonight. To go over some of my responsibilities as head teacher. Or so I thought.

We started with a couple of beers downtown. Pleasantries exchanged, back and forth. Discussion about allocation of teachers, vacation time, new textbooks for the high schoolers. A few awkward silences, but overall tolerable. After the second drink, my colleague suggested we go somewhere else. Sure, where to?

“I am going to give you a geography lesson of Daegu.” Okay. Sounds good. “Where are we now?” Downtown. “But what is the street’s name?” It doesn’t have a name. No streets in Korea have names. There are no addresses. “Right. But we call it Rodeo Drive. Because all the young people shop here.” I started to protest, then thought better. Okay, thanks.

We arrived at the restaurant and sat at the bar. Three women bartenders came and stood in front of us, handed us a menu, and continued to stand there. Korean, Korean, Korean. Menu closed. Two of the bartenders leave, one continues to stand at attention in front of us. “Well, I hope you like tequila.” Yeah, it’s okay. Why? “I just ordered a bottle for us.” And with that a bottle, a huge bottle, arrived. Jose Cuervo Especial. Dude! What’d you do that for? There’s no way I’m drinking a bottle of tequila. Or half. “Oh, we will talk about many things….” I looked around, took a deep breath, and settled into my seat. It’s going to be a long night….

A platter of fried things arrived. One of the bartenders (all three were back in front of us) took scissors and began cutting them. I picked at the pieces with chopsticks. Korean, Korean, Korean. My colleague turned to me. “She says you use chopsticks very well. She asks you how long you have been in Korea.” In Korean, I said 4 months. I thought. My colleague turned to me with a strange look on his face. “You have not been here 4 years. You’ve only been here 4 months.” Oh, yeah. What he said. More Korean back and forth. “She says you are very beautiful.” I turned to the bartender, Khamsa hamnidaaa. “And that you have many lines on your face and a high nose.” What???? “American’s noses. Very much higher than Koreans.” Okay. To me, this doesn’t sound like a compliment. But, okay. “And the lines on your face.” Wrinkles? “No. The lines. Your face is very defined. It is a compliment. Really. Koreans envy this.” I still don’t know what he was talking about.

A familiar song came on, a bluesy, jazzy laid back melody. Oh, I really like this. “What is it?” I don’t know the name, but it’s a Korean song. I hear it on the radio all the time. He snapped his fingers and a man in a suit appeared. Korean, Korean, Korean. The CD cover was brought over. My colleague examined it. “Lori-ga, it’s an American song.” No, I hear it in Korean all the time. “Maybe. Maybe a Korean version. But it is the theme song from Mo’ Better Blues.” Oh. I guess that would be American. Some more Korean exchanged and the man in the suit disappeared.

We talked some more business. He then wanted to know if I had read about the airplane crash today. No! What? Where? These words inspire fear in me. He explained that a Chinese airline had crashed in Pusan, that over a 100 were confirmed dead. Oh, my god. That’s horrible. So many thoughts were going through my head. “Lori-Ga, do you believe in fate?” I just stared. That’s such a loaded question. Already he has told me that fate brought me to Korea for us to be together. Welllllll. Yes and no. Yes, I do think there is a higher power. And that there is a direction, a plan for us. But, we also have the power to alter that plan. Why? “Have you seen the movie Final Destination?” No, never heard of it. Is it Korean? “No, American. From 2 years ago.” Hmmm. No. He then proceeded to tell me the plot. From what I gathered, some teens are on a plane, one has a premonition that the plane will explode, they get off, the plane explodes, then they all are killed in different ways because it was their fate to die anyway. A phone call was made and minutes later the video was by my side. What’s this? “I thought you might like to see it.”

We continued to drink tequila, me sipping, he doing shots. The three bartenders were still in front of us, doing occasional shots and picking at the fried food in front of us. My colleague turned to me. “What do you miss most about San Francisco?” Oh. The question. That makes me remember my life back there. My life that was so different. My friends. My friends. Definitely. “Who do you miss the most?” My girlfriends. “Tell me about them.” Well, there was Emily. We used to joke that if we were lesbians we would get married. We were that compatible. I went on to explain some of our exploits together, cycling through Cuba, seeing U2 in Miami, the bike rides through the park. “May I have her IM ID?” Excuse me? “I think she would like to hear from me. About you.” No, I don’t think that’s a good idea. But thanks.

He received a phone call. Korean, Korean, Korean. Then turned to me.

“And what else? What else do you miss?” Well, my life is just different here. Not bad. But different. In San Francisco I would go to the gym in the morning, go to work, go to happy hour with friends, meet someone for dinner, then either play sports or go on a date. Every night. I wouldn’t get home until 1 or 2. I used to be very social. “Okay, I will be San Francisco for you.” No, you don’t understand. It was different people. Always different. Many, many people. That I could I talk to. And understand. But thanks for offering. “Well, I know how it feels to be lonely. So whenever you need physical comfort, you can call me.” I just looked at him. No. Not the ‘I will be your sexual partner talk.’ Good god.

Okay, do you know what the term “heart-to-heart” means? “No.” It’s when two people talk very honestly. We need to have one. Now. Can you ask the bartenders to leave? They’re making me very uncomfortable. “They can’t understand you.” I sighed. Okay. Listen. We’re going to have to work together closely over the next 9 months. And to do that, we have to trust each other. I think you’ve lied to me. I don’t like it. “What?” But I could tell, he knew what I was talking about. Remember when you told me that in Korea men only date one woman at a time, and you kept asking me out? “Yeah…” And then you took the other teachers out to the nightclub? “Ohhhhh.” Yeah. They told me what you said that night. And, that you showed up with your girlfriend. Weasel, weasel, weasel, weasel. “Misunderstanding, words don’t translate the same, blah, blah, blah. But we’re friends, right, Lori? I can talk to you. You are so, so, so….” We will only be friends if you are honest with me. Cut out the bullsh*t.

The man in the suit arrived by my side again. He placed a CD beside me. What’s this? “I sent him to get the CD that you liked. But he couldn’t find the exact CD so he got another one that had that song on it.” I was dumbfounded. Thanks. Thanks.

After some noodles (which I ate all of them without splashing – victory!) we decided to go. It was almost midnight. We walked outside, into a steady rain. We made our way to the street, where we tried to hail a cab. We couldn’t, so we ran across the street to get one going the other direction. I started to protest, But, this is the wrong way. The driver will tell us to get out (this has happened to me several times). “Don’t worry. Have I ever given you my other business card?” No. A cab pulled up and we quickly slid in. He handed me the card. “If ever a taxi driver gives you a tough time, just show them this, I have connections. Everyone knows me.” What kind of connections? He made some references that made my mouth drop open. I’m from rural North Carolina. I thought that only existed in the movies.

As we got near my home, I told the driver which way to turn, left, right, left, left. The driver stopped and I began to get out. So did my colleague. Dude! What are you doing? “I want to walk you to your door.” You are *not* coming in. “No, no, I just want to be a gentleman and walk you to your door.” We got to my door. Thanks for dinner – good night. He looked dumbfounded.

I came in and immediately turned on my computer to start typing. Is this a dream? Did this really happen?

Ring, ring, ring. Who could be calling me? “I’m still outside your door. Aren’t you hungry?” No, we ate at the restaurant. “No, that wasn’t dinner because we didn’t have rice.” Oh, yeah, the rice rule. I forgot. “Let me bring you some mandu, or bibimbop.” No. You cannot come in. Not to bring me food or for any other reason. “But I’m so hungry.” Then go to a restaurant. “But all the restaurants are closed. Please let me feed you.”

This is my life in Korea in a nutshell. People offering to feed me. Drunk men behaving badly. And me, not knowing whether I’m really living life or whether I’ll wake up in a year and have Auntie Em by my side, stroking my hair.

I’ve spent the last few days thinking about what has happened. A lot of thinking. Really trying to clarify my values and reflect on my actions. Reading the emails and comments from friends, family, and, hmm… “friends of the blog” for lack of a better term. Thank you to everyone who has offered advice.

When I first read the suggestion to implement cookies, I thought, “Yes. That’s what I’ll do. That way I can continue writing whatever I want and people I interact with on a daily basis won’t know my true thoughts, about life in Korea, about my (mis)adventures, about how homesick I am at times.” But the more I thought about it, it just didn’t feel right. I don’t want to write worrying about if someone will accidentally (or intentionally) “discover” my blog. I don’t want to feel like I’m in “hiding.”

I don’t believe in censorship. There are certainly subjects/topics/ideas that I find offensive, but I like having the choice whether to read these or not. I believe we can learn as much from people we disagree with as from people we share common views with, if not more. So, basically, I would be a hypocrite if I blocked access to my blog. A big one.

With this said, I also like to consider myself a practical person. Sometimes. At least I try to be, not always successfully. So, the stories on the blog may become a little more “G” rated. Not that there was anything worse than “PG” on there before…

And, I won’t use real names anymore. If you’ve been reading since my arrival, you’ll recognize the characters, but the names will be changed “to protect the innocent.” Or whatever that phrase is they always use in Cosmo.

So B., you’ll have to find someone else to round up the late night troops in San Francisco, at least for another 9 months…

With that said, time to start another story…