You Are My Purple Magnolia…

Well, no wedding bells were ringing when I entered so-yae this morning, so I don’t think I agreed to marry Son-seongnim (I was informed today that Son-seong is rude, you have to add nim to the end to be polite – will I ever learn?) Song’s son. But I’m still not completely sure. As I entered, Son-seongnim Song exclaimed, “White-ta Day! White-ta Day!” Oh, yesss… And he proceeded to tell me that this was when men gave ladies flowers and candy. “Happy White-ta Day!” and with that we had coffee.

Mr. Lau (funny man) was practicing Chinese flower painting. “Ohhhhh, magnolias!” I exclaimed. They were amazing. A beautiful scroll of a branch and several blooms greeting the morning. Mr. Lee said, “I do not know what these are called in English.” Magnolias. “I do not know.” Magnolias. “Maybe I will look it up.” Magnolias. They are magnolias. We sat down to have coffee and Mr. Lee pulled out a Korean-English dictionary. He scanned the pages, using his reading glasses and a magnifying glass, then said, “Ahhhhh – mak-noe-leee-ahs.” Really? Mr. Lau looked at me, then said, “Blue?” What? “What (and pointed at my sweater)?” Well, technically, it’s periwinkle. But let’s start with purple. Purple. “You my pulpul mak-noe-lee-yah,” and laughed hysterically. I think it was a compliment.

To Teach or Not To Teach…

After so-yae I stopped by the school to drop off some papers. I saw Mr. Pyong. Hi! Mr. Pyong, can we talk? About yesterday’s talk with Chairman Kim? “Of course, of course.” Were you asking me to teach the mother’s class? “Maybe. If you like.” Well, every week? or just one time? “Yes. Wednesday, Friday. As you like.” Would I get paid extra? “No……” Well, I’m already teaching a maximum load. 30 classes. And there are many other teachers who are only teaching 10 or 15 classes. Maybe you could ask them to teach. “Yes…I just ask you. Chairman Kim ask you. No? No problem. Just ask-a.” Okay. Thank you. So I will not teach tomorrow, right? “Okay. As you like.” Okay, cleared that one up. I think.

Special Delivery…

Chanta was hanging out at my place this afternoon. Searching for chocolate and chillin’. We heard a sound. A song. I looked at her quizzically. What’s that? “It’s your doorbell, silly.” But, you’re the only person I know here. Who else would be ringing my bell? “Answer it.” I opened the door and was met by the biggest bouquet of red roses I’ve ever seen. Ever *seen,* not just ever received. What? I couldn’t remember the Korean words for “What is this?” Que es esso? kept running through my head. Wrong language, Rori. The delivery man, seeing my confusion, pointed to the card and said, “Card-a. You.” He passed the bouquet and a box to me, I thanked him and he was off.

I came back into my room. Chanta exclaimed, “Oh, my god. Please tell me they are from anyone except Mr. Drunk Dialer.” I don’t know. “Maybe they’re from your dad.” Chanta, this is a a made up holiday. No one outside of Korea has any idea it’s a special day. Had you ever heard of White Day before coming here? She nodded in agreement. Sure enough, they were from Mr. Drunk Dialer. “What’s in the box?” I don’t know. “Open it, girl!” Okay, okay. I unwrapped the paper and found a box of shrimp chocolates in my lap. Not shrimp flavored chocolates (thank goodness) but chocolates shaped like shrimp. Who thought this was a good idea? And do they still have a job?

Chanta was psyched. She had found her chocolate. I can mainstream sugar all day long, but don’t care for chocolate at all. So she knew she was getting the whole box. I was still in shock. She asked me how many roses there were. I had no idea. We started counting, but quit after we reached 50. We were nowhere close to completing the count. Flowers are one of my favorite things in the world, so I felt like I should have been happy to receive such a generous gift. But I wasn’t. If anything it just made me mad. Why is he doing this? Why won’t he just leave me alone?

To Bang or Not To Bang?

I had an appointment to get my hair cut tonight. It’s been 4 months since my last cut; it’s time. I rationalized that I haven’t seen anyone here with a horrible haircut. People are pretty stylish. How bad could it be? Michelle and Cindy accompanied me for moral support and translation services. Snip, snip, snip. Chop, chop. Measure. Pull. Hmmmm. Snip. Okay. Well. My hair is cut. And I have bangs. I haven’t had bangs since the oh, fourth grade. And now I remember why. In hindsight, I should have recognized a-everyone here has straight, fine hair and b-I do not. Oh, well, it’ll grow.

White Girls Can’t Dance

I made dinner for the girls tonight. After dinner we were chatting about this and that. School. University. Where we might teach next. Michelle mentioned DDR*. What’s that? “Oh, so fun! Game. Dance. Fun!” Okay, let’s try it one day. “Okay!” and she grabbed her coat. I guess there’s no time like the present – let’s go. We headed to the first arcade. DDR was down. To the next arcade. We walked in to a young teenager jumping this way and that on brightly colored flashing lights on the floor. It’s full body Simon! Michelle pointed us to a similar machine around the corner. We put in our 300 won (20 cents). First Michelle and I competed. Bright arrows flashed on the screen. We were supposed to place our feet on corresponding bright arrows on the floor. But wait, is red forward or backward? And when do you jump? Why is it saying I missed? What’s that symbol? Halfway through the song I gave up and just started dancing. It felt much better. And I think I actually got a better score than had I continued to embarrass myself jumping this way and that…

*I think it’s an abbreviation for Dance Dance Revolution, but I’m not sure.

Perception

I’m beginning to feel like I don’t know anything. Or anything I did know is now null and void.

Part 1

So-yae lessons are going particularly well. I’ve learned 3 strokes now. I can hold the brush without my hand cramping. The men are teaching me new Korean words everyday. Mr. Lee, my translator, had to leave early today. No problem. Most of the lesson is me working in silence anyway. As I was cleaning up, Son-Seng Song approached me. “Miss Lori?” Yes. “Here. Look.” He pulled out a scrap of paper and began to scribble on it. First in Korean, then English. Mumbling words. Finally, he wrote something approaching, “daughter-in-law” and said it at the same time. Yes? “You understand?” Yes. I smiled. I waited for him to continue. And waited. “Okay.” And he left the room. What did I just say I understood?

Part 2

As I was eating my rice and kimchi for lunch, my phone rang. In itself an unusual occurance. I answered. “Miss Lori?” Yes… “This is Mr. Pyong. Can you come to the school right now? Chairman Kim would like to see you.” Oooh. I hate that feeling. I immediately think to myself, “What have I done wrong?” There’s something about when someone says they want to see me immediately that strikes fear in me. I told him I wasn’t in my uniform. “No problem. Come right now.” So, I went.

I arrived at the school, all smiles. “Annong ha-sayo!” And was greeted in kind. Smiles. Laughter. Greetings. Chairman Kim and Mr. Pyong ushered me into an office. Sit, sit, sit. Chairman Kim looked at a newspaper on the table. He made a comment about something being beautiful (one of my vocabulary words). Mr. Pyong translated that Chairman Kim either said the woman in the photo in the newspaper was beautiful or I was beautiful, he wasn’t sure which. Have I mentioned that Mr. Pyong is a good-hearted man, but not the best translator? This is going to be interesting…

Chairman Kim began with pleasantries. How are you? How are you enjoying your time in Korea? You are the best teacher.

I inserted a quick,”Khamsa hamnidaaaa.”

You have friends, right?

Yes.

We need another teacher. Another beautiful teacher. You are a good teacher. Your friend will be good teacher. Your friend will be beautiful teacher. More beautiful than you.

(I think to myself, That’s taking the associative property to the extreme, but okay.)

Hahahahaha. Joke.

(I smiled weakly. I’m not sure what the joke was.)

Our school, not many students. Lower than winter session.

I know.

So we have special classes. Intensive classes for Wednesday. Classes for ajumaa (mothers).

Yes.

But when we have regular enrollment, no special classes.

Okay.

Our school, financial trouble. But no financial trouble. Need new teacher, new students. Chairman Kim, rich man. No trouble.

I don’t understand.

Chairman Kim, two schools. Other school, maybe financial trouble, but two schools, no financial trouble. All good, okay?

I still don’t understand.

Don’t worry. Best teacher. We like you, we like Chanta very, very much. We will take care of you.

Okay. Thank you.

Are you comfortable?

What?

Are you comfortable? Is your life okay? Anything worries you?

(Ooooooo. Are they fishing for information on Mr. Drunk Dialer? I really don’t want to start accusations.) Everything is fine.

Because if you are uncomfortable, if you have worry, you tell us. We take care of you.

Okay.

We want you to be happy.

Okay.

We want you to do things for the school.

Like what?

Best teacher. New students.

I don’t understand.

Chairman Kim said you went to his house for lunch.

Yes.

His wife, she like you very, very much.

Thank you. I enjoyed meeting her, too.

She want you to come again.

Thank you. I would like that.

When you go to their home, you take very beautiful flowers.

Yes.

You are beautiful on outside, and your actions are beautiful.

Thank you.

Hahahahahahahaha. Joke.

(Blank stare. Oh, okay. I have no idea what the joke was.)

So you will do things for our school?

What things? What are you talking about?

The mothers, they are meeting now. They have class with Mark.

Okay.

You go in, you talk to them for 20 minutes. Say hello, ask their names. Woman to woman.

Right now?

Okay, not now. Maybe another day.

Okay. When?

Maybe Wednesday, maybe Friday. Which day is good for you?

Either. Just let me know in advance.

We want you to be happy.

Okay. Thank you.

We like you very, very much.

Thank you.

Have you eaten lunch?

No, not yet.

Chairman Kim has not eaten either.

Okay.

But he will not eat with you. Hahahahahahahaha.

(Again, blank stare.) Okay.

Okay, that is all. Thank you, Miss Lori.

I have no idea what this was about. But it took a good 45 minutes.

Update

When I arrived to school this afternoon, in uniform and ready to teach, Mark approached me. “So, I hear we’ll be team teaching the mothers. They’re a good class. Not bad.” What are you talking about? “They told me that you’ll teach the moms on Friday and I’ll teach them on Wednesday. One and a half hours each day. We don’t have books yet. Mr. Drunk Dialer is working on that. We should meet with him tomorrow or the next day.” Oh, god. This is what I agreed to?

Chanta had another insight. Girls/women live with their families until they get married, often into their late 20s, early 30s. Here we are, two single women, living in a foreign country with no family. She thinks they are acting paternally, wanting to make sure we are adjusting okay (she got the same “are you comfortable talk” on Monday). Maybe.

I have no idea what I’ve agreed to today.

In My Inbox…

This is one of the many reasons I love my dad. After seeing my post about dinner with Mr. Kim, he sent me an email, subject “news.”

“I have old news, bad news and good news. 1. Old news. Judging from your last blog, the snake is still in the garden. 2. Bad news – bank transaction. 3. – Good news – reversal of bank transaction. Love, Dad.”

No drama. Lightly humorous. Life will be fine. Thanks, Dad.

I received several random emails today (aka “spam” – I’m telling you, I am soooooo easily amused).

The first, an email about a musical instrument trade show. In Germany. From a Pakistani company. Targeting music lovers in Korea. How in the world did I end up on this mailing list?

The second one. My friend EmLee and I have a habit of saying “OLE!” whenever we’re feeling blue. Because, you can’t be sad when you shout “OLE!” Try it. It’s a happy word. I got an email today, subject: Call Out Gouranga Be Happy! Hmmm. I’ver never heard of this. Should I just delete? Curiosity won out. I opened it, and there, in a bright blue box, in beautiful yellow letters, were just those words: Call Out Gouranga Be Happy! I don’t know what or who Gouranga is, but when I called it out, I was happy. Try it.

Got Milk?

I don’t understand it. I’m not skinny. Especially by Asian standards. Yet I am constantly being offered food. Usually, by people I know. But now, by strangers as well.

Today was a beautiful spring day. Warm, not hot. Gentle breeze. Fresh. After so-yae I decided to meander before going home. Just enjoy being outside. I walked along this street and that, then decided to go where all the women sell their produce along the street. Even if I don’t buy anything, I love walking along this street. There is only about 2 feet of actual sidewalk that is not covered by baskets of beans, stacks of cabbage, bowls of live fish. Most of the produce is a dull green, or white, or brown. But every now and then I’ll spy piles of intense red strawberries or incredibly bright orange tangerines. I was meadering, looking at the produce, trying to identify items, trying to avoid slipping in the fish water on the sidewalk, when I heard “Hell-llo.” I looked up, there was a man standing beside a small table. On the table were small cartons of milk, the kind I used to drink in elementary school. “Annong ha-sayo,” I replied. Russia? “Ani-o, Miguk.” Where? “San Francisco.” Ahhhhh. San Francisco. You drink milk? “Excuse me?” Milk – you like milk? “Ummmmm. I guess. (anticipating a hard sell) But I don’t drink very much.” My present to you. I will bring you milk everyday. “No, thank you. That’s very generous of you. But no.” Present. I bring to your house everyday. One carton of milk. My present to you. You no pay. You drink my milk. “Thank you (laughing), thank you, but no. Annong hee kay say-o!”

naive – lacking worldly experience and understanding

Okay. How does this happen? I am really naive? I never thought so before, but now I’m beginning to wonder. I was looking forward to going out with Mr. Kim tonight – to eat “raw fish.” Another new friend. He picks me up. He tells me in the car he’s missed me this week. Okay, that’s a little weird, but okay. We go to the “raw fish” restaurant, Dong Hay. East Sea.

We sit down and many, many dishes arrive. Grilled fish. Salads. Mussels. Soup. Kim chi. Kim bop. And the soju. I tell him I don’t want to drink much soju – it is too strong for me. We start eating the “side dishes.” We have polite dinner conversation. About his business. My school. His family. I ask him if he is married. He laughs. I don’t see what is so funny about that question. He’s asked me, I’ve answered, why can’t I ask him. “I think you ask me that because I am so strong and look so young.” No, I ask you that because I know you have children (in university, nonetheless) and I assumed your wife would be joining us tonight. He said, “No, maybe another time my wife will join us, but tonight, it is just us.” I tell him this is odd, that in America normally husband and wife eat dinner together. He laughs and says, “No, you are lying. I know better.”

The main course arrives. So much raw fish. He tells me that in the morning I will not be able to recognize my skin. What are you talking about? Recognize? No, realize. I will not be able to realize how soft my skin will be after eating raw fish. Whatever.

We start to eat, by now we have finished almost one bottle of soju. He starts to talk about how much soju costs in other countries. In Korea, it is not a burden for the common man to purchase. But in America, maybe it is $20 a bottle. Noooooo. Yes. That is not right. You, you think like a teacher, 1 + 1 equals 2. But a businessman, he knows customs, taxes, profits, and yes, it is $20. Okay – that was extremely patronizing.

So, I think you must be lonely. You are in a foreign country. What do you do when you are lonely?

Well, sometimes I miss my friends and family, but I email them a lot, and I talk to my parents once a week, so it’s okay. Plus, I’ve made friends here in Korea. So I hang out with them.

No, I think you get lonely. Like a woman gets lonely. You were married. And now divorced. What do you do when you want sexual intercourse?

(I almost spit my soju at him. I’ve never been asked so bluntly before.) Wellllllll. I just get over it.

No. I think you need a partner. A sexual partner.

(Oh, God. Is this where this is going?) No, I don’t need sexual partner.

Well, I take many business trips. And I get lonely. I want a sexual partner. But I don’t want to go to the red light street. So, maybe when I go on a business trip… What do you do when you get lonely?

I don’t think it is the same. I don’t want to have sexual intercourse with just anyone. I want it to be someone I care about. And I have not found anyone lately that I care about. I would rather be alone. (and I cannot believe I am having this conversation with you)

But you have to have desires. I will be your partner.

I don’t think so.

But that means maybe yes?

No, that means I don’t ever think that will happen. Ever.

But we do not know what will happen in the future. Insha’allah, right?

I know you will not be my sexual partner. Does your wife know you have other partners?

I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. Her job is a housewife. She takes care of my children and my house.

Would you care if she had other partners?

Not if it wasn’t in our home. She can do what she wants. I can do what I want. This is the Korean way.

No, I don’t think so.

Okay, it is the western way. Isn’t that why you divorced your husband?

No. It is not the western way either. And, my husband and I were together 6 years. During that time I did not have relations with anyone else and I truly believe he did not either. That is not the western way. (and why am I still having this conversation?)

Many English teachers, especially women, are here in Daegu.

Okay.

There are stories in the paper everyday. Foreign hag-wan teachers. Using hashish to combat loneliness.

I don’t do drugs either.

No, that’s not what I’m saying. I’m just saying many teachers use drugs. You are from San Francisco, right?

Yes.

Many people in San Francisco, they are lesbian, right?

I’m not a lesbian, either.

I do not understand. You must be lonely. What do you do?

I don’t think it is the same between men and women. I don’t have to have sex with someone.

Well, when you were in Kuwait…

Yes.

Kuwaiti men, they love to f*ck American women.

I met my husband in Kuwait. He was American. I never dated any Arabic men.

Arabic women, they are beautiful. Like a painting. The most beautiful women in the world.

Yes, they are beautiful.

But American women, except for you, of course, they are tough. Not so beautiful.

(raised eyebrows)

I said except for you. But the most unattractive women, Scandinavian women.

Really?

Yes. They are so tall. And so big. Big eyes. Lots of freckles. Light hair. And hair all over their body. Everywhere.

Really? I’ve never been there.

I was in a cafe run by Tabu. You know Tabu?

No.

No? Yes, you do. The movie maker.

No.

Porn movies.

I’ve never seen a porn movie.

What? Are you from North Korea?

No. I’m from America. And I’ve never seen a porn movie.

Let’s go. Right now. I will show you one.

No.

Okay, anyway, I was in this cafe. And the waitresses were completely naked. Except for high heels and their trays.

Okay.

But I couldn’t look at them, they were so unattractive. Here, have some more fish.

I can’t. (rubbing my tummy) I’m full.

No, your chest is full. I did not realize it when we were hiking, but now, tonight, oh my god. I think only your chest is full, not your tummy.

I’m ready to go.

Wait. Isn’t this well, special? I mean, we were destined to meet. There are never any women on the trails at Apsan. And there you were. And we were there at the same time. And I spoke to you. And we hiked together. And we spoke Arabic. This is meant to be. We are meant to be sexual partners.

No, we’re not.

I think, maybe, in a past life you were a cow. And I was a mosquito. And we were together then as well. Now we have the chance to be closer in this life.

(First of all, calling me a cow, even in a past life, is not going to endear me to you.) No. I don’t think so.

But that means maybe? Mumkin (Arabic for maybe).

Mish mumkin (Arabic for no possible way).

I caught a cab home. Am I really so naive?

I Now Know What A Bad Standup Comic Feels Like…

In one of my writing classes, I had to teach riddles. Riddles only work if you understand the play on words. Who was the genius who included this in our ESL curriculum?

“How is a fiction book like a tall building?” Answer from the class: they both contain a lot of information. “Okay… any other guesses?” Books can be found in buildings. A picture of a building is in a book, maybe. “Yes…. Okay, the answer is – They both contain many stories!” I’m met with blank stares. So I go to the whiteboard. “See, a book, it contains stories, tales about things that happen, right? And a building that is tall, has many floors, which are also called stories. See? Isn’t that funny?” The four pre-teenage girls look at me and nod, appeasing me, yes, teacher, it’s funny. Okay, next example.

“What is the difference between a jeweler and a prison guard?” Teacher, what is a jeweler? Ohhhhhh. So I explain a jeweler’s job, trying to make sure I include the words “watch” and “sale” (key to the answer). Teacher, what is prison? Hmmmmm… How can I salvage this lesson? I explain the answer, “One sells watches, the other watches cells.” And I draw my pictures on the whiteboard. Again, blank stares.

The next question. “How is candy like a government building?” Okay, let’s list all the types of candy we know: chocolate, chewing gum, marshmallows, gummy worms, hard candy, sour balls, licorice, the list goes on. They have listed every possible candy option except for “mints.” “Okay, what is that type of candy that you put in your mouth and it’s really refreshing and cool…” Blank stares. I know they have mints here. So I offer, “Mints? Yes?” Smiles, oh, yes, yes, yes. Okay. We’re getting somewhere. “Okay, and what’s the name of the government building that makes money?” Don’t know. “What about in Korean? Do you know the name in Korean?” No. “But you do have a building that makes money, right?” Maybe. Ohhhhhhhhhhhh. “Well, in English this building is called a mint. Get it? Mint/mint?” Riiiiiiiiight.

I’m of the firm belief that learning needs to be relevant to the students. And this so is not. Okay, I’ll give it one more try.

“What is the difference between a thief and a seat belt?” A seat belt is safe and a thief is not safe? “Good guess, you’re on the right track, keep on. What’s it called when a thief robs you?” Bad. Very bad. “Yes, it’s bad. What is another word for the action of the thief robbing you?” Hold you down. “Almost. Hold up. So a thief holds you up and a seat belt…” Holds you down! Heeheeeheheheeeeheheeee. All four girls erupted in laughter.

I am so glad this lesson is over.

Pantyhose…

must have been invented by a man. Why would a woman think that inventing a product into which one squeezes one’s legs into tubes that almost cut off circulation is a good idea?

Pantyhose are part of my uniform now. It has been years since I have voluntarily worn pantyhose. I had forgotten the idiosyncrasies of pantyhose. Such as. Pantyhose take time, a lot of time, to put on correctly. It never happens on the first try. And you cannot rush pantyhose. It’s sort of like writing. There’s the first draft. The revision. The editing. Then the final draft when you’re ready to walk out the door.

If you try to rush pantyhose evil things happen. Your fist suddenly bursts through a seam, sending multitudes of runs down your leg. Or, worse. Pantyhose always have the last word.

I only have a five minute break in between classes now. Enough time to return to my desk, get my books for my next class, take a sip of water, and go to my next classroom. But, sometimes, just sometimes, I have to also fit a trip to the bathroom into that 5 minutes as well. Like today. I was tugging on my pantyhose, preparing to return to class. Oh, there’s the bell. Don’t have time to do the re-tug and straightening. Okay, I’m fine. And I rushed out the door.

Pantyhose don’t like to be rushed. They like to be treated gently. Gingerly. Lovingly attended to. Smoothed and resmoothed. They like to think they are the sole recipient of your attention. And, quite frankly, they should be.

As I rushed back into the teacher’s room, I could feel stares upon me. But I’m getting used to that. Everyday I am met by stares, usually from Koreans. But here were 6 American men staring at me, no one saying a word. “What?” I asked with irritation. Chanta heard my voice, turned around and burst out laughing. She was laughing so hard she couldn’t speak. Tears formed in her eyes. She was gasping for breath. She finally took her hands and frantically rubbed her skirt, then pointed at me. I rubbed my skirt. Or where my skirt should have been. Oh, my god. I could feel the heat radiating from my face.

Pantyhose, oh, pantyhose, oh how you have forsaken me. Was it really necessary to capture my skirt, baring my legs (et al) for the world to see?

Things Seen On The Street…

A vending machine to recharge your cell phone. For only 78 cents, you, too, can have a fully recharged battery instantly.

Needlepoint pillows of cell phone numbers suction cupped to the front windshield of parked cars – just in case they are blocking your access.

80 kilogram bag of rice for sale. Who eats 80 kilograms of rice?

Sisters…

I have a younger sister and it is only in the last few years that we have become close. It is only within the last few years that we could be in the same room and not physically harm each other. It happened about the same time that she got married and I got divorced. Go figure. Many of my friends have similar experiences with their siblings.

Here, however, siblings like each other. They play together. They hold hands as they walk down the street. They help each other do homework. I love watching this.

I teach many pairs of siblings. One particular pair that I’ve taught since coming to Korea are Annie (a quiet, shy teenager who insists on being called by her “American” name) and Sang Min, her younger sister who has long, hot pink highlights in her hair. I adore both of them. I was preparing to teach Annie’s class. One of the teachers called my attention to the monitors in the lobby. “Who teaches that class? What are they doing?” Annie and Sang Min were in Annie’s classroom. They had turned out the lights and had hid under the table. We watched curiously on the tv monitors. The bell rang, so I went to class. As I walked in, they both jumped out from under the table and rushed at me to tickle me. I could only laugh. Sang Min then rushed to her classroom, giggling hysterically the whole way. Annie often talks about how she loves to play with Sang Min. Keep in mind, Annie is a teenager. Teenagers tend to hate everything. They’re doing something right here…

The Black Market

Chanta discovered the Black Market here in Daegu last week. She promised we would go together this weekend.

This morning we caught the bus downtown. We got off at a major department store (the landmark around which my life now revolves, how sad). She walked down a street, turned down an alley, turned down another alley, then grabbed my hand. “Here, in here.” Chanta, where are you taking me? It appeared that we were walking into racks of clothes. There were things hanging as well. Chanta, are you sure…. Several hanging bags brushed the top of my head. I bent lower and followed her. All of the sudden we were in a maze of tiny shops. Small tables packed with goods. Clothes hung, layer upon layer, on the wall. I felt like Alice in the rabbit hole. Everything was packed so closely together, every possible inch of display space was utilized. Which made me feel even more like an Amazon. I bent my head and continued walking. Mostly cosmetics, some clothes, some toiletries. Chanta dashed up a narrow set of stairs. “The good stuff is up here…” We arrived at a makeshift grocery store. We marveled at the products. Products that we knew their purpose. We didn’t have to guess. Familiar brands. Labels we could read. Directions we could understand. “Look, PineSol, oooooohhhhhhhhh.” I responded as if seeing a long lost love, “PineSoooooooool.” I have never fawned over cleaning products before. But seeing that bottle of PineSol made my heart flutter. “It’s lemon fresh scent, tooooooo…” But there was only one bottle. And we both coveted it. Should we rho-sham-bo? Flip a coin? Chanta offered, “I don’t want a whole bottle, maybe you’d want to share?” Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes. Do you have an extra container at home? Maybe an empty spaghetti sauce jar? “Yes, I do. Perfect. Let’s share.” We made our purchase and wove our way through the warren back to the streets of Daegu.

I scrubbed my floors today. With PineSol. I’m a little scared at the amount of satisfaction I derived from said task.