I got a letter from M la M today, to my delight. Real mail! I wouldn't give up email or the internet for the world, but snail mail letters have become a rare treasure.
M la M wrote that she sent the letter in case I was homesick. Thank you, M, for the thought, which is so in keeping with your kind nature.
It's not so much homesickness as much as nostalgia, I think. I ride the train, and I suddenly remember other places, other trains, other experiences. Watching the rich reds and golds of New England autumn flash by the window while riding Metro North back to New Haven from New York. Surfacing for a few minutes at Arlington Cemetery on the DC metro before plunging into darkness again. Taking the light rail from Hammersmith to Victoria Station in London each day during the two weeks I was a Richter Fellow (ha).
It's not that I want to be back in those times or in those places (for what experience is as sweet as the memory of it?), but I do feel a rush of fondness for the place, and tenderness for who I was then.
The thing I think I will remember most about the subway here is taking the number 3 line to work every day, and looking forward to the stretch between Oksu and Apgujeong, where it crosses the Han River: gazing at the green water, watching the people in the cars on the bridge we're sharing, looking up and hoping for a glimpse of the mountains beyond the river and the city.

Does it seem weird that I write these blog entries but haven't responded to many of y'all's emails? Please don't be offended. I write these entries in bits and pieces -- a sentence after I edit a block of text, or between documents. Snatches of time, I find, are not conducive for writing back to friends, and I haven't had a good stretch of free time at work for over a week. Last weekend I didn't go to my dad's house, so I didn't have access to a computer then.
Ah, last weekend. I mentioned something before about the wild activities of Saturday night, and haven't had a chance to update you on them. Funny how the forward march of time sweeps you along and you try to turn around and look back and recapture what it felt like a week ago and just fail fail fail, miserably.
Well. Suffice to say that I am old. Not old in years, but in spirit. It was Aya's birthday last Saturday, and so she and I and our other housemate Yuki and my friend Maiko went out to meet Aya's friend Doug, whose birthday was the next day. He and a couple of his buddies were drinking at a western bar called Santana, so we were having a grand ole time all together. Two of his friends brought cakes for Doug, so we had one there. (Cakes! Boys, buying cakes for other boy friends! Aw.)
The other cake was not to be eaten until a good two hours later, when we all ended up in Hongdae, an area known for its nightlife. It was definitely hoppin'. We went to some bar where Doug continued to get increasingly soused, and we all danced a bit to the all-American music.
Doug greeted an American during the night and introduced him to us as Sammy. Sammy looked a bit odd -- yellow suit, shaved head -- and didn't speak Korean, so no one was talking to him. I too, for whatever reason, didn't volunteer my citizenry to him, but eventually was talking to him rather stiltedly when one of Doug's other friends started rudely reaching in front of me to get to the cake.
As I was finding out that Sammy used to be in the U.S. army and actually had been stationed in Korea and in Ft. Lewis, where my uncle works, Cake Boy all of a sudden shoved me over on the sofa and continued to eat cake. I protested, but he doggedly ignored me and continued eating. Another friend of Doug's, Nice Boy, said something to the effect of, "Oh, he doesn't mean anything by it," but the only explanation I could come up with about this weird rudeness was that Cake Boy didn't want me to talk to Sammy.
Now, I didn't particularly want to talk to Sammy either (what, did I come to Korea to meet Americans?), but I was pissed off about Cake Boy's presumptuous and condescending attitude, and my mood took a decided turn south. It's not that Cake Boy wanted to get with me or anything, believe me. I think he just didn't want me to talk to an American. Period.
At some point, Yuki and Maiko decided that they didn't like the bar so much, and wanted to go to another club. I wanted to go home, but since taking cabs late at night is not advisable for young women by themselves, Aya offered to come home with me, and I could tell she didn't want to go home just yet. So there was the usual confusion of Who? Huh? Where? Why? for several minutes, during which the girls said they'd just head out by themselves if the guys didn't want to go. At this point, Doug said, "It's not safe to go out in Hongdae late at night by yourselves -- too many fucking GIs." After a moment, he also added: "And too many niggers."
I just stared at him. He lived in the States for a few years, so I have no idea why he thought that was an appropriate thing to say.
Ironically, after all was said and done, the girls ended up going to a hip-hop club. But before we went, the boys, thinking that we were going home (the confusion of large group communication), insisted we have some food from an outdoor vendor first. These vendors are ubiquitous here, and it's customary to end your night by eating tempura and rice cakes with your friends, standing under a tented moveable kitchen, basically. None of the girls ate much. I think the boys might have been a bit annoyed at us, but didn't show it. When they found out that we were not going home after all, they really did get annoyed, and left us to our own devices.
Soon after the boys left, Yuki and Maiko found the club they wanted to go to, and we paid our door fee (about $8, which included a free drink) and went in.

Yikes! Time to leave. More tomorrow on the rest of that night, and on the Thanksgiving dinner I'm going to tonight (I know I said I didn't want to meet too many Americans, but it's Thanksgiving, yo, and I miss the whole shebang, esp. my escapades with the BC).