I tried to find a computer yesterday in order to keep up my once-a-day blog habit, but after going to the school library, which was closing, and then wandering around my classroom building looking for a PC room (unsuccessfully), I gave it up and trundled home. It's getting mightily cold here, so it was nice to sit on my bed and pull the top blanket over me and read the book Nina gave me before she left DC (Instance at the Fingerpost). Thanks, Neener! It's fascinating. Set in 17th century Oxford, the first part is told by an Italian academic, and there's just enough detail to make the times come alive. In that respect, it's much like Time and Again, the book from Stephen which deals with time travel into 19th century New York. Actually, I think Time and Again is better at bringing the reader into history; there's a lot of exposition about the nature of history and the past and how we can't really experience it as historians or whatnot that I find absorbing.
How cool would it be to write historical fiction? I've thought about that before and the idea happened upon me again today as dad and I climbed Bukhansan (Northern Mountain). Dang, it was cold. Dang, it was pretty. The turning of the leaves isn't that impressive (I'm guessing because there hasn't been a lot of rain in the region this season) but the mountainsides were pleasant to see, with the yellows and rust browns and greens broken up by stretches of bare rock.
We climbed up about half an hour to one of the Buddhist temples nestled into the hillsides. There's a big golden statute of Sakyamuni, and there were two little dogs in one of the courtyards, a white one busily trying to tear a sky blue tarp off of a pile of stuff, and a brown one sunning on a wooden board. We called them over, and after thinking about it for a second, they came hustling over, hoping for some food. When it was clear we had none, they returned to their pursuits.
Later, on the way down, dad opened up his backpack and pulled out various cookies and biscuits, and the dogs had a fine old time begging for some. A family with two kids was also there, and the father opened up a package of dried "ojingo" (squid) and the dogs again had a field day. (Dad commented that since monks don't eat meat, this was certainly a treat for the dogs.)
As my friends all know, I'm a sucker for dogs, and so whenever I spot one here, I'm just delighted. Today I saw several, usually sporting a jaunty sweater. The funniest one was one I saw while we were driving to the mountain: in traffic, I saw a woman on a moped, and caught sight of movement at her feet. Sure enough, there was a little red dog sitting between her feet, wearing a dog sweater and looking for all the world as if it were the one with the place to go, and a driver to take it there. On the way up the mountain, we saw a little black dog with a red sweater, being carried in the vest of a woman coming down the slope. The other day, I saw the same scene in the subway: a furry little head poking out from inside a partially buttoned jacket. Perhaps it was the warmth of the car, or the motion, but it seemed rather sleepy; I saw it nod off a few times, get woken when the woman wearing the jacket moved, and then fall asleep again.
Cute. A little strange, but cute.
I'm again in dad's apartment, being spoiled. Dad just warmed up some leftover "pa-jun" (scallion pancake) from when we were coming down the mountain, and served it up to me. The other day Myung-soo mentioned waking up early to make breakfast for her father, who was in town briefly for business, and I said, "oh! My dad cooks dinner for me." She was quite surprised. I told her that my dad is quite unusual.
What was I talking about before? Historical fiction, right. Yeah, sometimes I think that would be really cool to do, since I like writing and I like history, but then I always get scared off somehow. Like today, I was thinking - what fiction have I written lately? Zip. How in the world do I think that I can write this stuff? Just cause you like something doesn't mean you'll be good at it. Still, it's a thought.
I must admit to some sadness this week, due to various reasons. I'm starting to feel the way I felt in DC - what am I doing here? Where am I headed? What do I want? (The Scarlett O'Hara Syndrome: "Where shall I go? What shall I do?") As I've written to some folks, I was terrified before coming here and now I feel sort of blase about it all. Incredible. Wasn't I supposed to feel excitement at some point, before it all became rote?
I wonder if it's Korea, if I'd be excited about being somewhere else, just not here. Korea is so much more than a foreign place to me, it's a chance to get to know my dad and his family, to understand my parents and the way they are, and to understand me and the way I am. That's a lot of weight to place onto a journey. On top of all that, I'm 26 years old (27 by Korean age - they count the year in the womb as year 1), and I just have no idea about anything! What do I like? What is important to me? What do I want my life to contain - what do I need my life to have? What do I need in a partner? I don't have answers for any of these questions.
I thought that being in a foreign country would shock me into some realizations about these sorts of things, but I'm wondering if that was just wishful thinking.
Sigh.
I suppose I'm just having a bad day, or few days. I have to remind myself that bad days happen, no matter where you are. And it's only the first month, after all. It's bound to get better, right? This blandness, this blankness will surely go away, won't it?
...
Totally apropos of nothing, except I keep meaning and forgetting to write about it - you know what I really miss? Dryer sheets. Actually, dryers in general. I've done laundry three times so far, and unlike the commercials where people are sent into the third level of heaven just by smelling sun-dried clothes, I hate it. Until college, I never knew that clothes could be soft, never knew that clean jeans didn't have to be like stiff wooden boards when you put them on, never knew that socks could feel good to put on. Then I got to college and discovered dryer sheets.
Ah, dryer sheet! How do I love thee? Let me count the ways! Never again a brittle sweatshirt! Never again a pair of pants you could use as a table! I got too used to you, dryer sheet, and now I discover anew how much absence makes the heart grow fonder.
The funny thing is, we had a dryer when I was in high school. It sat in the corner of the kitchen and my mom put some flowers on it, I think.
There's no dryer in the hasook jeep. There is a washing machine in the bathroom, and some drying racks in the hallway and outside. So I wash my clothes and hang them up, and it works just fine, and I miss dryers like nuthin'. Getting towels and bathrobes and underwear and socks and shirts and pants and sweaters out of the dryer, all warm and fluffy... sob.
I'm aware of fabric softener, but let me just have this moment of silent tribute to Downey dryer sheets.
...
One last thing (a fun story to end with): on Friday night, I went out with Maiko and some members of the Sogang University English Speaking Club, and had makkoli for the first time. Makkoli is a Korean alcoholic drink made out of rice and known for producing a horrible hangover. While we drank (in moderation!), I learned some fun slang, including this one: "Mah-shi-go jook-ja!" Roughly translated: Let's drink til we die!
There's also this one: "Mah-shi-go tto-ja!" The M and T play off the beginning letters for Membership Training, a kind of initiation period for freshmen who are joining clubs in college. MT consists of a lot of drinking, hence: "Let's drink til we hurl!"
It might only be funny if you're familiar with Korean, but -- hee hee.