I am just finishing up my lunch, which my grandmother packed up for me this morning. A container of plain white rice; a very small container with three neat portions of banchan (sidedishes): garlic stems, boiled beef in soy sauce, and tiny seasoned anchovies; and to finish off, a quarter of an apple and a quarter of an orange, both wrapped in plastic and then again in a tissue.

Much better than my usual bowl of instant noodles that I buy in the small store downstairs in my office building.

I really should be nicer to my grandmother, who came over to cook me food when my dad called and told her I was sick this weekend.

I mentioned two weeks ago that for some inexplicable reason, I am bugged to death by my grandmere. I turn into a surly, uncommunicative teenager. I am annoyed at questions she asks me. I respond in monosyllables. I can just feel that I'm turning into my mother! (Last comment only really comprehendible by bigbro.)

Why? Why does she do this to me? Or rather, why do I react to her thus? This isn't a recent phenom. When I really was a teenager, she lived with us for a short while, and I recall acting in a similar manner.

There are a number of possibilities, but really, does it matter? I've been reading "The Art of Happiness," written by an American psychologist who spent some time talking with the Dalai Lama, who despite having been exiled from his country, is able to be remarkably happy. One of the differences between their approaches to human problems is that the psychologist, as his training dictates, tries to determine the root cause of someone's behavior (prior abuse, lack of love, etc.). In contrast, the impression I got from the Dalai Lama's words was that while the cause of the behavior is interesting, the important thing is how to alter a destructive behavior pattern, or how to accept an unchangeable situation.

So while a westerner might gnash her teeth and rend her clothes, all the while roaring, "Why me? Why me?", a Buddhist sighs deeply and figures out how to either deal with the problem or accept it. I guess Westerners just take an additional step, which adds to the time frame.

This is in part because the reincarnation aspect of Buddhism affords believers the luxury of saying, "Well, this could be happening as a result of karma from a previous life." There's no reason to the bad (or good!) luck -- at least, no reason you'll ever know. So you skip that gnashy/rendy/roary part, and go directly to the DEAL square (do not pass GO, either).

So, I just should deal, I suppose, and try to stop acting like a snot-nosed adolescent.
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This morning, in Shincheong-dong, it was raining more than snowing, an undecided sort of bland wetness, irritating in its wishy-washy quality. It felt gloomier than night, even though it was the morning.

But when I got out of the subway station at school, there was a thin layer of snow on the ground and the flakes were coming down hard, as if the skies had met and argued this way and that and raised their voices and taken a vote and amidst the inevitable grumbling, the vote came down, finally, in favor of making an honest effort to blanket the city with fresh cool snow.

Decisive snow!
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The addresses in Korea are written thus: city, district, area/neighborhood, apartment number. (The address I have on the left has been westernized.) The addresses in the States are written thus: street address, city, state, zip code. Does that reflect each culture's relative emphasis on the individual? Hm.