This shows a Saturday post, but I'm actually writing this on Monday. Not that you care or anything.

Strange, but when I was in the U.S., I didn't miss Korea, and now that I'm here, I don't miss the U.S. much. I missed things about my life in Korea: the simplicity of my day-to-day schedule; the low-profile social life; the yummy, healthy food; the exercise induced by all those stairs in the metro -- these things I missed. But not the actual place.

Now that I'm here, I have my nice, pretty (sterile?) lifestyle back, but I miss my friends and John and some members of my family. I also miss space. As Matt, another expatriate for the year (in the Netherlands) commented, there's a lot of wasted space in America and an overdependence on cars, and while I too hated the waste, at the same time, I liked how BIG the country is (exaggerated, of course, in sprawling L.A.) and how much personal space Americans give each other. I also liked, as recent L.A. visitor Wendy wrote to me, the courtesy with which Angelenos, anyway, treat each other. (Except when they are shooting at each other on the freeway. One of the best scenes in LA Story, by the way.)

I was reminded of the different perceptions of personal space in LAX (the L.A. airport). Standing in line for an hour and a half as two United Airlines employees struggled to take care of a line stretching out of the door, I noticed that the Chinese people behind me seemed to consider me as part of the group. Every time I moved forward, one of their party would put their stuff right next to my bag and stand at the same position in line as I did. I got irritated after a while and purposely wheeled my suitcase near the nylon divider so that no one could put their stuff there. Of course, someone else then put their stuff on the other side of me.

About 20 people behind me, I heard a Caucasian man ask (with a smile!) the Asian man behind him, "It would be nice if you could give us a little more room." The Asian man sort of nodded, and pulled his cart back about a centimeter.

Knowing how crowded Seoul subway cars can be (and how that level of crowdedness would never be tolerated in the U.S. -- and yes, I have been on a NYC subway car during rush hour), I imagined how China must take crowdedness to a whole new level. And how that might automatically cause people to get really close to each other, utilizing every space possible.

Or maybe it isn't about space. Maybe this crowdedness has something to do with what my teacher told us last quarter about the way Koreans behave toward each other. You see, when someone brushes past you, causing you to drop something or nearly fall over, you kind of expect an apology, right? Not so here, my friend. What about when you give up your seat to an elderly woman, and she takes it without even a glance in your direction? Would you think she's incredibly rude? You'd better think again while in Korea.

My teacher explained it like this: in the old days, when everyone lived in small villages, all the inhabitants knew each other, and indeed were probably in some way related to each other. Therefore, small graces like apologies and thank-yous were unnecessary, since it was all understood nonverbally. Besides, you're all family, right? My teacher said she'd read that this was why Koreans today still don't bother with those formalities -- it's a holdover from the days when such things were understood without speaking.

Well, I'm not sure I buy this explanation. I also still think that small courtesies are worth the effort. But while in Korea, do as Koreans do. That way, I'm pleasantly surprised by someone who steps on my foot and actually says, "Oh, I'm sorry!"