One of the things I'll miss about living here is walking every day. I know I can do the same in the U.S., and I'll try to, but it's easier to do when everyone else does it too. And people really love to get out and do stuff here. Maybe it's the small apartments (though the newer ones aren't that small), or the lack of quality programming on TV (though I don't have cable and it probably offers better stuff), but it doesn't seem real popular to sit at home and veg.

Vegging is actually what I've been doing this weekend, after the drunkenness that led to the embarrassing entry below. (You know, I thought about erasing it, but ... why bother. As Sally says, it's already out there.) I meant to go to Ewha on Saturday afternoon, get my hair cut, hang out with my classmate Gongli, but I stopped at home first and saw that Dad was really ill, so I felt bad about leaving. Later I discovered that the gov had been on a bender Friday night, and thus the resultant worshipping of the porcelain throne, which made me feel simultaneously less worried (how many times did this happen when I was a kid?) and superior (yo, I was drunk on Friday night too, but I'm not ill).

So I took a luxurious 3-hour nap, and then took a really pleasant walk through Olympic Park. For the first time, I took the lower path, and it was really lovely. It felt more Korean, for some reason. Brick-laid paths and wide empty squares. Is there such a thing as racial memory? Something that makes all Koreans, whether born in Korea or elsewhere, genetically predisposed to enjoy mountains and hiking?

Being the first weekend in two months where I haven't had the shadow of work hanging over me, I've enjoyed the lazing very much.

Drqank. Very drunk. WEll, not the most drunk I've ever been, but fairly drunk. Persistant drunken state. Damn it.

Out for Mi'a's birthday wtih Wqrraen and Aimee and John, who immigreated to US when 10 and doesn't hink books ore moves are v ery inrpsiring. (YOu realize that I am not coreecting any typographical mistakes here ena thsat it is indeed s amll biracle that I am typing at all.)

Much soju. And more soju and berr and singing 43 NOn-blondes at noraie bang (karaoke place). No. 4 nonblonges. Yeah, that'w its.

Was going to go to Hongdae with Aimee but she is only 22 and has lotso of energy and I was already 4 when she was born and she doesn't hagve any emotional connectionto "Sweet CHild of Mine" whereas I remember clarely that I listened ot ti for the fisrt time durig the civics field trip to DC when I was in ... uh, oh, can't remen ber when I went hteren. Oh yes. 8th grade. Lena Watanabe. Metalhead. Japanese. Hda me listen to her walkman (remember those?") while in line at the ... airport? Somthing like that.

Late night tv consits of very boring shows. And one intersting show aboutg divorse stories. THis one was about a woman who suffered 8 year s with a demon of a mother-n-law. Man, you aitnst' seen nothing about suffering til you see the storeis about what Korena daugher in laws put up with when they mnove in with their new husbands.

CAlled about 10 peopel eon my cell phone memeory so as not to make durnken dial to ex.

will not make drunken phone call to J. Been 5 days already since i wrote back and told him we should not hope to get back togehter. no rsponse though i obsessively check email three times a day, hopeing for..l dunno, forgviness? Too mcuh to ask for, know.

i know he has stoppe dreading this blog and its a good thing but i am so so so sorry, and i never meant to hurt you so badly and I'm can't help but cry as i writ ethis because there's nothing to do nothing at all when you've hurt someone who loves you who you love so much so much that it can never be erawsed and there's no going back and it's really turly the end, the end the end.

Yesterday in class we talked about sayings, and I collected a dandy few to share with you:

From China:
The toad wants to eat swan meat. (As in, "You ain't never catching that Bettie, Costanza.")
You're playing music to a cow. (Or, "Ah, why even bother?")

From Japan:
You're chanting sutras in the ear of a horse. (Another "Ah, why even bother?" saying.)
Even a pig can climb a tree if encouraged enough. (As in, "C'mon, you can do it!")

From India:
Even a donkey looks like an angel if you love it. (The oldie but goodie: "Beauty be in the eye of the beholder.")
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I signed up for the next session of language school, even though I'll miss the last four days or so and will have to take the finals early. It just sort of turned out that way. Either way would have been fine -- if I'd decided to take the next quarter off and rest, it would have been fine, too. But since I've signed up now, I think it was a good idea; I'd like to finish up schooling quickly, and do a little traveling next year.

Each day seems so long and varied. Which is good, I guess. Often at night I'll think of something that happened that morning, and it's always with a jolt that I realize it happened the same day.

I am starting to integrate short bursts of running into my daily walk, almost by accident. Sometimes it just feels right to run. Maybe it's because I always listen to a CD while I walk. The beat gets you moving.

There was a really spectacular sunset today. Most of the sky was overcast, but as the sun set, a large jagged section in the clouds near the horizon split open, and it seemed like a lake of amber was sitting in the sky. Or that the clouds hid a magical world of golden light, a bit like what I imagine Mt. Olympus would have looked like, the gods strolling around in their majestic togas and laurel wreaths, chatting, sipping ambrosia and all that.

There was even a rainbow to the south, a strange, almost vertical band of muted colors that disappeared into the pink clouds if you looked directly at it, but popped up distinct and magnetic out of the corner of your eye.

It was a nice walk. I stopped to admire the sun and the clouds and the rainbow, and even paused Coldplay (Rush of Blood to the Head, borrowed from Mia) to appreciate the moment.

After coming home, I really did intend to start practicing my speech for class immediately after dinner (I have to deliver it tomorrow), but I watched some TV with dinner, and sank into a blue funk thanks to a melodramatic breaking-up story arc on Nor-an Sohn Su-gan (Yellow Handkerchief). Reminded me too much of the last time I saw J, two months ago in L.A.

Sadness.

So here it is, 10 pm already, and I haven't practiced the speech yet. I dunno. I'm tired. I need to decide if I'm going to skip next term and take a little break. I also need to decide if I'm going to sign up for the jazz dance class. I could do it only if I don't do school next term, I think. And I need to decide where I'm going for this upcoming summer break.

Lordy, I'm tired. I really am trying to do my best to keep busy, exercise, and meet people, and most of the time I feel okay, but as I wrote to a friend today, it's like a gray pall -- fog? smog? mist? well, you get the metaphoric gist -- veils everything, so that nothing is quite ever completely sharp and free of sadness. It's only right and natural and I expected it to be so -- Nina said to give it 10 months -- but sometimes it's hard to remember that beyond the overcast sky is a world bathed in beauty and light.

Went out to dinner last night with three coworkers, who are taking a jazz dance class at the local YMCA. Jazz dance classes are all the rage right now among the ladies (ages ranging from 20s to 40s, it looked like). After dinner I went with them and watched the preceding class for a little while. There were two men also dancing -- bravo to them, though their presence caused one of my coworkers to slink out because she wasn't wearing a bra.

I wasn't sure what "jazz dance" meant; here it means sort of hip-hop style, like the stuff Julia Stiles does for 30 seconds in Save the Last Dance. (Okay, 45 seconds.) The instructor had pink hair tucked under a black and white bandanna, and several piercings, including one in her chin. Finally, an alterna-girl! They exist in Korea! She played a bunch of American hip-hop, stuff that you just have to dance to, even if you don't want to.

My coworkers suggested taking the class with them. It would be fun. But I really want to take taekwondo, and I'm sort of holding out for that. Of course, you hold out for something long enough and you wind up doing nothing at all...

My coworker Myungsoo recently met a man she's excited about. At the ripe old age of 26, her parents took things into their own hands, and set up a meeting with Myungsoo's mother's sister-in-law's ... brother? I don't know, it's complicated. Anyway, after a business trip to the southern city of Gyungju (where he lives), Myungsoo met up with her mother, who bought her a new suit, shoes, purse, and shelled out for a makeup job too. 'Cause you know, 26 is gettin' up there, and there's no time to be lost in finding a mate before everything slides downhill.

I know, the last sentence was unnecessarily snide, especially for a believer in cultural relativism, which I purport to be. At times. In Korean society, the parents (well, more the mother) feel that their parenting duties include finding you a good mate. Just last night I was watching a TV show called Mermaid (or, literally translated, Human Fish Girl), and the mother said, "Oh, now that my son is married, if I can only find someone for my younger daughter, then I'll consider myself as having done a good job parenting." So you see, finding a mate isn't just your job, it's a maternal/parental/familial duty.

Actually, while this view is still prevalent, the use of a formal matchmaker (one who'd take down vital info about you and find you a mate from the next village) is kind of dying out, and being replaced by families taking things into their own hands, not to mention dating companies.

Which is all fine and good, but I still say phooey.

On the other hand, Myungsoo and this guy were really miffed about the forced meeting, but ended up hitting it off and have been talking every night for hours.

So who's saying phooey now?

Yesterday in class we did some amusing exercises concerning resumes and job interviews, and I am proud to announce that I was picked for the job of nude model. As an interviewer, however, I was less successful in finding a good person to work at my Ramen Company; one person did not know what kind of positions we had open and another, a Catholic nun from the Philippines, admitted that she had never eaten ramen. My partner and I decided on Father Njoroge, who as a child ate a lot of ramen and as a college student always had ramen at meetings of his extracurricular club. (Lies, obviously, since Father Njoroge, otherwise known as Peter, grew up in Kenya, where I'm pretty sure ramen ain't a staple. Heh heh. A priest lied. Heh.)

In Korea, Japan, and China, it's par for the course to attach a photo of yourself to your resume. All the better to see you, my dear, and toss you in the wastebasket if you happen to be ugly! In Korea, you are usually asked to talk about your parents, what kind of people they are, and what you learned from them. This news was met with some astonishment even from the Japanese and Chinese students. The teacher said she thought this interview practice was probably dying out.

In all three countries, though, you usually put your birthdate on your resume. In the Korean recruitment ad we listened to (a real one from 2000), the broadcasting station even specified the maximum age for the positions, none of which seemed to me to be particularly age-relevant (producer, announcer, reporter, technician). No one over age 30 could apply...

Odd, all that. Different. (Little and yellow too. But not necessarily better. Hi Nuprin ad!)

A shout-out to those who answered my call for emails -- thanks. I'll get back to you soon, after I catch up on the sleep I missed last night -- another stay-up-til-4-reading-Buffy-recaps night. God, I'm stupid.

Oh, and to Magnetic D: the name of the SBS drama is Love of a Thousand Years (õ³âÁö¾Ö, if you have hangeul on your computer, and Cheonyeonjiae, if you don't). I asked my coworker about it -- "You know, the drama with the princess coming by magic to the present day and two men falling in love with her?" -- and she knew what it was right away. To verify, she wrote back: "The girl is really pretty with big and beautiful eyes, and one man is evil with dark skin, the other man with peculiar hair, is it right?" I guess there aren't any raccoons in Korea, so she didn't know to say "the man with the coon got caught in the shredder, pa! hair?"

I'm just loving that phrase. I'm sorry.

Here's the URL, if you want to go look at the pretty principals: http://tv.sbs.co.kr/1000year. I'm actually gonna try to look it over. It's high time to get obsessed about something other than Buffy.

And finally, I'm friggin' done with the textbook project!!!! WHEEEE! Now the question is if I should take another job they're offering... 'cause I'm friggin' crazy like that and I never learn from the past!!! WHOOOEEE!!!

God, I need a vacation.

I worked this weekend. And read Louisa May Alcott books: Little Men and An Old-Fashioned Girl. I really adore Little Women, so I thought I'd give her other books a shot. They're not as well-written or well-imagined as Little Women, but they really make you want to be good, you know? The world in the books is so happy and nice, and you're just carried along with it, despite the patriarchal set-up and overbearing religious overtones.

I'll be done with the darn textbooks by the end of the week, thank the lord. I have really enjoyed creating, but trying to do a parttime job, school, and a freelance job all at once has left me utterly exhausted.

On Saturday night I was going to bed at a decent hour, but turned on the boob tube for a minute and got sucked into watching Event Horizon, which so terrified me that I couldn't face going to bed (darkness, monsters, nightmares, etc.) and instead surfed the 'net until 5:30 am. Yes, there was daylight outside the window before I went to bed. First, to battle the scariness, I read reviews in which the movie was hammered (apparently it made it onto a couple "Worst Movies of the Year" lists), and then I moved on to reading Buffy the Vampire Slayer recaps on the Television without Pity site. It ended a nice long run on TV last week, so I wanted to read the recap of the final episode, but as it wasn't up yet, I read loooooong-ass recaps of the Buffy-Angel story arc from Season 2.

Yes, this kept me up until 5:30.

I'm a sucker for hopeless romances.

A hopeless romance I've sort of been following is this Korean drama that I can't figure out the name of. It's about this 10th century Korean princess who somehow gets time-warped into present-day, where two men who are apparently reincarnations of her 10th century love triangle fall in love with her again. All the principals are utterly gorgeous examples of humanity, so it's easy on the eyes, and they are all oddly compelling. There's In-chul, the fashion designer who was a warrior (I think) during the princess' previous life, and a sullen-looking business magnate who was a prince (I think), and a woman who's in love with In-chul and the sullen guy (which sucks for her since they're both in love with the princess), and the princess herself, who can do some excellent martial arts moves and speaks in the royal speech most delightfully (an archaic form).

Anyway, the princess, from what I've seen, goes from the sullen business magnate to the fashion designer, back to the magnate, then back to the designer, and back and forth and back and forth, spilling a bucket of tears each time. I'm not sure why it's so compelling, since ALL Korea dramas have similar storylines, but something about the desperation of not being able to decide! gets to me. Also, this drama is kinda spicy for Korean TV; as manifested in: 1. the magnate's shirt always being half unbuttoned (the better to show his chest, my dear!), regardless of whether he's in the office or at a bar; 2. the fashion designer wearing snazzy jeans and ruffled shirts and sporting a weird hairstyle I can only describe as coon got caught in the shredder, pa! (somehow, though, it all works); 3. the fashion designer kissing someone he is not engaged to; 4. the princess and fashion designer actually getting it on! (though we only get to see them kiss and then be in bed); and 5. ALL the men crying. Multiple times.

Anyway, last night was (I think?) the last episode of the drama (it was like a really, really long mini-series), and the princess goes back to the 10th century, leaving both men behind but cherishing the memory of the fashion designer and vice versa. Aw. I love hopeless romances.

Don't Know Much About History
(But I'm Good at Ranting)

Didn't post anything yesterday because I was not at work -- yay! -- and instead attending a lecture on Korea in the 20th century. It was fairly basic stuff -- as Mia put it, "I read this in Lonely Planet" -- but always nice to get a refresher. I do wish, though that the professor, who delivered the lecture in English, would have elaborated on his opinions instead of just throwing them here and there without explanation. Like, WHY do you think the two Koreas will be united someday? Do YOU believe that North Korea is really going to go nuclear? If the U.S. will never give up its right to be part of the East Asian community (like the EU), how will that play out in the development of an East Asian community (questionable in itself) ?

There were a couple very interesting points the prof made. One was the presentation of the "modernization via colonization" theory, which posits that compared to colonial India and African nations, Korea was more advanced during its colonial period. During Japanese colonization, the Japanese organized a bureaucratic structure (a post office, police station and governor for every town); registered all land and persons, and mandated universal education for 6 years. (Basically the same argument that considers British colonization as a good thing for India.)

The professor was clearly opposed to this take on Japanese colonization, stating that it was "controversial" but that we would take a look at it anyway. He stated, yes, that these points were all true, but that the theory did not take into account the suffering of the Korean people at the time.

Like most historical debates, both sides have a certain amount of truth to them (why can't academics just own up to this? because they'd be out of a job). There was terrible suffering. There was signficant modernization. Do these two statements have to be at odds? Can't each side acknowledge the truth of the other? Does anyone really think that the modernists want to demean the pain of the Korean people during colonization? Isn't it just emphasizing one aspect of history at the expense of another, just as focusing only on suffering necessarily deemphasizes other aspects of the period?

Sheesh.

A slightly tense and thus interesting moment during the lecture was when a Russian (I think) man asked why Koreans have so much hate toward the Japanese when they shared so much culture. The professor asked if there were any Indians in the audience who would say how Indians felt about the British. The Indian man who replied said that there had been significant progress during the 200+ years of British colonial rule, and that Indians actually respected the British (post-colonial studies notwithstanding, I guess). Ajay, the Indian-American guy in my class, whispered, "Yeah, but the British were much less harsh colonial rulers than the French or the Dutch or the Japanese."

The professor responded, "I'm sure to westerners, Chinese, Japanese and Koreans look quite similar. But just as in the case of French and German and Spanish people, we're all quite different." And proceeded to follow up with something that I've forgotten but that I remember as being an ineffectual answer to the question.

I'm pretty sure the questioner knew the differences between the three countries. An effective answer would have followed Ajay's logic, and reminded the questioner that he had already heard the lecturer speak of the one million "comfort women" and the millions of men drafted as laborers for the Japanese army, to work and die in the south Pacific islands. (Here I am reminded, most inappropriately, of Bridget Jones' Diary, in which the ex-wife of Mr. Darcy is described as: "Japanese. Very cruel race.")

The professor opined that the U.S. would never give up its cozy home in Seoul, despite threats to pull out, etc. The Korean War was the result of geopolitical maneuvering; i.e., the Cold War. The U.S. went to Korea because they did not want Russia to control the Korean peninsula, and they are here to this day because they want a foothold on the doorstep of Asia.

This makes sense. Except. What about the 26,000 troops based in Japan? Also, I'm not convinced that the U.S. would never abandon the base in Seoul -- I don't think think that takes into account enough the domestic American political environment. If W. thought it was pointless to keep soldiers there, I think he'd pull 'em out. Currently, though, I agree that it seems unlikely, from a strategic perspective, that we'd get out of Seoul. On the other hand, Americans are on the whole totally bewildered by the anti-Americanism in Korea, and there have been calls to get out. As my uncle, who was career army and lived in Seoul for a little while, has said: "The Korean people seem to forget how much the U.S. did for them after the war."

Fascinating and frustrating. I'm learning more about Korean history and the roots of the current situation here, which makes me realize that this is a truly fascinating time in Asia. China admits it was wrong to cover up SARS in the beginning! North Korea clamors for attention with nukes! South Korea elects a liberal for president! Japan passes a revision of its non-aggression policy, which states that preventative military action is okay!

At the same time, it is so frustrating to see the narrowness of each viewpoint when contradictory evidence seems so clear. America is an imperialist occupier. Right, so ... exactly where is the oppression and suppression? Korea is an ungrateful country. Uh huh, and when have YOU ever longed to be taken seriously as an autonomous nation-state? Modernizer theorists don't take the suffering of Koreans seriously. You're right, there was NO modernization during colonization! How come Koreans can't get over their hate of the Japanese? Good lord, man, you're right! 'Cause if YOUR grandmother been kidnapped and forced to sexually service up to 12 colonizers at a time, you'd be able to forgive and forget, no problem!

Sheesh.

Hey, I think I have a stye in my eye!

Twinkle, twinkle, little stye
How I wonder why oh why
You've chosen now to come on by
And take up residence in my eye.

I'm a little stressed these days. Earlier this week, I spent three hours at a bookstore cruising the foreign children's section to purloin poems for the last book I'm writing for the educational institution. After all that (and finding some phat poems), I was told that they didn't want to bother with copyright, so could I please stick to authors who have died more than 50 years ago. This, AFTER I asked them this EXACT QUESTION last week and my editor told me not worry about it, just to find fun poems. Yeah, screw you, Namhee!

Add to that the oral test tomorrow, declining Korean speaking abilities, stupid boring-ass assignments at work, working three Saturdays in a row (and soon to be five Saturdays in a row), having to finish the textbook, inability to sleep well lately, teachers getting annoyed because I'm not doing the lovely dollop of extra homework they gave out, and last but not least, a mean case of breakup blues -- add all these together, and I'm ready to hide in my dark cave of a room for a few days.

And a stye in my eye!

More seriously, the news that a former colleague dropped dead on the basketball court last week was sobering. We could all go -- just like that! (Add finger snap.) Why why why Reggie? Why any of us? Why not?
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Read today that the Yale law school was bombed, but no one was hurt. Maybe this is a sign not to go to law school? Because, you know, like, everything is about me? (Incidentally, I saw "Legally Blonde" last weekend, and I loved it, even though it sent me into an existential crisis of the "just what kind of people go to law school anyway and do I belong there?" sort.)

I'm very glad no one was hurt, so that I can be free to wonder why the hell anyone would bomb Yale law school. (By the way, world, we ARE sorry for graduating W. and releasing him upon the world.) I'd like to believe it wasn't political at all, but a carefully calculated no-injury statement by a disgruntled rejected applicant. Mwah hah hah haaaa!

Last night I learned what a German song (99 luft baloons) means from a New Zealander while we were sitting in an apartment of an Indian-American fellow in Korea.

You gotta love it.
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Last Sunday I went to see "Sar-in-ui Chu-ok" (Memories of Murder) with a colleague from work. It's a great film -- please catch it in the States if ever it comes out there. Even though I didn't understand most of the language (a lot of swearing and slang), I understood the storyline and the events perfectly well, and could appreciate the delicate balance of humor and grimness in the film.

The film is based on true events. As my colleague explains it, in 1986, in a small town near Seoul, 12 women were murdered by the same person. Because Korea was under the rule of a military dictator at the time (though he was called president) who was obsessed with anti-communism propaganda, not a lot of resources were put into solving the crime. To this day, the murderer has never been caught. Although the film only once directly shows one of the many student protests for democracy, the film revives the fear and the uncertainty of those times for Koreans.

I didn't catch any of that while I saw the film. It was just a great film.

Also saw X-Men 2, on Saturday night. Awesome. I was a little disappointed that Kelly Hu, the other adamantian (sp?)-filled mutant, didn't have much screen time and spoke very little. I and the two Korean-Americans I went with (oops, no, one is Korean-Canadian) noticed, however, that there were actually two or three more Asian actors in the film, which we were happy about, but also that they all died, which we chalked up to "the black guy always bites it" rule of film.

Oh, and Wolverine is hot. (Which is not the case in the comic books -- he's supposed to be 5'3", but I guess that wouldn't have sold as many tickets.)

But what I really want is the Matrix. Opening this Friday here. Give me Neo or give me death!

It occurs to me today that I'm learning the art of faking it. This week, for instance, I am supposed to critique a Korean-English dictionary that the Foundation is thinking of sending out to its partners. What the hell kind of qualifications do I have to critique a reference book? You'd be right in saying zippo, pardner. But it don't matter either, not one whit.

Similarly, when people have asked me about American grad schools or admissions policies, I might do a little research on the internet about a specific school, but mostly I just make up an based on my own experiences or the whirling flotsam of otherwise unusable facts that you just soak up, somehow, about various subjects.

It reminds me of the time I taught a Kaplan class and realized that the people sitting behind the desks had no idea how terrified I was of them, nor how really very unqualified I was to teach them. Just stand in front of a lectern and (most) people automatically accord you a certain modicum of respect. They assume that you're qualified, that you know what you're doing, and that you actually have something worthwhile to say. Hah!

Here's to bluffing it.

I just found out that an attorney I used to work with at DOJ died last week of a heart attack while playing his usual Thursday night basketball game with colleagues. He was 45. His son is 8; his daughter is 6. Jesus.

The paralegals always used to make fun of him because he had a peculiar way of speaking -- kind of slow, very deliberate. Sometimes several seconds would lapse after you asked him a question or made a comment, and then just as you thought he hadn't heard, he'd finally respond. But our fun-making was never barbed; that was one of Reggie's quirks, and unlike some other attorneys in the section, we were rather fond of him. I wasn't as close with him as other paralegals were, but even a couple years after I left Justice, when I saw him at a former colleague's farewell party, he gave me one of his slow, big smiles and asked how I was doing as if he cared about the response. A little socially rough around the edges, but a kind man.

Why do we always have the urge to share our memories of the dead? I don't know. I don't think any of you reading this know Reggie -- no, knew Reggie. Maybe it's just the urge to memorialize the person. So that he leaves a mark behind, even on people who didn't know him.

Nothing to write about, not even ankle-deep philosophication. Just checking in. Anyone out there? Please email me. I used to get more email than I could respond to. Now I open my yahoo account and there's only messages from my editor asking me to revise another piece of the textbook.

I just read a blog that blogger put on their "blogs of note" list. I'm not sure how it comes to be that other blog writers seem so glam and cool while I feel so glum and drool. Fearless T once said that it was all a matter of spin. So I could think of myself as a 27-year-old living with her father, totally directionless, while my friends have these chic Esquire-ish lives in New York and L.A., OR I could think of myself as a -- a... oh, screw it.

Apparently there is a budding electronica scene in Itaewon.

A couple days ago a man was arrested for going to his upstairs neighbor's apartment with a hammer and denting in the door with it until the police were called to haul him away. The reason for this psychotic behavior? Children. A gaggle of children was apparently making a ruckus, and the man, who had requested they keep it down in the past, lost it.

I SO sympathize.

From what I've seen, young Korean children tend to be spoiled by their parents. I don't know how much parents spoil 'em in comparison with American kids, but I think it might be worse here. For example, two days ago, I was walking home, and there were two mothers on bikes, with their young boys behind them. The boys were perhaps 5 years old. They got into a screaming contest, simply to see who could be louder. As they were sitting right behind their mothers, their mothers got the full brunt of the screaming (the high pitched, earsplitting squeals of children, no less). Even so, neither mother made any sort of admonishment. None! I heard one saying mildly, as she pedaled away, "My goodness, that's loud." But there was no request to "keep it down, I'm going deaf here!" nor reminder that "not everyone wants to hear you so loudly, dear."

(Of course of course of course, you can go too far the other way. I distinctly remember riding Metro North once during college, when a blonde Westchester type sat down with her two blonde Abercrombie and Fitch prototype sons, who were about 5 and 8. The younger kid stood up at one point, and was a few inches away from accidentally stepping on my foot. So his mother said, in an extremely measured voice, "Kevin, look at your feet. You see your shoes? Now look behind you. You're about to step on that lady's foot. Move forward, now." This was one incident out of a couple in which the mother was icily in control. While the kids were extremely well-behaved, all I could think was, "See ya in therapy in 20 years.")

I asked my dad what he thought of Korean kids, and he agreed they were undisciplined. Yet somehow, they become these lean, mean, studying machines a few years later in life! Mystifying.

By the by, Salon ran a series on the pressures to have children just last week (in honor of Mother's Day). I agree it makes sense biologically, evolutionarily, socially to have children. I just seem to totally lack that desire, and lately, it worries me more than it has in the past. I did turn 27 this year, but far from the "my biological clock is going like this! [insert Marisa Tomei stamping her foot]" feeling, I hear a little whisper: "well, if you want to have children, most of your viable years have already passed" (the assumption being that, biologically speaking, I could have had children at age 15).
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I mentioned a long while ago that there is a single man at work who really desperately wants to get married and as a result comes off as totally desperate and inappropriate. (Like the time Myungsoo and I were walking arm-in-arm (a Korean girl thing -- I personally could do without it) and he said, "Oh, I want in!" and so we were all walking arm-in-arm and he said, "You know, someone seeing us would think Helen is my wife and Myungsoo is our friend." Stuff like that.)

Sometimes I can overlook the inappropriate stuff by reminding myself that this man is desperate and probably very lonely. However, I am hard pressed to overlook the prejudice.

Today, colleagues asked me, "Helen, why is 'cannot' one word when 'may not' and 'will not' are two?" (One of those "Why do Americans...?" questions I addressed on May 13.) I looked at them, thought that it was indeed strange, and answered, "That's a good question. I don't know. There's no reason. Or there is one, but I don't know it."

And Mr. Inappropriate said, "I know why -- because Americans are stupid."

Need I even comment on this? I wish I could have come up with an equally reasonless grammatical twitch in Korean, of which there are plenty, but I couldn't, and so let it pass in the general discussion that followed. But my GOD! If there's anything I hate in the world, it's people who make sweeping generalizations on the basis of exactly NOTHING. Just SHUT UP!!!! I hate you!
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Had midterms today. Studied very, very little. Probably less than I have for any test I've ever taken. Less than I studied for the DMV written exam!

Consequently, had some trouble with the writing test and the speaking test, but did fine (I think) on the listening part. Ah well.

I forgot to mention yesterday that because of this teacher-bribing/gifting custom, I finally understand why my parents got presents for my teachers when I was a kid. Not the teachers at school so much, but my music and other extracurric teachers.

I feel like I do understand the weirdnessess of my parents much more now that I've lived here for (gasp!) 7 months (already!). For example, I understand why my mother gets all het up about me "falling behind" my classmates in terms of graduate education and professional progress, why she has made ominous statements like, "You don't think you mind now, but you will. I know you." (Yes, but where did I learn to think of myself in comparison with others? That's right -- "From you! I learned it from you, okay!")

The reason is embedded in the social and school system here, which puts so much emphasis on the brother/sisterhood of same-age (dong-gap). One of the first things you find out about a person is their age, because if you're the same age, you can use the casual form of speech and all that that implies. You're like siblings. You instantly become friends. It's a given that you go to reunions for college, high school, and even elementary school -- a coworker recently went to a reunion for her 6th grade class.

So no wonder my mother gets a little freaky about my friends graduating from graduate schools. I get it. And someday, I might even have patience for her freakiness about it.

I also understand, after seeing countless TV drama episodes, that passive aggressive, non-demonstrative mothering is par for the course in Korean society. Well, let me specify -- passive aggressive, non-demonstrating of love is par for the course, for adult children. Koreans dote on little kids, to the extent that they are quite undisciplined (more on this in a future entry). But when it comes to grown-up kids, the stereotypical mother tends to emote on two channels -- waspish anger and weepy guilt-tripping.

"Here. Here's a bag of money for your marriage, which I don't approve of, to a man I will hate forever with all my heart. Yes, you're tearing my heart out and ripping it to shreds, but here is a bag of gold that I have been secretly gathering in the 25 years since you were born, denying myself of food and drink every other day, so that I could give it to you when you got married. I thought it would be a happy day, but even though it's the second worst day of my life -- right after the day my own cherished mother, whom I never even dreamed of disobeying, died -- I give it to you, because you'll need it to marry that good-for-nothing man whom I am sure I saw entering a brothel last week. But never mind that. Did I mention that I sold my blood every Saturday for 30 years in order get this money?"

The Korean daughter sees through this amazing display of guilt-tripping prowess, and gives her mother a hug.

"Oh, what's this all about, anyway?" the mother continues, starting to weep. "My little daughter, throwing her life away, oh, oh, how I weep for your future unhappiness with this man!"

And there was much weeping on both parts.

If you've got the cultural Cliff notes, or the author's introduction, or the commentary on this scene, you understand that the mother is really full of love for the daughter. She's really just terrified that the daughter might be unhappy some day, and wants nothing more than to protect her from any kind of pain. It's amazing, really, how this is expressed.

For us KAs, it's hard when we don't have the notes. Growing up in the U.S., where everyone is supposed to say what they mean and mean what they say, it's easy to get the sense that our mothers are unloving psychos. Not to say that American-born/raised mothers aren't capable of such guilt-tripping powers. But really, Korean mothers practice it as an art. In their free time. There are classes. Workshops! You get a booklet in the hospital.

It seems funny above (at least, that was my goal), but it was hard when I didn't have the notes. Even now that I'm starting to learn the code, it's still hard to have patience, to not feel hurt or bewildered. I have to trust that it'll come later.

Tomorrow is Teacher's Day, so we're going to get our teacher a plant. Someone suggested getting her a cactus, since she's not all smiles and honey like the other teachers; she's sort of prickly and impatient at times. But damn funny.

A coworker told me yesterday that the government is considering moving Teacher's Day to February, the end of the winter semester, to take the pressure off the parents. You see, May is at the beginning of a new semester, so kids will have their teachers for several months after Teacher's Day. And that would be bad, because their parents might not have enough money to give a good bribe to the teacher.

It's customary to give teachers gifts on Teacher's Day. But this tradition has grown into a bribery system. Typically, parents will give a book to their kid's teacher. Stuffed inside the book is an envelope of money.

I asked my coworker, "Does that really make a difference?" "Yes!" she immediately replied. The bigger the bribe, I guess, the better the teacher treats the student, taking especial care that she or he learns the lesson well, etc.

This occurs in both private and public schools. In my coworker's private high school, students brought the teacher gifts, which the teacher would open in front of the class. This is considered quite rude in Korea, as it leads to gift comparison. Also, the school would "appoint" well-off parents (going off their occupations listed on the student's file) to a "fund-raising" committee. Each parent would then have to donate money (my coworker said her parents donated about $500 one semester).

My coworker lived in Britain for a few years, and said that the Korean immigrant community there at the time caused a stir by applying that custom to the British school system. The British teachers gave the money back.

One of the more interesting experiences of living in Korea is the extent to which I, and all foreigners, become representatives of our native countries. Why do Americans do X, Y, or Z? someone will ask, and I'm lost for an answer, because either I've never thought of why Americans do X, Y or Z, or the answer is stuck in the back annals of times, or there simply isn't an answer.

I do this too. Why do Koreans bump into each other on the subway and never apologize? The receiver of the question may as well ask me why Americans feel the need to apologize; it's custom, it's always been done, that's the way we do things. Blabbity blah blah.

For many social customs, it's no big deal to say, you know, I don't know! and laugh about the absurdities of humanity. Those cwazy, wacky bipeds, with their many and varied ways of interacting!

When it comes to questions of politics, though, it's not so easy to laugh.

Except for the one unpleasant run-in in the fall, I've not been badly treated because I'm an American. The fact that I look Korean of course decreases my chances of being treated differently, but even the obviously foreign people I know are subjected mostly to curious scrutiny.

Even among people who know I'm American, the issues of American politics are not often raised. I did have an interesting conversation with a coworker a few weeks ago about the war, which she opposed, and she was careful to say that she wasn't attacking me, just talking about current events. Even so, it's a difficult position to be in.

In the conversation I had a few weeks ago, I told my coworker that many people in America felt the same way she did. I reminded her that millions of Americans walked in protest of the war. That half of America didn't vote for Bush. I told her that very few people I knew were wholeheartedly in favor of the war. I told her that even I, as a voting American (though in non-represented DC, of course), felt helpless and frustrated about the actions of my government.

In the end, though, does it matter? Does my presence here, my interactions with Koreans around me, make a difference in the way Koreans view Americans? Does it persuade the young Korean activist that Americans should not go home? Does it show older Koreans that Americans do have some manners after all? Does it make up for American soldiers who don't understand Korean customs and could care less? Does it make up for the fact that Koreans feel continually snubbed and overlooked by the U.S. government? Does it make up for the fact that Bush effectively rendered the Sunshine Policy of Kim Dae Jung obsolete when he included North Korea in the axis of evil?

I read about the bombing in Riyadh today with much, much sadness. And a feeling of frustration. And a feeling of anger. Anger at my government, for castrating the UN and alienating the entire world when we need the entire world's support the most. Anger at the terrorists, who don't care who gets killed as long as they can make a point. Anger at the half of America that voted Bush in, the half that supports his tax cuts for the rich and believes there was compelling evidence of WMD in Iraq (yet to be found). And just beyond that anger is a deep frustration that I can do nothing, nothing about it.

What can I do, friends? What can any of us widgets do to end ignorance and bigotry and hatred, not only of the terrorists, but of our own fellow citizens? If you've got an answer, pray tell.

I almost just went to bed without writing this entry, but I love you guys THAT MUCH, such that I came back to the laptop, turned it back on, and opened up blogger.com (which, incidentally, has not been smoothly operational lately; I think they're doing some behind the scenes work these days).

I am a little pooped, having slept 6 hours last night (and several other nights in the past week). I think it started when I stayed up until 4 on Wed. night/Thurs. morning. Screwed up my whole sleep schedule.

What did I do this weekend? Hm. I had dinner with three other gyopos (ethnic Koreans living overseas) on Friday night. One was Mia, the Korean Canadian girl from my school whom everyone says resembles me. She's funny. And smart. And kooky. (Wait, I don't mean that "Like me, she is funny, etc." I mean, she is funny, etc. Period.) Mia brought her friend Warren, a 23-year-old Korean American guy working for the Korean Herald, the largest English language paper in Korea. And Warren brought his friend David, a 28-year-old Korean Canadian guy working freelance for some Boston paper.

David was all bummed because that morning, he found out that his big story, which was to have run in the Boston Globe, had fallen through. It was about North Korean refugees (I promised not to tell any details about it) and it sounded really, really cool. Unfortunately, as a side effect of SARS, his story is basically dead.

I felt the way I usually do around journalists -- conflicted. On one hand, I think, "Boy, these people are so smart, and they get every reference and they're so well-read and it's so nice to be able to talk about Monica Lewinsky's TV gig and Hamid Karzai and have everyone be right on board and shoot back witty repartee so fast I get whiplash tyring to follow." And on the other hand, I think, "I am a big, stoopid dork. I am not reporting on events of global concern. I am not freelancing for a major U.S. paper. I cannot understand the Korean news. I am a giant LOSAH!"

Still, I had a laugh or two, especially when David mentioned that he might be getting out of journalism soon, and we asked what he might do instead. He said, "Well, I have a couple of books to write that wouldn't take very long to do and would sell really well."

I had to laugh at this. I then told Warren, "You know that Seinfeld episode where George pretends he was the architect of the Guggenheim? And he says, 'Yeah... didn't take too long, eitha'?"

I think I might have hurt David's feelings (if journalists/political wonks have 'em), but c'mon. You make a comment like that and you are beggin' for it.

It was a weird night. It's strange to hang out with gyopos. Kind of stressful. Not at all how I feel with people from other countries. Like they'll see right through me. (And see what? I dunno.)

Anyway. On Saturday I went to work and then had lunch with a really nice woman who used to work as a stewardess for British Airways. She wanted to see an exhibit at the Seoul Arts Center, so we walked over there and had a good laugh at the poster of a man's face with various forms of kimchee silkscreened over his features. I showed her the story "wrote by cindy" (see last entry), and we had a good laugh over that as well.

On Saturday night, I went to meet Lewis, the New Zealand fellow in my class, for a drink at Jamsil metro station. He was late, and when he finally arrived, the last train back to Shinchon (where he lives) was due to leave in 20 minutes. Undecided what to do, we went to the only available watering hole -- a huge, HUGE pojang macha (a outdoor tented eatery) right outside the station. Hey, maybe we could belt down a drink in 20 and he could head home. But no. We downed three large bottles of (admitted weak) beer, and then decided to just head to my dad's apartment where he could crash the night. Before then, though, we stopped at another bar. And then headed home to swill yet more in my room. I was just short of being whirligig drunk and babbled on and on about various things like a moron, but of course Lewis, who's from the countryside in NZ, was all, "I could have about five more beahs."

(A note here: Not what you think, because I'm sure somebody is thinking SOMEthing along those lines. I'll tell you the truth, though: despite my nonchalant "I do this every weekend" rico suavity, I was, somewhere deep inside my drunken head, all like, "Whoa. Here's like, this guy, whom I really don't know outside of class, and with whom I have just now spent ANY time alone with, and he's coming over to my house to sleep over. This is weird. Wait. Does this mean I'm, like, cool or something? Hey, yeah... that's the ticket... Whoo hoo! I SO am cool! I am coolness personified! I am so cosmopolitan, I dream in pink! I swill! I swoot! I am hip and swingin' and guys crash at my pad all the time! In fact, I'm SWIMMING in guys who crash at my place -- ALL THE TIME! I'm -- oops, I better be quiet, or else Dad will wake up.")

(Anyway, you get the picture. I'm just innocent me, and it was quite weird to have a guy -- albeit one whom I've seen every weekday for four hours for the past four months -- crash overnight.)

So we were up til 4 on Sat. night/Sun. morning just shooting the breeze about this and that, and that is why my sleep schedule is still screwed up and so I went to sleep at 1 am last night and only got 6 hours of sleep. Okay, I have to go to bed now. Uckhl.

In lieu of another boring ass (snicker, snicker) (you'll see why later) entry, I present to you "The Tiger Which Played the Pipe," a 13-year-old Korean girl's rendition of a traditional Korean folktale. The Irish fellow at school teaches English at an educational institute, and had his kids do this for class. This is copied verbatim from the girl's essay.

The Tiger Which Played the Pipe

Once upon a time there was a young man who chopped trees. his hobby was playing the pipe. when he took a rest he always played the pipe. one day, he was playing the pipe peacefully.
Suddenly a tiger jumped out in front of him and asked "hey were you playing a kind of musical instrument?" so the woodcutter stopped playing the pipe and answered in fear. "Y..yy.. Yes, a..a.. I was playing m..m..my pipe." "pipe is the name of that musical instrument?" tiger asked. He listened to the music of the pipe at the first time, so he was curious about that. "Y..yes I made it with wood." the woodcutter said. "play the pipe for me." the tiger ordered. The woodcutter didn't want to play the pipe but he couldn't help do that. if he had tried to run away, tiger would have attacked him. he began to play the pipe. strangely the tiger danced around him. at that moment he had a great idea. his mouth was playing the pipe but his legs and arms are climbing the highest tree. the tiger didn't notice when he arrived at the top of the tree he stopped playing thepipe. But the tiger became angry and climbed the tree to attack the woodcutter. The woodcutter wanted to live so he put the pipe in the tiger's buttocks. The tiger was so hurt. he ran away. after that day, when the tiger broke wind the pipe was played by that wind. and also, at that moment the tiger danced around. He didn' t know the pipe was played by his buttocks until he died.

wrote by cindy.

Today is Buddha's Birthday, and, coincidentally, Parent's Day (Buddha's Birthday goes by the lunar calendar and happened to fall on Parent's Day this year). Monday was Children's Day, so it all balances out...

Stayed up VERY late last night, hunched over the computer reading the blog of someone who seems much cooler and a better writer than I am. I know when blogs suck -- I'm pretty sure that the vast majority on blogger.com, for example, are crappy -- but I also know when a blog is well-written and interesting. Except mine. I mean, I don't know if this blog is interesting or well-written. I suppose it has some interesting parts, but which ones? And are they really well-written, or are they just crap?

Ech.

I started working on the final book for the educational institution here. It's going to include stories and literature, so hopefully it will be a tad easier than the American culture book. The first lesson consists of a Korean folktale, translated into English. My editor said I could either translate it myself or find an English translation. Translate it myself, huh? Hah! Dream on. I trolled around on the net for a while and found some translations, but I'm a little worried that they're not authentic Korean tales. Oh well. I guess it don't much matter -- the kids are supposed to be learning English, and they can do that from a fake story as well as they can from an authentic one.

I've been smoking a cigarette a day, which reminds me of RG's New Haven summer fling. He told me he stuck to one a day, no more and no less, and that it was so satisfying to have that single cig. I gotta agree. Today, though, I was smoking on the steps, as usual, looking outside the window, when I saw my dad's car parked on the street and heard someone coming up the stairs. Hm, should I hide this cigarette and pretend I don't smoke? I thought to myself. He already knows you smoke, you moron, I answered myself. Besides, you don't think the smell is going to give you away?

So I casually greeted my dad as he came up the stairs, and he stopped and asked, "What are you doing?"
"Smokin'."
"Give me one."

Heh.
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Listening to: Nina Simone, who died last month. She was a controversial figure, that much I know, but I never got around to finding out exactly why. She was one of the many fine musicians I was exposed to during my four years working parttime at Olssons Books and Records in DC. One of the songs on the CD is "I Want Some Sugar In My Bowl." When I made Junebug listened to it a couple years back, she sighed, "Yeah, I could use some sugar in my bowl too."

Reading: fairy tales.

Wondering: What the hell I'm going to do for Mother's Day, which took me by surprise this year, as it's not celebrated here. Parent's Day and Children's Day are not heavily commercialized in Korea, so I don't have any ideas. I figure I'll just call and take my time getting actual gifts. Maybe I'll just send cash. I don't like knicknacks -- I prefer gifts that are useful, both as a giver and as a receiver, or highly personal (BC, I'm still loving my Wide Gauge compilation!) or funny (Peeps! Peeps!). I've always thought a basic toolset would be a great gift for women. Huh. Think my mom would like a hammer? Or a flashlight? Christ, I hate Hallmark holidays.

MUST remember not to drink two cups of coffee in the morning as get very hyper and perky which is totally not me except when it is since then later I will crash crash crash into the bottomless pit that is sleep deprivation and continual monster-featuring dreams and work stress here and work stress there here a stress there a stress everywhere a stress stress not to mention that I have hit a freaking plateau in Korean that really chaps my hide but then again what would you expect if you work and work again in English and only speak Korean for four hours a day in class?

Recently have been swinging from the tree of despair 'n sloth to the tree of bright cherry bowls and bunnies or something like that so that just feel like screaming STOP!!!! or maybe that is just right now as mind is going one zillion kilometers per hour. Today teacher said we don't have to deliver speech on Friday as we are behind on the schedule so I was all Whew 'cause my speech is wondering wandering shambles but Goldurnit! 'cause I am flurgin' stressed about this stupid ass speech that is SO not worthy of a stressout.

Funny thing today in class people thought I would be a good lawyer or doctor or language instructor. Not sure why but was pretty amused. But no one pegged me as a writer, goshdarnedit! That's what I really am, after all. I mean, more than anything else. I realized this afresh last night when I finally finished writing up my speech, as unorganized as it was, and felt like I'd done some good work. There's no other satisfaction that compares to composing and writing a creative piece (fiction or nonfiction). I've complained about doing the textbook work for the educational institution here, but I've enjoyed it so much more than any other kind of work I've done (well, except maybe working at Olssons -- getting paid to read and being around cool people was pretty sweet).

On to something else: my work these days consists of editing direct translations of manuscript summaries. Man oh man. My eyes slide right over the words, because they often make no sense, or could have one of four or five meanings. I don't know how the main English editor here has done this for 10 years; I want to hurl office supplies at people. It's so frustrating trying to guess what someone is trying to say when they aren't around and you can't read Korean well enough to ask for the original text.

Hey, you know, I was supposed to tell you about my weekend. Hm. Well, on Friday I went to Suwon on the school field trip and saw a 18th century fortress (restored). It was really fantastic, and I will have pictures up ... some day. At the fortress, which is on UNESCO's World Heritage Site list, we were able to shoot arrows for fun, and I must say, mine went fairly far for a girl. (So what if they all went into the parking lot to the right and the man yelled at me to be careful and I had to tell him yo, it's not like I'm aiming for the parking lot.)

On Friday night, I went out for Junior's 21st birthday (man, I feel old) and saw Junior's classmate Austria again, whom I'd met a couple months ago when I joined them for bowling. Austria, I decided, is one of those Korean/KA guys who is all, "Duuude, we need to drink soju, man!" and believes that there is some standard of Korean/KA behavior/etiquette that Must Not Be Broken. (Okay, so the soju quote is not a good example, but I can't think of anything else right now.) He urged me to come to a Yale Club dinner where Rick Levin was the special guest; I mean, hey, that's cool and all, but I just don't get people who are THAT gung-ho about my dear alma mater -- we just are not gonna be on the same page, man.

Fortunately, I didn't talk to Austria that much, instead talking with Junior's teacher from the language school and laughing with Alex, the other 20-year-old. He said he and his girlfriend each put in 30,000 won in Junior's birthday card (just straight out cash) and when I said, "Wow, that's nice, I usually don't spend that much on friends' gifts," he replied with a Slavic shrug, "We are Russian."

On Saturday, I did nothing much, just stayed in the house, got upset with my grandmother, etc.

On Sunday, though, I met up with six girls from school and we went to make lanterns at the Buddha's Birthday Festival. My dad, who is studying to become a dharma instructor, was volunteering with the temple sponsoring the whole thing, so he reserved spaces for us and ended up teaching us too. We had an hour and a half to make our lanterns, which turned out to be barely enough time, actually. They all looked lovely, and several people stopped us afterwards to ask where we'd gotten them, or to take pictures of us.

Later, in the evening, we hung around the parade route, hoping to join in when the foreigners section walked by, but the parade was unbelievably interminable, and we gave up after two hours. Unfortunately, in the spirit of the evening, we tried putting candles into our lanterns, and in the process burned up two of them. I myself set fire to my classmate's carefully made lantern when I tried easing the candle in, which was horrifying and hilarious at the same time. An hour and a half of work -- pouf! She had an awfully good attitude about it, though -- took a picture of the burnt-up shell to remember the moment.

The next day, Monday, I was reminded of the humor and horror at my Chinese classmate Gyongli's housewarming, where my New Zealand classmate Lewis asked slyly how the lantern-making went; Etsuko had told him about the inferno. I had brought a new lantern for Etsuko as penance for my Firestarter moment, so I wasn't as embarrassed as I could have been.

Found out, in the course of the evening, that the Irish fellow at school used to have girlfriend who once got extremely drunk, fell into the river, got fished out by the police and got thrown into the slammer, at which point, in a drunken rage, she took off her knee high boots and flung them at the police officers. Not that I'm a fan of stereotypes, but just allow me this little comment: Oh, those Irish.

Overall, despite last entry, had a nice weekend. Very long, as Thursday was Labor Day (no school and no work), Friday was the school picnic (I decided to take the half day from work to go), Monday was a holiday (Children's Day), and today I had no school because of some construction work at the school building.

Despite all this time, of course, I am frantically writing my "speech" for class tonight, so my teacher can check it tomorrow and I can deliver it on Friday. And I have done no studying. Yargh.

I might give it up for tonight and try to finish in the morning. I'm sorta pooped 'cause yesterday I went to my classmate's housewarming (and it was warm all right -- no AC or fan on a balmy spring day) and basically ate and drank from 4:30 to 11 pm with an assorted crew of Chinese, Japanese, NZ, Irish, Mongolian and Korean students.

Will try to describe weekend tomorrow when am not scrambling to find facts about dog cafes in the world (my speech is about dogs). But will leave you with this interesting factoid about Korea: during the weekdays, from 12 pm to 1 pm, all the major stations (the channels you get without cable) are off. I mean, you turn on the tube and it's fuzz on channel 6, colored bars on channel 7, fuzz on channel 9, fuzz on channel 11 and fuzz on channel 13. At first I couldn't believe it. But you know, it's kind of nice for there to be one hour where you can't watch TV.

On Friday night, went out with some people from school for Junior's birthday. Twas fun enough.

Yesterday (Sat.), did nothing much. Had a weird meltdownish moment when my grandmother, who dropped by that morning, asked me in her customary LOUD voice whether I'd thought about staying in Korea and working here. "I'd like it if you stayed here and found a husband and a job," she said. And then: "Do you know what the word job means?" (She thought I was unfamiliar with that vocabulary -- not a putdown.)

"No," I said, "I'm going to go back to the States."

"Don't you want to stay here with your father?"

"No, it's not that..."

"You don't like Korea?"

"It's not that I don't like Korea, I just... the U.S. is my home."

"So you want to live with your mother there?"

"No! I want to live alone, okay!"

Shortly after that exchange, she left, and I got very upset, for some reason. Crying and everything.

It's not that I don't want to live with my dad, and it's not that I don't like Korea -- even if I loved Korea, I don't think I could uproot my life to stay here for what's left of it. America, for all the things I find frustrating about it, for all the things I get angry about, is my home. But I couldn't get that across to my grandmother.

In addition, I couldn't explain that in the States, I was independent, self-sufficient. She chastised me yesterday for not watering the plants that my dad had brought home last week. "If you're going to bring plants home, you need to water them!" she said. "I didn't bring them home," I replied in my usual I-can't-think-of-what-to-say-so-I-say-something-seemingly-unrelated fashion. "You need to water them anyway!" she insisted. And I thought, if my dad brought them home, why isn't he being chastised for not watering them? My mind responded: Well, because he's your parent, duh, and you have the responsibility, as a girl child. Yeah, well, fuck that.

I wrote the below on Thursday, but couldn't get the darn thing to post for a few days.

Okay, You're Probably Not SARS And Some Other Non-Related Brainfarts

Seems that it was a mistake, and that the supposed SARS patient has responded well to antibiotics. Goody.

Today's Labor Day here, so I had the afternoon off. I should comment on the significance of this day in Korea, but all I can think of is that labor here is still cheap compared to the U.S. And that labor demonstrations are sort of a Korean trademark. But I really can't think of much else. Possibly because I don't know much else.

After class I had lunch with some classmates and then met Tex, the American missionary, to go see the War Memorial, a reputedly excellent museum on Korean history. I can't confirm that, however, because we opted to go to a cafe instead and catch up instead (I hadn't seen her for 2 months). After a long chat, she left, and I went to see the Muslim mosque nearby.

The mosque was not very impressive, actually. I probably missed some parts of the building, but I did sit quietly in the main worship room (I think) for 15 minutes or so, soaking in the silence.

After the 15 minutes, some Arab-looking gentlemen came in, and I felt kind of uncomfortable, being: 1. American, 2. a woman, and 3. completely ignorant of proper behavior in a mosque. Perhaps I needed to cover my head? I don't know. So I left. But I think I may have seen the only Turkish restaurant in Seoul nearby, which is kind of cool.
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I found out today that someone in my "class" of paralegals at Justice is the proud father of twins. I last saw him about eight months ago, when they had just found out she was pregnant, and I asked him, "Are you nervous at all? I think you'll make a great father, but are you ready?" He replied, "You know, Helen, I think I am. I've just gotten to the point where I'm tired of making myself my priority. I want to put someone else first now."

I was blinkered by this statement. Blinkered! I couldn't comprehend taking on such a massive responsibility. I still can't. And to put someone else as your priority? I have way too much growing up left to do, way too many things on my "to do" list to mark off before I get tied down to one person, one place, one job. My friend, in the six years I've known him, has always been extraordinarily mature and insightful, and I really marvel at it.

These days, though, I'm beginning to kind of understand that statement he made last summer in DC's Union Station. I can't really pin it down to one thing or another. Part of it is that I've been doing so much circular, nonproductive thinking about my relationships with people. (I can't remotely express how frustrating it is to be stuck in my head, going round after round with thought leading to thought, and none of them ever leading to a Conclusion. Suffice to say that sometimes I was mightily tempted to beat my head against a wall just to concentrate on something else.) Another part of this new understanding of mine is due to my aunt giving me money last weekend, when I went with my dad to visit my dying uncle. I tried to refuse it -- why should I be taking money from a woman whose husband is dying? -- but at some point it seemed ruder to refuse it than just take it with thanks.

Taking the money, for some reason, upset me greatly. Why should my aunt, or anyone else for that matter, be giving me money, or gifts, or favors, or meals, or anything? What have I done to deserve all this great luck that has followed me in my life so far? And what have I done to circulate this luck?

Damn little.

So suddenly, probably only since Sunday, I am feeling tired of being number 1 in my life. And while I'm not any more open to having children, I see now the appeal of choosing a place, a partner, an occupation. I think I'm a lot closer to being ready to settle down than I was seven months ago. I think I might be growing up.