Happy Halloween, folks. I'm going to a Halloween party tonight hosted by a Canadian, an American, and a New Zealander. But I'm not wearing a costume.

Last night I messed up during my taekwondo test, so I didn't get my green belt. For a month and a half, every time I practiced, I'd get the moves right, and the one time I have to do it for real, I flub it. So I moved up half a belt (which I think means I get a little black stripe at the end of my orange belt. At least the other guy who's an orange belt also didn't get his green.

I've fallen back into my old ways at work, reading recaps of Sex and the City and Salon articles. Boo. I hate it when I waste time on the internet. bc and I talked about this when I was staying at her FABulous apartment in Harlem -- there's a feeling of emptiness after being on the internet too long, something that I did far too many times in the past year (all those nights up til 4 in the morning reading recaps or trashy chat streams about celebrities). Besides not learning anything of any conceivable use, hunching over a glowing laptop for 7 hours by oneself is very, very depressing-making. Resolution: stop doing that.

Listened to one of my classmates make a speech today in class about the differences between Korean and Japanese approached to relationships. She asked us to guess who was the Japanese person and who was the Korean person in each of these scenarios (each with a different couple):

1. Boy does something wrong and girl gets mad. Girl tells boy, "I'm going in a another room to be mad by myself. Don't talk to me." Boy hears her, stays out, doesn't approach to make an apology. Girl gets mad because boy didn't approach her, even though she said not to.
2. Girl didn't wash her hands after using the bathroom. Boy won't hold her hand as a result. Girl is hurt.
3. Boy pays for dinner, makes coffee for Girl on numerous occasions. Girl doesn't thank Boy at any one of these occasions. Boy is hurt; thinks Girl is rude.

Answer: in all three scenarios, Boy is Japanese, Girl is Korean.

Explanation:
1. Koreans consider themselves to have a lot of jong, which loosely translates to feelings, emotions, love. If they see that someone they love is hurt or angry, they will go out of their way to try to make them feel better, even if that means disregarding what the person actually says. Furthermore, a lot of what is spoken aloud is for formality purposes, and does not reflect a person's true feelings.
2. Even though not washing one's hands after the toilet is kinda gross, what's a little grossness between friends, or even more, between lovers? What, do you think I'm dirty? Aren't we closer than that?
3. Look, we're going out. We're close, close, close friends. Of course you're going to pay for me sometimes, and of course I'm going to pay for you sometimes. We take care of each other, that's what friends do. If I pay for dinner, I don't expect you to thank me -- hell, we're closer than that! Thank you -- what do I need a thank you for?

This peek into Korean culture brought to you by Yoko, of Level 5B, Sogang University Korean Language Institute.

When is being used okay?

My work colleague Woon-gil bought me dinner last night at a Chinese restaurant, as thanks for editing his application to a theological seminary in the States last month. My dinner only cost about $5, and he joked that he'd have to buy me another dinner, as he owed me more than that.

Since Woon-gil helped me out during the summer by meeting with me three times a week during lunch to practice Korean, I would normally say that we're pretty much even. But. That doesn't take into consideration the annoyance factor. Because not only did he ask me to edit his application essays (2 of them, twice), he also emailed me his wife's statement and a cover letter to look over, as well as a couple preliminary messages he sent to the school before actually applying.

In addition, at dinner last night, he also brought a U.S. Justice Department form (statement of sponsorship) that he couldn't quite figure out one part of, as well as a two page letter to the school outlining his financial situation. I edited it silently over hot chocolate, feeling ambushed.

The letter took about two minutes to edit. It's not about effort. It's about feeling used. And the thing is, I understand Woon-gil's situation: he doesn't know many fluent English speakers, and it's so little effort on my part, plus I've been blessed with so many advantages by just growing up in the States, that I must surely be willing to help out a fellow homelander. It's completely by chance that I have the highly desired skill (fluency in English) and that he doesn't. So why should I be irritated?

I'm not as irritated now as I am a bit sad about the situation. The problem with being an native English speaker here -- where a current social problem is the immigration of far too many young people out of the country to America, Canada and other English-speaking countries -- is that you never know whether your friends like you for you, or like you for your English. For the information you have, just by having grown up in the west. Woon-gil asked me whether he'd have to live in a rich neighborhood to ensure that his son gets a good education, whether he needed to worry about drugs in schools, whether his son would face prejudice because he's Asian, whether I thought his wife could get a job.

On my part, I have to admit that I might be more annoyed because of the Christian factor. Having to read two essays on the journey of faith my friend experienced is might be all fine and good with some people, but I have a bit of chip on my shoulder about proselytizing, as I've mentioned before here. In part, the same problem applies to my devout Christian friends -- I never know if they want to befriend me because they like me, or because they want to save my soul.

In any case... grr to ulterior motives.
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Christmas in August is the name of the movie we are watching in video class. It's a Love Story type of storyline, but with a Korean flavor, which means that the protagonist and the girl never even hug, much less get all lovey dovey like Ryan O'Neal and Ally McGraw. Also? The protagonist never even tells the girl that he's dying, and it's unclear in the end whether she ever finds out.

Despite the frustration of the non-communication, the movie (actually, a TV miniseries) moved me. Forgive me for ruining it for you, but there is a scene when an old woman comes to the hero's photo studio and has him take her funeral photo. (I went to my uncle's funeral in June, and in my description of it, I wrote about the greeting room, where my uncle's photo was surrounded by flowers, food, and candles -- typical Korean funeral custom.)

At the end, the hero sits down alone in his studio, buttons his coat, sets the timer on his camera, and, just before the camera clicks, smiles slightly for his own funeral picture. He's young -- in his thirties, and has one of the undefined mortal diseases that strike TV drama protagonists.

Something about that last-second smile got to me, and tonight I was thinking about it as my dad drove me home from taekwondo. I thought about my dad, who is now in his 50s, whose life is more than half over, and for the first time thought in concrete detail about how it will be to have no more father on this earth. I thought about how terribly, terribly sad I will be, because I really like my dad, and have enjoyed living with him here more than I ever thought I could.

Buddhism, while logical and soothing on many levels, doesn't offer a happy happy joy joy life after death scenario. There's no hanging around on clouds peeking down periodically at your loved ones to smile benevolently at them. Thinking about loved ones dying tonight, the Christian concept of heaven looked pretty attractive. I'm not ruling it out yet.

Too Tired To Write

Yes, too tired to write, but also, lately I haven't felt like writing much. I dunno, may have to consider a change to the blog format here (perhaps every day is a bit much at this stage).

I forgot to mention that this weekend was my grandmother's birthday, and 10 members of the family gathered at a Chinese restaurant to celebrate: my grandmother, my grandmother's sister, my aunt (widowed in the summer), my oldest uncle and his wife, my deceased uncle's wife and her two kids, my dad, and me. My aunt joked that my grandmother looked a little teary-eyed, but I think I might have been too, if I were in my 70s and my kids and grandkids were all gathered 'round.

It was that thing again -- feeling rooted, feeling connected, feeling like I'm part of something bigger instead of adrift in a lonely sea with only a couple companions. Friends are beautiful, they understand you in ways that family doesn't dream of, but ultimately friends live their lives and you live yours. Family -- at least families like my dad's side, in which the members are all on good terms with each other even if they don't see each other much -- is permanent. I finally understand what my dad parroted all those years when we were growing up.

What Confidence?

So that newfound self-confidence I talked about ... yeah, well, hm. It doesn't seem to have found a permanent home in the landscape of my psyche yet. As proof, I offer Exhibit A: Bonnie.

Bonnie is in my taekwondo class. She's probably 16 or so. She moved to Korea from the States when she was about 8. So her Korean's not perfect -- you can hear her American accent. Her English is better, seeing as she goes to an international school.

Bonnie hates me.

Okay, okay, she doesn't hate me. She just is very, very unenthusiastic about me. Last week, when everyone else was partnered up for sit-ups, she looked away when I looked at her. When I outright asked, "Will you be my partner, Bonnie?" she muttered "okay." She seems to try to avoid me. As the only person really comfortable speaking both Korean and English, she makes no effort to reach out. And she, she ... yeah! She's mean! And she never says hi! And.. and... yeah! And she makes me feel like an idiot! Because I am one!

I feel fairly comfortable with everyone in taekwondo class, even the people I hardly speak with. Bonnie somehow manages to get under my skin. I know, I know, for all I know, she's dealing with some big issues that have nothing to do with me, and even if she weren't, being 16 is enough of an issue in itself. It's me, not her. What does it mean, anyway, that I'm bothered by the unfriendly/dismissive behavior of a pre-humanite? Sad, my friends. Very sad.

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Note

I'm loving the three-day workweek I've got set up. I adore having time to have a long lunch with friends, and then study. I did homework in the tiny spaces between things for so long (sitting on the train -- or standing up when I couldn't find a seat, during breaks between classes, when I didn't have work at the office, in the morning while lying in bed), it feels like a real luxury to have a set time in which I am supposed to study.

Low Profile

I haven't updated in a few days because I've been busy staying up til 3 am, dealing with drunkards, studying, taekwondo-ing, working on getting my photos up online, and generally living life, though not with as much sleep as I'd like. I'm still waking up at 3 am, even though I've gotten myself to see 11 pm as bedtime rather than 5 pm.

Today, much tired, as was up til late doing photos online and then woke up to a very long day at school, work, taekwondo, and home. Taekwondo -- ouch. Much flexibility lost.

Nothing of interest to include here at the moment. Am still feeling that confidence thing. Myung-soo, my friend at work, mentioned it today. Maybe it's the clothes. The ghost of Julie and her sisters (my sister-in-law and her sisters) permeating the clothes she handed down to me when I was in SF, and causing me to walk taller, feel handsomer, be less afraid.

First Day of Work in Six Weeks

I signed a contract that says I work 5 days a week and every other Saturday, but verbally we agreed that I'd work only 3 days a week, and no Saturdays. I was able to remain firm on the last, mostly because the HR guy had decided that resignation about the obnoxious ways of Ugly Americans was his best recourse.

In an already defeated tone of voice, he asked again if I could come in on Saturdays, so I smiled and shook my head. With the body language of a whipped dog, he then asked if I'd be willing to take work home with me, and having already agreed to that, I said, "Yes."

As he walked me to my old desk, I promised not to tell anyone about the wage agreement (they ARE going to pay the same salary as before, for half the time), but man, oh man, I felt bad for the guy, and bad for being the demanding American. It didn't help that later in the afternoon, the obnoxious woman on the team whose office is where my desk is located said in a loud, merry voice: "It must be nice to be able to work a few months and then take vacation for a month! Here in Korea, that's unheard of."

"Ditto in America," I replied.

"Really?" she said, eyes widening. "Americans don't do that either, eh? So maybe it's only Americans that come to Korea who are lucky enough to do that!"

Thanks for pointing that out, lady. I feel bad enough for taking advantage of the system. I know I'm lucky, okay? But I try to be humble and appreciative. I don't have to deny myself the opportunities at my reach in order not to offend you.

In all other respects, being back at the office was just like old times. People did make a bit of a fuss about how I look different, and that confidence thing popped up again, allowing for a short, lively conversation with one member of the Korean Studies team (with whom I exchanged a total of 10 words during the year) about Southeast Asia, an area we both have interest in. He's responsible for managing Korean Studies development in that area, so he's been to Vietnam a few times, and said he became interested in the area because of the participation of Korean troops in the Vietnam War.

Yeah, did you know that? I only know that because of a video that J and I rented two years ago in DC. The quality of the movie and the video was terrible, so we gave up on watching it, but it woke me up to the fact that Korean troops were there, at the request of the U.S., and that Korean veterans of the Vietnam War suffered similar post-traumatic illnesses (not to mention illnesses from the chemicals used) as American veterans. At that time, the president of Korea (who was really a military dictator, when it comes down to it) supported a massive anti-communist campaign, so people then were really heavily indoctrinated to believe that communism was evil. I guess that's why, only 10 or 15 years after the Korean War left Korea devastated, so many Korean troops got sent to another conflict.

The guy I talked with today said that there was talk now of apologizing to Vietnam, for coming over and killing so many innocents.

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Childhood Memories

And one last, humorous blurb: in class yesterday, we talked about childhood memories, and the naughty things we did as kids. The Japanese girl I talked with, Yoko, said that when she was six, she got into a fight with her sister, and so wrote a note addressed to her that said, "[Name of sister] is a stupidhead," and signed it with the name of one of her sister's friends.

Well, Yoko's sister took the note to the teacher, and the end result was that Yoko and her mother went to the friend's house and apologized to the friend for defamation.

I laughed SO hard at that story. It's just funny to think of Yoko, who appears to be a gentle, modest schoolteacher, doing this devious deed at age six.

Almost as funny is my own six-year-old-deed story, of when I went to the store with my dad and, at the checkout counter, stole a chocolate. I think it was Chunky. Silver package, red letters? Anyhoo, I knew it was wrong, I just figured someone would see me and stop me. And, like most kids, I wanted to see if I could get away with it. (It was all about challenging the capitalist system, actually. Giving the finger to authority. You know, the usual six-year-old stuff.)

Well, I got out of the store with my Chunky, and I started feeling bad. I said to my dad, "Uh, dad, look what I have."

"Where'd you get that?" he asked.

"Uhhh, at the storrrre."

I have the feeling that the traditional American parent response would have been to make me go back to the store to return it and apologize, plus have the store owner impress upon me that only bad people steal. But my dad, being Korean and a rather unusual one at that, just laughed. He did make me throw the chocolate away, which I was a bit loathe to do (wasteful! wasteful! even at that age, I was cheapskate). But I'm sure that Chunky would have gotten stuck on the Lump of Guilty Conscience in my throat anyway.

Conscience Smotes!

I haven't done anything particularly wicked, I'm just starting to feel bad about insisting on working only 3 days a week. Partly it's because the HR guy (being pressured by his superiors), keeps trying to push the boundaries -- first it was taking work home with me, and today, he called and asked if I'd be willing to come in every Saturday morning.

"Um, well, that's not really working three times a week then, right?" I asked.

"Yes, but remember what I said yesterday about paying you the full salary?" he asked. "We just hoped you could come in on Saturdays also."

"Um, well, I hadn't really thought of doing that," I said, trying to politely say no.

"Ah. Well, I thought you'd say that. Let's talk tomorrow when you come in, okay?"

"Sure. See you tomorrow."

"See you tomorrow."

In writing it down here, I realize it sounds like the famous Korean classic, "Guilt Trip." (I actually sing that song rather well myself, but I'm not immune to its charms when someone else is crooning.) I said it would be fine to cut my salary to the hours that I actually work, so if they don't want to do the paperwork and instead have settled on paying the entire amount, they should accept the terms as I've given them, because I'm not the one insisting on the entire part-time salary for half the time.

On the other hand (and you knew there was one), Korean companies aren't exactly known for their flexibility, and I do feel like the Ugly American in this situation, demanding special consideration because I was lucky enough that my parents decided to immigrate there and have me grow up fluent in English. This is a job that even most expatriates would find exceptionally cushy, with its non-demanding work, reasonable hours, and occasional perquisites, like free concerts and shows. Not to mention quite heavenly to most Koreans.

I've met friends through the Foundation, I've learned about Korean through reading the articles they publish, and I've seen Korean work culture -- all valuable experiences courtesy of the KF. Most westerners teach English here; I've been spared that.

Don't worry, I'm not about to go in tomorrow and sell my soul to the Foundation for a ticket to Nanta. I just don't want to be the spoiled westerner. And I'm susceptible to the GT tune.

Shut AWwwwp.

I met a friend of Vivian's today: a Korean American woman today, 32, who just came to Korea about three weeks ago. I had lunch with her and Vivian and Mira, a Korean adoptee who grew up in France, and I was embarrassed at how loudly the KA woman talked about how Koreans did that and Koreans did this.

"Koreans always talk about age and marriage," she practically yelled over our tofu stew, and it's not as if I didn't go through the exact same stage when I first got here, but I really, really hope I wasn't so loud about it in the presence of Koreans. How obnoxious is it to make comments about the people of the country you're living in, in their language? Imagine hearing a foreigner complain in an American restaurant, "Americans always eat so much!"

Shut it!
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Work

I heard from the HR guy at the Foundation today, and he asked if it would be okay for me to work there 3 days a week, but to take work home with me for the other days, if there was indeed work to be done. I hemmed and hawed for a moment, 'cause yo, that's NOT working three days a week, and he pushed on: "The problem is that we're going to be paying you the full amount for the part-time position, and so if you could do some work --"

"What?" I interrupted. "Why can't you just pay me less according to how much I actually work?"

"Ah, yes," he said. "Well, going through that process would be difficult for us."

"Difficult for you," I repeated. "I see."

"So if you could do a little work on the off days --"

"Well, why don't you just give me the entire salary?" I asked mischieviously.

"That's what we want to do," he replied seriously, "so if there's any work that's left over on your work days, maybe you could just take it home. Only if there actually is work, of course," he added hastily.

I thought it over for about a millisecond. "When do you want me to come in?" I asked.

So starting on Wednesday, I'm working three days a week, plus maybe a little extra, for essentially the same pay. What have I done to deserve this? I'm not sure, but I'm putting my thanks out there.

Admin Stuff

I'm aware that you can't scroll down the page, but haven't been able to figure out why with my limited tech knowledge. I sent a request for technical assistance to Blogger Support, and those nice people over there got back to me within one day! This, at a free site. Makes you wonder why customer service at the telephone, gas, and electricity companies can't be better.

Anyway, a tech guy named Graham wrote back that my page is published correctly, but that there's a browser issue in Internet Explorer that causes this sometimes. They're working on it, but in the meantime, I've made some script changes that Graham suggested, and it seems to have worked. If you still have problems, Graham suggests: "refreshing or resizing your browser window will usually make the page appear correctly. We apologize for the inconvenience." Ditto.

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Feeling Lazy

It's Sunday afternoon and I've finished reading Q is for Quarry, the mystery I bought for the plane ride back here, except I never got to read it because I met my brother's friend on the plane. I should do some Korean homework as I've got a lot to catch up on, but having done three and a half hours of it yesterday, I'm not feeling so inspired today. Sometimes I worry that I've gotten way too lazy to go to law school.

On Friday, I went down to my former work place and met with the HR guy. I told him the small lie that I hadn't been planning to work, but since they needed someone, I was willing to work until they found a replacement (they interviewed four or five candidates but none were satisfactory to the editor-in-chief of publications, a rather difficult to please character) or until December, whichever came first. (December, you see, is when I'm planning to go to Southeast Asia.)

I also said that I didn't want to work every day, because the one-hour commute from school was too tiring to do on a daily basis (see what I mean about lazy?) and that I'd work three days a week. Feeling magnanimous, I said they could pick the days.

They haven't gotten back to me yet, but I figure that they'll probably pick me up. After all, having someone three days a week for two months is better than having no one to do the nitpicky editing grunt work.

After the requisite hello-ing and how-are-you-ing with various friends there, I went to an interview at an educational institute that my dad had set up. The director, a no-nonsense Korean woman who went to college in the States, said she'd like to have me teach there. If I liked, she said, she'd state in her next newspaper ad that a Yale grad would be teaching an SAT class. I'm not sure if it was my extreme fatigue that day, but director's demeanor left me a little chilly, and I called her yesterday to turn down her offer, saying merely that I wasn't in a position to take on extra work at this time.

Lazy? Afraid to try something new? Hm.

I did call Erica, the woman who's been sending tutorees my way, and I think she might send a couple more. Yesterday, though, I suddenly felt icky about the whole tutoring thing. The two tutoring jobs I've had were fun for me, as well as lucrative, but it really is all about the rich getting richer. I had heard from someone that tutoring is illegal in Korea, and when I asked my dad yesterday, he said yes, it was. Poorer parents complained that only moneyed families could afford to hire the tutors that gave kids the edge in the admissions game, so it was decreed that tutors have to register with the government. Freelancers like me are breaking the law.

I could argue that I'm helping only kids who are applying to U.S. colleges, and because of the way financial assistance works in the U.S., only rich families could afford to send their kids there anyway, but ultimately, yes, I'm just another part of the system keeping the People down.

I've got a couple other ideas up my sleeve that I need to pursue in regard to working here, so maybe I can avoid becoming The Man.

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Last Thought
I feel more confident than I did when I left Korea for the U.S. six weeks ago. Why is that? Maybe it happened during the course of the year here, but I had to go back home to see how much I changed. Maybe it's the haircut and the hand-me-downs from my sister-in-law, which are of a quality that I'd never buy for myself. Those things, I think, made people see me differently in the States, and here as well. It's as if the image of me in other people's minds became more visible, or more clearly defined, whereas before I was a little cloudy, a little muddy, a little forgettable. In particular, I sense a difference in the way men look and interact with me. Perhaps it's the confidence from the new clothes or the new clothes that bring about this change. Interesting.

Fall is the same in Seoul as it was in DC, New York, Seattle, and San Francisco -- the air feels thinner and cleaner, the lines of buildings and mountains look sharper, more vivid against the sky, and hk has a spring in her step. There's just no contest -- autumn is the best of the seasons, and despite some sadness about leaving friends and a sense that Seoul is never going to compare to the cities I love best in the U.S., I can't help but feel the same inner shift, the quietly joyful expectancy that only fall brings.

I felt the same in New York when I was there during the last week of September, a timing mistake if there ever was one, for fall in New York is a huge trap: the sweet, dusty smell of fallen leaves in Central Park, the rumptious feel of corduroy skirts and pants, the delicious browns and tans of thick sweaters, the muggy air turned all crisp and sleek -- all conspire to convey the oh-so-casual impression that New York is always this way, all 365 days of the delectable year. And so you become convinced that you need to run, helter-skelter, to the nearest U-Haul, to rent a truck in which you will place all your belongings and high-tail it back to the city of cities. New York, New York.

I was never one to subscribe to the notion that New York is the center of the universe, but I understand why people are persuaded to think so. Sometime during my week there, I felt that there was no place else I'd be as happy, and that I should make plans to come back from Seoul early and live there.

It wasn't just the fall thing that made me feel this way; I had an indescribably wonderful time with BC, Miss D, Matt Sal, Tamar, Def and Stave, Marsh, and Steve. I got to see my old friend Miss D get engaged at a karaoke bar. I helped Def and Stave (congrats to the lovely couple!) move into their first home together. I hung out at the Lenox Lounge, home to the shortest drum- and guitar-playing brothers in the western hemisphere (and by the way? the drummer was NOT a thug and he WAS better-looking than the here's-my-younger-brother-Dov guitar player, thank you very much, Miss D and BC). I sat in St. John the Divine's with Matt Sal and talked religion. I drank martinis and traded innuendos with Mr. Green (a.k.a. BC) of Clue until 2 a.m. I got locked out with BC and sat on a stoop listening to her neighbor tell us about the Bush Crime Family. I walked through the Temple of Dendur and watched a toddler outside the window have the best time just lying on the ground. And I got to ride on the Hasidic bus AND the Chinese bus to and from New York.

The confluence of friends and opportunities in that fair city is just too good to pass up. I am so there next year.

Don't anyone leave, ya hear?

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I had a chance to talk with Vivian, my Taiwanese friend, today. Each time I talk with her, I feel sort of peaceful -- I'm really not sure why. Somehow, through the cloudiness of cultural differences and language barriers, she's able to look right into me and address what I'm feeling.

Today Vivian suggested that writing a travel column would be a good job for me. Since I don't recall talking to her about loving to write and travel, I'm at a loss as to how she was able to pinpoint this as an ideal job. As usual, I said, "Well, that would be great , but it's incredibly difficult to get a job like that." She said I should try, and all of a sudden I realized that yeah, I should try.

See, I'm incredibly lazy. Most of the time, rather than think about what I really want, I let chance arrange my future -- whatever drifts by is what I hop onto. I do come across things that I think would be neat to do, but quickly dismiss them as too hard, or as positions that I'm not qualified for, or things that only the bright shiny stars can do. Working for the UN or Foreign Service. Doing a joint degree program. Getting published in a magazine. Writing a book.

Maybe it's lack of confidence. I'm not sure. But I should get over it. I'm gonna get over it.

Vivian also -- in response to some vague statements from me about needing to think about the future and what I really wanted -- gripped my arm, looked into my eyes, and said: "You need a man." Hee hee! No argument here.

My nails are still red but the party's all over

If any of you out there have missed reading this blog, I have to say, I missed writing it. Though I brought my journal with me on my four week odyssey through five cities, I didn't write in it much, and I missed the introspection. In addition, I realize that I've gotten used to observing things with an eye to writing them down later for an audience. Not to mention having an audience. Thanks for bein' here, folks, thankya verra much.

It's been just over 24 hours since I touched down in Seoul after a brutal 12.5 hour flight from San Francisco, where my sister-in-law dropped me off at the airport with 10 pounds of clothes from her closet, new running shoes (early Christmas present), and half a bag of Kettle Korn (the other half having been eaten by me the night before). How can you not love this woman?

The flight was awful. Having made it three times in the past year, I feel qualified to state that it is always awful and can't not be awful. (Except maybe in first class, where the seats recline to full horizontal position and you have more space to yourself than I have in my Seoul bedroom.) It could have been considerably more awful, however, save for a chance meeting on the plane, the kind that never happens -- except when it does. I was heading toward my seat when my eyes landed on the guy in the seat in front of mine. The face looked familiar... a name floated up... in an incredulous voice, I asked: "Chris?"

Yup, it was indeed who I thought it was: Chris Lee, a friend of my brother's from college, whom I'd last seen at said brother's wedding three years ago. Funny thing is, I'd originally been placed in the middle seat of the middle section by the check-in counter, and only by request had I been reassigned to the aisle seat behind Chris'. If I hadn't had a horrible time sitting in the middle section on the way to the States, I might not have requested the seat change, and may not have seen him.

Chris and I were able to sit next to each other, and chatted for the first couple hours before dosing ourselves with Dramamine and falling asleep. (Well, I fell asleep. I don't think he managed as well.) I had been psyching myself up to ruminate and write in my journal during the long flight, but I didn't mind too much not doing that; too much scope for wallowing in the blue feeling that had started when I wheeled my suitcase through the airport doors. As I watched Julie drive away, I felt a surge of sadness. Alone again. My last two visits to the States were, respectively, difficult and more difficult; this visit was all about reconnecting with people and having a good time -- no, scratch that -- having a great time. So, unlike the past two visits, I wasn't looking forward to getting away. Flying with Chris, who is visiting Korea for two weeks, helped ease the transition back to my life here.

And life here? Well, it's pretty much as it was. My former classmates were really happy to see me this morning, which of course was extremely gratifying. Lewis, the NZ sheep shearer, is back and in my class, as is Father Peter (we'd all taken the summer off from class). Two former classmates, Hiroko and Masaru, came by the school and 10 of us all had lunch together.

After lunch, I wandered around with Gyung-li, another former classmate, trying to yank my brain back into Korean mode. My brain hurts. I'm in for a tough week or two.

As for work, my dad arranged a meeting with an educational institute for me to teach writing (not sure of the details), so I'm going to see them tomorrow. In addition, in a surprise move, the human resources guy at the Foundation called my dad on Monday and said that if I wanted to come back to my job, it was open. Huh. God, I hope I have the strength to say no.

One last thing before I take my discombobulated self off the air. I have to say that upon opening my bedroom door last night, I felt a little wave of sadness, as I remembered all the times I cried in there about John. It feels like I've been away for a long, long time, much longer than four weeks. I looked around the small room and thought, "Oh, this is so not home."

Home is where the heart is, and my heart is with all the friends and family I saw this past month, who were made more beautiful than usual by my lack of close friends here. I'm not shedding any tears for myself (what a change!) about that; I know this was the right place for me this past year, and it has been wonderful and difficult and a huge learning experience. It just happens that one of the important lessons was that intimacy is a beautiful thing, and I missed it much. So thanks, folks, thankya verra much, for bein' here.