Oh, You Can't Escape That Easily

I mean you, not me. The escaping. From the blog. Which should be done and over with but isn't, because I wrote something last night for it. Except you could escape from it, since you can just not read it.

Okay, whatever, the title doesn't make sense. But here's what I wrote last night. Which probably also does not make sense.
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Before I moved to Korea, I lived with a roommate my five years in DC. It was rare that I was alone in the apartment for an extended period of time. But I remember when my last roommate went on a trip for a long weekend, and I became strangely anxious about being alone in the apartment at night. I would check and recheck the locks to the front door. I would look in the closets. I would even (no joke) look under the beds. I’m not sure if I was afraid of axe-murderers or monsters, but while I sort of laughed at myself as I did this, I couldn’t go to sleep comfortably if I didn’t.

I remember being afraid a lot in DC. Walking home alone late at night. Working late in the office by myself. Being in the apartment by myself. Single, female, urban dweller fears.

I was thinking about this as I walked home from meeting a friend for dinner in Dupont Circle, close to where I used to live. It’s not that the fears have vanished – which is good, because I recognize that being a little on edge is a good thing to be in a city. You should be aware of your surroundings. Someone was shot at the corner of 18th and R a few days ago – “safe” territory.

So I walked home carefully through the gentrified blocks of apartment buildings on 19th and 18th Streets, and the brownstones converted into condos on 17th and 16th Streets, and past the landmark site of Fresh Fields between 15th and 14th, and down 13th, where installation art spaces and designer furniture stores with huge display windows are slowly edging out the gritty shops with red neon “Checks Cashed Here” signs and bars on their windows. I noted that I wasn’t as nervous as I used to be. Seoul is such much bigger than DC that coming back here feels almost like coming back to a small home town.

But it is unquestionably more dangerous, and more so for the lack of people on the streets at 11:30 at night. It wasn’t unusual for me to come home past midnight in Seoul, and walk home next to teenagers and kids, past BBQ chicken places still serving families of customers. I saw people on every block I walked tonight here in DC, but it was infinitely less alive and more empty than Seoul. Everyone was already inside, getting ready for their next day at work, locked in their apartment buildings or brownstones. Locked up in their own private spaces.

There isn’t much privacy in Seoul – I sometimes despaired over the lack of it. Since my grandmother and great-aunt were often at home, I was rarely there alone. Walking out of the apartment, there was always someone out strolling or playing with their kids, or kids just running around. The metro was never empty. Even the parks were no havens of peace – there was always a torrent of people enjoying the same view. But I never checked under my bed in Seoul, nor in the closets. The thought that there might be someone or something lurking around, waiting to hurt me, just never occurred to me. I felt safe in Seoul the way I never felt safe in DC.

I wonder if that’s just a feeling I got from being in a country where the rate of violent crime is much lower, or from some strengthened sense of psychological security from living with family members, or from living in a society where people are nosy and take interest in each others’ lives. And I wonder if I’ll start looking under the beds again here.