I Can't Think Straight

Oh, the irony.

The year goes round and round and here we are again, just past National Coming Out Day. As a friend recently said on twitter, "It's National Coming Out Day, the day I angst about my label every year and shuffle off into the depths to try and find something that works."

Too real, man. Too real. I can recall, but I've probably had stress dreams about people asking me to define my sexuality. Somehow, the more labels I have to choose from, the harder it is to find one that applies. I've defaulted to an awkward "Well, I'm not straight...?" but that seems like such a lame copout. What's a girl to do?

In my life, I've mostly dated men, but my first kiss was with a girl. I was a tomboy in high school, but now I prefer dresses and winged eyeliner. At a glance, I appear as straight as a Roman road, but my heart could never travel that same path. 

There are so many politics in the world of orientation. Do I count as bi if I've only ever had sex with men, despite making out with girls? Why do straight people get to count even before they've had sex? Is all of this just in my head? Am I inventing problems that don't exist? Probably.

I was lucky enough to end up with an incredibly non-straight group of friends in high school and university, to the point that for a while, I actually thought I might be straight, just because I wasn't nearly as gay as the average person sitting next to me. I guess it's a bit like thinking you're a terrible dancer because all your friends are ballerinas, only to go to a wedding in Oklahoma and watch someone else's dad try to dance to Frank Sinatra. Ah, you think. So that's the other end of things.

It's weird living in Korea, as well. This country is so backwards, socially. Someone once told me it's like 2050 technologically and 1950 socially. Maybe it's better in the big city, but out here in the country? I can't imagine what it must be like for the young people trying to define themselves. I've had to field quite a few questions from my students, about everything from how many lesbians there are in the US (many??) to whether I know (and I quote) "any transgenders"? Let me tell you, trying to explain, in simple English, very briefly, why someone would want to transition is not something I would wish upon anyone. At the same time, that's one thing I love about being a teacher.

So yeah. Here are my scattered and disorganized musings on my sexuality in light of National Coming Out Day. While it's a lovely thought to imagine a world where there are no assumptions made and anyone could be anything without having to explain themselves, it's not a world I see coming soon. Besides, labels can be fun, and even positive, so long as you get to choose the ones that feel right. I just wish I knew which ones those were, for me, as a confused non-straight weirdo.

Big Fall Blowout!

So last week, I had one of those days. You know the kind. It starts simple. Maybe you wake up 10 minutes late and run out the door without your breakfast. Then you spill looseleaf tea all over your office, which leads to you leaving your photocopied worksheets in said office, causing you to be late to class. When it rains, as they say, it pours annoying minor misfortunes on your head.

Therefore, I wasn't even a LITTLE bit surprised to walk out after work and find that, lo and behold, the battery in my car had died. Why? Who knows. Even the repairman who came out to give me a jump seemed perplexed, and that's never a good sign. But hey, it's a 12 year old car. It's seen a lot. I call him Clint for a reason. He's doing his best.

Now, more than anything I'd been looking forward to getting home, taking a nap, and having a nice relaxing evening. No worries, I thought, I'll just take a nice little drive out to the countryside and back in order to charge my battery. Got a nice book on tape and a granola bar, life is good.

I should have known. I should have effing known that my bad luck couldn't end there. About 20 minutes out of town, my right front tire blew up.

F**k this shit I'm out!

See that tiny tire waaay in the background? Yeah. That used to be on my car. Pretty cool, right? This is how it happened: I was driving along, happy as you please, when suddenly my car jerked like a Great Dane that's just seen her best friend on the other side of the street and has conveniently forgotten that her owner is on the other end of the leash. I slowed from about 50 km/hr in a matter of seconds and tried to keep my car from shuddering off the road.

As I told a friend soon after the incident, at first I thought the road was messed up, then quickly realized that it was my own car that was messed up. Luckily there was space to pull over soon, and the second I stopped moving and the reek of burnt rubber wafted in through my windows, I could guess what had happened.

fuck

It was worse than I'd even expected. The best part was, the car hadn't been running long enough to charge the battery, so as I climbed out of my car to survey the damage, I had to leave the engine on as a bonus backdrop to my onrushing panic attack. Each frantic breath just brought in more of the acrid reek of rubber. I wasn't entirely sure where I was. I was hungry and cold, not entirely dressed for the weather.

I breathed.

Luckily, my insurance comes with an app that will contact local repair shops and send people out to fix you up. So I punch in my info and wait for the call, only to realize that once they called, I would have to know where the hell I was. I knew the name of the small town that was nearby, but I was pretty sure that and my rudimentary Korean skill was not going to be enough.

Luck! Across the road, an older lady was waiting at the bus stop. As the mechanic spoke to me like a child after I asked him to slow down, I sprinted across the 2 lane highway and desperately pushed my phone into her hands with a plea to "explain this location." All was well. The mechanic was on his way. She gave me her phone number and told me to text her when I made it back into town.

Eventually, the mechanic showed up, and to my embarrassment, it was the same man who had fixed my battery not one hour before. He asked a few questions and I fumbled my way through answers, and in the end it was decided that we'd have to call a tow truck, and I'd need to buy two new tires. Apparently they come in packs of two. Learning!

Instead of waiting on the side of the road, we left my keys hidden on the ruined rim of what used to be a tire and drove back to the repair shop together. We sat in silence for a while, each of my muscles tensed from anxiety barely held in check.

"How many times have we met?"

It took me a second to realize what he asked and understand the question, but finally I hazarded "Twice?"

Turns out it was actually our third time meeting; he'd replaced my battery a few months ago, and he assured me that my car wasn't garbage, it was just old. These things are natural.

"This is a great day. Do you know why?"

I hesitated to answer, worrying that I was now stuck in a car with a mechanic trying to hit on me.

"No one was hurt! Your car could have flipped over! It could have been serious. But it wasn't. So, today is an amazing day. Right?"

I supposed it was. As I sat in the office waiting for my new tires, watching the pet channel and sipping bad instant coffee, waiting for my muscles to unknot themselves, I couldn't stop thinking about that. Today is a great day because all the things that could have happened didn't happen, which was pretty much in perfect opposition to what I'd been thinking all day.

All this to say I made it home safe and my little trashwagon is puttering along smoothly once again. I'm grateful that there are kind mechanics and women at bus stops to help me when I feel like the world is giving me a tough break.

Why Do You Go Away? So You Can Come Back

Well, I've been there and back again as Tolkien would put it, and with the customary chests of gold to prove it, so long as chests can be suitcases and gold can consist of quinoa, clothing, candles, and many other things that don't start with /k/, if you can believe it. Allow me my alliteration, alright?

Anyway (sorry, sorry, I promise I'll stop), I've been back from vacation for about three weeks, which means I finally have the energy and presence of mind to write about, well, anything. Jetlag is rough, kids. Add that to the horrendously hot weather, and my sleep has been, in a word, crappy.

Each trip home has been weird in a different way. The first year it was mostly exciting and a bit surreal. My life in Korea started to feel like a dream, and I was surprised upon coming back to find everything exactly where I'd left it. My second visit was just odd and stressful and unsettled- I feel like I never really got my balance. And this year?

This year was the first time I felt any strong desire to move back home. I met my friends, and saw the lives they were living, and for a moment I thought...this could be me. Do I want this to be me?

I've been in Korea long enough now that a lot of the great things have become invisible, which puts the negative things up in sharp contrast. Some things are specific to Korea, while others are things that come with living in a country where you don't speak the language fluently. It's dumb, but the the Korea-specific complaint that I always go back to is bars. I used to love just popping into a local place around 5 or 6 PM, not to get drunk, but to sip on a drink at the bar and write or meet people. One time I talked for an hour with a guy who owned a company that cleaned up houses of hoarders or after a dead body wasn't found for a long time. Gross but fascinating.

It's also much harder to make friends and develop relationships, partially because of cultural differences, but also because of the language barrier. I wouldn't say it's necessarily difficult, but it's certainly more of a challenge. That's probably one of the biggest lures of moving back to Seattle or the US. Not only do I have a preexisting collection of friends, I know the rules of social engagement much better. 

However, for every positive outcome I could get by moving back the US, there is an equal and opposite negative outcome. Whenever I imagine moving, I forget that I won't be able to bring my well-paying job and rent-free living situation with me. I'd have to deal with the horrible US healthcare situation again. I'd go back to cat-calling and gun violence and an inability to afford an apartment of my own. That's a big one, I must admit. Living alone is a gift I'm not sure I'm willing to part with just yet.

I'm lucky to have the job that I have, to be able to support myself at 26, debt-free, with the ability to travel on my own dime, and not have to stress about the bill at a fancy restaurant most of the time. Any time I start to complain, I try to remind myself of that. Not in a "there are STARVING CHILDREN in [insert stereotypical poor country] so EAT your green beans for crissakes" but in a more...count your blessings sort of way. Visiting home every summer is a great way to remind me of that.

All That You Can't (But Must) Leave Behind

Moving to Korea was one of the best decisions of my life, but that doesn't mean it's always sunshine, lollipops, and rainbows. It's a trade-off, I suppose-- for every step I take toward building a life for myself here, I'm taking one more step away from the life I had back in the states. I know I've written about this before, but it's something I keep spiraling back to. I have a bizarre form of that trendy new malady FOMO, a fear of missing out on the things I'd have been doing had I not moved to Korea.

The most obvious thing to miss is family events. No matter how much you email and check Facebook and Skype, so many things fall through the cracks. My aunt went through a huge medical situation and I had no idea how serious it was until I visited home well after the fact and heard the whole story. That really spooked me.

While I must admit I don't miss my family as much as I feel I should (sorry mom!), my younger sister is the one who really gets to me. She's 5 years younger, at that age when she's changing so fast and learning so much about herself and the world, and I really wish I could be closer, to step back into my role of Cool Older Sister who Already Made All The Mistakes. Not that she won't make mistakes...but I could at least save her a bit of time on some of them.

I guess every decision has two sides. Huh. That sounded much deeper and more revelatory in my head. This has always been an issue for me, for as long as I can remember. I don't regret taking the road less traveled, and neither would I regret taking the road more traveled, but I get really anxious about the road not traveled. The second I choose one, I'm POSITIVE the other would have been better. If I choose to stay home for vacation, a nagging voice tells me I should have traveled. If I choose to travel, the same voice says I should have stayed home and saved my money. I'm the human version of a cat-- the moment I'm let outside, all I want in the world is to be let back in.

This is probably nothing special, but it drives me crazy, as much as I've learned to ignore it. It's a basic problem of not being able to trust myself. I don't know what I want, or maybe I'm too easily satisfied. But is being satisfied enough? Who knows.

I'm 26 now, almost 27, and while I know that that's not old any way you count it, the speed at which time passes is starting to get to me. It doesn't help that so many of my friends and coworkers in Korea who are around the same age as me are getting married and having children, and many of the people I know back home are buying houses and moving up in their careers, while I'm just sitting here...living a life that hasn't changed much in two years. Sure, I'm a better teacher than I was 3 years ago. My apartment is nicer. My Korean has improved. But to go back to a metaphor I use too often, all of this just feels like grinding for XP. I've been leveling up my abilities and now it's time to start a new questline, but I can't seem to find anyone with that telltale exclamation point above their heads.

There are all sorts of new life stages to move into. Getting married is one that a lot of people around me are doing, and while I'm certainly not ready for that, I feel a similar push to start moving toward something bigger. More and more I think that something is grad school, but that means letters of recommendation and a great deal of money and every time I think about it I feel immediately overwhelmed and end up scrolling through tumblr mindlessly for an hour. This, unfortunately, is my main response to hardship and difficulty.

I suppose the real issue here is that I hate uncertainty. Once I have a goal, I'm stubborn enough that I generally pull it off even though I'm a bit of a human tire fire with a tendency to do things wrong in new and creative ways! I guess if you fuck up enough times in a row it makes a positive? So far, that seems to be the way I've worked my way through life, but since it's gotten me this far, I guess it works. Plus I have no idea how to change.

So, that's where I am right now, older than I ever considered myself being. When you're sixteen and dreaming of a better future, 25 seems like a lifetime away. Now that I'm past that, the world is stretching out before me like an overused first snow metaphor, and I'm stuck in place, afraid to leave the wrong footprints.

This Accelerating Contradiction

Being alone has never really bothered me. I was an only child growing up, and whenever a play-date wasn't an option, I was perfectly happy playing pretend in my room for hours, reading, or (most embarrassingly) learning how to make databases on my mom's Windows 3.1 computer. There were so many floppy disks. It wasn't even connected to the internet. Am I dating myself?

Maybe I'm getting more introverted as I get older, or maybe I'm just noticing it more, but these days it's getting harder and harder to force myself out of the house. Through all my years of shared bedrooms and roommates, I always knew I'd love living alone--I just never knew how much. I spend all day turned up to eleven at school; I have to keep my students energized, talk to coworkers, and constantly switch back and forth between Korean and English (and sometimes Japanese when the kids try to mess with me). It is, in a word, socially exhausting. The feeling of stepping into my apartment and closing the door to the outside world is magical.

Most people who've met me have a hard time believing this, because I have an uncanny ability to talk to just about anyone, but socializing is not something I'm naturally good at. I had to train myself, and going to a party or even just going to work still requires a certain...different persona. When I worked in cafes and restaurants, I called it my Customer Service Face. It's the face that smiles at rude customers, that cracks cheerful jokes no matter what's going on behind the scenes, that can run on autopilot through most types of small talk. It's convenient, but exhausting to keep up. When it's cranked into overdrive, I can get home from a party or a day at work and barely remember a thing I said to anyone.

The reason for my aforementioned talk-to-anyone skill is likely my knack for reading people, reading the room, and modulating myself to match. I have to be careful, though, or I'll change so much I don't recognize myself anymore. It's hard for me to stop thinking about how others are perceiving me, how the way I act influences the atmosphere around me. With all but the absolute closest of friends, socializing is like solving a constantly changing puzzle. I'm jealous of those people who seem to always just "be themselves" no matter the occasion. But then again, maybe people think that of me? Who knows.

The upside of having a no-roommate apartment to go back to is that I can more easily recharge after these daily bouts with humanity. The downside is that in order to have friends/any social life at all, it's sort of important to, you know, leave the house. Ever. I know that once I get to the party, to the class, to the bar, what have you, I'll have fun. Usually, socializing is fun, no matter how exhausted I am afterwards. But the problem is, staying home alone is fun 99.99% of the time, and it requires neither a bra nor pants. So you see my problem. I also genuinely enjoy traveling alone. Sure, it's harder to take pictures and eat out in restaurants, but isn't that what the selfie-stick was invented for?

When they invent something that makes eating alone less awkward, I'll be first in line to buy 10.

I may be able to talk to anyone, but making friends has always been difficult for me. It takes me a long time to get close to someone, and my tendency to drop off the face of the earth (socially) from time to time means I lose a lot of friendships that don't have a strong enough foundation yet. Living in Korea has added a bonus boss battle: my friends keep leaving.

It's totally natural. The average stay for native teachers over here is 1-3 years, so it's to be expected that people will come and go. If I were better at making and keeping friends, this wouldn't be such a big deal, but when it takes at least a year for me to feel really close to someone, if they leave right after it's almost like losing out on an investment. This is kind of horrible to say, but it's almost as if I'm an employer who's spent a year training a new recruit only to have them quit. Eventually, I don't want to hire any new people, even though I know I need them. Does that make sense?

There's clearly some lack of logic between what I want to happen and what I do. Case in point: I want to have friends, but what do I do? Avoid my nice neighbor who just wants to get brunch with me because I want to...what? Go for a walk by myself? Stay home and play videogames? I honestly can't understand my motivations in a lot of these situations, and yet they keep happening in the same way. Anxiety is tricky that way, I suppose.

So I guess that's where I am now; trying to find a balance between enjoying solitude and cutting myself off from humanity. Where do I draw the line? When does self-care turn into something bad? Tune in next never for the answer.

NaPoWriMo Day 5: Unwanted Proposals

Go On, Just Ask

“What if I…”

His hand, so much larger than mine—so much

Everything about him was more

A too-hot day, a jewelry stand

Beetle-bright threadbare velvet and

a nondescript ring

we cared about for different reasons

“If I…”

Even in memory, I am

shrinking

Thinking I was a candle

and him a flame

Such violent calm

that moved

a bit of silver and tarnish

from safe ring finger

to danger

There, in that moment, I knew

In that moment

I saw a road

Stretching

I saw

The chapters

delineate like bars

Tears came only

to wash my eyes

“Will you…”

Words hung out to dry

and I

left them

I had never learned

how to fold

Not sure if this works but....here it is! Writing was a struggle and a half today, since I'm exhausted and doped up on allergy medicine. Hurray?

Time to take the Nah out of NaPoWriMo!

It's beginning to feel that every time I post I have to start with an apology for being gone so long. At this point, is there really a...point? Does anyone really expect me to stick to a schedule, when I've never proven myself able to do such a thing? This distracting sidetracking is why I never get anything written, no doubt.

It's been a weird few months. I'm in a rut, just auto-piloting between school and work and work and Korean class and school. I know something needs to change in my life, but until I'm absolutely sure what it is, I don't want to do anything big. Hell, I'm even keeping myself from cutting my hair or changing the color drastically, which is a big step for me.

So, to give myself a bit of a project with which to drag myself out of this hole of apathy I've dug myself into, I'm going to do National Poetry Writing Month, or NaPoWriMo! I've always been envious of my friends doing NaNoWriMo since novels are just...not my thing, and while NaPoWriMo isn't nearly as big as it's older cousin, I think it'll be a good exercise.

So, you can look forward to a month of my scribblings and scratchings.

Happy April!

Neither Rain Nor Rain

Don't let the snazzy background fool you. I was annoyed.

That right there is the face of a survivor. Much like the USPS, neither rain, nor wind, nor rain, nor more rain...so much rain...was able to stop me. But really guys. There was so much rain.

It's been a busy couple of months, between 9 hours of Korean class every week and piles of lessons to plan for winter camp, so recently I decided to get out of Wonju for a bit and actually see those beautiful fall leaves everyone's been talking about it. So, on a Saturday, after 6 grueling hours studying Korea, I hopped in my car and set off for the lovely seaside town of Sokcho.

Naturally, I managed to choose the worst possible weekend on which to take a spontaneous trip. As I drove along the highway, the rain started to get heavier and heavier. Did I worry? Nah. I'm Pacific Northwest born and raised, so it takes something more than rain to ruin my nice drive. What kind of something?

My windshield wiper breaking. There I was, zooming along the foggy and rain-drenched highway at full speed when, in a matter of seconds, I was down to one functioning wiper. Because I'm blessed with the worst luck in the universe, that one, still-moving wiper was...of course...on the passenger side. Joy.

Fortunately, I was only a couple kilometers from a rest stop. So, I moved over into the righthand lane, leaning over to see through the half of the windshield that was still being wiped and trying not to have a panic attack.

Once safely in the parking lot, I just sat for a few minutes trying to collect myself. At this point I was more than an hour away from home, so I couldn't exactly phone-a-friend. Luckily, my windshield wiper hadn't entirely broken off and gone flying into the void as I'd previously suspected. It just had a screw...bolt...well something was loose, so at that point I figured all I needed was a wrench. In what felt like a stroke of genius, I got back into my car, wet as a drowned rat, and carefully maneuvered the car over the the gas station. Gas stations have wrenches, right?

Wrong. I pulled up and, rolling down my window, tried to explain to the perplexed 20-something manning the pumps that no, I didn't need gas, but that I was a damsel in distressing need of a wrench. He responded by telling me I needed to drive over to the next town to get it fixed at a car center. No matter how many times I explained to him how impossible that would be, the turnip-head didn't even think to look in the office for a wrench.

Finally, as I was trying to decide whether to start crying or wring his neck, a middle-aged couple pulled up next to me, so I went up to the man and showed him the issue. He spoke to the manager, and lo and behold, a wrench was found, and the offending wiper was fixed. All in all, it could have been much worse, but I was paranoid about the thing for the rest of the drive. 

I stayed the night in a cute little hotel right near the beach, with the most dramatic wallpaper, as you can see in my first picture. I was finally able to relax, eat some dinner, and hang my wet clothes up to dry.

The next day dawned...wet and rainy. Bit surprise. But I was determined! Armed with raincoat and umbrella, I braved the stormy coastline.

There's actually something enjoyable about the beach during a storm. The waves were crashing onto the beach, the wind sending spray to mix with the rain until my cheeks were salty--though the seagulls had the good sense to stay home.

A lonely spectator.

If I looked at the water through my umbrella I could almost pretend the sky was blue. Further along the beach I came across a secret little garden, and I wanted to explore, but my shoes were already soaked through at that point, so I didn't want to tramp around the wet grass.

Secret farm.

Rain and spray-soaked, I trudged up the road to get some lunch and hopefully give my shoes and chance to dry out. I always feel awkward eating alone in Korea, but the lady was really nice, and there was a hiker-gang of grandmas at the next table singing and chatting up a storm, so I got in some quality eavesdropping in while I ate.

Originally I'd planned to take a short hike on Seoraksan after lunch, but as the rain showed no sign of letting up, I elected instead to take a scenic drive. Much warmer and a lot less wetter. 

If you ever have a chance to visit Seoraksan, it's well worth your time. It does get pretty icy in winter, though, so be sure to wear correct footwear! I nearly slid off the edge of a cliff the first time I hiked there. At least I got to keep a fantastically large bruise as a souvenir!

I think it's important to get out of routines every once in a while. I get so caught up in day to day living, studying and working and stressing. Just one day away can make such a difference. A change is as good as a rest, or so they say.

The Glass is Half Full (of BS)

"You're so positive! You really have a bright outlook on things!"

So say coworkers and acquaintances, but it's not something I ever really considered to be one of my defining personality traits. Sarcastic, judgmental, with a tendency to complain-- yes, yes, and (according to my mother) yes. But positive, glass-is-half-full gal? Is that really me?

Well, yes and no. Living in a foreign country is a lot harder than you'd expect. Things that should be easy are difficult, every little chore seems a bit more exhausting, and it's easy to begin to feel beaten down and victimized. When your class is canceled, or a taxi driver won't stop for you, or the store stops carrying that familiar brand from home, it's so easy to take it personally, to feel that your school or the country or even the world is against you.

It's like a big muddy snowball of negativity. You start it rolling, and by the end of the day, it's collected up every tiny bad thing that happened. By the end of the month, you don't have any space for good things because you've got this huge dirty snowball to roll around. It even starts to taint the good things that happen. If your coworker gives you a cookie, you're just annoyed because you're trying to stick to your diet. Instead of noticing how hard your students are trying in class, you only notice how noisy they are.

In truth, my positive outlook is a big lie. It's a lie I tell to myself because I have to, and a lie I tell to other people because I want to. The way I see it, your life is just a story, and you can decide what kind of story it's going to be, to some extent at least.

Lately, I've been thinking quite a lot about stories; the stories we love, the stories we tell to others, and the stories we tell to ourselves, and how they shape reality. I've always loved stories, and I'm pretty sure that's why I learned to read so quickly. The ability to find all the stories I want? Without having to convince my mom or dad to tell them to me? It was perfection. No matter where we get our stories, though, be it from books, movies, television, video games, what have you, it's undeniable that they shape us. From the way we fall in love to the way we react to failures or challenges, it all comes back to stories.

For example, at my last apartment, there were a lot of "quirks" that came with the place. I had to enter the apartment through the back courtyard of the restaurant on the ground floor. My landlords owned a skittish dog who didn't take well to visitors. My washing machine was constantly broken, to the point where I decided to just give up and hand wash all my clothes. After telling a story about the washing machine, and mentioning that it's actually quite relaxing to hand wash clothes, and better for the clothes besides, a friend was amazed by how positively I reacted to the situation, even though to him it sounded really annoying.

That's an example of a lie I tell myself because I have to. Why do I have to? There are inevitably annoying and difficult things in your life, and if you just see them as annoying and difficult, that's all they will be. If you tell yourself they're heavy, they will get heavier. But if I tell myself that hand washing is relaxing, it's easier to bear. If I tell myself that my hardships are entertaining, I can ignore them more easily.

Even so, I'm not actually a very positive person. I react poorly to failure, to criticism, to difficulties; I'm lazy, impatient, and prone to giving up. I often only do nice things in order to get favors in return. I'm selfish. Pretty nice picture, huh?

However, I've decided that that's not the kind of person I want to be. I want to be generous, kind, responsible, able to find the silver lining in any situation. So, when I'm faced with a situation that I find annoying or difficult, I force myself to find the good in it. It's difficult, because my go-to reaction is usually more of the "bitch/moan/complain/feel sorry for myself/give up" variety. When I want to do the lazy thing, like let the next person to use the copy machine refill the paper, I force myself to go downstairs and get more paper, because that's the kind of person I want to be.

The funny thing is, the more you act like the kind of person you want to be, the more you seem to become that person. Eventually, if you keep forcing yourself to look at the positive side of things, you pretty much just are the person who sees the positive side of things, even if inside you know that it's a bunch of lies.

Home is Where?

Well, it didn’t matter. He’d had enough. He wasn’t going to try to understand anything anymore. He was going home.  

 Except that wizards can never go home.

-Terry Pratchett, Sourcery

I come back to that quote every once in a while. When I first read Sourcery, back in high school, I breezed right past it; during a more recent read, it jumped off the page and lodged itself in my brain, and so far, despite my best efforts, I've been unable to kick it out.

Home is something I think about a lot. I've moved so many times that it's taken on a sort of hazy, unfocused quality. There's my hometown, where some of my family is, the place when I spent my childhood. There's my mom's home, in a town I've never lived in. Is it Seattle, where I graduated college? When I say "I want to go home," what do I mean?

This isn't exactly an original line of thought, but it's something that always comes up after I visit my family. Almost exactly a year ago I wrote (if I may me gauche and quote myself): "So all this musing begs the question: where is my home? Seattle, Port Townsend, Sequim...I felt like a visitor in all three. In Korea...I will always stand out; that's okay with me, but [will I] ever find a place I can really put my roots down[?]"

I wish I could say things have changed drastically, but wishes, fishes, et cetera, no I can't. If anything, Seattle/Port Townsend/Sequim (hell is a triumvirate?) felt less like home on this visit, while Korea has remained largely the same; comforting, more settled perhaps, but not yet entirely home. While no part of me wants to move back to Seattle and live out my life as a Seattleite, there's something sad and nostalgic about letting go of that avenue.

As a child, I always liked to imagine what my life would be like in the future; this continued throughout university, and frankly, I still do it. Back then, my only examples of Cool Adults were in Port Townsend and Seattle, so most of my imaginings were very Northwest-centric. Maybe I'd live in one of those interesting old houses with hardwood floors, with a dog or a cat and a yard and a local coffee shop where I knew the owner. I'd drink tea on gloomy winter afternoons and try to survive until spring. Not a bad life.

That's not the life I want anymore, but even so, it's hard to let go.

Part of what moved me further away from my old roots this past year was, I believe, the fact that I've been living in an apartment that I really feel is my "place". For the first time in my life, I'm living by myself and in an apartment that is actually big enough for me to decorate and set up entirely in my style. Open space, nerdy posters, color coordination--I've been living the dream.

But alas...I have to move. I'm trying not to freak out, but when I first got the news, I was hard-pressed to keep my anxiety at bay. What about my furniture? My cat? Will I have to leave a neighborhood I've learned to love? I only ever expected to live in this place for two years, but that second year was sort of the point. It takes a while to really settle into a place, but once I'm settled, I'd like to...you know...enjoy it?? Is that too much to ask? Apparently yes. Yes it is.

I'm really nervous about this move. Last year moving was fine, because the goal was to move from a place I didn't care for to a better place. Nowhere to go but up! Now I'm moving from a place I love to...where? Who knows. I don't even have much control over the apartment-hunting situation. I am grateful that my school is helping me, I'm lucky to not have to pay rent, but even so...the older I get, the more I grow into my control-freakiness.

Well, at this point, there's nothing I can do but worry needlessly, and as much as I'm trying to do that less...it's an ongoing process. Here's hoping I get lucky and move into an even better place, and someday, just maybe, I'll finally find a place to go home to.

Why I Hate the Word "Diet"

"Are you on a diet?"

I am so incredibly mind-numbingly sick of this question. Don't get me wrong, I don't always hate the word diet. "These ancient peoples ate a diet consisting of..." is totally fine. "There should be lots of vegetables and hot sauce in your diet for health!" also gets past my censors. But that question. It eats away at me (if you'll pardon the accidental pun).

Before I moved to Korea, I don't remember thinking about it much, but I can't say if it's due to any cultural difference or just something that's been on a slow burn that finally blew up. There are so many instances where this question comes up. for example:

-when I'm eating a salad
-when I don't take a ginormous portion of rice at lunch
-when I don't want to eat any cake that someone brought into the office
...I could go on.

Now, I can see why people might jump so such dietary conclusions. Salad is the stereotypical non-delicious diet food. Most of the Korean people I've met seem to think I'll starve to death if I don't eat a heaping portion of rice. Why wouldn't a person want to eat cake? Well, I love salad, I'm not too impressed by plain white rice, and when it comes to cake, well, thanks to practically growing up in a bakery owned by my mom, I'm an INCREDIBLY picky cake eater. There, you see? It's never because I'm on a diet.

Except that, in a way, it totally is. I want to lose some weight. I want to be more healthy. So, why do I hate the question?

I think it's because the idea of "diet" or "to go on a diet" to me means something temporary, something you do for a while and then go back to eating pizza for breakfast. It's a means to a specific weight-loss end rather than an end in itself. Diet to me sounds like a crash diet, a fad diet, like eating only grapefruit and lemon water until you've starved off the pounds, only to gain them right back the second you go back to "normal" eating.

The other thing that bothers me is the dichotomy between enjoyable foods and foods you only eat because they're healthy. It creates this feeling that vegetables are a punishment and cake is a prize, and I don't think that's good for anyone. Now, I love pizza as much as the next person, but I enjoy fresh fruits and veggies just as much, even though that sounds crazy.

Treating food as a prize and punishment system doesn't seem like a good tool for being healthy. If I eat "bad" food I feel guilty and can't really enjoy it, and if I eat "good" food I feel like I "deserve" to eat something bad and tend to overeat. Or, I force myself to eat something I don't find delicious (kale, raw carrots) just because I've deemed it "good". Do any of those habits sound healthy? I don't think so.

So yeah, there's my rant of the day. Do you have any similar questions that drive you insane? Am I oversensitive?

In the Country

I've had a rather enjoyable week, despite the humidity and the MERS scare. Actually, as horrible as this probably sounds, I'm feeling rather thankful to MERS. For one thing, there's soap in the school bathrooms for the first time since, well...ever? I guess people are actually washing their hands now? It's a miracle! Also, since parents were freaking out about it, my school decided to close for 3 days, because allowing students to roam freely around town is somehow safer? One way or the other, teachers still had to come in, though it still felt like a bit of a vacation.

I've been feeling pretty burnt out lately, so I decided to use all this desk-warming time to learn some new teaching techniques in hopes of fanning the flame of my inspiration. I started a class on differentiated learning and mastery-based teaching methods, and while I don't know how much of this I'll ever be able to apply here in Korea (more on that later) it's all very interesting and inspiring and whatnot.

But that's not what I'm here to talk about. I'm here to talk about delicious food and the fact that my manager is living my dream life. He's teaching at a great school, he has a nice house out in the countryside next to his manageable-sized farm, and he always knows where to go out for a delicious meal.

Look at his cute little cabin!

Making doenjang and soy sauce

On Thursday, instead of going out for lunch, we bought cup ramyeon and kimbap and had a bit of a picnic on the farm. It felt good to sit outside, enjoying the breeze, chatting with my coworkers, practicing Korean...basically the ideal afternoon.

Stealth shot.

 Another great thing about my manager is that he buys amazing fair-trade coffee and makes it for everyone nearly every day. I've gotten so spoiled. How can I go back to those instant coffee sticks?

Homemade wine.

Korean style raspberries.

It's funny...when I lived in a small town, all I wanted to do was get out, move to the big city. Then I lived in the city, and for a while I loved it. Maybe I'm getting older, but lately all I want is a cute little house in the country with a garden and a dog and a cat. I want to pick berries, make my own wine, and chat with my neighbors about the best way to grow tomatoes. Maybe that will happen in Korea, maybe somewhere else. Who knows? But I'm going to start researching how to make wine just in case.

Overwhelmingly Marvel Biased: House Tour Part 2

While I posted a tour of my apartment back when I first moved in, I realized recently that I still haven't posted any pictures of the finished product. I have furniture now! Art is on the wall! Things are surprisingly color coordinated! So, without further ado, I present to you: my house.

The entryway is largely unchanged. I love the little shelf/window thing, and it was actually the first place I decorated when I moved in. I feel like I should move the books now that I have a real bookshelf, but I like the effect so they can stay for now.

I'm also collecting pretty wedding invitations.

Next, I invite you into my bathroom. I initially assumed the violently pink towel would be temporary, but here we are, months later, so I guess it's permanent.

One thing I don't like about the red sink and toilet is that it's harder to notice when they get dirty. I guess that could be a good thing if you're lazy about cleaning and don't want anyone to notice, but...

Um yeah also I have Hello Kitty cleaning products.

Okay, enough bathroom talk. Time for the kitchen and living room! I had a difficult time deciding what sort of color scheme I wanted to go with, but as I bought things, a nice palette of reds and oranges just sort of naturally occurred. 

My bedroom is overwhelmingly bright sometimes.

When I first bought the couch, I hated the cushions and planned to make nicer covers for them, but I haven't done it yet and I guess they sort of grew on me.

These posters are probably my favorite thing in the whole apartment. They were laying on my floor for a month before I was able to put them up, though, because it's kind of a two person job. Fortunately I was able to con Harry into becoming my assistant.

The placement of each poster in relation to the others was carefully planned.

Now, if we turn around, you can see my tiny kitchen. I've added to my fridge decorations since I took this picture, though, so now the side of my fridge is a Marvel movie shrine, with the Korean posters for Winter Soldier, Guardians of the Galaxy, and Big Hero Six. I'll post a picture if I remember.

The flowers are totally fake.

I do wish I had more counter space, but at least I have a proper stove and a nice big sink. It's hard to see, but the cabinets all have a subtle floral pattern, which is a nice touch.

Yes, that is an Iron Man mug.

Last but not least is my bedroom! Much like the living room, I accidentally managed to coordinate all of the colors perfectly, though in more of a pastel and white palette, which sort of makes me feel like a princess, which honestly is entirely fine by me.

The bookshelf I got used, the desk was  put together mostly by Harry (with me getting in the way trying to help) and the chair I found on Gmarket. Getting it delivered was kind of hilarious, actually, because one day I got home and there was just this chair, sitting in front of my door, wrapped in bubble wrap. I didn't have to take it out of a box or put it together or anything. It was magical.

I may be a bit Marvel biased.

Cards from my kids~

I'm trying to keep my clothes organized, but so far it's not going so well. Using my old bookshelf as a sort of dresser is really helpful, though, so I don't have to just pile my socks and tights on the floor like a loser.

I'm still scared the clothes hanging rack will fall down in the night.

I also really love how bright and sunny my room gets in the afternoon. I may not have the best view, but the light was what first made me want this apartment. 

Captain America keeps my air moist.

Well, that's my house! I also have a spare room that I keep my laundry and boxes and stuff in, but it's scary and messy and no one should ever see it. I'm actually pretty proud of how everything turned out. It's the first time I've had the chance to decorate my own place exactly how I want, and I hope I can stay here for a while.

How is a gear shift like a grammar point?

Next month, I will buy my first car. While this is an exciting and very grownup-feeling thing to do, it's also a bit terrifying, for a variety of reasons. Not only will this be the most money I've ever spent in one go, but my future 2005 Chevy Kalos has...a manual transmission.

So, I recently started learning to drive stick. We started simple, in one of the few traditional student driver locations: a semi-abandoned parking lot.  On the way there the friend I'm buying the car from gave me the basic walk-through. This is the clutch, this is when you should shift, that's the noise you don't want to hear, etc. I'd also been given plenty of advice from friends and family, so I felt...entirely unprepared and marginally terrified. 

After posting about my learning attempts, I got a few interesting comments that kinda got me thinking. Wayne mentioned that he"can drive stick, but only in theory. I read a book. watched a how-to, and then had a friend explain it. I can explain it using a ski-hill analogy. But I feel I'm not ready to get behind the wheel yet..." which led to Harry's counter that "Reading the theory of motoring skill is like reading the theory of how to walk like a human. It's very hard in theory you know". 

This got me thinking. Yes, learning to drive stick is tricky, but since I'm already comfortable with the fundamentals of driving (turning, braking, signaling, running down annoying pedestrians, changing lanes, etc) it's not nearly as stressful or difficult as it would be if I were learning how to shift and use the clutch on top of literally everything else it takes to make a car (safely) go forward and backward.

Then, not unlike a car in neutral on a gentle slope, my thinking kept rolling forward until it bumped into something that I didn't expect to connect with: language learning.

Okay, stay with me here. We've got a pretty long extended metaphor coming up. Learning a language is like learning how to drive a car. There are a few different ways to start, everyone learns at a different time and at a different pace, and if you do it wrong you can kill hundreds of people. Wait, I think one of those only applies to driving...

We just hit 3 children!

There are two main ways to start learning to drive. On the one hand, you can start out by learning the theory. You can study the way an engine works, memorize every road sign and traffic law, Hell, maybe by the end of this surprisingly intensive theoretical driving class you'll be able to take a car apart and put it back together. But what you can't do is drive.

On the other hand, you can go about driving instruction in the style of my dad, by which I mean, force your daughter to drive a scary old van with a malfunctioning speedometer on a winding road over a mountain pass in the thick fog. That was one of the first times I drove. I later went on to take a class that taught me the theory, but I know plenty of people who never took a class and just learned by doing. 

Isn't language learning the same? There are two main learner types: the "I have to learn this crap in school" and "Oh crap I'm in a foreign country help". 

Too many, and by too many I mean nearly all of my students, fall into that first category. I've seen middle school English word lists with stuff like "incomprehensible" and "pretentious" on them, while the students memorizing those words can barely put together a full spoken sentence. They know grammar better than I do, but even a simple question posed, "What did you do yesterday?", poses a serious challenge. They know how a combustion engine works but they're stalling the car every 5 seconds. They know the rules of the road but they're too afraid to start the engine. You get the idea.

On the other hand, you have learners like, well...me. Before coming to Korea I knew a few basic phrases and the alphabet, but I mostly learned by doing. If I wanted to eat, go places, make friends, I had to speak Korean. I made a lot of mistakes, I still make a lot of mistakes. But slowly I'm learning the theory that corrals my Korean into a safer version of the chaos I started with. Even if you learn by doing, eventually you have to learn the rules, at least if you plan to drive and/or talk with other people.

I can't say if one way or the other is better, since grammar is important and so is speaking; hopefully both paths will eventually lead to a balance. Knowing the rules of the road is just as important as knowing how to start and stop a car.




Before I wrap this up I want to circle back to what originally got me started on this train of thought. As you know, I'm learning to drive stick after a few years of experience driving only automatic. Before getting in the car, the whole thing sounded scary and complicated and horrible. However, once I got going, it was...surprisingly easy. Sure, it's a new set of things to think about and muscle memory that I don't yet have, but since I already know how to juggle the basics of driving, adding one more ball wasn't the disaster I'd predicted it would be.

I had to find someone worse at changing gears than me.

I know a shower is the traditional place for sudden realizations and epiphanies (wait, it's not?), but this one hit me on the way to the bank: this is the exact situation my students are in. Stay with me here. I'm coming into a classroom and trying to teach them how to drive stick, but I have no idea how much previous driving experience they have.

For example, let's say that stick shift is the equivalent of a new sentence structure; let's use "Have you___?" as our sample sentence. For the students who already have some driving experience, aka they can form sentences and know the alphabet and a decent collection of useful vocab, adding this new form onto that, while tricky, shouldn't be too awfully difficult. They know the verb "to eat" so learning "have eaten" is manageable. On the other hand, if this is the first time they're sitting in a car, well...things aren't gonna go so well. Trying to explain "eat" vs "eaten" to someone who only knows half of the alphabet is an uphill battle. Can you imagine someone trying to teach you how to shift when you don't even know what a steering wheel does?

I wish I was exaggerating, but I've had 2nd and 3rd year middle school students who don't know the alphabet, sitting next to students who lived abroad and probably speak English better than I do. So I guess this big revelation reminded me to pay attention to where my students are, to remember that it's pointless trying to force them to learn the complicated stuff before they know the foundation. It's hard to manage in 45 minutes with classes of 35 students, but I don't think that's an excuse to not try.

If you have any tips, I'm always open to help. Unless it's backseat driving, or you want to change my music. If you want to play your own music, buy your own car!

Mandu for Breakfast: Jeonju Food Tour Part 2

Hopefully you've recovered from the feast that was Part 1, because I have yet more food to talk to you about. I pretty much always have food to talk about, so it's a wonder I ever write about anything else on this blog. First stop of the day? Dumplings.

I know, eating dumplings for breakfast sounds weird, but in our defense A) we slept in pretty late and B) don't be such a square.

Mandu god is watching you.

According to a friend of a friend this place is pretty famous, and if a long line is a good judge of quality, then by that alone this place would win awards. It stretched down the street and around a corner, and some people even had snacks to sustain them during the wait.

Working hard in that tiny space!

The setup in this place is perfect. The line moves past the display of freshly made dumplings, so you have a chance to think about your order before you get to the front. As we watched, they were continuously bringing out fresh wares. Apparently this place is famous for the shrimp mandu, but since I can't eat shrimp, we made sure to get a full selection.

Shrimp balls and kimchi mandu.

If it had been up to me we would have ended up with one of everything, but fortunately Joon could handle the pressure and managed to buy a more reasonable amount.

Sexy close-up shot.

Pictured here, from left to right: 8-pack of kimchi mandu, 1 fried mandu with noodles inside, 2 spicy kimchi mandu, 2 shrimp mandu, and 1 tortilla wrapped fusion...thing. And dixie cup for scale. We practically had to fight a couple to keep our seats, but we were clearly there first and he was just being a big greedy jerk.

I cannot stress how huge, delicious, and hugely delicious these were. The spicy ones were the perfect amount of spicy, too; just enough to give it a kick without covering up the flavor. If I lived in Jeonju, I'd probably brave the line at least once a week to stuff my face with these pockets of heaven. I'd also become horribly fat, so it's probably better that I stay in Wonju.

Our final stop was Cafe Manil Manil, for the patbingsu that had eluded us the day before. The owner was really nice, and even remembered us! Patbingsu isn't exactly a winter food, but in the warm cafe with the sun shining through the many windows, it was easy to forget the chilly weather.

Very natural, comfortable feeling.

Real flowers on the tables!

Too cute. Also explains all the old hippie music.

I was thrilled even before our dessert and coffee arrived, because the music in Manil Manil was basically all the music I listened to with my parents when I was younger. I even heard some Eric Clapton, which I don't think I've heard before in Korea.

Americano for an American.

AWW. YISS.

The red beans were just right, not too sweet, and the shaved ice was the kind that a bit milky and sweet, so the two complemented each other delightfully. I also had a nice hot coffee to warm me up, which rounded out the meal perfectly. I feel like this place must get crazy in the summer, but whatever the situation, you should definitely go here if you're in Jeonju.

With that, our adventure finally came to an end. Full and happy, we caught a bus to Seoul, then I caught a second bus back to Wonju, the catching of which is a long story unto itself that I may tell later. If anyone wants more specific directions to any of these places, leave a comment and I'll try to draw a map or get an address.