express bus terminal

autonomous 

                              reverie

                        in

        stop

                                            motion

<3

thankful

December.

It's almost over.  

The moment you stop appreciating things is the moment you slip into a fast spiral of self pitying delusions about how horrible your life is.  It's always a little tough to see all the goodness that fills your life when work keeps you pumping at a monotonous rhythm or crisis strikes, then, strikes again, and then, one more time.  Or when you mess up and can't do anything but just watch you're mistake saunter down the street and stare you up and down as it passes.  Fortunately, that's why friends are so key.  Especially when any of the above are mixed in with the winter doldrums (I am not made for cold weather, it's super depressing and hard to appreciate when you're constantly trying to fight off hypothermia!).    

Things in Korea have been business as usual.  I'm starting to get pretty adjusted to my work.  Although it's always nice when you get past the "acclimating" point, I find every time I cross that threshold, I start getting really bored.  Luckily, there's a few projects that I'm working on so I'm hoping they will liven up the pace at work a smidgen.  Aside from work, my free time has been spent mostly with Jungle and Phil.  I'm so, so, so grateful that they're here in Korea.  Well, to be honest, it's pretty cool that there's so many UCI kids out here in general.  

Since my blogging hiatus, I've made some other progress.  I LOVE Korea.  I truly love it here.  Maybe having some Donuts here has aided in that, but I feel like I've finally been able to break under the veneer just a bit.  There's so many little quirks that have stolen my heart.  Lately I've been thinking about my "next step."  These ruminations are always followed by a slight feeling of dolefulness knowing that my days here are numbered.  It wont be too long before Mister Change is going to jingle jangle me right back over the Pacific to my sunny state.  With this in mind, I've been compiling a list.  It's mostly in my head, but some of it is written down.  Jungle and I are supposed to sit down to make one soon and I'm very driven to complete each task we put in ink.  We'll keep ya'll posted ^^ 

Be grateful in all things.

Here's some things I've been grateful for this week! <3...

...knowing that no matter what time it is, it's not to late

...being able to buy delicious ice cream in 5 degree weather

...and then having a friend crazy enough to eat it with you

...stumbling across a giant lantern building made with drawings that you can walk inside of

...nikons 

actually, friends with nikons

...picking random stations to get off at, only to get back on the train

...stumbling across dank food on Christmas night after getting off at a random station to hear interesting facts about budaechiggae while having a picture taking showdown

...snow

...using an umbrella when it snows

...stumbling across a cute cafe while slowly inching down a steep, slippery road

...jungle!

...phil!

...P&J <3

Now I gotta get to bed.  It's 4:15am!!!  

Happy blogging <3

exahusted

literally haven't had time or energy to do anything but work and/or think about work...

there's nothing better than that feeling of accomplishment though.  things start out hard, you hit walls, you doubt yourself and what you're doing, but when that feeling comes after you succeed at something or become better at it...man, it's the best.  it gives you all the motivation to keep going, keep grinding, keep working those long hours, keep suffering with all the smile you can manage because you've come too far to stop now.

<3

this definitely beats boredom...fo sho    

scooting

A friend of mine was kind enough to let me borrow his scooter for a little while.  It's a hot red ferrari with a history marked out like petroglyphs along the edges; a little buddy with a lot of character.  Despite the fact that any morsel of warm weather has been tucked away until next season, the intensity of the wind chill created from zipping along with the little friend is well worth the thrill it's graced me with.  

To be frank, driving in Korea is dangerous.  Even if you're the most cautious driver in the world, taking extra care to utilize all mirrors and head checks, one can never be prepared enough for the undirected drunks who flop themselves all over the pavement, oblivious to the traffic buzzing at their very toes.  Case in point: as I was driving through an intersection this evening, a drunkard sprung out of no where and stopped right in front of me.  I slammed on the brakes, so afraid the cab behind was going to crash into me.  Instead, the driver turned a little to the left and stopped literally 2 inches from my leg.  I felt the heat from an angry mob of  motorists rising from behind followed speedily by a truculent bray of horns.  As soon as I retrieved my wits, I sped off, leaving before witnessing the grand finish of the symphony, still in full force behind.  Soon the buzz of the engine muffled any remnants of the notes.  

I quickly kicked into gear and continued on my little journey to meet up with my friends.  Unfortunately, me being very ignorant to the roads here, trying to find my way with only a hunch was definitely not the smartest move.  Unlike California, with it's open skies and mountain ranges, there are no landmarks to help you gain your positioning.  Bothersome buildings stand to cut off any sense of direction.  I wandered around for a good hour, driving around in circles, down alleys, just following hunches.  As I was passing through an intersection, I spotted Namsan and the tower was but a spec on top of the mountain.  Frustrated and feeling hopeless I almost wanted to give up, park the bike somewhere and take a cab home.  I couldn't feel my fingers, and I was shaking so much from the cold that I struggled to keep a steady hand with the steering.  In the midst of all of this arctic irritation, I started thinking.  I felt like I was re-living a lesson I recently learned and moved on from (but who am I kidding, sometimes it takes us many tries to get it drilled into our heads).  

I'm the type of person that likes to get from point A to point B with the most efficiency and speed.  Not just with traveling, but with life situations as well.  I try to be on time and get so frustrated if I'm on the brink of tardiness.  Sometimes, my mood gets so horrible, and I hate it when that happens.  If I don't meet a deadline, again, frustration consumes.  The beast inside me wakes up and I feel like I'm reliving my childhood tantrums.  It's actually quite embarassing  to think about.  I'm sure there are some of you who can agree to some degree, or maybe this isn't you at all.  Now, I know when things don't go our way, it's understandable to feel like this, but one thing I've learned this past month (a lesson I will always learn) is that some things are out of our control.  More importantly, if you're trying to get from A to B and happen to get lost, thus making the journey take longer, forcing you to suffer (both physically and mentally), you get much more out of the detour by taking in the new surroundings instead of hastily buzzing by (sometimes 3 or 4 times if you get caught in circles, which i definitely did tonight) with a cloud of misery looming over your head.  

As soon as these rumination infested my mind, I started to slow down and decided to take a turn down a street.  Of course at this point my face was so numb that I couldn't feel the constriction of my chattering teeth.  Although I knew this road wouldn't take me in the right direction, I just felt like using a minute or two to calm down and try to replace some of my stress with...adventure.  So I went up this road.  It was pretty steep, making the climb to the top entertaining.  Once I reached the summit, I was greeted with a gust of wind (again, I was already too cold to be affected by any chilling affect it may have had) as well as the blinking lights of my city below.  I sat there, propped on my little friend, suddenly feeling a tinge of awe at how expansive the city was.  Ahhh, perspective.  Just a minute ago I was among those lights, franticly zipping through the neighborhoods.  Now, after I had decided to take a break from the anxiety and try to at least enjoy the situation, I could see the direction I needed to go.  

Yes, it might sound extremely clique, but isn't it funny how things like this happen and leave us with these non drug induced highs laced with EUREKA?!  Again, going back to a pervious post, it's not about the end result, it's about the process.  The process doesn't always end up the way we want it to, but no use throwing a fit over it.  Just gotta relax a little, take a breath, and take in the scenery.  Eventually, we'll gain enough perspective to get to where we want to go, and by the time we get there, the fact that we were lost won't even feel like it was worth the worry, but looked at more as a necessity.

The End

P.S. I've been inside for 3 hours and I'm still cold.  Let's hope I don't get sick!    

Walking

I started walking again.  Walking for the sake of walking.  More like wandering.  It's starting to get cold so I guess I should try to walk as much as I can before the weather becomes unbearable.

~~~~~

KAD

AaBdAoNpDtOeNdED

Here I stand, but do you see me?

The reflection of the world upon my face,

always scuffling and shuffling to embrace my "true" race.

Always hidden, but in plain sight.

Do you see me?

Or are you still thinking in calculations?

Your mouth and thoughts exploding with flawed realities,

based solely on my face.

Did you know?

Your words, they broke me,

and in the winter, my pieces scattered -- too afraid to find their place again.

The temporary numbness of the cold air comforted in a way that even my pale faced parents couldn't match up.

Your actions twisted the knife.

Helpless little girl, 

her dark shiny hair in a tight pony tail, wearing her favorite flower print dress,

 stood in the hot sun,

forced to watch her insides spill out onto the side walk,

 and ooze down the drain like melted ice cream.

I felt worthless,

and still do.

Rejected by my own blood before I could form my first memory, 

I felt abandoned, 

and still do.

My heritage, my culture, my language, and my birth right,

all erased as soon as the documents were processed.

This was my new home,

this is where I grew up and fell in love with pizza and baseball,

but because of you, I felt like a foreigner,

and I still do.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A couple weeks ago I started to do research on Korean American adoptees.  The whole process of preparing before the interview I did last weekend was not only interesting, but very emotionally draining.  You can't deny that being Korea-American or (insert race here)-American comes with varying bouts of identity issues.  I can't speak for everyone, but I feel that the majority of individuals who come from different ethnic backgrounds have been faced with moments when they've had to chose between their culture and American culture.  Although I can never deny the fact that my heritage is Korea, I certainly tried everything I could to disassociate myself from it as soon as I fell prey to racial slurs and stereotyping as a kid.  There are individuals who have had generations before them living in America and have absolutely no tie to their culture at all.  Nevertheless, they are still forced to prove to the population of sometimes ignorant individuals they they are in fact American.

I stumbled upon a facebook group for Korean American Adoptees and began to read through some of the discussion topics on the page.  The very first discussion topic was titled, "How do you cope, how have you healed?"  Using my own words cannot give justice to the amount of pain some of these KAD endure, so I've chosen some posts for you to read for yourselves:

I am still trying to find healing...I am 45 years old and was adopted at 2 1/2 years old by two african american parents...they did not teach me a thing about my culture....in the 60's if you were anything but obviously white, they slapped this "father was of negroid race" on your birth certificate. What the hell does that mean? unfortunately my adopted parents ran with that and tried to raise me as an african american girl...this was very hard on me growing up in the 70's...i was rejected and experienced racism from everyone...i was not black enough, white enough, asian enough...i wasnt mexican..i wasnt anything...spent my whole life just trying to be accepted by someone... i went to all white schools and ended up having mostly white friends. to this day i am still stopped by perfect strangers and asked, what are you? where are you from? are you american? are you black? are you white? are you from hawaii? are you from viet nam? oh my God...if i had a dollar for everytime someone inquires about what i am, i could stimulate the american economy alone!!! I dont know how to heal because it seems to get thrown in my face almost daily that i dont look like everyone else...I live in Texas and that is some of the problem that i have had most of my life...very color oriented in these parts...and the southern states of the U.S. can be extremely racist...

~~~  

I was also always told by my family that in Korea, I was not accepted because of my mix which was why my mother had to place me up for adoption apparently. My parents told me that Koreans did not like mixed Koreans and were very racist against them, which was why I was in an orphanage at St. Vincent's Home for Amerasians. So although I have always had this desire inside of me to know my Korean culture, I sort of never pursued it because in my head, I believed I was not accepted by them either. It still didn't stop my hope than when I ran into other Korean Americans on the street or in stores, I always wondered and still do, if they can tell that I have half Korean. In the end, I often felt I had no place to turn to. Sometimes I still do... I am older now but I think the identity crisis and confusion never seems to go away. I am 29 years old, married to a black man and have a son. I suppose I identify myself as black but I still long to know my Korean side. To know my mother and her story and mine. I have pictures of her and I together when I was just a toddler. The information on my adoption papers say she visited me often in the orphanage. When I look at those pictures and of the little girl I was and the wioman she was...I feel this void inside of me and this shock that there is another side of myself that I know nothing about. Its like waking up to find you have amenesia and being forced to live the rest of your life forming new memories, new friends, new families but never ever being able to unlock your past and who you use to be.

          

~~~ 

I don't think I've QUITE gotten over it, but then again I'm only 21. I've tried to become more korean, but sometimes i feel like i'm trying too hard because some of the korean koreans i meet like american things more, which I find interesting. I'm taking classes to learn korean, listen almost exclusively to korean music, dress as asian as possible with the limited resources. ha.  but I still have problems hanging out with korean people when i'm around koreans, mostly because I can't speak korean, i think. when i'm around other adoptees, sometimes i feel like they're not proud to be who they are and just want to be white (or just not korean), which may very well be true, but i think one should embrace what they are, and not what they can't be or aren't.  ALWAYS self consious about my asianness when i'm out with my parents who are white (...surprise surprise.. ;) ). I have no idea why and I can't seem to find a way to quell that feeling. I have no desire to be white, and I love being korean. maybe its shame that white people are my parents instead of korean? i dont know.

~~~ 

i should be taking meds...  but i dont. i use to take lithium. prozac.  and than some other type of medication  that i forget the name of.  it cause me to have adverse side effects  that i expressed with my psychiatrist and i eventually stopped taking them. i have been in the same boat too when it  comes to being hospitalized and going thru so called therapy too...  all in which i feel had no real signifigant  meaning to me..  and its been years since i've been on meds..  and honestly, while there are somethings that may cause an emotional trigger for  me to get upset, i think relatively speaking tho i am doing pretty good.  i dunno what stage everyone else is at...  but i feel i have developed a pretty clear picture  of who i am. how i like to identify myself..  and have a good sense of belonging...  like i feel comfortable in my own skin...  which i feel all helps in my emotional well being..

When I read these, I couldn't help but cry.  I guess it's because I can relate in some sense.  My mother got a divorce when I was very young.  Although I was only about 4, I still have memories of my biological father.  The majority of these memories deal with his violence.  Growing up, I never thought much about him, mainly because I had a wonderful new father that I loved dearly.  I guess it wasn't until recently that I started to think about my biological father again.  When I went home for Christmas last winter and saw how my dad and my siblings interacted, there was something inside of me that felt a little pang of pain.  This may have been triggered by the fact that I've been away from home for so long and my relationship with my dad has worn thin a little.  But anyways, I got to thinking; my brother and sister are his real blood and although I knew he loved me, I couldn't help but feeling his love for his own blood was deeper (or maybe just different) from the love he had for me.  Whenever I would go out with my dad to eat or shop, I couldn't help but notice all the people staring with their judgmental eyes, thinking that I was probably his young import wife.  

Anyways, back to my point, although I never wanted to look for my biological father, I started wondering if he had every thought about me, if he had missed me, or if he even cared about me.  I after all, I was his blood.  When I returned to Korea, for some reason, I couldn't shake these thoughts.  What transpired in the short months after my return was nothing short of a miracle.  To go into detail of it all would take too long, so this is my attempt at an abridged version.  It still might be long.  

I had gotten the job as correspondent for Arirang Radio at the beginning of March, but in order to work in Korea you need special visas.  When I came to Korea, I had an E-2 Visa (teaching visa).  If you are Korean American and your parents were born in Korea, you are eligible to get an F-4 visa, which essentially gives you almost all the perks of being a citizen.  In order to get this, you need to prove, through a family registry, that your parents were born in Korea.  After a long and frustrating process, I finally got my hands on my mother's family registry, but I was denied.  The reason being, all children born before 1990 (which is when a new law was passed) needed to show their father's registry in order to get their F-4 because the family blood line was passed down through him.  This basically meant, I needed to get his registry somehow.  Again, cutting out a loooot of details, I had to find him.  I was able to find his number through the internet (crazy how easy it was), and there I was, in front my computer, freaking out.  

Was he going to give me the information, was he going to remember me, was he going to be shocked, excited, happy?  Did this mean we were going to start a relationship?  What would this mean for my daddy, the one who raised me my whole life?  What would this mean for my mother, who still carried a hidden pain from the past?  What would this mean for my siblings?  So many questions!  Funny thing is, my aunt ended up calling him and got the information that I needed.  "Whew," I thought, glad I didn't actually have to do it.  So I went back to the immigration office for the 20th time to try to finalize everything, and for some reason, nothing was showing up for his records.  On Easter Sunday, I felt very convicted to call him, and thankfully, I had no stress or anxiety about anything.  I dialed his number, then waited.  

"Hello?"  he answered.

"Hi, this is Hannah."

"Hannah?  Hannah?  My daughter?!" (sobbing in the background).

"Yeah, I just called to thank you for sending your information to my emo."

"Yadda yadda yadda yadda."

I honestly don't remember everything he said after that, he was talking so fast and his voice was so muffled and heavily accented.  I told him Happy Easter, and then we ended our 3 minute phone conversation.  The first conversation in 20 years.  

Still a little troubled and stressed by the fact that I couldn't find his paperwork, I was starting to doubt that I would ever be able to stay in Korea without having to teach English.  About a week later, I got a phone call from a Korean lady...

"Hello."

"Hi, is this Hannah?"

"Yes."

"Hi Hannah, this is your daddy's sister in law." (the fact that she said daddy, made me cringe a little).

"I just wanted to let you know that he's coming with your grandmother next week to see you."

I stopped breathing for a good minute.

"Ummm....ok."

"So I will call you when he arrives, you can have dinner at my house."

"....ok."

So a week later, he arrived in Korea.  When I walked out of exit 4 at Ichon station and saw him at the end of the hall, I wanted to run away and hide.  I can't even begin to explain the things I was feeling.  I reached the end, I could see that he and his mother had been crying quite a bit and when they saw me, they cried even more.  You would think this would be a happy occasion for all, but just remember what I said earlier, my only memories of him were violent ones.

We went to his sister in laws house and sat down for dinner.  I thank God that I felt so numb the whole night.  His sister in law casually asked about my family back home and then the topic of why my mom left him came to the table.  Of course, I felt reserved in answering, but before I could say anything, he answered,

"Her mother didn't like a Korean style husband.  All of her sisters married American guys and I was the only Korea guy.  She always looked at her sister's husbands and wanted me to be like that.  But I was Korean, so I couldn't."

I almost choked on my food as I clenched my fist.  

"SHE didn't like Korean style?"  I thought to myself.

"Korean style as in you would beat her.  Korean style as in you broke her tailbone?  Korean style as in you weren't there when I was born?  Korean style as in you left her for a year?  Korean style as in you'd threaten her with a knife?  Korean style as in you'd strangler her and throw her to the ground?"...Which style are you referring to?

I was so disgusted and sooooo angry.  I wasn't expecting our reunion to be anything exciting, but his words and the biting words of his mother brought to light a lot of things my mom had said to me about them when I was growing up. 

Anyways, the dinner finally ended and they took me home.  I seriously wanted to throw up because he was constantly touching me and holding me and doing a lot of things that made me feel very uncomfortable.  For him, I was his daughter, but for me, he was like any stranger on the street.  Ewww, thinking about it just makes my skin crawl.  

When we got to my house, I quickly jumped out of the car and tried to make a quick escape, but they wanted to come in and give me some food.  So reluctantly, I let them in.  As I was sitting on the bed, waiting for them to get out of my house, he looked at me with tear filled eyes and said, "Oh our little Hannah, she's grown into a woman," by which point he reached out and grabbed my breast.  I was so shocked I started laughing...could this really be happening?  Finally, they left.  Flustered and confused at what to make of this strange encounter with my long lost father, I passed out as soon as I lied down.  

I woke up in the morning fuming with anger.  Angry at the fact that he acted in such a barbaric manner, and at the fact that he didn't seem remorseful about ANY of his actions from the past.  In addition to that, who was he to touch me in that way.  My own daddy would have never even touched me like that.  I called him at work later that day and very sternly told him that I needed hit to get me my papers so I could get my F-4, also that I needed to talk to him, alone.  He tried calling me many times before we met, but I couldn't get myself to answer.  

Saturday came.  I asked my friend Linda to come with me because I definitely didn't feel comfortable going alone.  As we sat at the table, my heart raced.  I was  finally getting the chance to get everything I ever wanted to say, or ask him off my chest.  When I was in junior high, I remember my aunt telling me that I'd probably want to find my biological father one day.  I wanted to punch her.  Why would I want to find such a jerk?  I thought about what I would do if I ever saw him, and I just remember I wanted to have a bat if I ever did.  When I first got my driver's license, I had to use my former last name, because in order to legally change my name to Johnson, I needed consent from both birth parents due to the fact that I was a minor.  This meant, we would had to find him, which I definitely did not want to do.  When I turned 18 and got my new license, I remember I cut the old one up into tiny little pieces, especially the part that said "Hannah Choe Kim" and happily threw it in the trash can on my way off to tennis practice.  

So this was it, the moment of truth.  Everything came out.  EVERYTHING.  Things that I didn't even know I had inside of me, it all came out.  20 years of hidden pain and wonder spilling out into a haphazard collage of emotion onto the kitchen table.  What angered me a little was the fact that I felt like he wasn't listening to everything I was saying.  It's like he knew everything I was going to say, and was just waiting for me to finish so he could tell his side.  When I was done, he took out a coin and said,

"See this, it's a coin.  A coin has 2 sides.  You're whole life, you've been living with your mother, so you only have 1 side, now I'm going to tell you the other side."

He went on to tell me everything that I already knew.  Finally, after a very long drawn out narrative (of what I already knew), he apologized.  Now, you might think that everything was all dandy afterwards, but I just didn't feel right about everything he said.  Of course, I forgave him.  I told him that I really believed that God brought us together for a reason.  After 20 years, we were both able to have closure.  I also told him that I was willing to start a relationship with him, but it would take time.  

Then that was that.  

I called him a few days later, because I really wanted to exercise this forgiveness through grace.  We went to lunch and then we went to the immigration office where I finally got my F-4 visa.  As I was about to get on the bus.  I said my good byes and thank yous.  I told him to have a safe flight.  Before I could get on, he quickly stashed money into my purse and said, "Your grandmother and I wanted to spend more time with you while we were here, but since we couldn't this is for you."  I tried to give it back, but he wouldn't let me, so I got on the bus, angry get again.  

It's been about 4 months since I saw him, and no word from him since.  It doesn't matter though because I got what I wanted, closure and healing.  There were things he said in his explanation that definitely didn't match up.  For example, he said he waited for my mother for 9 years before he got married.  He has a 15 year old son.  If he waited for 9 years, his son would be 11.  

Those things don't really matter, what matters is, through this experience, I gain so much more conviction that my daddy, my true daddy is the only father I will ever need.  It made me appreciate and love him so much more for the father he's been to me versus what my blood was never.

See, told you it was long.

Now, coming back to the beginning.  I'm so thankful that I was blessed with the opportunity to answer my questions and fill whatever holes I may have had as a result of having a white father.  But there are so many adoptees out there, who never get the chance.  This is why my heart broke and I cried so much when I read about their stories.    

Some adoptees have gone on searches to find their birth parents in Korea.  Reading about these stories were even more heartbreaking.  Some don't even have anything to start with because they were abandoned.  There was a woman I found on youtube who was trying to raise funds for her and her husband to go to Korea to be reunited with her birth parents.  I was able to find her blog and read about the whole process, and again, I couldn't help but feel so heavy for her.  Not only had she dealt with the more usual feelings of most KAD, but after she met her birth parents, she didn't necessarily find her silver lining.  She ached because of a lifetime with them that was lost.   

Just a little history about this.  The first wave of Korean children sent away for international adoption was during the wake of the Korean War.  In the 1980’s, the percentage of children leaving Korea for adoption was about 1% of all live births.  The Korean government made efforts in the late 80’s to reduce the number of international adoptions, hoping that by 2015, it would be totally eliminated.  However, the restrictions were temporarily lifted during the economic hardships of the late 90’s after the number of abandoned children sharply increased.  Today, despite the fact that Korea is a major part of the global economy, an OECD nation, and has one of the lowest birth rates in the world, about 1 in 200 children are still being sent abroad for international adoption.  This is mainly because of how blood lines are stressed in this culture.  It is very rare that a Korean will adopted another person's child.  

Over the years, the Korean Adoptee community has evolved into a unique ethnicity and culture.  By trying to regain their own culture and heritage, Korean adoptees are sometimes fighting against the feelings of not truly belonging to either South Korean culture or in the cultures of their adoptive countries.  The adoption policies among the first generation of Korean adoptees stressed the importance of full assimilation, believing quality of life would be enhanced if the adoptee were to remove any trace of their Korean background.  Over the years, these policies have receded as more and more adoptees have the opportunity to learn about their culture. 

As you can tell from the posts above, there have been many recorded cases of KAD struggling with identity crisis, low self esteem, isolation, and depression as they struggle with bi, sometimes tri cultural identities.  Growing up, they naturally view themselves as typical American kids (why wouldn't they) as they engage in every day things, but as evidence in many cases, it is very typical for peers and sometimes even family member to look upon adoptees as foreigners and targets of hurtful stereotypes.

It was very encouraging to see so many empowering KAD society groups and organization established to enable the community to help each other.  There are many conferences I read about as well that were constructed to help KAD in embracing their identities as well as providing education to adoptive parents.  The movement by KAD to provoke awareness is very extraordinary to see.  

I wish I could do more, but I hope that in sharing with you the struggles of the KAD experience, I was able to spark some feelings of empathy ^^  

Reading about their experience has helped me to gain more insight on Korea, and I feel more connected I guess you could say, to another fraction of the Korean American diaspora.  I hope you do too!   

  

                   

Cab Ride

Today, I was late for my dentist appointment so I jumped in a cab.  It wasn't until I looked into my wallet that I started to feel a little uneasy.  I only had 7,950w.  Although I felt it would be enough to get me to where I was going, I knew that if by chance we hit traffic, I might need to bail early.  One thing I don't like about Seoul is the unpredictable traffic jams.  Usually, these are spurred on as a result of the incessantly annoying construction projects that pop up out of no where.  Anyways, I watched the meter with a tense bottom.  You know how it goes.  As each number changed the bottom got tenser and the sweat started to formulate on my brow.  At just about the 7,800w mark I quickly blurted/unintentionally screamed at the cab driver, 

"Ajushi, please let me out here!  I only have 7,950w!"

"Ehy?  7,950w?"  he said in his cherry old ajushi grumble.  

"Yes, I'm sorry, I thought it would be enough."

"Ehy, don't worry" he said said with a chuckle, "There was a lot of traffic..."

He then reached over and turned off the meter.  I was very taken aback by his kindness.  Seriously, I felt like it was the first time in a very long time that I had experienced a Korean doing something so kind.  It was in the moment I felt a little frustrated because I wanted to really express to him my gratitude, but I was limited to just a simple thank you.  

You know, there are moments when my heart feels so sad at how I see people treating each other here.  The coldness has brought me down at times.  I suppose this is partly a result of being a foreigner and not really a part of the society, but anyways....  I just wanted to say, that ajushi really made my day.  That's all...over and out!

  

The Project

A few weeks ago I officially became unemployed (well sort of).  Although I achingly counted down each moment before I finally finished my job as a teacher, the feelings that greeted me as I speedily stepped out of that realm was not quite what I was hoping.  I honestly felt a little lost.  Dizzied by the uncertainty of planting the next step, I felt restless.  The first week was nice, I got to recharge and enjoy time completely to myself.  We all need those pauses every once in a while, but I think mine was a little too abrupt.  I went from being exhaustingly, almost unhappily swamped, to being completely free.  It was as though I had been stuck in the maddening city traffic jams, had finally made it onto the 15 freeway and was now driving steadily through a silent desert.  Only the occasional winds and splashes of colors dotted in the sky brought any sense of presence.  Though very relaxing, being idle comes with many problems.  Too much time on your hands -- too much time to let your mind wander into places that only bring stress.  

I told myself I'd take the month of September to really work on finding a job in this field that I've chosen, broadcast/journalism.  I turned down a job doing a live TV show for stupid reasons and was definitely left regretting what was really just a hasty call.  Don't you hate it when that happens?  You're faced with these decisions and you convince yourself that you've thought it through, worked out all the pros and cons, but when the bread has been baked, and the "next gig" you were hoping for doesn't come through, you sit and wonder during all the free time you have in the Land of Unemployment if you made the right decision.  

You know the fantasy that this generation was brought up on, the American dream, with all it's Disney magic, it all seems like a mock up sometimes.  We hear all these success stories after success stories and are told that we can have that too.  The trouble we have to face in our twenties is the harsh reality of how much work it takes, how many heartaches, how many let downs, and how many missed opportunities we'll have to endure before we get there.  No one can really prepare you for how trying it can be.  What is the American Dream anyways?  I guess that's a rant for another day.

Anyways, as I was struggling in my efforts to land a job, an idea struck me.  Seriously, it was God send.  Although dealing with the reality of life's hardships may be a growing pain every 20 something has had to endure throughout the ages, I feel as though the curse of anxiousness is definitely of our generation.  As we know, we live in this high speed world were everything we want or need is only a click away.  So when we're trying to find a job or pursue our dreams but feel as though we're only treading water, of course the lack of patience can start chipping away at our foundations.  I mean come on, it was less than a month and I already felt like my dreams had met a tragic fate as I watched it hit that patch of black ice and silently tumble over the edge of the frozen cliff.  It might seem pathetic, but I take rest in the fact that I know I'm not the only one feeling like I'm drowning in the kiddie pool when I don't see instant results.

Whenever I have those despondent moments of self pity, I always read the world news.  Nothing like a story of a little girl setting herself on fire in a suicide attempt because she's been forced to marry an abusive 70 year old man that really helps to put things in perspective for me.  So, instead of complaining, I started brainstorming.  As I was sitting at dinner with a friend, he said something very simple, yet striking.  He said, "It's not about the end product, who really knows where we'll end up, it's really about the process of getting there.  All those grueling hours of working your ass off and moving at a snails pace, that's what it's all about.  As long as you're moving forward and doing what you love."  After dinner, the word "process" kept ringing in my ear like an gong.  It's the processes.  You can't expect to be a CEO of a corporation if you don't know a lick about management or how to draft a business plan.  Similarly, I can't put so much stress on myself about getting a big broadcasting job if I haven't really acquired any skills in the field.  Aside from the little radio show I've been doing, my resume of experience is very diminutive.  

Back to this idea I had.  The reason I want to go into this field revolves around the fact that I really find people fascinating.  It doesn't really stop there, I want to use this as a platform to share the stories I've heard to others as a means to evoke change.  Whether it's to change people's perspectives, shed light on issues, or just bring about education, I just want to be a voice for others.  What I felt like the little voice inside of me was saying had to deal with the new conviction that I didn't necessarily need the job right now to be able to do that.  

I currently live in an area of Seoul that is heavily populated by foreigners.  When I say foreigners, I don't mean from the West, these people are from ALL over.  Just to give you an example, there's a Pinoy market across the street where titas and titos post up on the patio and watch the little ones run around.  Down the street is a little Nigerian food store, and across from that is a shop called "New World" which sells products from "home."  "Home" being Africa.  You see Filipinos interacting with Africans interacting with Koreans interacting with Americans interacting with Europeans interacting with Australians interacting with everyone else.  It's similar to the US in that my street is very diverse, but very dissimilar in the fact that these people haven't been diluted with American culture.  

What are all of these people doing in Korea?  Why Korea?  Some of them, mainly referring to the Africans, had to travel 24 hours to be able to make it to this tiny little East Asian peninsula.  Why Korea?  As I sat at the cafe on my street that I frequent, and scanned my surroundings, I realized that I was in a story gold mine.  This is where my idea came into play (the one I mentioned waaay up there, so if you're still following, here it comes).  I decided that it would be great practice to just strike up some conversations with these people, ask them questions, hear their stories, then maybe write about it.  It would be a good journalistic endeavor to get out there and sharpen some skills.  I drafted some questions, started formulating an edge and direction, and then, patiently waited at my cafe for my first subject.  Unfortunately, no one seemed very approachable that day.  

A few nights later, I was at the radio station doing my little segment.  In passing, I brought up my project idea to my host.  He suggested that I write a proposal and try to do it for Arirang.  If I were to get approved, I could do my project but get paid for it too!  I rushed home to get my proposal ready, tied up some last minute ideas, and tried to get as many prospective interviews for my list.  I submitted it and a few days later I found myself checking out a recorder for my first interview!  It's kind of crazy how I'm getting the chance to do this, but I'm definitely very thankful and super excited.  I know that it might not be anything big, but it's all part of the process right?  I have some interesting people lined up right now.  Today I'm interviewing a Korea American adoptee who has come back to Korea to teach English, but her primary reason is to find her birth parents.  I also met a North Korean defector who I'll be interviewing in a few weeks.  I'm hopeful that this whole process will be very educational for myself and for others who are able to tune in.  Will be keeping you posted!  

BTW...if you happened to read all of this, thanks for sticking with my wordy narration.  Sometimes you just gotta get it out!  Have a great day!             

               

Number 1 Song on the Day I was Born

So I recently stumbled on a website that can tell you what song was number 1 on the day you were born.  Kind of cool, you should check it out for yourself!  Your Song

The Window

Little kids babbling, sound of plates clinking, plastic bags rustling, an occasional humming crescendo of a vehicle passing by, a quick squawk from an ajuma, water running, doors squeaking, gates slammed, the dogs getting their two cents in,  a jumprope, short hops, bold skips, and sudden jumps, little feet, big feet, clicking heels, and then the breeze that vibratos through the narrow alleyways and brings the rest.  Just a few seconds of necessary stillness and breathing as it passes by.  Then, the pizzicato of children's voices, a deep bass of echoing footsteps in the stairwell, waves from an old record player bringing sounds from a distant past, tubs bouncing, keys jingling, a broom getting friendly with the pavement, sweep, sweep, sweeeeep, water running, doors squeaking, gates slammed, the dogs getting their two cents in, a jumprope, short hops, bold skips, and sudden jumps, little feet, big feet, clicking heels, and then a breeze that vibratos through the narrow alleyways and brings the rest.  So much life occupying the space outside my window.

  

while running

There he sat with a frozen look on his face as he gazed into the sparkling darkness.  He cautiously crept forward until he reached the edge and found the perfect spot to perch.  With his little legs, carefully folded beneath him, he squinted curiously.  Looking beyond the steps and down into the breathing water, he sat in wonderment as the spigots above shot streams of color that rippled into the nights reflection below.  As his beady eyes looked on, he imagined the streams to be flying snakes, soaring out into short moments of reverie.  Some would dance in pairs, some in hordes.  It was like a ballet in mid air-- the soft starlit sky casting the perfect backdrop.  The music raged on and the flying snakes whirled and danced, perfectly in rhythm to each melodic beat.  But, just a quickly as they would make their stunning debut, they’d crash like a lightening bolt into the water – adding paint to the pallet of a van Gogh masterpiece.          

ruminating

I've had a lot of thoughts going through my mind lately.  I've really been wanting to get them out but I don't even know where to start.  So I guess I'll just start with where I am right now.  I'm sitting in the corner of my living room looking outside.  It's warm and sunny outside.  I just blew some dust off of the window sill and a feather popped out and started to float melodically just a few inches beyond my reach.  Dancing like a tease, moving this way and that way to the lead of the breeze.  Beyond the little duo I can see the roof of the red brick apartment across the way.  There's a grandpa outside tending to his roses.  There's something about watching old people gardening that puts my heart at ease.  I guess in that sense I'm lucky that he lives across the way.  All I need to do now is go to my window to find a little peace each day.  

I recently wrote a story in my church newsletter about the importance of keeping life simple.  Lately I've been really meditating on this and trying to apply it to each day.  It's been going well, but considering how my life lacks any real stability and security, it's definitely a challenge.  You know our 20's are filled with so many thrilling times, but also colorfully peppered with high times of stress and anxiety.  Maybe that's just life in general, but I feel as though it applies more heavily to this age groups since we're really only just starting off in life.  We're all trying to get there; trying to make it.  Despite where "there" may be, we know we need to reach that place where we figure out our calling in life, where we secure a job and a stable life.  The path ahead seems so overwhelming at times.  

You know a mentor and friend of mine, mister mike knox, once quoted his professor saying, "Don't worry so much about getting an A, think more about doing a good job, and eventually your hard work will pay off."  I think in life, we've been programed to think we need to get that A, we need to get that career, but since we're so freaked out about the end result, we get impatient at how much work and TIME it will entail to get there.  That whole get rich quick bull we were socialized on is just a fairytale...in life, we have to WORK.  So maybe some of you can relate, maybe you can't, but for me personally, this is the story of my life.  At the beginning of the year I came to some realizations of what I really wanted to do with my future.  Thankfully, I was blessed with some open doors of opportunity.  Not big ones, but doors none the less.  I was so motivated to keep pushing forward.  I guess it wasn't too long before this initial ambition turned into something more.  Ambition is good, but I suppose when you lose sight of the reason behind the ambition and become impatient, that's when things can turn sour.  I already had a good thing, yet I was plagued with worry and doubt, losing sleep over whether or not things were going to work out.  I wasn't really trusting in God, but rather in my own abilities to reach my goal and find quick success.  I got a little greedy I guess you could say.  On top of that, I was feeling depressed at the fact that I felt like I wasn't moving forward as quickly as I wanted.  So I took every small opportunity and ended up burning myself out.  There weren't enough hours in the day to handle it all.  Thank goodness the past 3 months went by as quickly as they did.  I think if it would have gone on any longer, I would have died of exhaustion.  

In the midst of the hectic mess I created for myself because of my impatient ambition, I stumbled upon a lecture that knocked some sense into me.  You know we tend to get so caught up in ourselves, in what we want, in what's going to make us happy, meanwhile, as we're stressing over sometimes very frivolous things, there are people out in this world who are stressing for more legitimate reasons.  We worry about which 40k job in a decaying job market will give us the most happiness when there are mothers who are living on the streets, forced to do unthinkable things to try to feed their children.  While we worry about whether or not we should get the sleek blue car with the chrome wheels or the one with a little better gas mileage, there are children who walk miles and miles without shoes from their villages into the city to visit their dying parents in the hospitals.  On the lucky days they can ride an over crowded bus without any air conditioning half the way.  While we are doing all the calculations and figuring out the budget for a new apartment and complaining about what a headache the process is, there are about 25 million internally displaced people who live in shack towns in the sweltering heat with no real guarantee of ever moving out.  While we loath the debt that remains from our high times at university, there are people (too many to count) who barely have a high school degree.  This is usually not by choice, but a rather a result of minimal opportunities and lack of funds.  While we are getting annoyed at our parents for always trying to nose into our business, there are kids out there who don't have parents, basically living in this big scary world with absolutely no one to protect them.  The list goes one.  Yet, it is so easy for us to forget about all of these men, women, and children because of how caught up we get with ourselves, and how overcomplicated we make our already privileged lives.  Out of sight out of mind.       

You know we see pictures like this and we think, aww that's so sad.  Some of us at this point have really become desensitized or conditioned to tune it out.  But just look at these people and ask yourself, "Is my life more valuable than theirs?"  Is it?  This is someone's child, someone's parent, someone's dear friend.  What do you really think when you see these people; people who really understand true hardship and stress.  I'm not trying to make anyone depressed here, but more evoke some sort of positive realization and reaction.  I was just reading a story about teenage brides in Afghanistan.  A journalist went into the country to cover the story about these girls and what she finds is absolutely insane to think about.  When you get a chance you should watch her slide show: http://www.moreintelligentlife.com/blog/emily-bobrow/dont-you-think-shes-little-bit-young/

Anyways, I guess the main point of this was to share some perspective.  I'm still trying to gain it.  Whether a simple reminder about keeping this simple or a bigger reminder about the needs in this world, take from it what you will.

      This little girl is trying to get to a food bank a kilometer away.  It's a Pulitzer prize winning photograph but the photographer ended up committing suicide because of the death he witnessed while he documented the Apartheid.