"Bienvenue"
Like a lovely melody that everyone can sing; take away the words that rhyme, it doesn't mean a thing.
When I'm writing, I always find that I fight this duality in me: one girl who wants to curse, spit on the floor, and tell off the world; the other who wears pink with pretty flowers in her hair and showcases a perpetual look of doe-like innocence. In short, when I attempt pessimism, the optimism always drops by to leave the last word. Anyway, you have been warned.
It's 5:57 right now. Since the late afternoon, the sun has inched its way across my living room floor; light which, even on a cold day, settles subtly in the room until, near the end of the day, it overheats this place enough that I feel surprised when I look outside and see the cool death of winter that yet hangs. In the afternoon, there's no need to turn on the heated floors of my apartment; the sun has done its work in deluding the gullible room, save for the air which somehow cheats my fingers of the sun's warmth. Now, drawing my cold fingers near my mouth to breath warmth onto them, I look outside to watch the hazy purple settling on the horizon as the sun ensconces itself behind the distant mountains.
Sitting on the heated floor of my silent apartment, my fingers are curled around the steaming mug of my day's third cup of coffee, I stare somewhat blankly at a somewhat blank screen. One week ago, I was in Africa; now, I am back at my quasi-home in Korea. Sigh. Perhaps this third cup, or a fourth, will resurrect my tired mind. Perhaps the warmth of the floor will imbue in me my weakened ability to articulate thoughts. Or perhaps the blank screen will start to write itself. Perhaps.
It has been 1501 days since I first moved to Korea. I now have 211 days left here. For those of you still working out the math, that's just 12.3 percent to go.
I've got a secret. And burdened by both the order to keep this esoteric information to myself and the desire to tell every passer-by, I have decided to confide in the world's greatest secret-keeper: the World Wide Web.
This morning setting out to work, I decided to take a walk from my apartment along the beach. As I stepped outside the icy cold filled my lungs, chilling me to my extremities. The oft hazy sky had opened slightly and a periwinkle blue shyly shone through. Walking rather hurriedly, I was caught by a sudden wind, tunneled through the narrow streets. I closed my eyes as it swept past and was brought back home by the sound of crisp leaves blowing in the fall. Quickly opening my eyes, I was greeted instead by the sight of several wrappers, discarded carelessly, swirling in the gusts of whirling wind. A few meters later, the smell of an open sewer reminded me firmly of where I am.
I believe I have over-written about my general distaste for my current situation, exacerbated no doubt by my decision to co-open a business here. I feel like, over my time here, the excitement and optimism of being in a new, different place have drained away. I remember my first year in
Racism? I have so long been ardently opposed to any form of oppression, finding it to be among the basest of human instincts and a catalyst and excuse for every treachery. To have that burgeoning in myself…
And if this is natural? I plan to live a great deal of my life outside of my country. Am I destined to become a permanent nomad, always growing increasingly unsettled and unhappy in every new place? Am I just inclined toward change in every situation? In relationships? Could this prevent me from maintaining long-term relationships or friendships, as my inclination is to quietly cut out those which become too inconvenient?
Some friends say that this is just what happens after living in a place for too long. You discover the “buts” of that place. They say it is bound to happen anywhere you live. Is it? Here in
In my mind, “but” echoes more loudly here than it would in so many other places. For all the good you may optimistically speak of here, there are detriments which dye all else in that same color. Before, whether due to youth or unfamiliarity with this place, I could look past it so easily. Now it consumes me.
If I am not destined by age or experience to lock myself into this mindset, I want to find ways to regain my optimism. I want to leave