생일축하합니다 (it reads better if you translate it after reading the post)

I woke up this morning to a knock on my door.

Suh-ti-bun. question, question, I'm sorry. How old are you?

26.

Twenty six. Okay okay. Goodbye.

I've been asked that question so many times since moving to Korea that I didn't bother to think about why he would choose this time to ask me that. It just seemed like he needed to know. It was time for me to get up anyway. We are going to tour Seoul today, and I am leaving for Daegu tomorrow.

I feel the need to take a moment to prepare myself for the full-frontal invasion that is to be breakfast today. My stomach isn't awake yet, and telling a Korean that I don't normally eat breakfast is a mistake that I have no desire to repeat. You get a similar reaction to how an American reacts to the fact that they eat a soup made from dog meat here. It's not that I mind so much the type of food I eat. In fact I have grown extremely accustomed to it. The problem with Hyounjun's mother's cooking os one of volume. The sheer number of things she expects me to eat is staggering. I have never tried so hard, nor failed so badly at having a "masculine" appetite. It's just not in me anymore.

It actually took me a while to adjust to the sight of it.

Koreans normally eat fish, rice, kimchi, and some sort of soup for breakfast. Their breakfasts are a lot like our lunches and dinners. The bakeries in this country are not usually open in the early mornings, and the people who work in such establishments usually stare at me for a good amount of time if I buy a pastry or doughnut before noon. All this to say, I was VERY surprised to see a cake in the middle of the table.

There were seven candles in it.

Hyounjun's father knows how to sing 'Happy Birthday' in English, while his mother only speaks Korean. I don't know how they knew. Hyounjun must have told them. I usually don't mention my birthday, since it's so close to Christmas, and everyone is pretty tired from the holidays. I think it's been several years since someone has bought me a cake, and even longer since they sang the 'happy birthday' song. In fact, I've never heard it in Korean.

Happy birthuh day Suh-ti-bun. I love you.

I love you too.

Hyounjun called later that day. He said happy birthday, and then his mom asked him to say something to me.

Stephen? Yeah, my mom says to give her your dirty laundry so she can wash it before you go. Trust me, you don't want to fight her.

I don't think anyone has done my laundry since I was sixteen. I can't believe of all the things se wanted to say to me, that was the thing that was most important.

Hyounjun mama. Suh-ti-bun mama. It's okay.

She's been studying me like a hawk, trying to figure out what I like and don't like. She pours me water with my meal (most Koreans don't drink water when they're eating) in the cup with a picture of a bear on it (I like bears). Breakfast was 잡채, 불고기, and of course, cake.

이것먹어. 많이 먹어.

We went off to see Seoul, Hyounjun's father and I. She buttoned up my sweater and smothed out the wrinkles, adjusting my scarf and making sure my hat was on straight.

Handsome boy, Suh-ti-bun. Handsome boy.

I think she's probably the reason why a lot of Korean men have unrealistic expectations of their wives, or their girlfriends. If I grew up in this culture, I would be sooooo spoiled. I still find it so strange to be loved so much by someone who barely even knows me, and can't really communicate with me at all.

I mentioned earlier this month that I don't have a lot of pictures of my face on this blog. Actually I don't think I have any. This one seems worthy though. This is me and my 엄마.

사랑해요.

I've Got My Love To Keep Me Warm

Today was my first day of vacation since 초석. I woke up early and took the 401 bus to the international Airport. I waited there. About 10 minutes later, I got a phone call, and a white van pulled up to gate 1. A well-dressed Korean man got out of the van and started to load my bags into it. Though his English skills were limited (much less limited than my Korean, btw), his welcoming attitude towards me was translated instantly.

Suh-ti-bun? I am so happy seeing you!

반갑습니다.

I am trying to speak in Korean whenever I feel like know how to say something. Anything to make it easier for him, especially after he woke up at 5AM just to drive down here and pick me up. I have never spoken to this man before, but he happens to be the father of one of my best friends.

Suh-ti-bun...um...Korea? You like your time?

네. 한국 촣아요.

Ah. Good! Now. let's go please. We will...home...3:30. 3:30? yes. Let's go.

It's snowing. I should say now that I think snow is magic. I think the main reason for this is the fact that I'm from California, and I have only seen snow once there. Since, I have seen it 3 more times, all of them in this country.

Snow dances. It spins around in the wind, catching every note, every beat of the air around it. It almost feels like it's alive. I can't imagine a more beautiful thing, nor would I dare to think how jaded I would be about the whole thing if I grew up somewhere where it snowed every year. I think maybe I won't let my children see the ocean until they are adults.

Is it weird that I still hold my breath every time I drive through a tunnel? Jon and I used to do that every time we went on the 1 freeway to the Monterey Bay Aquarium. I like to go there to watch the tourists watch it. Somehow we forget that it's amazing when it's near us all the time. The problem with holding your breath in Korea is that their tunnels are so long you rarely can even see the light at the end. I can't ever seem to make it the whole way on one breath. I feel like a failure. He's watching me struggle towards the end. Perhaps he thinks I'm claustrophobic or something, but I guess he figures that I am uncomfortable going through tunnels. He speeds up a little when he drives through them. It helps some, but I still can't get through on one breath.

Just breathe. It was only valuable when you believed it.

Suh-ti-bun. You like lunchey? Korean food you like?

네. 한식 좋아요.

He takes me to the first restaurant he can find labeled "western food." I guess whatever I said before didn't translate quite right. The "western food" menu had such items as 도까스 and 회빕빔밥 on it. Funny, I don't remember my mother serving me any raw fish OR raw egg when I was little. I certainly eat plenty of it here. Somehow, he finds me a fork. I'm sort of awkward with forks now. It has been a while. It hasn't really been that long, it's just... I've taken in everything so fast, I feel like I've been here forever. I had American food for Christmas this last weekend, and It really upset my stomach. My body is craving rice and 김치, and my fingers feel more comfortable around a set of chopsticks these days. I don't know why, but I feel like I'm going home. I'm going home with a perfect stranger who is anything but a stranger. He has Hyounjun's face. He stops to pray before eating. When did I stop doing that?

This country is so f%*$ing beautiful.

As the snow performs pirouettes around the cold mountain air, it masks everything but what it wants me to see. The mountains. The skeleton trees like rows of repentant sinners waiting for evening mass, their arms raised to the sky. Again, the snow only shows us what we were meant to see.

This city is called the 분당.

분당?

Yes. The 분당.

He twirls his hands in the air like a circus ringmaster.

White Christmas, yes? Let's inside go. 많이 cold. 많이 많이 cold.

His wife is inside. She has been waiting. She called several times to make sure we were alright. When I get inside, she grabs my hand and takes me into where I will be staying for the next 5 days.

Suh-ti-bun 방. 현준 방.

She speaks even less English than he does, but there is something that translates instantly. She has a lot of food prepared for me, but this time (I had met her before) I know how to say "I'm full," so I've got the jump on her. I'm going to find a way to break it to these people that I am able to use chopsticks, after I enjoy a bit of their frantic rush to find what I assume is the only fork they own. They never do, so I have to tell them. Oh well, fun's over. She sits next to me, watching me eat, talking to me in Korean. I understand almost none of it, but I don't think she cares. These are things she needs to say. I think that once someone becomes a mother, they will always need someone or something to take care of. I must have some food or something on my face, because she gets a wet rag and wipes the corner of my mouth with it.

한국 남자친구 있어요?

남자친구? 없어요.

He laughs.

She wants you to have a Korean girlfriend. She thinks you are very handsome.

I smile awkwardly like I usually do.

감사합니다.

She grabs my arm again.

You,현준 same. I love you.

She want to... treating you like... her son.

There are a lot of things in this world that I don't understand. I don't get most of my life these days, why I do the things I do, why I go the places I go. It's like everything is covered by these dancing weather patterns. White Christmas. Everything is beautiful and nothing is clear.

So here's the deal, God.

I don't know why you don't want me to see everything, and I have no idea what will happen next. I do not know why you put me here, or why I feel so inclined to stay. I don't want to ask why anymore, because I'm so glad you did.

Maybe someday it will stop snowing, and I'll see everything. Until then, I have seen enough.

Oh come, Oh come.

He came quietly.

Like all those He sent before Him, He was not recognized by people of good reputation.Those sorts of people do not spend time looking for pregnant teenagers having children in dark caves. Why would they? Nothing ever comes of that sort of thing.

He needed her.

He had chosen her to care for Him, to wrap Him in cloth, to bed Him down in the trough. It was the best she could do, and He would often go without the things that other chidren had. She cherished and pondered the great mysteries of the universe, that one thing that we would, that she would persue all her life and never get any closer to, but how He loved to see her run towards it. Could all of Him really fit into such a small and fragile thing?

He was a baby.

He could have been a man. He could have appeared on the earth with the ability to feed and care for Himself, but that is not what He chose. He chose the dark place, that dirty stall where good people are afraid to go. If these tragically flawed creatures could not care for Him, He would die. They would teach Him to speak, to walk, to dress Himself, to work, all the while in awe that He should not be theirs, but He gave Himself to them. He became what all other gods were too afraid to become.

Human.

He came to a world that had turned itself on its head.

There was already someone claiming to be the son of god. There were many claming solutions to every ailment, but it was not medicine that they needed.

It was freedom.

The problem was one of ownership. These things that they thought would be a help had become their masters, and there were debts to be paid, more than a lifetime, and so they had given over everything. Freedom would never come of their own accord, it had to be something bigger.

He was small.

Unless you were in That dark place, on that night so long ago, you would have to crane your neck to hear it. The sound of a child crying in a manger. He was God, and He put Himself in our care, not so that He would understand us, but so that we would know that there is nothing He would not endure to be with us, not even the lives that we had forced ourselves to live. They had prayed for thousands of years for this day, a faint hope.

Come, Immanuel.

It was with that cry in the night, so soft it was missed by nearly all. That sound that said:

I am here. Even at my weakest, I am stronger than whatever has you.

and the world has not stopped spinning since He left it.


Merry Christmas.

Disappointed With God

I have decided that in an attempt to observe Christmas in a correct and reverent manner this year (as I am far removed from my usual range of distractions), I will only post on issues relating to the Advent season until the end of the month. I don't really want to talk about Christmas, with all the jingle in bells, decking of halls and ho's in triplicate. I really want to talk about the historical period of Advent, and its effect on both the broad global culture and the narrow lens through which I see it, commonly known as the Church.

However, on a completely hypocritical note, allow me to introduce...

My Ginger bread 집 한국. my 김gerbread 하우스.

I've just realized that the above comments will only be entertaining to people who speak exactly as much Korean as I do. If they speak less, they won't be able to read what I wrote, and if they speak more, they will probably think (perhaps know) that I'm an idiot.

Oh well, that's probably still a much wider audience than most of the other things I've written.

Though my "I'm-so-sad-that-I'm-still-single-even-though-I'm-really-nice-and-smart-and-might-be-attractive-since-there-aren't-any-pictures-of-my-face-on-this-site" posts are quite popular with the "20-something-and-I-live-with-my-mom" crowd.

Don't worry ladies. I've got plenty more where that came from.

Today, I want to talk about disappointment. There have been a lot of things in my life that have been disappointing.

My film "career."

The end result of the nearly 10 years I have been playing the guitar.

the six week "relationship" I had at the age of 24, as the result of the first time I ever asked a girl out (You see ladies? Your pity is always welcome here).

My New Years resolution to "always do my laundry on time."

Let's not forget the many many disappointments that come with the Christmas season. I'm not talking about presents I wanted but never got when I was 5. It's this whole Christmas season thing, whatever it's become. Every year, you're promised magic, and togetherness, and miracles even. At the end, All I see is more stress, empty pockets, and a world that's just about broken even. No one is any better off, save a few people who own toy stores.

I myself have never owned a toy store. Hence disappointment.

I have always longed to live in a simpler time. Before the industrial age, or before the digital age. Hell, I'll even take before Youtube. I'll bet my work week would have been a lot more productive.

I hope no one from my work is reading this...

Anyway, of all the times I wished I could have lived in, at Christmas time I always think of the Middle East, right smack in the middle of that whole BC - AD mess. What would it have been like?

I probably wouldn't like it.

I never realized before how disappointing the Christmas story really was. It seems like the grandeur and spectacle I see in canvases, greeting cards, and the occasional cathedral window is a tragic misinterpretation of the details.

Think about it.

I can just see the Jewish priests putting together their letters to Santa...

Send me a messiah this year. I've been very good. Make him big and strong so that he can set us free. Make his birth known throughout the world, so that the most important people can rush to serve him. Equip him with the ability to establish a kingdom here on Earth. And make sure he doesn't hang out with hookers and IRS agents.

Sincerely,

J. Pharasee

This is what they were waiting for since, I don't know... forever? How would they even recognize him?

Here comes Jesus. Born in a poor family. Born to a teenage mother, out of wedlock, who CLAIMED that the spirit of God impregnated her (couldn't God have come up with something more believable than that?) which I'm sure was a popular excuse at the time. There wasn't much of a birth announcement, save to some dirty shepherds (who, let's face it, could have been drunk), and a couple of Asian stargazers who weren't even Jewish. Not exactly the most reliable sources. The only person who really made a big deal of it was that Herod guy, who ordered the slaughter of every child under the age of 2. The first Christmas present, before all the Gold Frankincense and myrrh (which is an embalming fluid, btw) was an empty cradle. Sounds like an episode of Maury Pouvich meets the Holocaust.

I can't help but think that He could have chosen another way to do it. He could have done whatever he wanted.

Jesus grew up to achieve no major political office. In fact, he never even became a priest. He just went from town to town, hanging out with the wrong sorts of people, talking disrespectfully to the other sorts of people until finally... they just killed him. Even with the high mortality rate of the times, 33 is a pretty young age to go. I imagine that the Jews left his burial site just in time to begin drafting this year's letter to Santa. They had thought of some new things that they wanted their messiah to be.

I guess they didn't recognize Him, did they?

Can't blame them.

I have some trouble spotting Him from time to time.

Of course, as most of you know, I am neglecting to mention the part that gets everyone excited. The fact that something fantastic really did happen that night. The fact that God came to the Earth in the form of a man, and was such a picture of meekness and strength under control that he could do so without being known to the very people who had been looking so hard for him. In fact that the very nature of his descent into human form shows what the dirty, the unfortunate, and the unreliable had suspected all along, that he had come for them. Of course, you might say that I am neglecting that.

Perhaps, but it is still a kind of disappointing story. It's a perfect story, but a disappointing one.

I have come to the astounding realization that we are able to be disappointed with something that is perfect. The divine could come to Earth, and we would turn up our nose at Him if we were looking for something else.

Can you really blame the Pharasees? If I told you that God was alive here on this Earth, could you tell me where to find him?

I confess that I can not.

I must be looking for something else. Something that He is not.

It's a thing that gives me hope, actually. The fact that I am disappointed with perfection, because I can't see what it really is. Perhaps we will see miracles, and healing, and love like we've never had before. The kind that goes with you. That wraps you up like a warm winter coat, and kisses the tip of the tongue like a winter carol about a time more fantastic than this one, because He really did come, and it really was perfect.

I want Him to teach me how to not be disappointed.

Culture Shock: A Haiku

Lunchtime chicken piece,

sorry that I did not eat.

I thought you were fish.

Bear Speaks to the Moon

It should come as no surprise to you that I like bears. I haven't worked with watercolor since the 3rd grade. I hope my technique has improved at least a little. It feels really good to be creating again though.

The text reads like so:

By what means do you hang

like quotations within quotations

marking feet and inches

up against this violet curtain

sheltering daybreak before

all hungry eyes will feed again?

The opening scene.

Shall we dance, just you and I?

a dress rehearsal before the curtain's rise

and if I say I only know a world

of glowing things that wear their bones

on the outside, would you think

I am so small?

Some who play behind your other face

have torn this world to pieces.

Final act called over thinking.

Expect the moon's response sometime in the near future:)

It Isn't Any Trouble Just To S-P-E-A-K

My school has a special education program. I have heard that special Ed is kind of a taboo subject in Korea, so I feel fortunate that the good people of 해서 Elementary have put together such an impressive program. There are two classes, each with their own teacher, classroom, and there are 10 students in the special needs category.

There's one student in general that captures my attention. I don't know his name. In fact, I don't know many people's names (I have almost 600 students), but I feel sorry that I don't know his name in particular.

He's a very joyful person, while I, in full posession of my body, and with a fully developed brain, am not. Not all of the time. Not even most of the time. I barely fit into the "some of the time" category. He's got a big smile, and he always squinches his face together when he's concentrating on something. They let him come to my 5th grade class. Even if he can't really learn much English, I think no one should be deprived of the opportunity to stare at the weird looking foriegner, especially not one so disadvantaged.

He did learn some English though. He learned how to say "hello," and he usually interrupts my teaching about 3 times a lesson to smile at me, wave and say hello. He is so proud of himself when I wave and say it back. It's as if he has unlocked some magic code that allows him to do something with me that his teachers can barely do...

Communicate.

Today, he was crying at the end of my class. We were learning about the past tense today. Every way we had of saying that something was done was now wrong. He tries so hard. I think that sometimes we don't get that. We see someone like him and we imagine that if we were in his place, we might not want to learn anything, because it would be so much harder. I noticed how wrong that assumption was about him today. Everything is so hard. He tries so hard.

Something struck me about him today. It was a tough day. Everything was wrong again. The magic code was broken. Communication was in jeopardy. When the bell rang, he brushed his eyes, stood up, collected his book like everyone else, and headed out the door. He stopped in front of me as I was waving to the other students exiting the classroom. He shook his hands urgently.

"Teacher! Hello!"

Hello. Goodbye.

"Goodbye."

I think his smile is a reflex. I think that instead of taking it out like fine china, using it only for special occasions, he lives there. That's the plate he eats off of every day. It was back, before it was even long enough to say it was ever gone.

Goodbye.

It's a revolutionary concept. He now speaks English twice as well as he could before. What I wouldn't give for that kind of progress in my own life.

His smile shames me. That I could be up against so much less than that, and yet...

I can't smile like he does.

I call myself a teacher. What do I have to teach but hello and goodbye? I think he can teach me how to smile.

The Birth of Uncool

I just started swimming laps at the local pool. I say local because it's in the city, but it's really really far from where I live. Perhaps it would not be so far if I didn't have to take public transportation, but it takes me about an hour and twenty minutes to get there by way of two busses and the subway. I think it's pretty lame of me that I want to travel that far just to goo swimming.

I have a beautiful body, in a sort of... untrue kind of way. I was never in the best of shapes. I mean, everyone is in some sort of shape, right? Mine is just less of a sculptural ideal and more of a ...muffin.

You know that part of the muffin that hangs over the side of those muffin papers that they put them in? Yeah, like that.

There are some overweight people who are actually pretty good athletes. I am not. I'm actually not even that coordinated. I can't walk in a straight line for very long without concentrating really hard. If I'm in a group talking to someone I kind of tend to pinball around a bit. It's okay, that's just kind of who I am. But I do want to change that. That's why I'm going swimming at the pool.

Words cannot describe how incredibly lame I look in my swimsuit, with my goggles that leave scrape marks on my nose because they are made especially for the shallow Korean bridge, combined with my swimcap (which the lifeguards make me wear, as though that will keep all the hair out of their pool) and my particular swimming style, perfected from years of never trying.

The pool is crowded when I get in. I feel (as I often do) that everyone is staring at me. I felt that way in America, when it wasn't true, but I feel it now all the more. I realized later it was because I was swimming in the wrong lane (apparently there are specific lanes for people wearing fins). I have to share this lane with 5 other people. I can feel their hands scraping my feet while they pass me. Everyone passes me. I really feel like this is not a place I should be. It has been a long time. Middle aged women are passing me, but I don't stop swimming until I have swum the amount I came for. Someday they won't pass me.

On the way back home, I pull out my flash cards on the bus. My flash cards are also extremely uncool. I have become known for my flash cards. I use them at work, on the bus, when I go home, and all throughout the weekends. I use them to learn to speak Korean. It is going very very slow. I have already learned enough Korean to thoroughly impress everyone back home, because I'm white, so I shouldn't know any Korean. I really don't want to impress people anymore.

Well... I wouldn't go that far, actually.

Let's just say that I don't want to want to impress people anymore.

I've noticed an interesting connection between coolness and success. Most successful people don't seem all that cool at first.

I'm not saying that successful people are uncool. In fact it is a very cool thing just to be successful. In fact I think that everyone in the world should always try to be as cool as they possibly can. Wear clean clothes, trim your nails, don't pick your nose, etc. There is nothing wrong with looking good.

Except when that was the entire goal.

Being cool means that you don't go places where you won't fit in. Being cool means that you don't try something when you know you will fail miserably at first. Being cool means always, always, always being in a situation you can handle, so that you always look good.

Again, I'm not saying that successful people are not cool, or even that they don't try to be cool, but when being cool itself is not the goal, a successful person can sacrifice his coolness in order to pursue success. I want to be like that.

So go ahead and pass me, Ajuma swimmers of Korea, I'm going to get faster, and I won't always look like a muffin. And go ahead and laugh at my flash cards, my so-called friends who spend their weekends getting drunk and the majority of their workweek on Facebook. I will speak someday.

I want to sacrifice for something better than cool.

Call and Response

Friday night. Oh, blessed relief. The weekend is finally upon us. Those of you in America will be jealous to know that I now live in the future, and as such, I get to enjoy the weekend sooner than you do. It's like eating ice cream before it melts. Can't beat it.

Had a tough week at the office though (I've always wanted to say that). It seems like I was working and sweating all the way until time to leave. I remember when I used to twiddle my thumbs all day and surf the internet. It's a beautiful thing, to be committed to something that takes all (or at least most) of your energy. It makes you worry less, to know that you did the best you were able. Even the worst days (there have been a few) aren't so bad.

I've been listening to old school Rogue Wave a bit lately (pre Zune commercial madness). I've noticed that a lot of their music involves call and response. I like that collaboration. I used to be impressed by guitar solos, but now I like duets. I like call and response, for some reason. For those of you who can't see me as I'm writing this, you'll have to take note that I have a huge, cocky grin on my face. Perhaps at one point I will explain this reason to you, but for now, is is enough to know that I have a cocky grin and I like call and response.

I've never been a rhythmic person. I don't mean musically (though I'm sure it could be argued), but in a sense of life patterns. I've never really been able to depend on what I would be doing from one day to the next. My life didn't really follow a pattern. I used to think that made me cool, like that somehow doing the same thing over and over was boring, regardless of what that thing was. It's like if I could have a conversation with Robert Johnson, I might ask him why all he ever does is play the guitar. Perhaps he should play the piano, just so people don't think that's all he knows how to do...

I'm getting distracted.

I love getting distracted.

My life follows a pattern now because I found something that I really want to do over and over again. It's not cool doing random things, hoping one of them is going to pay off sooner or later. I've done that for far too long. Now it's time to stop trying to be everything in the world and be something I'm often afraid to be.

Myself.

And no one else.

I know that sounds cheesy, but I'm a bit in the mood for cheese, despite my occasional lactose intolerance. No more whine, but cheese is nice from time to time.

Last thought: it's November soon, and I just realized that I accomplished almost all of the goals I had for this year. I have two months two finish writing my novel and find a girlfriend. Pretty good year, all in all.

Maybe I should cut my losses...

... Maybe I should start learning some new phrases in Korean.

... for the book, of course...

After All

I've decided to start writing again. I think it might be unhealthy for me to prefer writing my personal thoughts down on some website that I made public and posted a link to on my Facebook page rather than talking to a good friend about how I feel.

I'm a bit far from a good friend right now though. All attempts to be anything to anyone right now have been thwarted, and here I am again. Some sort of socially challenged forrest creature who somehow knows how to type. I wonder, in fact, if I really am alone here. If it's quiet for real now, even for the few who read this... whatever it is. Are you out there? I think you might be. I'm waiting on a voice from somewhere, something to assure me that I am facing the right direction before I start moving again.

Life is full of good things though. There are so many reasons why it's worth it to be alive, to try, to let something real in. I have seen and heard wonderful things, and if I have no one to call at the end of my day to tell these things to, I will have to write them down, with the hope that somehow they will be heard. At least one day I will come back and hear them.

My prayer is that somehow it will be enough to justify my existence. I feel like somehow it needs to balance out. Something bigger than the sociological, ecological, temporal footprint pushed into the Earth by the verb "to be." "To be or not" was never the question. We will be. To not be was not our choice. We must trust that with all the not be that never were, we were made to be, and our being was for the right reasons. It has weight. It is the only thing that really carries any importance.

Humanity.

The mess we moved into. The mess we made. The more we pretend that it isn't ours, the less our being pulls us to the earth.

There are oceans, you know? I've seen them. They cripple buildings from their foundations, and they grind the mountains into grains of sand. We're just calcium, plasma, and water. I've seen the ocean.

It's terrifying.

It's beautiful.

The most beautiful things in life are terrifying. The Ocean. Death. Truth. That voice you hear at night before falling asleep, only before falling asleep. You are too focused the rest of the day to allow it to speak. Too busy staring at the sand spread across this vast beach saying "not me, not me," over and over again as if that is going to make it true.

Yes. You.

but it's allright.

It's okay to let the ocean take you, to spin you around and dance with you. If you fight these tides, they will fight you back, but if you let them carry you...

...my God...

You can't imagine where you end up.

It's okay. It's okay because after it all, the pain, the suffering, the loneliness, the rejection, the sheer weight of the sand in your pockets, there is some thing bigger:

This world was made by love.

That's what he said his name was.

시 문 선 생 님

I am starting to think that miscommunication may be my favorite form of communication.

I have been at my school for about two days now, and I feel like a member of a family, most of whom can’t say much more than two or three phrases to me. The only exception is 소 양, (roughly pronounced So-Yang) my teaching partner. We still have a lot of trouble communicating though, and I am constantly scratching my head to figure out what she just said to me. There are a lot of awkward pauses, which make me laugh, which make her laugh, with neither of us exactly sure what is making us laugh. It’s fun to have no idea what you are doing.

The kids at the school are really excited that I’m here. I’m not teaching classes yet, but just trying to observe another teacher’s classroom proved to be too much excitement. I had to leave. I was preparing my lessons for when I finally get to teach (I believe by Wednesday of next week) when a crowd of 5^th grade boys burst into my room, trying desperately to unload all of the English words that they knew.

“Hello! Nice to meet you!”

“what is your name?”

“Where are you from?”

“What is your hobby?”

“What did you do for summer vacation?”

"Excuse me! Can you tell me what time it is? Thank you!"

It kind of reminds me of asking all the Spanish speakers I knew where I could find the library.

I know where the library is.

Al suroeste del salon de classe.

Gracias.

소 양 , another teacher (I forgot her name) and I got official leave from the school (which required three different signatures of approval) in order to shop for supplies to decorate our teaching room. Halfway through this, the other teacher said that she was tired and it was too hot. We went to rest up in a local coffee shop in the downtown area. 소 양 tells me that more than anything, she likes piano music and the smell of new books. I think we are going to get along really well. She studied Korean in college, and so has promised to help me learn. I was so worried that I wouldn’t meet anyone who would want to teach me. I’m going to take advantage of every opportunity I have to learn from her.

Part of my contract stipulates that I am supposed to have a washing machine at my apartment. I am excited about it, because it didn’t arrive the first day. I’m looking at it now, and I realize that I have no idea how to use it, as all the instructions are in Korean. I hadn’t even realized how many things I would not know how to do because of the language barrier. I also don’t know how to say my address. I’ll have to talk to someone about that. In the meantime, I’m going to push all the buttons on this machine until it washes something.

Someone once asked me if I thought it was possible to fall in love with someone you barely know. I still don’t know if that’s possible, but I now know how she felt. It’s not a person for me, though, it’s a place. I am so happy here. It doesn’t make any sense, but I can feel it. I want so badly to be as helpful to these people as I can. I want to be a good employee, a good student of language and culture, a good teacher, and a good friend. I’ve always tried to be above average at everything I do, but I’ve never really wanted to be the best type of person I was able to be. Maybe that’s what love is supposed to do.

Sun Chaser

Had lunch with Dad today before I got on the plane. It’s strange, I think we’re becoming friends. I don’t know if you’re allowed to be friends with someone who had a hand in making you, but I’m sure that friendship is better than whatever we had before. Some people don’t even like their dads. I think I was at one time one of them, but now I think we are becoming friends.

The plane was 12 hours. Didn’t seem like it, but there you go. I watched some good movies and also Iron Man 2. Yes, I put it in a separate category. Deal with it.

They keep giving me things on this flight. Everything from apples, to peanuts, cups of orange juice, and hot towels. I wouldn’t even know what to do with hot towels if I had never seen The Wedding Singer. At one point, they even gave me a little zippered bag. When I opened it up, there were socks inside. Socks? What am I supposed to do with socks?

Well, put them on my feet, obviously, but…

Question: why does the bathroom door have an ashtray on it? No one smokes on the plane. Really. Why?

Everyone has been telling me how humid it is in Korea. I don’t know how to gauge that. At least I didn’t until I got off the plane.

Good Lord! I feel like we landed the plane in someone’s armpit. People live here, and I find that fact astounding. I may continue to be dumbfounded by that simple truth until my body adjusts to the new climate.

All the advertisements here have white people on them. Is that Pierce Brosnan? What is he doing telling the people of Korea what to brush their teeth with?

There was a whole group of people in the airport, waiting. Everyone spoke English. A perfectly safe little bubble. I can’t stay here.

I find it difficult to admit that I dislike all of the people I have met so far. The other teachers, I mean. When I got this job, I thought that the type of people that would like to work in a field like the one that I now work in would be a little bit more like me. Perhaps they crave change, fancy themselves to be adventurous, or perhaps there might be a few artists stuck in a rut that needed a change of pace. I forgot to think about all of the cultural know-it-alls, rice kings, former college students still running away from reality, and unemployed slobs who thought the job sounded easy. I’ve had conversations with 15-20 people so far, and I’m one of 3 who have ever taught a class before. I hope there’s a plan for all of this, God, because it’s already not quite what I thought it would be. My urge to learn Korean is now fueled by my intense desire to NOT spend any more time with these people.

Took a shower. I feel the need to wash this day off me. It’s 10:30 AM in California right now. That means I have been awake for 27 hours now. We chased the sun around the globe, and it has finally caught up. What the morning will bring, I do not know. Hopefully new life, hopefully new possibilities. Hopefully hope.

Beer and Tea

I woke up really late this morning after several stints of being up at 7AM to drive to the Korean Consulate in LA. Don't have to do that anymore. I have a big, fancy, embossed sticker on my passport now. Most of it is written in a language I don't speak, with the exception of the word "Visa" and my name/personal information. That was the last piece. I feel like I'm in a scene from Inception. I keep rubbing the top of my visa over and over again, trying to determine if it's all real.

My friends keep calling me, and I keep leaving to hang out. I have so many different types of friends that they all seem to want to hang out at different times, and it all seems to work out...

Breakfast with Liz and Justine.

Beer and fire pit with Joe.

Dinner with Lora (She's working until 5).

Beer and cartoons with John.

Lunch (cooked @ home) with Phoebe.

Tea in the morning with Genie.

Actually, we both originally said "in the morning," though plans have been made for 1PM. Neither of us is really set up to wake up in the morning (that may be why we're both working part time jobs with weird hours). Regular people wake up early in the morning. Genie and I are NOT regular people. That's probably why we're good friends.

Back to wondering if I'm still dreaming. If I am, then it's a good dream. I have so many friends down here, and they are all telling me how much they are going to miss me. Am I making a mistake, just uprooting everything and leaving? I call myself "lonely bear." Strange that I am now choosing loneliness. It had never been my choice before.

This is different though. Really, what I'm doing right now is vacationing at home. I am around the people I love without having to make any personal sacrifices.

It's a lovely place to visit, but you wouldn't want to live there.

That's what people say about most of the places they vacation at. Only this time it isn't true. I do want to stay. Right now, what I am doing is not staying.

It's just beer and tea. It's not a relationship, it's just "hanging out." I hang out with a lot of people, but I've never been in a relationship before. Maybe I run away. Maybe that's what this big embossed sticker on my passport is all about. People say that I'm going to be a rock star there.

If I wanted to be a rock star, I would have practiced the guitar more.

I want to stay somewhere. I want to be in a relationship.

I'm already tired of beer, and tea, and "hanging out" and the other things you do when you're not staying. I don't want to run away.

I Want To Be Like You

Yosemite.

One of nature’s great wonders. A jewel on the face of northern California. An impressive collection of really big rocks.

I hope I see a bear.

There are warning signs everywhere, complete with instructions on how to be sure you run into one. Karolina says that I should not wish to see a bear. She says that bears are not cute and cuddly like in the cartoons.

She lies.

Bears are, in fact, adorable and full to the brim with the warm fuzzies. I am going to catch one by rubbing myself in honey, rolling around in graham crackers and singing the King Louis song from The Jungle Book.

I hope I don’t run into any bees.

Maybe I should dress like a little black rain cloud.

No one watches those cartoons anymore.

I think I could make a really good life for myself here in Yosemite. With my new bear friends, we would eat berries, wrestle, and hatch schemes to steal picnic baskets from the park rangers. Mom says we have to go back to the cabin and eat tacos.

Pooh.

Being a human is so full of disappointment.

A Cabin By The Lake

Today is Hannah’s birthday and we’re all camping at Bass Lake. We go camping every year, and sometimes I come along too. It’s a long drive most of the time, but this time I live at home, so it was less of a decision this year and more of a subconscious dragging from one place of residence to the other. I’m the black sheep of the family, except I’m pale white and sunburn really easily. I’m the white and sometimes bright red sheep of the family

It’s not that I don’t love my family, because I clearly do. They’re my only link to this world when I don’t know how to make sense of my life. Sometimes though, sometimes I think that maybe I’m a white and sometimes bright red sheep in a family of Llamas, or perhaps mountain lions. Maybe… deer? I don’t know, as long as it’s something un-insulting. I just feel like we’re different.

Timmy and Hannah keep talking about surfing with Nate and Tabs. (those two seem more like they belong than me) and everybody keeps jamming along to Kesha or Kiesha (don’t really know how that’s spelled) whist quoting lines from movies about sports.

Hey, do you guys think that this could be the lake where they filmed Bethoven? That would be Soooo awesome!

Oh, my God! I love Beethoven!

I think that was in Beethoven 2…

Everyone lays out in their perfectly stretched out bodies on the beach. I’m in the shade. I’m writing and reading.

Oh, my God, I can’t WAIT to get in the water.

Me too, I am Soooo ready. You have NO idea!

What’s in the backpack?

Books.

You’re carrying around a backpack full of books? This is our vacation. I carry a backpack full of books around when I’m in school.

I like books.

I like sitting and reading. They have to write and read, because they are in school. There is no school at the lake. It’s just a cabin. I should not want to sit on the shore to read and write. I should not like the shade, when I can lie half naked in the sun and talk about the different flavors of peach that Jamba Juice has to offer.

Stephen, aren’t you going to get in the water?

I’ll go when I want to. Why do I have to right now?

I think everyone wants to be in the water right now.

I finally go into the water. Everyone else gets out. I move out of the shade. Everyone wants to get in the car. A herd of Llamas and one brick red Sheep.

Why didn’t you go when everyone else was going? Don’t be mad.

I hate it when people tell me not to be mad when I’m not mad. It just proves the point that I am unable to show how I feel in front of people.

I’m not mad. I’m just not a Llama.

Timmy is driving home. He is strong and muscular. He surfs, and he plays Bass in a rock band. Somehow being an introspective, socially backward home-school kid didn’t transfer over to the whole family. I remember though. He used to pee outside, and watch Star Trek with me and Jon. He used to cry to Mom about everything. He should thank me for those muscles. Jon and I used to fight him. He became strong because he had something to fight against, and he became cool because he had something to prove, something Jon and I gave up on. I had nothing to fight, which is why he can bench press me. We don’t wrestle anymore, but that doesn’t mean that I’m not strong.

You strengthen the muscles that you exercise. They didn’t have to deal with being the backward one in a family of forward moving people. They didn’t ever create the muscle memory to look away and pretend not to notice that everyone is either staring at you or completely ignoring you. I’ve always had either one or the other. I have a savings bond of awkward stares that has matured into the thousands. I keep them all.

It’s not just camping in a cabin by the lake. It’s when people tell you how funny you are, when all else they can talk about is how pretty your sisters are or how strong your brothers are. It’s every time someone asks you how you’re doing and you don’t understand that they don’t really want to know. It’s every note you write to some girl you SWEAR you’re falling in love with, even though she’s already started talking about the man that she’ll eventually leave you for. A real man. He’s funny and good looking. It’s everyone who thinks it will make you feel better to know that there’s no one else in the world like you.

Really. No one. I’ve never met anyone like you and I don’t think I ever will.

I keep them all.

Snippets...

…of conversations had around my house.

Are you eating? Did your mother make dinner?

No. I was just hungry.

Mom didn’t make dinner yet? What are you eating?

A burrito.

A Burrito? Stephen’s eating a burrito.

Stephen? You’re eating a burrito? I’m making dinner…

It’s 8:00. I just thought…

Are we all having burritos for dinner? I thought you were making chicken.

I’m making you lunch.

You don’t have to make lunch. I can do it.

I’m making everyone lunch. Do you want me to exclude you?

Do you want to go to the Rodeo parade today? First time in a hundred years they’ve had it.

Yeah. I’ve missed that.

You want to go?

I don’t think I can…

I’m going to be dressed as a clown. I told them you might come.

What? I don’t have a clown suit.

Really? Your brother and sisters go to Safeway dressed as clowns all the time.

I really don’t think that’s true, Dad.

Do you want to go with me to my prayer meeting tomorrow? I’d like you to come.

Dad prays a lot. Not very loud, so that you would know it. But loud enough that the relevant people get the message. I think I’m a bit jealous of that. I feel the need to say everything out loud (like what I’m writing right now). I think he really doesn’t care what other people think of him. Mom loves him. God loves him. The rest of us are learning.

Somewhere in downtown Salinas (I’m not sure exactly where because I get lost all the time) there is a room where 10-15 middle aged men and women meet early in the morning to pray for the city. I don’t know how long they have been doing it, but I know that I was there this last Thursday to watch it.

I mean join them.

I mean, I don’t know…

Prayer is a difficult thing for me. It has been a while. Not since I’ve prayed, but since I’ve … wanted to. Me and God, we have trust issues. Same as me and Dad. I don’t really know how they started, but they’re here, and it’s only been a while since I was able to admit it.

This is not the time for that.

A full room. There is a man with a left handed 12 string guitar. It’s a Taylor. He doesn’t play very well.

Stephen Elliott, come on down! You’re the next contestant on “Which of these old people knew you when you were 5, and do you remember them?”

It’s the game show where everyone loses. It’s a little creepy when you enter a room full of strangers who already know a lot about you somehow. I used to want to be famous. I think it might feel something like this.

But these are not adoring fans. They’re religious folk. Praying people. Dad’s friends. I have no idea what they are going to talk about.

Stephen, could we pray for you? Before you go to Korea, I mean?

I was sure that things would never be the same again. That I had grown beyond certain types of faith to the point that nothing would seem like magic anymore. I figure everyone gets that way eventually. We become old.

I think that I was the oldest person there that morning. The one who thought he had seen everything. None would be in agreement. There was no point in agreeing anymore.

I don’t really know why I decided to go to Korea.

That’s a lie. I know, I just don’t want to tell anyone.

That’s not the reason why I’m going now.

That’s the final snippet. The last piece of the conversation before going home. Nothing is as it used to be.

I haven’t seen everything. Tomorrow is meant for someone else.

Day 1: Failure

I apologize that it has been a long time since updating y’all on my life. This place is strange and backwards. I wake up every morning with a different thought in my head and there are far too many to put in writing. I wouldn’t have time to live.

Though, some thoughts have continued to loiter around in my brain since the day I got here, so I think I will share them.

I woke. That first day, when I woke up I was 20 years old again. In a time machine funk. This was the last thing I remember here. Moving away. Not wanting to go then not wanting to come back. It’s a game of Russian Roulette. I am willing to bet that I won’t want to go again when it is time. That’s the thing about time. It’s the trigger. Location is that spinning mechanism that has a bullet, that one chance at escape, nestled inside. We never know which one it is in, but we know one thing: time is the trigger. We do not control when it fires off. We may only choose where to point it.

This place is different. Five years have been lived here, by more than one person. You can see it. The walls are painted a different color. Blackboard in the kitchen, mom says. You can write on it. It used to be, at least, until one of Timmy’s friends drew a body part on it. Now no one is allowed. I think I know which part, but I can’t be sure. I have no idea what makes heterosexual young men so obsessed with that area. I really don’t.

There’s someone I don’t know here. His name is Glen. He says he knows my brother. My brother doesn’t get here until tomorrow. In the meantime I have to wait a day to be introduced to him. I can’t talk to him. I think Glen might be a robot.

Dad says we need to fix the tractor.

What the hell? Where am I? I don’t know how to fix a tractor.

Glen says he can try it. Timmy says he already knows what to do. I go outside too. I’m going to be useful. I’m going to try to be useful. I’m going to stand around awkwardly and take pictures. I now have pictures of Timmy now, and Glen, and the cat who kept trying to crawl in Timmy’s lap while he was trying to fix the tractor. The two of them made a machine work for a few more months but I took a bullet from the gun. I stole a moment from time that it won’t ever get back. Insignificant though it may be, this is my life for now, and this is what I remember from it. I think some day this day will be important to me. I don’t know why.

I was supposed to be studying for my TEFL certificate today. It was too full of random things like this. I guess I failed. Good for me. Somehow, someday.

I'm going to right myself.

In the meantime, I think I like it here:)

25 Years Old, No Job, And I Live With My Parents

I woke up early yesterday morning, and tried not to wake Sean up. I'm glad I failed. It would be a shame if I didn't get to say goodbye. He hurt his hand while we were moving, and when his brother couldn't come out to help him move more, he said "That's okay, I have my other family here."

It's true. He's my other family.

I'm leaving my family. To go be with my family. Then, I am going to leave both families in order to be in a different country. Why am I doing this? I feel like I haven't really asked myself that question a lot. I really was at first trying to see if I COULD do it. and now that I realize that I can, now that everything is starting to move, we're generating heat from the source... doubt comes like a cold wind from the north. I'm going for six weeks to live in the north. To live in doubt.

As soon as I hit the freeway, all the warning lights on my dashboard flash on. They are trying to tell me something. It's an omen. The final interpretation of a nightmare. I say a prayer and keep on moving. If something goes wrong, even a flat tire, it's over. I don't have any money. I have tied all my hopes to the mast of a single ship, out on a storm torn sea. I'll have nothing to float on if I sink.

It's weird, I think. How often I am just inches away from ruin and failure all the time. I guess I don't think about it. Issues come up. I have problems that seem unsolvable, and suddenly, at the last moment, everything works out. I've literally had money appear in my pocket. I've had food delivered to my doorstep without me knowing why. I guess it's more than coincidence. I just have to keep driving, no matter what the lights on the dashboard say. I am going home.

What about my family? I am so different now from who I was when I last lived with them. Different in a good way sometimes, but also... just different. I've seen and been through so much that has marked me. I made decisions that only made things worse in that darkness. I am still dealing with the repercussions of those decisions. What if they notice? What will I do then?

What if I can't learn to speak Korean? They say after twelve, it's nearly impossible. I'm 25. Who am I kidding? How am I going to survive out there? Will I come back from this experience changed at all? I have to. Change is vital for me. If I don't change, I am going to a place that I never wanted to be.

Alone.

I would have to make this trip all alone, wouldn't I? It seems I'm always alone, even when there are people in the room. And this trip is no exception. I'm on my way to being alone for a while. God help me, I thought this was the right decision to make.

Every single time I hit a bump on the road, or my car swerves in a funny way, I start to think the worst. It's going to flip over and explode, and I'll die by the roadside before a single one of my dreams is realized. God help me.

I have to believe that he will.

I pull up to the driveway of my parents house, alive and with a perfectly functional car. They lied to me, all those lights on the dashboard, trying to keep me from going anywhere. Inside is my family. The first people to ever truly understand me. I will be okay with them. I will not turn back, even when it is frightening to do so. This is the place where God has put me. Thirty dollars in my bank account. 25 years old, no job, and I live with my parents. Call me overly optimistic, but I think something wonderful is about to happen.

No (love?) Lost

My brother (who has been married for almost two years now) says that I do not understand what it means to be in love.

He's probably right. Not that it's my fault.

Maybe it is.

Love.

I guess I don't really know what it means. I wish I could understand it, but at the same time, I really don't. If what I've been through wasn't love, it hurt bad enough that whatever love might be scares the shit out of me.

Have you ever wanted someone so badly that you thought you would die if you couldn't be near them? And then, you find out that you can't. Love breaks her promise. You can't have what you wanted and it didn't kill you. You have to live without it.

That's why I never pitied Romeo and Juliet. At least they had something that was real. They both felt it, and once it was gone, neither of them had to endure that loss for very long. I, on the other hand, am a living, breathing regret. A monument to loves broken promise.

I talk to God a lot about this stuff. I try not to yell or swear, but it rarely holds up for very long. They say that he never wastes a hurt, never hurts us more than we can handle. There are days that I find that hard to believe. I feel like a dog with a choke collar. Sometimes I just doesn't understand that I'm supposed to move when it tightens around my neck. And love was pulling strings in my life for as long as I can remember. Can I be free of it for just this once? It's got a hold on me, and I can't find anything positive in it.

That's why I shirk away from the question when people ask me if I'm "interested in anyone." As though mild interest was really what it was about. As if it were that simple. I feel like that question is like asking someone if they want to stop by the dentist for a root canal. It's a ridiculous question. That's just not the way things are done. One must first decide if it is something that is necessary, and if they can afford to cover the cost.

Because it does cost.

Sometimes with out the payoff.

So no, I'm not "interested in anyone" right now.

I'm still catching my breath.

Life of a Starving Artist in Haiku

I was trying to come up with something to read at my open mic night this week. I've been really busy, and I haven't had time to write anything really long, so I tried my hand at haiku. I wanted to write things about my life that frustrated me. I wanted to get like three or four of them, but I had so much fun that I did fifteen. I really want to share them with you all. I categorized them for easy reference:)

JOB

Hello sir. Can I

Get you a glass of wine to

Wash down that smug look?

Thanks for applying

We want you to have this job

Oh. You're an artist

I have a B.S.

It's really a B.A., but

It's in film, so... yeah.

Account overdrawn

I want to change perspective

Paycheck underdrawn.

I am a waiter

Until something better comes

my job is to wait.

GIRLS

You must wait until

My heart stops beating so fast

Then I will call you.

ROOMMATES

I will wash dishes

When hell freezes or I write

My English paper

Arhythmic snoring

If you take requests could you

Sing soft in your sleep?

Your girlfriend giggles

When you tickle her elbows

I'll cut off your hands.

Heavy metal songs

Fill my ears in the mornings

I need a Q tip.

I wish I could say

"Go to bed, it's 3 AM"

In Vietnamese.

I like loud music

until I'm tired and have to

work in the morning.

I know how to sleep

With the lights on and a big

pillow on my face.

MISC.

Bumbling hornet.

How are you inside my car?

Did you bring a friend?

Is it chocolate chips?

I found in my silverware?

Never mind, rat shit.

Haha. Sorry about that. It made me giggle.

A Prayer For Cindy Park

Awake in me

Soul of a floating shipwreck on a war torn sea

Whose tidal patterns never cease

To tear

At the foundations of the rocks who stand firm

on the ever- decreasing shore

Break this ship from your beach

Sign your sail to the wind

That echoes my name

This untamed ocean of mine moves

In shifts

In phases

Effaces

The shore lined sand castles

Where all my children used to live.

Break free of this earth

And let your heart be led

To a place where feet will find no solid space

to tread

My love

Means never wondering when

Your toes will touch on solid earth again

I will rename you in ruin

In the salt

In the pounding current events

Floating driftwood, keep your lungs

Just above the water

Just beyond the vanishing point

My thoughts of you

Would eclipse the moon

If I could stack them on your tired head

Drown in me

Let slide to deep

These skeletons that you carry

On your slowly breaking back.

Never will you stand on your own two feet again.

Oh waves, hold me back

Oh ocean

Oh beautiful

Floating shipwreck.