Jeju Day 6: Go

Well, this is it.

An abrupt end.

I woke up this morning with an entire body ready for an adventure except my foot. This pain has been constant for the last two days. It has even increased a little. Something is not right. Time to go back and see a doctor. I won't call this the end of an adventure. I still have to find out what's wrong with my foot.

The boat to Mokpo is the same boat I took to Jeju, but I never really took the time to describe it. All of the economy class is just a collection of giant mats. There are two in the room I was put in. They can hold about 50 people each, and they are about at capacity. It's like a giant picnic in the park. Everyone just picks a spot where they can put their stuff and squats down. The ground around each mat is littered with shoes upon shoes upon shoes.

I think I am going to take a nap.

Later, on my way outside to get some fresh air, I ran into a Korean boy. "ran into" is a funny way of putting it, because I think he was following me. He kept smiling and waving. We had a conversation consisting of all the Korean sentences I know. Since that didn't take very long, we decided to just stare out at the ocean, and he kept laughing the whole time, as though life were only a joke, as if miscommunication were only in our heads. It's so good to be quiet with someone, even if it's someone you don't know very well. I drew a picture of his face. He wrote "100%" underneath it.

There's something, something unnameable about the experience of communication without words. About growing close to a stranger while looking out at a great big thing in silence. This is what my life should be about. This is what my art should be about. This is the thing that makes life liveable, that makes faith possible. This is the thing that I've got to show someone or I'll just explode. My life is the pursuit of something big and quiet. Something that communicates without speaking. How will words ever really capture it? Maybe it was never meant to be captured.

The taxi driver at Mokpo Ferry picked up another person with me, but when he dropped us off, he charged both of us the individual fee.

Really?

Whatever, I don't speak enough Korean to argue with him, and the other guy paid it like it was no big deal. It was only 2,300 won anyway.

The train station is packed, and a lot of the seats on the train are booked. I had to upgrade to 1st class. Worth it though, because if I had bought my tickets in advance, I would be making a huge financial sacrifice by coming home early. It's annoying the way these little kids take up the seats, laid down or sprawled out on 2 or 3 of them. I may look young and strong, but I have a bad limp, and I need somewhere to sit. I finally gave up and ordered some food in a local restaurant. I ordered a roll of Kimbap. It came with Kimchi and a bowl of fish broth. I had forgotten that it had been almost a week since I've eaten hot food. I didn't realize the joy of something so simple as a fresh prepared roll of kimbap and a bowl of hot broth. Who knows, I might even have some love for kimchi today.

I always eat too quick when I'm supposed to be wasting time. I've now got an hour to kill before my train leaves, and now I must attempt to look either contemplative or digestive. It's pretty much the same thing, since I'm convinced that thinking is something I do to pass the time between meals. Just like vacationing is something we do to fill the work void. Then retirement, grandchildren, and death. Life seems to be a collection of wastings and waitings. All these little things I've built up around myself 'till death due us part. I say this not as a precursor to depression, but as a declaration that I refuse to feel guilty for all the wasted hours I've spent this week, walking and waiting, sitting, sketching voyeuristic pictures of people and their belongings, wondering at their worth.

That's where meaning is found; in what we waste our time on.

God himself took seven days, just to give us things to waste about on. I have an atheist friend who says that it would make more sense if God made everything at once, to prove that he was God. That's not it though. Six days to work, one day to think, and then go back to working, without worrying about thinking for a while. Besides, who would God be proving himself to? Proving yourself is something insecure people do, Like artists who are too busy teaching English in Korea to get any of their projects done, or atheists who have ideas about God. Six days and one for wasting. That's how it is.

I think I just heard the boarding call for my train...

I want to go home really badly. I'm only an hour away. I'm excited to sleep in my bed, to prepare for the new semester, and to figure out what the hell is wrong with my foot. I hope they really find something, instead of just giving me a shot in my ass and 60 pills, which is the Korean medical solution to just about everything. I want x-rays and tests, and at some point, I want an old man in a white coat to poke my foot with a really weird looking tool. I'm American, damn it. That's medicine as I see it.

Got on the train. Happy happy happy to have a window seat this time. I forget too often what a beautiful country this is.