I Can Still Feel Everything

I'm happier when I'm distracted. I know that. I wan't at all depressed today when I was at work, nor did I think about how many years it has been since I believed that I was really heading in some specific direction according to a purpose.

Strange that I'm not more easily distracted. You would think that I would whole-heartedly embrace it, as an agent to numb the pain of this consistent failure I see in me.

I've never been much for numbing pain. I've always wanted to know the whole truth, and that means no medicine. Medicine is a distraction. Medicine lies to you about how much trouble you're really in.

I was 12 years old, and I had a cavity. Eight of them, actually. I had only been to the dentist once before, when I was six. I remember specifically that he had told me then that I should change my brushing habits or I would have cavities. Six years later, I had cavities. Maybe I am unable to change. More than likely, I just didn't.

They put a needle into my gums and squeezed it out three times. They were trying to find a way to excuse the pain that was coming. It was not working.

Can you feel this?

Yes, I can feel it.

I want us to be friends, she said over a premature cup of coffee. She was scared, I now realize, because she used friendship as a way to define what we were not going to be. I swear, I barely touched her the whole time we were going out. Scared of making her scared.

Is it possible? Will you call me?

She collected relationships like I collected rejections. Heaven forbid that either of us be denied the prize we had rightfully earned.

Yes.

I said it because I grew tired of telling the truth. Eventually I crawled back to truth like a smoldering cigarette on a lonely weekday. I want the pain. It reminds me. Yes, I will call you. Yes, we will meet again. No, we won't be friends.

I lied to them.

I told them that I couldn't feel anything so that it would go on. I needed them to cut out all the bad things so that I could use my teeth again. I lied when I said I didn't care because I felt everything. I wouldn't dare ask for anyone's pity, or wish away any of my memories, because now I know. I know the whole of pain. I know every drop of blood that experience has drawn from me, and I have felt that blood leaving me. Now I can use my mouth in a way that was impossible before the drill. I can speak. I can still feel everything.

Ask me if you want to know.

Swallow

Someone asked me last week if I loved myself. She asked it making the assertion that no one can love another person more than they love themselves. I agree with that statement, though it troubles me. I like to think that it is possible to truly love someone as a person in my condition. I don't know if I've ever been asked that question before.

I came into the world helpless and distracted. I wouldn't say that I loved myself, but I certainly paid a lot more attention to me. Everything was injustice, and no one could possibly understand how bad I felt. How strange it seems to me now that I could "know" everyone else's experience in a glance and compare, declaring myself Miss Universe in the pity pageant of all time.

I was fat, and socially awkward. I also didn't like the sound of my own voice. These were my qualifications.

Sometimes I really wish that time wasn't a continuum. That the past didn't progress into the present, and then on into the future. Perhaps if there were some other way, some new method of organization for the universe, I might one day wake up and be completely changed. If I could only be just someone, anyone else. 다시, as my students say when they make a mistake. I made a lot of mistakes, and not any of the cool mistakes. I've made loser mistakes, the kind that reveal true character and fault to the world in an astoundingly unspectacular way.

Know thyself.

I heard these words in college, and felt like it was some grand calling in life. If I knew who I was, then somehow I would be happy. I suppose this could have been the opening page to some part of my life, but it became more of a bookmark. It was a stopping point for blame. I couldn't be truly happy until I knew myself, and I didn't want to know myself yet. I wanted to know the me that I had plans to become.

I am post-college, in a singularly literal sense. I am not who I was, though I can't be too sure, because I didn't take the time to know that person, and I am still not quite willing to introduce myself to me yet. I've come to accept the fact that I can only put into the world what I find put into myself. My heart is filled to the brim with the pictures, word, and songs of other people. I think I love them, but how could I, when I use their creations to explain why my words, stories and pictures aren't good enough?

Love thyself.

All of my prayers seem the same these days. They're like diagnostics. A question of-

How am I doing?

Am I better?

Look at all that I have accomplished. Is it enough?

Will I be better in time for you to be proud of me?

I lost 70 pounds, I can play the guitar a little. I had two poems published in a magazine that Mike made. I've held hands with a girl (more than once, actually). I speak a little Korean, and I only pick my nose when I'm absolutely sure no one is looking. I'm better, aren't I?

Would someone love me if I was just a little bit better?

"This is my commandment, that you love one another, that your joy may be made complete."

Love thyself.

Truth be told, I'm afraid to love myself, because if I love myself, then maybe I won't ever change. What if I'm always this way? I don't know how to love myself and still admit that I have a long way to go. I've come so far, and I am someone else to the best of my knowledge, and I have accomplished everything by hating myself. I had hoped that now that I am a more respectable person, I could start to love again, but everything is built on the foundation of that phrase that I've programmed into my head.

You aren't good enough.

There's no such thing as good enough, I know that. Love is hard work, but it's not a job, because you can't earn your pay. I feel like I've put myself on time out, and now I'm crawling back to God, holding the sorely patched pieces of my identity in front of me, begging.

Has it been enough time? Did I learn my lesson?

When God looks at me, I think I find only a puzzled expression on his face, and his only response:

What were you doing?

Did you think that I put you there?

Swallow.

I think that God wants me to love myself. The myself that I am, and not the myself that I'll be. When I say love, I don't mean that I believe in hippie Jesus who is referenced by philosophy students and is compared to Ghandi and John Lennon. Sometimes I forget which of them said "all you need is love," and which said "if you love me, you will do as I command." I don't believe in hippie Jesus with catchphrases.

Can't we all just get along?

The world as it stands simply does not make sense if that's what God is. I believe in a world where people are starving and dying, scattered and frightened, without hope, and still God is love. I believe in the difficult love, the frustrating, hard to swallow kind of love. Hippie Jesus only loves as a concept. He cannot love you while seeing your flaws, because they would make him wrong. You can agree with hippie Jesus all you want; his love can not change anything about you, because it would have to occupy a considerable distance.

I want to believe again in a love that has dirty hands, because it touches everything. I want to take a bite of something and chew on it, never knowing if I'll be big enough to swallow.

The foundation of my life up to this point has been loathing and self-hatred. I who claim to be a child of God. How can I love, when I am only motivated by hatred, screamed at a mirror daily? I swear, I thought it wouldn't hurt anyone else.

I don't want anyone to tell me that I am good enough. I won't exchange one lie for another. The house must be rebuilt if it is to have a new foundation.

Eat me alive.

Every doorway I left unlocked, every window open far too wide. Every fixture, appliance, book I never read. I will be loved as something that is not good enough.

다시. Time to start again.

When I Was God.

When I first discovered I was an introvert, I was shocked.

Being one of seven children in (at the time) a three bedroom house, I'm not sure if being alone had ever crossed my mind. Every day, from my morning alarm to brushing my teeth before bed, there was someone. Someone was my friend, someone was my partner, someone was my video game opponent. I loved it, and introvert seemed like such a dirty word.

I had no idea how tired I was.

In college, there was also someone, and my life was such a mess. Dirty dishes, cluttered appointment books, and clothes on the floor. We were all going somewhere, and we would figure ourselves out when we got there. Never alone, always asleep or wanting to be. The world could not make itself worthy of open eyes for me, and I was alone.

It's really the worst feeling I've ever had; to be alone when surrounded by so many other people. What is the cure for what you're feeling is all around you, but you just don't know how to access it?

I was terminal.

I left my home, the one that I had set up for my self in the state I was born in. My home country, to trade for another one full of people that I have no access to. Their lives seem good enough. No more or less dignified than the people I left them for. I could live here forever. I could live there forever. I've got to live somewhere forever.

It's really daunting to think of the immortality of the human soul. Our inception was an act for which motive has no answer, and is completely eternal, or, in a less spiritual wording, irreversible. Once life has been made, no matter what its reason, it cannot be unmade. Is such a high placement and judgement of finality worthy of this shell that I occupy?

I really do wonder sometimes if there are things in this world that should come to an end. I'm not God, so I'll not make that decision. There was once a time when I thought I was, but now I know far too much about the both of us to make that mistake.

And so, as God has decided that I am to be an introvert, I am now learning to be alone. I sit in coffee shops for hours by myself, and I ride the subways in silence. I eat alone, and at home I am given the keys to unlock the worlds that He has laid out for me inside my head. The lonesome babbler's compensation, where I can have community with God and with myself.

I am learning to be alone and not lonely. To speak when there is someone to speak to. As for these beautiful, shimmering worlds that have been given to me for my benefit? I have learned to be at peace with knowing that there are some things about me that no one on this earth will understand, though I, by virtue of what has been made for me, am understood.

Sin

I'm feeling a lot better today.

I've been sick.

Sick enough to miss Korean class. I never miss Korean class. Sick enough to take medicine. I never take medicine. Sick enough to mention it.

I usually don't mention it when I'm sick, because my co-workers (even though some of them are younger than me) tend to be motherly towards me. I haven't lived with my mother for quite some time. When I'm sick, I prefer to be left alone. Now, I share an office with three mothers. They're also a little bit paranoid when it comes to illness (for which they use the word "disease").

"Are you sick? You must come to the nursery (school nurse's office) with me."

"After, we will go hospital. After work, let's together go."

"Do you have the allergy? Yellow dust, I think. It comes from China."

"Yesterday we were playing yut nori. The mats were dusty. Maybe that?"

If anything, I'll bet it's the fact that I have to high-five each of the 6th graders as they leave class (right before lunch, too). Call it a cultural exchange. Hand washing and general hygene is a bit of a rough concept for that age group. Sometimes this country makes me laugh. Sometimes it makes me sick. Always, it makes me think.

Last night, I barely made it to the "hospital" (it was actually just a clinic. Koreans tend to abuse the word "hospital"). It was all I could do to stay awake, when just a few hours prior I was on my fee entertaining my 4th graders. It would seem that in life, we are only able to muster what strength is required of us. Oh, impardonable sin, that we should want just a little bit more. That's where both confidence and laziness come from.

I used to be lazy, but not because I was confident. Now, I'm neither. I'm sick, and I took medicine, though I rarely look for help with whatever is wrong with me. I prefer to be alone, but I mentioned it, and I took medicine.

I'm feeling a lot better today.

Training Wheels

There's a space just below my colar bone that has been acting up with the warm, humid weather. My copious body hair combined with the heat wave, which dries my skin, has made everything itchy. I often catch myself scratching it, though I know I shouldn't. The result of this is a bright red patch on my chest that is extremely sensitive to touch.

I did this to myself.

I've caused myself physical pain in the persuit of temporary relief. Now, I must be vigilant, and avoid this behavior before I make things worse.

It's remarkable to think how the body heals itself. To think that we can make mistakes (which we often do) yet we are not stuck with the consequences of these mistakes forever. We have been given bodies that want to return to a state of health, should they be given the chance. It's free will, and the fact that we weild it so clumbsily that makes everything so difficult. I had heard it said once that without human interaction, the Earth would return to a state of ecological equilibrium within 50 years.

That sounds crazy. Absolutely insane. I believe it.

"You have been faithful with a few things, I will now put you in charge of many things."

Maybe we weren't paying attention.

I'm an adult now. There are no other words I can attach to my life like training wheels for what I am. This is my life, and I am trying to avoid the temptation of temporary relief, so that I can be healed. The decisions I've made are still evident, like bright red patches on my skin. I had a plan to fix my life, but it seems I've made a lot of mistakes. Give it time. Someday, I will want, more than temporary relief, a longer story.

Does anything feel as good as freedom?

On Strange and Strokes

Another day at the pool, where for the promise of improved health and better-fitting clothes, I sacrifice and evening, 3,000 원, and (swimsuit) my dignity. The strategy is, if I can't get anyone to love my socially backward, talk-to-myself-in-public, mismathced socks personality, perhaps someday I will have a fantastic body, and someone will love me for superficial reasons.

I'll still be hairy though.

I'm a little clumsy in the water today. Distracted. I keep accidentally running into the 15 other people in my lane. I tell myself that it's hard to see, since I have my head underwater and everything, but that's a lie. When you share a body of water with other people, you don't need to look for them. Once you're close enough, you can feel them. When my fingertips pass through the water near their tread, I can always tell (if I'm paying attention, that is) how fast the other person is going, the strength/quality of their stroke, weather they cup their hands as they cut into the water or splash flat, finger-spread. I don't see a lot of people's faces, but I know everyone here by their strokes and their swimsuits.

I can feel Ms Awkward-Stroke coming up soon. I prepare to pass her. She's really slow. Actually, she's probably Mrs. Awkward Stroke. Her flailings seem to be the result of the kind of exhaustion that only on old woman can feel. The particular shade of pink swimsuit she is wearing also appears to be the result of either color-blindness or 시장 sale/being old enough to not give a rat's ass who sees your fat ass in ugly pink. She flails, and is, quite unfortunately, finger-spread. I have a difficult time respecting that stroke as I pass her.

From the opposite side, I feel a hand go under my chin and slightly nick my groin. The gentleman grandfather. This particular breed of 아저씨 is difficult to find. He always looks so regal with his swim cap resting on his head in an almost yarmulke-like fashion. Regal is not a word I would use to describe most older Korean men. The word I would use is...intoxicated.

Nevertheless, he does strike me as a creature of high class. I have a little trouble with the fact that he always smacks me in the face/back/crotch whenever he swims by. It's because he does the backstroke.

I've never wanted to do the backstroke. People who do the backstroke always accidentally injure other people in the process. Can't really blame them. How can you see where you're going while always looking the other way? Strange position to find yourself in.

Sometimes I feel like the pretty girl at the bar. We have to take a break every 10 minutes on the hour, and now everyone is looking at me, and then pretending like they're not looking at me. Some point to their friends and argue about something between sideways glances. Sometimes, I will try to stare back at them, just so that they know that I am aware of their leering, but that only gives them the courage to finally turn to their friends and say (I assume) " wish me luck, boys. I'm gonna go talk to her."

Shouldn't they at least buy me a drink first?

I should point out that I am niether the fattest person at the pool, nor am I wearing the smallest swimsuit. That prize goes to the fellow who has braved the length of the half meter deep swimming pool where I am resting my muscles and whose rotund thigh is now pressed against my ankle.

"Your name Suh Ti Bun, right?"

Not his first time. Perhaps the last time we talked, he was wearing clothes. It really changes your look.

"Where are from?"

America.

"America?"

You can always tell who has had a Canadian 학원 teacher. Canadians hate that we refer to ourselves as "Americans."

USA.

Oh, USA! Are you married?"

No, I'm single.

"Oh, that's good. Better. I have two childrens. One daughter and a brother-ummm son. Son. My life is very noisy."

I live in my own. My life is very lonely.

"Oh, hha. You are very funny."

I really hate it when people tell me how great my life must be (usually because of my age) as a segue into why they are unhappy. I like to tell my younger siblings about all the great things that happen after you go to college. I think we should always have something to look forward to in life, though some people can only see what's behind them. The further you get from that spot, the harder it is to see what it really was. Strange position.

The number of big naked Korean guys that I can justifiably share a sauna with went to a record-breaking 9 today. This is up from a previous record of 4. What can I say? I get sore from all that "going somewhere" I was doing, and I'm not sure if I remember what it was about my naked body that was so worthy of shame. Maybe I'll remember it someday, but I haven't the energy for shame these days.

I used to think about what it would be (will be?) like to have a family. Maybe a daughter and a brother/son. I used to think that these days were the worst kinds of days I would ever endure, or that there was something wrong with me, and how I talked to people, or often didn't have the courage to. I used to think far too much, but that was a while ago. I've never wahted to do the backstroke, and I've just come up out of the water after a long time with my head down, going somewhere. It's best to just towel off and go see what the world looks like in forward motion.

Spangled Is Kind Of A Funny Word Too...

I've just realized that although I've been telling people for quite some time that I have been in Korea for 7 months, it has actually been 8 months (and about halfway through with that as well). If I had gotten a girl pregnant the first day I got here, I would almost be a father by now.

I have no idea why I say things like that.

Anyway, life is strange and wonderful these days. I live in a completely different country than the one I was born in. It hasn't been easy, and in fact, I have had some of the most difficult days of my life here. Despite that, there are actually a few things about living in Korea that are easier than back home, and I'd like to take the occasion of my 8 month anneversary (longest relationship I've ever been in)to highlight a few of those things.

I've found, first of all, that public transportation is a lot better here. I don't have a car in Korea, nor do I have the ability to drive one, but I know how to get from one end of the Daegu to the other in less than an hour. As soon as I figured out the busses and their routes, I was able to navigate the city with relative ease. I can even get to Seoul (about a 6 hour car ride) in about 2 hours via the KTX rapid train. Busan and the beautiful Korean coastline are about an hour south and just as accesable. I can pretty much take a day trip to any part of the mainland. Planning one this weekend, in fact.

Second of all, I'm a lot more eco-friendly in Korea. The Korean garbage system is really different than the US. You have to buy these tiny bags and put all your garbage in them, or you can't throw them away. It's really annoying. These days, I do everything I can to avoid accumulating garbage. I don't buy as much, and often when I do, I shop for only a few things at a time, taking my trusty bookbag along to avoid having to use shopping bags.I prefer smaller packaging in general, and I patronise restaurants and coffee shops that use washable dishes to serve their food and drinks. I used to fill at least a garbage bag per week, but these last 10 days have seen only a half. Feels great.

Finally, it's a lot easier to be health-conscious here. The Korean diet is low in saturated fat and cholesterol, consisting of mostly rice (and other rice-derived dishes), Vegetables and seafood. As a salad bowl native, I found the vegetables a little difficult to get used to (Koreans like to pickle everything), but after a while, your body does get used to it, and it's quite good for you. Coffee shops, fast food restaurants and bekeries aren't shy about the calorie content of their foods either. Did you know, o loyal readers(s?), that if you eat a fruit pastry and a cafe latte you have consumed about 500 calories? Calculations like this are easy once you've been exposed to them.

another reason I have been able to remain healthy in this country is the refreshingly blunt nature of most Koreans.

"Stephen, you must exercize a lot to lose weight."

I heard this quite often when I came here (I have some really funny stories about it that perhaps I will share sometime.) I don't hear it as often these days (10 kilograms and counting!), but I know I would never hear anything like that from an American, because it is considered rude to comment on someone elses' personal habits (unless they are smoking or talking on your cell phone). If you think about it, it's actually a pretty good friend that will tell you to take care of your health. Other subjects that are not off limits: religion, income, age, spending habits, and the presence or absebce of a girlfirend (often the first thing strangers ask me)

I know what you're thinking, o loyal reader(s?)

"What the hell is a kilogram?"

Don't worry about it. Just put your fingers in your ears and go "blah blah blah" to the tune of the Star Spangled Banner, and it will all go away.

The point of it is, there is so much life, and so much good to be had outside of the California coastline. I had no idea. I miss home, and I'll always be an American at heart, but this has become a bit of a home for me as well. Good to know you Korea. I can tell the we are going to be friends.