Have you ever set your hopes so high for someone else that you were crushed with disappointment when they fell short? Has it ever made you sick? Has it ever made you cry?

Yesterday I spent way too much time in a puddle of tears…for a lot of reasons. I want people to understand what I’m going through on November 2 and to empathize. But there are two types of people in this world, I’ve come to find. There are those who empathize and take on your pain and support you the way you need them to (because they ask what you need and they offer that care to you); then there are those who think you should do or think things their way because it’s worked for them and they think it’s the best way. And you know what? It is…for them. Just because someone else who lost a parent takes it all in stride, stiffens their upper lip and keeps on truckin’ doesn’t mean that I have to, too. I cry. I get upset. I miss my fucking Dad, ok? One day I was called out of class in High School for a police officer to tell me he was gone–that I would never speak to him again. He would never tell me he loved me, he would never walk me down the aisle, and the one man I could count on to always show me love and open his arms to my tearful, hurt eyes, would never open them to me again.

Fuck you. I’m allowed to cry. You know where I said goodbye? Bedside at the hospital next to his corpse. You know where I made amends? In the pages of diary after diary that I wrote trying to figure out what I had done so wrong that he was ripped from my life. And here I am, holding an idealized version of my father and hoping that someone will come along and fill in many of those gaps. I want to feel warm and safe and loved; I want to laugh and cry and dance; I want to be open with my emotions and know I am not judged. The fucked up part is that I want this from a man. Losing a father does something to a daughter. The role model for good men was ripped from me and I want so badly to find the man that can fill those shoes.

I’ve been luckier than most, having been loved by great men (at least one great man). But my need for adventure and purpose ripped me from his arms, as well, and I fear I tore his heart a bit when I left. It hurts me every day to consider the pain I must have caused someone who loved me so deeply. But still I search, even here, on another corner of the globe for my knight. And each time, I set my standards, hopes and vision so high. I’m a fantastic reader of people, but I can easily trick myself into seeing what I want to see, not necessarily what is there.

I care for this person and need him more than he knows, but I cannot dig into the superficial. There is not enough substance…it needs to go deeper. On the surface we are what we want others to see. When we open up and go deeper, we find the darkness in our soul. The secrets we keep from others, and the ones we keep from ourselves. These secrets need to be traded, and they are often found beneath a puddle of tears or just beyond a cracking voice. Telling your secrets is harder than any one of us will admit, but being honest is rarely easy. I pride myself in honesty. I will tell you what I want, what I need, how I might react to words, comments or situations, and I expect you to hear it. I play few games. I know what I need and want and I let it be known. So, yes, my expectations are high, but they are not unreasonable. I am not asking you to read my mind, I’m just asking you to give a shit about what it is thinking and how I am feeling.

I am a strong person. I fucking know. DEAR GOD, I FUCKING KNOW. Please PLEASE stop telling me this. Every time someone says to me “You’re so strong” I hear: “Do not be weak. Crying is weak. I look to you for strength because you persevere.” PERSEVERANCE HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH TEARS. You know how you get through shit? You know how you overcome the worst things life has to throw at you? You confront it! With anger, and frustration, and screaming, and crying, and snot, and overworking yourself. You do whatever you have to in order to survive. Being “strong” is not something I take as a compliment. I see that as a cop-out. Fuck strength. Who cares about showing face? You need bravery. Bravery to go against what everyone is telling you is right because your gut says they’re wrong; bravery to cry when everyone sees you as “strong”; bravery to admit that, even though you’re taught that being alone is perfectly acceptable, you need someone there by your side. I need someone to lean on and, fuck, man, my friends are incredible. But they are not my Dad. They cannot give me the comfort a man can. It is an entirely different dynamic, and frankly, I think my admitting all of this publicly is brave as hell. This is strength. This is what I need. I will not lower the bar and one day, the person I am talking to, or another I pass along the road, will rise to that bar and together we will be brave.  We will bring out the strength in each other.

Fire is weak. It needs Earth to burn, air to grow, and water kills it. Fire and passion are synonymous. Neither steady or practical or reliable, they burn and then they burn out—they do not fade. Yet I am born of fire. I burn, intensely, deeply, PASSIONATELY; when the flame burns out it is instant. I am either out of breath, seeking air, left alone seeking the Eartly thing I had clung to, or I am calm as the ocean, knowing I am the most powerful thing on Earth. Water is calm. Water is powerful. Nothing stops water. It cannot die, and wouldn’t you be calm if you were invincible? In the cold it freezes, in heat it evaporates into the air; it is never gone. It tore through mountains and continues to threaten the change of entire climates on our homely speck of dust, Earth. Yes, water is most powerful indeed. Water reminds fire that it is not invincible; that calm is also strong.

However, I relate most to fire. Passion is everything and nothing. Without it, I would be serene, but what value does serenity hold? I want to burn for my experiences, for my life, for my choices and for people. I burn for the people I love and when they turn, the flame cools. Fire needs every element to grow. Love is the same. Take away one and you’re left with nothing. A pile of charred earth maybe, and the smell of smoke. Love burns. And I burn for the people I love. Friends have scoffed at my consistent yearn for love and for touch. But what is wrong with knowing deep down and with a full heart that I NEED love? That the heat that’s inside me feeds off the fire of another. That this is something I undeniably cannot live without. I will continue to love and burn until there is no fire left in me. This will signal the death of my soul.

It takes four elements to create a soul. But I am fire. I will always admire and fear the power of water. At the ocean’s edge is where I am free. Insignificant. All thoughts extinguished next to a vast pool of unimaginable power and unfathomable diversity. On top of a mountain I breathe deeply and admire Earthly beauty. But I am fire. I will always admire the other elements, but I will not deny myself what I am. I NEED Earth, Wind and Water. Without these I am unbalanced. My body and heart need balance, but I, I need passion in its wildest form. I will never give up the fire within me. I am wild. And I will never stop giving away my love and my passion. For when fire meets fire, the world is set ablaze. An unstoppable, powerful blaze that intensifies before it simmers. You may cool it down, but it will never fade. Until one flame is snuffed. When their fire burns out you are left on your own, feeling the cold weight of indifference. Fear not, young one, I will say, for your fire needs only a new host, a new family of elements to balance it. You will find it again and again if you keep looking. And passion never gives up. It burns.

Sometimes I think that being far away is really easy. The day to day bullshit at home is so far from your mind that it is completely irrelevant. The traffic, shitty service, annoying conversations, and other trivial day to day annoyances don’t matter at all. The thing that lingers and remains so strong is the love you have for the people you left behind. The annoying ones that keep you waiting and make you so angry you could scream. These are the faces that quite literally warm your heart. They get you. They get at you. They get underneath you in all sorts of really uncomfortable ways, and that’s how you know they matter a hell of a lot.

This is also the hardest part about being away. Stranded on the opposite side of the world I can’t help but think about those people, their lives going on completely, easily and the same without me. Life goes on. And as comforting as it is to know that I can move away and still maintain very strong relationships with the people that matter, sometimes it feels like I don’t matter at all. I know that’s silly and completely untrue, but in the same way I won’t cry for them every night, their lives go on without me. I miss a lot when I’m 10,000 miles away. They’re missing out on everything in my life, too. But when the language barrier gets to you, and the food just doesn’t taste right, and you’re sick and achy and need to cuddle with someone who knows you and they’re not there, you feel alone. At least I do.

I have incredible friends here already. But they don’t know a lot about me. They don’t know why I cry when I hear “Brown Eyed Girl” and they don’t understand my personal relationships. They see pictures and hear stories, but that’s all they are. And that’s all Korea will be to my family at home. Pictures and stories. I made this decision and I truly believe it was the right one. I am put in my place on the daily here and a slap of reality isn’t really ever a bad thing. But this is my life. It is fragmented in pictures and stories to everyone else, but it is all I am. These pictures and stories are WHO I am. And when I’m 10,000 miles away wanting nothing but to hear from the people or person I love most and I don’t or can’t, it’s the worst pain in the world. Holding back an “I love you” or being “too busy” to answer equal a fractured heart. And it makes me feel alone.

It’s all about perspective and I know many of those at home have no idea what I’m going through…and to be fair, I haven’t really talked about it. But here I am. I’m talking about it. I miss you when I’m gone and whether it’s a time difference or apathy or just not really thinking about it, when I can’t tell the people I love that I love them and hear it back, it hurts my heart.

I’m not exactly sitting back every day crying, but the tears do come, and the people I care about most know that I care about them an incredible amount. You are the ones I need. You are the ones that get under my skin, piss me off, make me cry, and make me miss you more than anything in this world. Homesickness isn’t a need for an omelette or fajitas (though both of those things would be nice), it’s the way being without your loved ones makes you feel. Abandoned, forgotten, alone. And the worst part is that this is a choice I’ve made for myself. I’m here because I fought really fucking hard to be in this position. And I’m happy I’m here. I’m guessing that won’t make much sense to a lot of people, but it’s the truth. And the truth, like most beautiful things in this life, is complicated.

Just know that I love you and hearing that, or reading a message from you late night, or getting a note in the mail that barely says anything, is the most meaningful thing I could ever ask for. It reminds me that I’m gone, but not forgotten. That I’m here alone but I’m always loved. Many of you understand this, but I guess I’m writing for the people who can’t. And for myself. I’m writing this for myself, too. I am proud of myself, and I second-guess things every day. Complacency is evil and I would rather struggle every day than be complacent and jaded. I’m reminded, on my own, every minute of every day, just how important the people I love are to me. And I’m so grateful for you all, my massive, fucked up, motley crew of friends and family. To you I’m sending much love from Korea, today and every day.

So, true life I live in South Korea. At no point has this been more obvious to me than earlier today when I needed to go to the hospital. I woke up pretty confident that strep throat was attempting an invasion and a friend of mine told me I needed more than the Pharmacy…I needed the hospital. So after every person I spoke to (intake, nurses, doctor, payment and pharmacy) scoffed at the fact that I would DARE go into a hospital without any Korean language comprehension, I was sent on my merry way. They took issue with the language, but Americans would have kicked me out and called me a dirty foreigner soooo I’ll take it. Within 20 minutes I was signed in (with my passport), checked for temperature and blood pressure, visited by, spoken to and diagnosed by the doctor, and paid in full. The pharmacy was right outside the exit door of the hospital–it was set up so you enter in one door, come around and exit by payment and the pharmacy–and even that took all of 5 minutes. They warned me that, because I don’t have health insurance (I haven’t received my Alien Registration Card yet) that my care and medication would be “very expensive”. Knowing that the doc gave me an antibiotic, a pain killer, a GI tract protector and something else, I was kind of nervous. After all, I grew up in America. BUT, a whopping $35 later, I was settled up with the hospital AND with the pharmacy. UN-FUCKING-REAL. This country is bomb.

So, it’s unfortunate that within my first month I required medical attention, but I’m so happy to know how quick, easy and painless it is to get care. Not everything in Korea is that quick, easy and painless…mostly my sense of smell is suffering…but I’m glad that at least one thing is pretty spot on. As far as the rest of it, living in Korea so far has been…an experience. The best of times, some hard times, some weird times, but overall a great time. The patriarchy is strong with this one and I am not a fan, but I will say that I’ve yet to come across a genuinely mean person. Just about everyone here will go out of their way to help you…and I mean FAR out of their way.

So, I’ve never been a teacher before which makes this whole thing even more daunting. It’s a lot easier than I’d expected, even though I have two schools, four grades, four textbooks, three co-teachers and more than 100 students. The kids are kind of awesome. Some of them suck, but I blame that on hormones…damn sixth graders. Sixth is the oldest grade I teach, it’s considered elementary school here, and actually some of them are my favorites. The sixth grade boys at Sansu Elementary are charmers. And the sixth grade boys at Punghyang are punks. But I love them all the same. Something my western friends would find interesting/odd is that friends of the same gender tend to hold hands and match their clothes. As do girlfriends and boyfriends. Koreans love to touch you, but hugging is considered very invasive and it makes them visibly uncomfortable.

My co-teachers are pretty cool. They’re all very different, but they’re young and fun to be around. Walking around town and around school has taught me a lot about Korean social norms and fashion. For instance, you can wear short SHORT shorts, skirts or dresses, but if your neckline drops below your clavicle, or if your shoulders are showing, you’re basically a whore. The hemlines, even in school, push my western upbringing to the edge at times. It all takes a bit of getting used to. There are a lot of really funny miscommunications and interactions with Koreans that just make me laugh awkwardly.

Here’s a small guide to live in Korea, but mostly in Gwangju:
1. More things than you would expect will smell like shit. Feces. Poop. It’s gross.
2. Ajumas rule life. You will be pushed out of the way, made to get up, forced to buy items put in your grocery cart, and laughing hysterically with the old women of Korea. Every interaction just makes me love them even more.
3. Busses give zero fucks. ZERO. Hold on tight and get the hell out of the way.
4. Food is awesome. Eat it. Don’t be a baby, spicy is good for you.
5. Soju, THE liquor of Korea, is sold three times more than any other alcohol IN THE WORLD and it’s basically only sold here. The average person drinks 90 bottles a year. Oh, and it’s cheaper than water.
6. Wine in Korea is expensive, but Makgeolli, Korean rice wine, is cheap and tolerable.
7. Anything that says its Mexican food is lying. They can’t. They won’t. It’s impossible. At least in Gwangju.
8. Fashion is everything. If you peak a mountain hiking wearing the wrong clothes, Koreans will legitimately be confused as to why you’re there. Maybe you’re exercising?
9. Hiking is abundant and incredible. The country is incredibly mountainous and there is no shortage of peaks to climb.
10. If there’s something you want, you can probably find it. Except for shoes above size 8. They didn’t lie about that. That shit is real.
11. No shoes allowed. Anywhere. Not in houses, not in restaurants, and not in schools.

We are just finishing a five-day weekend for the Korean holiday Chuseok. It’s their harvest festival, which is likened to America’s thanksgiving…though I think Koreans have a more respectful and rich history than we do for the namesake holiday. Here’s a bit about Chuseok if you’re interested:

I’ve seen kids and adults dressed in traditional clothing for days now. It’s kind of awesome that these old traditions remain the norm. And I really appreciate three days off.

As for where I live, I’m still getting the hang of how it all fits together. Recycling is law here. And they’re serious about their trash. I’m legitimately terrified to be yelled at in Korean about my trash and/or recycling. You are to separate everything for recycling…and just about everything is recyclable. Even food waste is disposed of separately. Each district even has their own colored bags for trash disposal so it’s obvious where you are and what’s inside. However, most of that trash is just piled on the street or near a telephone poll. I’ve never seen anyone pick it up, but I’ve never seen it accumulate to anything noticeable either.

I live on the third floor of a four-floor building. In Korea there are key pads on the doors to your apartment to get in. No keys. And no keys required to get into the building either. Just about everywhere you go, you are required to remove your shoes, so each apartment has a landing just for shoe removal, and usually a little closet or cubbies to store the shoes. I have a small studio apartment with a separate kitchen that includes a washer, fridge, sink, cabinets, and two burners. No stove. Showers are taken in the space of the bathroom. My shower head hangs on the wall just above the sink, so I couldn’t just relax under it if I tried. Even if I didn’t care about soaking my ENTIRE bathroom. It’s alright though. For now. I might have a change in attitude come winter. But all in all, things are pretty great. No complaints here. I’ve made some great friends and have already had a lot of fun times. Stay tuned for a video and post about our adventure to Myeongsasimni Beach on Sinji island! If you’re interested, check out my apartment here (and thoroughly enjoy the cheesy music):

Today is a beautiful BEAUTIFUL day in Korea and there is no sunshine poking through the clouds. What makes it beautiful is the utter lack of humidity. I can bravely go out into the world today and know that I won’t melt into a puddle of sweat and makeup before I even get to the bus station. That being said, temperature wise, it’s not that hot here. Unless the sun is out. The sun and humidity together mix to create a Florida-type climate which I am just not about.

This is my first post in Korea and I’ve been here for about a week and a half. Sorry I’m not sorry. I’ve been busy taking classes, making friends, tripping over the language and trying to find my way around. After our 8-9 day orientation I came down to Gwangju, where I will be living and teaching for the next year. I’m happy to finally be settled into a place I can call home, even if I occasionally forget that this “home” is on the opposite side of the planet to the place I grew up. You would be surprised how often I forget I’m in Korea. I’m reminded quickly when I step out of my apartment and am hit with sights, smells, languages and writing that still seem pretty foreign. I am grateful, however, that I’ve had previous experiences with squatter potties. At least that part seems a bit old hat.

Anyway….ORIENTATION. So after a really really really long journey I arrived at orientation. I flew from Newark to Chicago, had a 4 hour layover, and then flew from Chicago to Seoul. Thank God I met Jasmine in Chicago. I suppose she was my friend friend in Korea, even if we met in Chicago. Unfortunately, Jasmine is teaching in another city…all the more reason to explore! Here she is:

Ok, so, first came Wheels (Jasmine). Next came Korean immigration, which makes US immigration look like the Israel/Palestine border. When we all got our bags after the 14 hour ride (well, not all of us…Jasmine’s bags were left in San Francisco), we met with our EPIK coordinators at the airport. They checked us in, took videos of us saying “Anneong Hasayo” and “Kamsahamnida” and then loaded us onto a bus to Jeonju University for orientation. Jet-lagged as hell we rolled into a highway rest stop for dinner, and much like deer in the headlights, waited for someone to order (that knew enough Korean) and just threw our fingers up to say two, as in, I want that also but have zero Korean skills. Fact. And it was delicious.  I am beyond happy that I fully enjoy spicy food.

So, once we got to Jeonju we were herded around to sign in, get our temperature checked, pick up some snacks, and sent to our rooms where, for the most part, we crashed. Hard. Here’s the view from my room:

The next couple days included a bit of free time, an opening ceremony and performance, and a welcome dinner. The opening ceremony was really great. Our speaker, Walter Foreman, let us in on some Korean secrets (and some not so secret info) and got us all hyped for the year to come. We also saw a SICK Taekwondo performance and ate a shit ton of kimchi.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UVgehNLwZW0&feature=youtu.be

I do have to say, however, the best part of this day was likely meeting Nygel and Lewis who cornered out the square with me and Jasmine. Their bromance is unmatched and our quad-love, though currently fractured, is fo’ life.

Clearly we had a terrible time during orientation. We had a lot of lectures about teaching in Korea and I can honestly say they were all worth listening to and I’ve come out of orientation feeling exponentially more prepared for teaching in Korea than when I got off the plane. There are also a lot of cultural things we all had to overcome (some of us took more time than others) like, not flushing toilet paper…and seeing the fruits of that labor in the bin next to the toilet; eating rice, salad and kimchi for breakfast; using towels the size of kitchen hand towels for your whole body; Korean sexism, racism and body image/ideal (including short short shorts as highly acceptable while an inch of cleavage makes you a whore, if you’re different, they stare, and they automatically assume black people are from Africa); and the extremes in bathroom use.

It’s time to talk about toilets. In Korea, there are three toilet paper scenarios that can play out at any given time. It doesn’t matter where you are, I found each of these in the University we were staying at for orientation. 1. Toilet paper in the stall with you like in the states. 2. Toilet paper outside the stall. You need to take it in with you. Or, 3. No toilet paper at all in the bathroom. Always come prepared. Also, the disparity in toilets is insane. Again, just talking about Jeonju University, I came in contact with a classic Asian squatter, with no toilet paper, and just a bin; and I also had experiences (many) where the toilet was so high-tech I didn’t even know how to flush it. Not to mention that at some point someone tried to figure out what all the little buttons mean and turned on the seat warmer. Nice for them, not so nice for the person (me) who came to an empty bathroom and had a very warm toilet seat. Yuck. So, that’s what you have to look forward to as far as bathrooms are concerned. Bars can be worse, and just keep in mind you aren’t in Kansas anymore.

A definite highlight of orientation was our Field Trip to Hanuk Village. This village was built by wealthy Koreans who, during the Japanese occupation, didn’t want to live amongst the Japanese that were invading their city. It’s a really cool place filled with awesome food and shops, but it’s really touristy. All the Koreans were walking around with what I like to call “Selfie Sticks” which are just mounts for their smartphones….and they are literally taking selfies and ussies EVERYWHERE. (WordPress, tell me why “selfies” isn’t marked with a red line and “ussies” is?) At Hanuk Village we had a lot of free time to explore:

We found Korean Jesus…and DAMN were a lot of selfies on sticks happening by this cathedral.

We had some traditional and world-renowned Korean food called Bibimbap…with all the sides included, of course.

We hung out with our class leaders, Joy (in her Dodgers hat) and Dahlia, who were awesome.

And we made stupid faces alllllll over the place, just eating and hanging out.

The most cultural experience we had, however, was when we split up for traditional Korean papercraft, Korean drum lessons, and Korean mask dancing. We all made paper fans…which would have been way more clutch earlier in the day when all of us were sweating profusely.

My group played the drums, while their group did the mask dance. Here we are listening intently and not so intently:

And here’s an example of what these guys can do:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wUKIdgCascs&feature=youtu.be

All in all it was a great day with a lot of good times. The only thing we really had to worry about after that was our lesson demonstrations with the group they picked at random. Everyone here knows how I felt about one of my group members in particular. She’s not in Korea to make friends with expats and she made that crystal clear. I’ve never felt so grateful to be white. Anyway, yeah. We gave our lessons on Tuesday, got our certificate of completion, and were also given the results of the medical check we took last week. This included height, weight, eyes, ears, blood, chest x-rax, and urinalysis. We ALL passed…and the auditorium erupted in applause. Says a lot, no?

That night we went out and celebrated with beer, norebang (karaoke) and soju after our farewell feast (which was absolutely incredible).

Wednesday I made my way to Gwangju by bus with all the people joining me in this wonderful city. We awkwardly sat down next to our new co-teachers and listened to their meeting in Korean. My co-teachers are awesome and there is sooo much more to learn about them and about my schools because I don’t actually have to be there for work teaching until Monday. I’m lucky like that.

I’m also lucky because the guy I’m replacing, Alex, kept the apartment I’ve inherited in good shape, and left me lots of stuff I might need. He’s also still in the city so along with his friend Jenn and the girl who replaced her, Tessa, we went out for some amazing Korean BBQ downtown, and they gave us an overview of some of the expat bars we will soon be familiar with.

And so the adventure begins. A long post, I know; hopefully I won’t wait so long between them next time. If you want my address to send me mail or a package (different addresses) please let me know. I will never turn away a little slice of home!