It's about time.

I don't know how much of my heart I will leave here, but pieces of it keep breaking off. Seoul stars don't exist, much like how New York stars are mere historical memory. For once I'll miss some of the people, and yes, as always, I will miss this cityscape--one that I was just starting to get accustomed to. No, there isn't an answer or I am living with the peace that I've already found it, and well, everything else is just ancillary.

"His goal in life was to be an echo...the cheap sunset on the television set"


-------------

Let's start over:

It's 10:33PM and I'm exhausted beyond belief. I find myself collapsing every time I go on to my bed and opening my eyes only to find out that 7 hours have passed. Went to Bongeunsa after work for the first time and thought it was ineffably serene and---beautiful doesn't capture it. Every day feels like some count down. This is the last Monday night I'll ever spend in Korea. That was the last glace I'll ever have at COEX, sitting on the circular sculpture, waiting for some guard to kick us off. My final Ivy reading class will be on Friday; it will also be the first time I go to Circle. Tomorrow I will have fried chicken and beer and go to jjim jil bang. Thursday will be the leeum and wednesday will be itaewon. I finally feel like a tourist, even though I work every day from morning til late; regardless I am seeing centimeters of Seoul, walking her body with the little steps my fingers take, on her map, on her unrelenting topography. The body as memory--remember body that you were once loved, and remember Seoul, how the heat was never too cruel for you, though the sun was. Is it true the every city becomes--well, I am not so charming--but is it true that every city becomes a girl? These trees are her pubice--a corporeal history--and the vectors we call roads are markers of her asphalt veins run on modernity and globalism. I've lost my way here.

Let me start, once more:

Dearest S,

I've cheated on N, but please don't tell her that. Kisses under your halogen cast umbra.


All my love,

D

Tace

Every time I meet a big talker I have to strong urge to subvert their conceit, but my personality is too subdued for that. The notion of travel is bizarre and really I'm not in the right analytical shape to think about it right now (my mind is as about as doughy as my body is), but I feel as if it's fetishized by many. (Look, I have gone here here and--here. Mapped out, blue, lavender, lived, glanced, want) ("I promised myself that I would spend my birthday in a different country for the next decade.") I don't know. Plans and projects to make money---markers of hot air. "Just do it...you can do amazing things, blah blah. What's stopping you?" The longing in my heart draws me back. Motion without thought--the ultimate apotheosis of the post-modern dilemma.

Went to the DMZ today but the bus tour was so removed from the actual border. Went to the 3rd tunnel. Tense longing---

I'm incoherent but that's okay. I'll be home soon.

I don't know if it should rain or shower

There are certain moments when I feel painfully aware of how American I am, or at least how non-Asian. I received an email from a student (a Korean born in Japan who's adopted a name that falls in between the two cultures, makes fun of both, and is permeated by a sense of self-aware chagrin) since I felt so upset yesterday. It was probably as heartfelt as it would get from an 18 year old Korean-Japanese boy to his slightly older Chinese New Yorker SAT instructor. He's right on some points and yet some reveal how Asian, male and young he is. A lot of it seemed to be in defense of the class and how it talks over me, that this SAT course is only for a month. One point dealt with respect and how I shouldn't storm out of the room because my students won't respect me--he's got a point and yes, I admit I lost my composure but they forget how young I am too, that I am as far away from home as I can get in terms of distance, language and culture, and that my job is boring and far more demanding than I had ever anticipated. I guess I'm touched since he even bothered to email me and that custom, propriety and language barriers restrains the tenderness that I'm used to. I wish I could respond, but it's not really the kind of email you respond to. I wish students knew just how difficult it is to teach.

Impervious, though

I'm usually pretty good at not showing frustration, though not very good at hiding my reactions or emotions, but today I have to say that I...yeah. After a frustrating several hours of trying to deal with 19 misbehaving teenage boys, I couldn't do it anymore. As soon as that bell rang, I ran out of the room on the verge of tears. One of my favorite students spoke to one of the teachers and asked how I was and wanted to email me because he felt bad and thought that he had contributed. Three others saw me in the afternoon and wanted to know how I felt. It's odd how the good students are the ones who feel bad, but I'm sure the same thing will happen tomorrow. It seems odd that they can be so immature when they are all encroaching 20. This job is more stress than it's worth and I hardly feel like I'm living in Korea. Luckily the long weekend is coming up and a bunch of us plan to go to Busan since Jejudo flopped. I think the fact that I'm of chinese ethnicity matters to some of these students. I hear comments about chinese this or that occasionally and they are never satisfied with the answer that I am from New York.

insouciant

I am currently boiling water in a pot, preparing wheat noodles for my lunch tomorrow, listening to OK GO on hype music. 'Hallelujah, let it, let it pour'; monsoon season has been kind so far. Work has been stressful and I am on my first coffee high since I went cafe sabarsky last winter break; I am eating cherry tomatoes from a Havel Nalgene bottle. Are the kids worth all this trouble? They can be amusing and they have begun to call me Minnie mouse since supposedly I bear a resemblance to her. They all say it's not a bad thing and allude to the idea that they mean that I'm cute but position as a teacher prevents them from realizing these words. One other teacher got compared to a squirrel (a beautiful squirrel was added after a look of incredulity) and another was told that she looked like a snowman (a pretty snowman--after a look of befuddlement) when she smiled. So, I guess I kind of get off easy. My life consists of flittering between three buildings and it's already the summer of my summer. The weightiness of the heat gets unbearable when I am already dragged down by my SAT books. The pride I might feel when I complete a section perfectly does not elicit any sort of response other than sheer frustration that I now know that yes, I know how formulaic and rhythmical the critical reading portion now is. I can do it by intuition, that is, I have appropriated into my psyche, my circadian cycles. Whether this is positive or not I'm not really sure but it does show that yes, indeed, I can adapt to anything and eventually I will function through instinct and that is when I consider to have achieved highest learning. But isn't that elementary, rudimentary, simplistic thought? Is that why I have so much trouble thinking for myself and must always rely on the thoughts of others before I can begin? So much for critical thinking.

Love from Seoul.