South Korea: the Finale.

On a long hike today, I had some time to disconnect and think about what I need/want to do to bring this amazing year in Korea to its bittersweet but necessary close. And like any Human Services graduate, I came to the obvious conclusion that I wanted to write about what I had ultimately learned. You know. Bring out the highlights. Put the monsters to rest. Call out the stuff I said that, after living here longer, I disagree with now.

Anyone who had the opportunity to ask me about my Korea trip one year ago would get psyched-out, pumped up answers from my plastered-on-smile face as I listed off all the reasons why I needed to go abroad (and even a few reasons as to why I wanted to). If any of those people got the opportunity to talk at length about my trip, they might see my mask come down and they might even get the impression (correctly) that I was scared shitless to go on this year adventure basically alone.

I can sum up the first 3 months of my trip in one story.

Sitting on the plane to Korea, awaiting take-off, I was in a state of shock. Everything was blurry and moving too fast, and although I was running on less then 3 hours of sleep in 2 days, the cause of my symptoms was not sleep deprivation, but utter fear. Until I left, it was easy to pretend I was just going on a vacation. As soon as the plane took off the ground, I began to sob. Do you know how silent take-offs are? It's like an unspoken agreement everyone has, lest the plane goes plummeting mid-ascent. The worst part about my particular circumstance was the seating arrangement itself. Sitting in the emergency exit row, I happened to be face-to-face with a Korean flight attendant. Strapped into my seat, I had nowhere to hide this incredibly vulnerable moment, and found it difficult to avoid eye contact with the young woman less than 3 feet away from me.

Hours later, after my episode came to its end and [I desperately hoped] everyone had forgotten about it, I needed my reading glasses. Because of our emergency exit row seating, my bag had been moved to the overhead compartment of the section in front of us, which happened to be Business Class (where none of us Economy Class dare tread). I asked a flight attendant if I could retrieve my bag and she offered to help. While we were one section up, me rifling through my things, she asked me a question that made me realize who I was standing next to.

"So, is this your first time away from home?"

It was the flight attendant from the take-off. Oh God. Fortunately, she was the nicest and most caring person who could've seen me filling enough clear little plastic cups with tears to serve my entire row. Although her sweetness and curiousity did ultimately reduce me to tears again, it was a really touching lesson in common culture and humanity. And an even bigger lesson in humility.

My first experiences here were of discomfort. I had no bed for almost a week's worth of time my first month. I didn't feel competent at my job because, with everything in Korean, I couldn't even use the computer. I accidentally ordered disgusting food I had to eat, and didn't know which way to place my chopsticks on the table when I was done eating it. I bought aviator shades because I didn't like people looking at my blue eyes. I continued to cry.

Fortunately, the feelings of 'home' started to seep in slowly as I taught myself to become literate, found some favorite restaurants, and learned to accept the workplace as a wild atmosphere where anything was possible. I was scared to say it to myself, but I actually felt confident. By the time the holidays came around, I was able to hold in tears when teachers asked me if I missed my family (by the way, asking that question to foreigners abroad should be considered a form of torture and banned globally).

Then the Christmas package came from my family and I realized how I truly feel about gifts: they're only worth receiving if you have someone to watch the joy they've brought you as you open them. Sitting alone in my apartment, I opened my Christmas presents and vowed to never be by myself for the holidays again.

Meanwhile, being a foreigner means accumulating about 1,095,807 friends you will meet for God-knows-how-long and then promptly never see again. This was becoming a recognizable pattern in my life and on a New Years' trip in Seoul, it finally clicked that we have to truly make the most of the moments life offers us and not ask for more. I can honestly say that learning this and encouraging myself to live it (because it is definitely not second nature to me) has made me a happier person.

The rest of the year was less about keeping my head above water and more about what I wanted to give myself with the time I had left here (and no, I'm not talking about a new haircut or a wardrobe of Korean clothing). I decided to take full responsibility for that happiness I knew I could now cultivate. I picked up a new instrument. I took a semester of college classes on Korean language. I saw the friends I wanted to. And most importantly, when something was wrong, I did something about it. I was suddenly starting to feel protective over myself and this 'lonely' life I was leading, and I wasn't about to let someone come in and make me unhappy unless I let them. The funny thing about all the time I spent alone is how 'not alone' I usually felt. This is not to say that we don't all have bouts of the Lonelies sometimes. But for as much time as I had to myself, I was actually enjoying it. For the first time, I was enough.

Now that I am getting ready to leave (which was not the easiest decision ever, to say the least), that nervous, anxious feeling is beginning to creep its way back into my life. I know from experience that can only mean one thing: I consider Korea to be a home. I can't even call it a second home, because it has a different schema of home to me than the place I grew up in. Korea is not only a land I love, but it's the place where I learned to be at home in myself. For that reason and many, many more, Korea will always be especially treasured.

As for being a foreigner, the clock is ticking down to 6 weeks: 3 in Korea, and 3 in South East Asia. As much as I am ready to assimilate at home with the culture I know best, I will miss my role as a foreigner, too. It was a lovely experiment. Sometimes, I was right on-- like diving head-first into a plate of live octopus my 2nd week in Korea. Other times, the lesson was more difficult: it took me a while to realize that, although it's fun to be strange, sometimes there are logical reasons to go with the grain.

Sometimes.

For my own sanity, I am ending my South Korean adventures with this post. A little pre-mature, I know, but that's kind of my style. Not to mention, I earlier promised to post about my upcoming trip and prefer to focus on the details of that at the moment instead of prolonging the end of something so magical.

I want to extend a reallllllly big thank you to everyone who has been such a huge support of my travels this year. Please believe me when I say you have helped me get through some of the biggest personal challenges I've ever had, and from the other side of the world! From those who read my blog for fun, to my Skype and snail mail buddies, to the people who took the time to travel to Korea this year for little ol' me: thank you. Thank you readers, thank you friends, thank you family. My perspective on life has been enriched by you all this year.

As for Playing With Elephants, it is not going anywhere. Please follow me through the cities, jungles and beaches of SE Asia, and wherever life takes Cheengu and I afterward. When I'm not on the move internationally, the blog will take a rest as well. But never fear-- I'm always looking for the next adventure.

From the girl who conquered Korea (and her little elephant, too)--
Laura and Cheengu

What keeps me coming back.

This week, I sent my first box home. Things I don't need here: winter clothes, souvenirs; maybe even some things I will end up donating upon arrival in Seattle (which makes the value of those donations, thoeoretically, way higher because of shipping costs!... but I digress). Two more boxes sit in my apartment now, open but empty. It is a constant reminder to me of my looming departure. There's excitement as well as sadness; hope as well as anxiety. All in all, it's a happy thing. I may not always like change but boy do I love packing.

It wasn't easy, though-- getting to this point. For those of you who aren't famliar with the system here, my 1-year contract is up for renewal in August. To give the Metropolitan Office of Education enough time to fill my place, they needed to know if I was renewing or not by mid-May. I've never had such a difficult time giving someone a "yes" or "no" answer (and for those of you who really know me, you know that's saying a lot). Nay, there were many times I flip-flopped, debated, and utterly freaked out (which, sadly, happened at least twice). I try to refrain from outright asking for advice; however, I found myself in desperate need of some. Friends and family alike had their take on how to make the call.

Some people suggested a healthy dialog.

Others thought I should make a list.

Some even suggested flipping a coin to see how I felt about the outcome.

After trying everything, I almost found myself more lost than before. I talked myself in circles and flipped a variety of coins (for some reason I thought the type of coin might make a difference), all to no avail. And the list part-- MY typical default-- was the worst one yet! On the "Pros" side were the important, hard-hitting and adult-type aspects:

job security
housing security
relatively low cost of living
amazing health care
continue learning a language
continue traveling

Wow. Well that's the way to shove me out the door.

This is a dillemma that many a Guest English Teacher face in Korea. The fact is that, despite our complaining and serious confusion in this culture at times, the Korean government has made it almost too enticing to leave, especially in this economic climate. That's why many of us stay here after a year, whether we had planned to or not. It attracts all types: people who are trying to save money; couples who want to work and travel; legitimate teachers (the rarer breed); and party-hearty die-hards who can reconcile their lifestyle in a culture that accepts them as both an educator and as a drunken fool.

With all that said, many people ask me why I decided to leave Korea after only 1 year.

I often get asked this question as if there must be something wrong with my situation, like I got shafted on the school/principal combination, or I finally snapped after eating kimchi every day.

The best way to describe why I'm leaving is this: it's about love.

"Love, like truth and beauty, is concrete. Love is not fundamentally a sweet feeling; not, at heart, a matter of sentiment, attachment, or being 'drawn toward.' Love is active, effective, a matter of making reciprocal and mutually beneficial relation with one's friends and enemies.

Love creates righteousness, or justice, here on earth."  --Carter Heyward

We all have to listen to our inner voice. Sometimes the voice inside of us is really loud, and it shouts for us to do something. But sometimes it's quiet and small. That doesn't take away from its value, or mean we can ignore it. We just need to listen closer in order to understand what it's trying to tell us.

The love I have inside of me is to affect change for those who need it. It's not the kind of thing that fills me with rom-com joy, or has a 'happily ever after' tacked onto the end. It's not even something I think could lull me to sleep at night. In fact, that voice screams at me daily to get up and do something for others. But the voice that prompted me to go back to the States was small and scared, because starting over-- even at home-- is difficult.

I was afraid, for a time, that going home meant I was failing myself, like I wasn't able to live across the world alone. What I ended up realizing, after a million coin tosses, 2 lists and an emergency international call to my parents, is that it takes just as much courage to follow your passions at home as it does if you're on the other side of the world.

And now that I know, doesn't that make every day an adventure?

This would otherwise be on a Post-it somewhere.

"You're really independent, aren't you? When I first met you I thought you were just very girlish but now I learned more about you. You are a strong woman."

-미정 (Kelly)

Even with a language barrier, sometimes people can say exactly what your heart needs to hear. And sometimes they prove that they know you better than you expect.

"Are there 'Free Hugs' in Korea?"

For months, I've been saying the thing I miss most as a foreigner in Korea are hugs. In Korean culture, they just aren't that common, even among friends. As a Pacific Northwestern-er in my fantastically lovable college town, Bellingham, people with 'Free Hugs' signs were incredibly commonplace (so commonplace, in fact, that a lot of people began to ignore them). Well, since being in Korea, I can honestly say I've been in a constant state of hug withdrawals.

But last night, we saw something pretty incredible.

Two high school girls stood in the main strip of Song-nam Dong (Old Downtown) with 'Free Hugs' signs. At first, my gut reaction was to keep walking... until I realized we were in KOREA and these girls are AMAZING and I really need more hugs in my life.

It was hands-down the best hug I've had in weeks.

If anyone is wondering why I decided to post about this, it's because I want you to know that not every culture is going to express love the way you expect. And sometimes those little personal interactions really matter; when they aren't there they are missed, more than anything else.

I also encourage you to hug the next person you see who's gutsy enough to hold up a sign that says 'Free Hugs'. You're not too cool for it; everyone needs a little more love in their life.

Because I was too dumbfounded and found the moment too special and fleeting, there is no photo for today's blog. Instead, I thought I'd share this video, sent to me by someone awesome in the NW when I explained, months ago, just how much I was missing those hugs. He said I should look for someone like this:



 안아 (that's hugs) from South Korea,
Laura

Lessons Learned from the Life of a Guest English Teacher.

A few people have asked to read the essay I wrote for a competition this year through EPIK. Here it is, in all its 2nd place glory (yes, yes; there's my charming sarcasm again).

On a more serious note, I am so thankful that my essay was chosen, and thrilled to see that I have so many people supporting my efforts abroad, including my school, who helped me to give my plain paper essay some finishing touches in the most Korean way possible (aka: completely without my consent but utterly appreciated!). 

Thanks for your kind words, positive vibes, and endless encouragement.

And for anyone who reads this in its entirety... you're rad.

Lessons Learned from the Life of a Guest English Teacher

I don’t think I can express just how different every foreigner’s experience is when they move to a new place. In fact, the one thing every foreigner likely does have in common when they think about their life in Korea is that it’s nothing like they imagined it would be. Talk about room for personal and professional growth! Here are some of my own stories from this transition to Korea so far, and the lessons I’ve gleaned from them:

Expect adventures in Korean dining.

I’ve had some interesting experiences just trying to eat in Korea. I love Korean food, but had to give up some of my own stubborn eating habits in order to truly enjoy it. When I first arrived in Korea, I was a vegetarian and wanted to maintain that dietary standard. However, after a few strange encounters with restaurant food, I decided a little meat in my diet wouldn’t be the worst thing after all. This first comedic incident occurred before I even left EPIK Orientation, and it‘s one I‘ll never forget:

Sitting with my friends in a Korean barbeque with virtually no knowledge of the Korean language, no readable menu, and my dietary needs... we defaulted to the other foreigners we saw in the restaurant, and enlisted their help. This resulted in one of the most awkward experiences I've had to date. Soon our fellow foreigners and the Korean servers were in what appeared to be a discussion over why someone would willingly come to a barbeque when they don't eat meat. If that wasn't enough, they all began pointing at me from across the restaurant so we could clear up this debacle. It was hard not to sink in my chair from this point on, especially when they came over and laughed when I verified that I really couldn‘t eat anything on the menu.

The lesson I would like to pass on from this night is that one should always come prepared to dine in a foreign country. The Korean culture is very hospitable and the women working that night definitely didn’t let me go hungry, but I certainly could have been more helpful if I was aware of some options to ask for in advance. Of course, there is always the possibility that the etiquette of a new culture will provide enough of a challenge. Here are some feelings from my first experience dining out with my school:

It’s my first staff meal and I feel completely lost. In the United States, I would be contributing to the conversation and making jokes. In Korea, I’m not even sure when I’m supposed to pour the water, which way to put my chopsticks, or even how to eat many of these dishes! These factors, in combination with the language barrier, make me about as comfortable as sitting on the floor does. Both I’m going to have to get used to. For the first time, I felt so socially out of place I thought I might begin to spill tears in the middle of lunch; not the impression I want to make on my new Principal and staff! Fortunately, one of my co-teachers told me not to worry. “We’re all very nice, don’t be nervous” she said. Those few words were enough for me to keep trying to cut fish with my chopsticks.

Although I still can’t cut fish properly with my chopsticks, I have learned how to act socially-presentable on a variety of other levels since moving to Korea. A few days after this lunch, I had a private meal with my co-teacher and took the time to ask her about proper eating manners in Korea. At first, I was a little embarrassed to ask her which way I should place my chopsticks between bites, but she seemed more than happy to help me adjust to Korean culture. Now that I see how eating together is an important part of social and professional life, I sometimes wish I had received a lesson on manners in Korean dining from the EPIK Orientation. It certainly would have helped to boost my confidence when taking those first few meals together as a school!

Learn some of the history.

Upon arriving at EPIK Orientation, it was made abundantly clear that learning some history of Korea would be necessary to our understanding of the culture. I gave each lecture my full attention but didn’t understand the magnitude of their importance until one night, heading home:

I’m in a taxi and the driver begins to speak to me in English. He seems very friendly and comments on how much he loves American baseball. We speak in broken English and Korean for a few minutes when he begins to share his extremely negative views toward Japan with me. I sit and listen, remembering the history lesson on Japan and South Korea I received at EPIK orientation.

Understanding history helps us to see the way culture is shaped. The two concepts are intertwined. One teacher at my school is very dedicated to my learning of Korean history and culture, and is kind enough to take me and other foreign teachers I know around our area to show us more about the country we live in now. The more I see and learn about Korea’s past, the more I can understand and find meaning in the present culture I live in. It is useful if I want to work professionally with other teachers, relate to my students, or hear a taxi driver’s story with an enlightened perspective.

Trust the system.

Sometimes, we are truly tested in another culture. One of the most obvious times in our lives when we depend on a system to work is when we are ill. Here’s a short account of the first time I was sick in Korea:

This past week, I've been feeling a bit low on energy and recently have begun to experience dizziness when I wake up. What made this situation even more interesting was that this was my first encounter with Korean medical practices. The nurse gave me some pills, all labeled in Hangul, and sent me off. No better time to start really trusting another culture than when you have to get medical attention!

I was really nervous to go to the doctor in Korea. In American culture, people generally have a bad habit of waiting until the illness becomes serious to go to a doctor. It wasn’t until one of my foreigner friends gave me some words of encouragement that I decided to put my health in the hands of the Korean medical system. “You need to trust the doctors here,” she said. Sure enough, all I had to do was let the medical system do its job (and let my co-teachers help me to and from the doctor), and I was healthy in no time! As with many cultural differences, sometimes it’s difficult to let go and try something a different way. However, it’s usually better to let go and let it happen. In this particular case, I couldn’t have put my health in better hands.

Honor your native culture.

I came to Korea with the humble perspective that this opportunity was going to be solely about Korean culture, but I was only half-correct. Although it’s true that on a daily basis, foreigners adapt to a new set of customs and habits, it doesn’t mean that their own culture isn’t of interest to Koreans! I learned this very quickly after starting my job. Being a foreigner in an elementary school sometimes feels akin to being a celebrity: everyone wants to know about your life! If I had thought about my teaching job with this perspective before moving to Korea, I would have brought more artifacts from America for the students to look at, which I now know to be a useful learning tool in the classroom. It would’ve been nice to see something like this on a packing list from EPIK, encouraging us to be just as ready to accept this new, Korean culture as we should be to share whatever we can from our native, English-speaking one. 

 

Remember with culture, it’s not better or worse. It’s just different.

As a foreigner, understand that there will be times when you feel ridiculous or out of place. The best way to counter this is with humility, not embarrassment. Culture is a far bigger and more powerful force than our own prides, so take every stumble as a learning opportunity and move along. Occasionally, you will feel completely lost. You may hear your name in conversation but not know what the conversation is about, and you may not know how to eat half the food you are served on any given day. To deal with these factors gracefully take on a sense of trust and adventure in the people you surround yourself with. If you can look at the big picture, it’s easier to trust this new system. Keep in mind that this won’t happen overnight. For a long period of time, you may not know things you once considered basic, such as where, or even if you can buy shoes in your size. There are things for every foreigner that makes them feel a little more at home. Recognize what those things are to you and figure out how to fulfill those needs. Even if it’s internet shopping.

As with any life experience, the outcome and lessons you gain from them is a choice. With new cultural experiences, this is no different. Every experience, good or otherwise, has the potential to enrich your life. All it takes is humility to realize that you’ll never know it all, but the courage to learn from whomever or whatever comes your way.

If you are considering teaching English in South Korea, make sure to check out EPIK's site: www.epik.go.kr . You will also find the winning entries from this year (including my essay) on EPIK's site soon!

Who's learning from who here?

One of the questions I receive the most from family, friends, and curious internet acquaintances (thanks for bonding me to the internet for life, Facebook) is how well my Korean is coming. The short answer is this: it's coming well. I am beginning to build confidence in my speaking skills, although admittedly I was shocked at how shy my usually-talkative mouth was to use Korean. Now that I'm putting myself out there, it's coming along alright. My main audience during an average day are:

1. taxi drivers.
2. random students on the street by my apartment.
3. the family of the noodle/kim bap house I love so much.
4. street vendors.

Every time I have a success with Korean locals, I walk away with a poker face of cool confidence, which bursts into the dorkiest grin imaginable as soon as I'm out of sight. Some of the highlights include:


1. the first time I directed a cabbie to my apartment.
2. the second time I directed a cabbie to my apartment (yeah, it was a pretty big deal).
3. the time I bartered with a shoe salesman for a sweet deal on some black boots in Busan.
4. the way the teachers and students at my school light up when I try to write their names in Hangul (imagine a poor foreigner sinking into her chair, scrawling on a piece of paper as several Koreans huddle around her yelling, "gim hae eun... eun! euuuuuuun!").
5. actually communicating with the 2-to-4-year-olds I cared for this weekend at children's house in Ulsan (this is going to be a different post entirely so keep an eye out).

So I'd place my language level at 3 years of age. That and taxi driver, which are about equivalent.

Much of this learning has been completed on my own time, but it hasn't been by myself. Aside from my co-teachers and foreign network, the biggest asset to my learning have been the kids I work with. They love taking time from their day to show me new words, test my knowledge of Hangul, or provide me with opportunities to listen to simple sentences being whined over and over... and over.

The best thing about learning from kids is that they never judge you for being wrong. They may laugh, but they never make you feel inferior for asking. They really have been some of my biggest supporters when it comes to learning, and certainly the biggest inspiration. So a big thank you to my students, and all the Korean children who lend a helping hand to tongue-tied foreigners like me.

On the other side of the spectrum is the image of an 'English speaker' I have to present to my students. As a foreign English teacher trying to learn Korean, it is sometimes difficult not to use a little here and there in the classroom just to make things run smoother. On a normal day at my school, this isn't much of an issue because the Korean teachers are already using their native language for much of the class. However, the reason English-speakers were hired to come here is to somehow be a tool for English immersion. I often laugh at this since I have about 1,000 students at my school and somehow must immerse them all in my language.

However, I do work an after-school program with limited numbers of students, so in those classes it is crucial that we have an 'English only' policy, for both me and the students. My classes are well-informed that if they speak Korean, they have to write lines. Although this is not my preferred method for a reward/punishment system, it is definitely effective in Korea. The only problem is that by the 5 o'clock hour (when after-school lessons begin), students do not want to keep to school rules, and they definitely don't want to be kept from speaking Korean.

So, what happens when you have an English teacher in a room of students who want to speak Korean?

 I think we're going to have a lesson on punctuation
sometime in the near future.

Yep. Punctuation.

This student's handwriting got suspiciously larger to cover more space.
Nice tactic.

I particularly like this kid's take on the punishment. Not only did he write 100 times in the smallest handwriting "I will speak English", but he wrote in blaring yellow marker... and still managed to save enough space to scrawl "THE END" at the bottom.

The age hierarchy in Korea would never allow me to say this aloud, but I think I learn just as much-- if not more-- from my students on a daily basis (and that's no knock to my teaching abilities!). Let's just chalk it up to say that what I learned in college still holds true: we all learn from one another.

the 'comfort' of being a waygook.

It's amazing the way we limit ourselves when we are in our comfort zone. This is a pretty obvious statement, and those of you reading may be wondering why I consider this something to ponder... but it's amazing just how limited we really can be without even realizing it.

A few times a week, I go for a run around my neighborhood after school. My favorite place to run is this track at Mur-yong Elementary School; normally, I think tracks are nothing more than a torturing device coaches and teachers use on their students, but this is the perfect place for me to center my thoughts and play with the students as they kick the soccer ball around. Between listening for my breathing, my music, and stray soccer balls to the head, it's a really good way to wind down after a day of teaching.

This sounds great, right?

One thing I've realized after a couple weeks of this routine is that there is basically nobody else running. In fact, aside from a few old Korean men (who admit they can do whatever they want because they've earned their place on the social hierarchy), the only people who I know of that run out in the open are foreigners. I may be making an assumption, but it seems to me that the only place people exercise here is in the gym. Is this because outer image is so important? Because, believe me, I know passerby Koreans judge my unkempt appearance while I'm returning home from a run.

The important question is, "Do you care?"

It's so easy for me to say no. But is this because I know that this is not my culture? Is it because I know that no matter what the circumstances, I know I am outside my comfort zone here? And if that is all true, how many times did I limit myself at home by simply sticking with the social norms of my culture, as opposed to doing the taboo because it made me happy? The scary thing is that most times I never realized it simply because I was comfortable maintaining the standard.

When I am in the role of the foreigner, I am free. Within the realm of cultural sensitivity, I can do what makes me happy an healthy without a concern for what others think. As long as I know I'm not offending anyone, putting myself in a position where everyone feels a little awkward is not the worst thing. In fact, it's inevitable. It's addicting.


I may never know if it is awkward for Koreans to see me walking home drenched in sweat. But even if I do, I'm not going to stop running outside.


Also, thank you Jen Capponi for this amazing quote. It fell perfectly into my week and gave me lots to think about!

Musings from my rooftop.

Today I was feeling overwhelmed from work. It was our first day back to school since a 6-day break, and just like the students on their first day of class, I was a little stressed. In the last week, my body's been fighting a cold and insomnia. My brain's been struggling with a rapid switch in how my teaching job is going, and I think my heart is actually beginning to register this place as my home, not just an extended trip.

Luckily for me, the remedy for my rough start today was truly a breakthrough from an entire month of my stay in Korea. I'll try not to build this up any further; some of you may be envisioning something much bigger than I am about to describe. I did not do anything crazy... but I finally listened to me.

I told myself to go to the store, buy my groceries, and take my kim bap up to the roof to watch the sunset. And, of course-- to bring my camera.


Sitting on the roof with my dinner, I saw my neighborhood in a way I had never seen it before. Everything was even more incredible to me than before. The other rooftops were very different from my own, with brick, potted plants, and dirty rugs; they were all so full of character. Right now, I am much like my own rooftop... I'm fresh in my world, and there is a lot of potential. There's also a lot of empty space-- room for holes to be made and filled, cherished things to be left, memories to be made. I've got a lot of figuring out to do.


One thing I've been so thankful for this week are the Ulsan sunsets. I don't know if this is a fluke, but I didn't notice many of them during the summer season. Perhaps it is the angle of the sun, but it seems like this week was the beginning of some warm, vivid evenings as the sun slips across the Pacific. There are a few things I identified as something I miss from home: sunsets are one of the biggest. So tonight, as I witnessed the most beautiful sunset I've seen in Korea so far, I definitely felt more at home than ever before.


As I scoped out my 5-story panorama, I also noticed there are more churches around my apartment than I thought. You can spot churches easily in Korea because many have red neon crosses atop the steeples (which I find kind of ironic). There are glowing crosses all around me. It was really beautiful to see them shine brighter as the sun set.


By the time I finished my dinner , the sun was saying its goodbyes to the Jung-gu neighborhood, and I was saying hello to my new life here in Ulsan as a strong, confident and single adult. Away from family and loving friends, but never alone or without my own sense of family and belonging.

It was a very good night.

"Go on reassured," he says.

While packing last week I found something I hadn't thought about in a while, but was completely necessary to my trip overseas. In the bottom of my bathroom drawer, my St. Christopher necklace laid in wait for our next big adventure.
For those of you unfamiliar with St. Christopher, he is the saint of safe travels, and has been with me on many many trips. So far, this necklace has been

• Jumping waves in the Pacific Ocean (United States)
• Swimming in the Sea of Cortez (Mexico)
• Sea kayaking in Phang Nga Bay (Thailand)
• Monsooned on in the hills of Chiang Rai (Thailand)
• Bathing elephants in the MeKong River (Thailand)

So I'm looking forward to adding more experiences to this seasoned medallion.

It's getting incredibly close to takeoff time. I'm thinking a bagel is in order.
Love from the SeaTac airport, in the air, and across the globe.