BIRTHDAY PACKAGE OF AWESOME

Today, on my dad’s actual birthday, my mom’s friend Tim met up with me at Gimpo airport in order to give me a package my parents had put together for my birthday. 

It’s so amazing, I don’t even know.

Here’s a picture of all the stuff that they sent. 

The list:

A jar of Smucker’s natural peanut butter.

The Mayor of MacDougal Street, by Dave Van Ronk

Joss Whedon’s Much Ado About Nothing

Four Cadbury creme eggs.

A giant dark chocolate Easter bunny

A Russel Stover marshmallow egg

A bag of Lindor truffles

A box of Regina’s fruit slices 

Aaaaaaand a Hoops and Yoyo surprise singing card!!!

Here are some close-ups. 

The peanut butter:

 

Much Ado and The Mayor of MacDougal Street:

 

 

And the candy!!!: 

 

 

Full disclosure, I had already eaten five of those fruit slices by the time these pictures were taken.

Thanks, Mom and Dad!!! And Happy Birthday to my amazing father, who is 64 today!!!

Okay, gloating over.

Birthdays when you’re far away.

I’m twenty-six. It’s kind of a new thing for me, and I’m adjusting weirdly.

This birthday was both awesome and really hard. It’s hard to celebrate milestones when you’re so far from home. My friends here in Korea did a bang-up job, but it was still strange. And I’m a year older, which is always kind of terrifying.

But then I look back at my year and good LORD, it’s been amazing. I could focus on why this is rough, on the bad times that I’ve had this year, or I could focus on how lucky I am.

I choose the latter.

So here’s a list of things that I’m thankful for. One for every year I’ve been alive.

26. My health. I mean, Korea and I are in a constant war over the state of my immune system, but I’m winning at the moment. Korea: ten, Sarah: two and a half.

25. The Korean subway system. It really is that good.

24. How obsessed Koreans are with cake. I mean, really. I think my body is made up of 25% cake at this point.

23. The fact that I’m born the same day as Shakespeare. That never stops being cool.

22. Kimchi.

21. The United States Postal service. And the British postal service, come to think.

20. Hola better internet, which allows me to pretend I’m in the United States and thus have access to Pandora, Netflix, and Hulu. Which is how I can have one woman dance parties and watch Supernatural.

19. Supernatural.
I know, I know. It’s just a TV show. Except it’s really, really not.

18. One woman dance parties. I really should tape them so you can all be jealous.

17. The used book store in which I’ve spent unbelievable amounts of money. Hilarious, considering all of those books will just be going right back there when I leave Korea. Ah, the circle of literature.

16. My students. Who are always reminding me of the kindness and resilience of humans. They humble me every single day.

15. The Beatles White album. I’m just listening to this all the way through for the first time RIGHT NOW. And I know I’m twenty-six years late to the party, but holy amazing songwriting, Batman!!

14. Gmail. Which pretty much saves me from having a homesickness-induced breakdown every single day.

13. Likewise, skype. For providing me with the faces of my loved ones. …even the weird looking ones.

12. Aaaand Facebook, for the friends and family that suck at communication.

11. Aaaaaaand Youtube for the– ugh, this is ridiculous. You know what? The whole fucking internet. Just, the whole thing. All the sites you can think of? I’m thankful for ’em. Thanks, Al Gore, or whoever created the internet.
Wait, no. Not the porn sites. I’m not thankful for them. Fuck, this is embarrassing.

10. But wait… Shit. I need to mention Tumblr. ‘Cause it provides me with so much laughter, and self-confidence. So much. Okay, I’m done. I’m done thanking websites now. I’m the worst.
And I mean the nerdy Tumblr sites, not the porny ones. Cause… I just like seeing silly things happen with attractive men… but only the ones from TV shows and movies and not in a porny way and oh God I give up.
…welp, this is a fabulous hole I’ve dug myself into. And I have a nice pile of dirt, how convenient.

9. The fact that my family and friends understand me and love me even when I’m completely insane (right, RIGHT?!).

8. My extremely talented friends who write me birthday/Christmas presents. Which actually takes a lot of time and effort. Thank god there are people who think I’m worth that and are weird in the same ways that I am.

7. My friends who listen to me sing/monologue/recite poetry. They tell me I’m talented so much that I actually believe them some of the time. Which is kind of important.

6. The new friends that I’ve made or gotten closer with this year, both in Korea and afar. There are a lot of you, and the fact that you think getting to know me is worth your time even though I’m not living anywhere near some of you is the greatest gift. For those of you who are far away, I miss you and love you. For those of you in Korea, thank you for getting me through the last eight months and making a big deal out of my birthday. Thank you. Thank you.

5. The old friends who have managed to stay in touch with me this year. I’ve been absolutely awful at that. I was emotionally incapable of reaching out, but I needed to know that I was missed and loved. Even if it was just a random facebook message or post.
I hit a point where I couldn’t really deal with life any more, and going to work and coming home kind of expended all of my energy. If it weren’t for you, I would have dissolved into a puddle of negativity. Thank you for knowing me and loving me even when I wasn’t giving much back.

4. The Korean health care system. Take note, America, you kinda (truly, completely, embarrassingly) suck in comparison.

3. The amazing ladies who had my current apartment before I moved from my old one. I have the most comfortable bed in history. I’m sleeping on 800 thread count Egyptian cotton sheets, and it’s glorious.

2. Tea. All of it. All the tea. Special shout outs to bubble tea, English breakfast tea, brown rice green tea, plum tea, and honey-citron (aka marmalade) tea. Thank you. You are my health, in a nutshell.

Oh! I got to Revolution #9, which is the reason we never owned the White album. My dad honestly hates this song THAT MUCH.
I realized it when I started thinking, “What the fuck is this terribleness?!”
You win, Dad. You win.

Jesus Christ, it’s still going. What the literal fuck, Beatles?

Aaaaaanyway. Lastly. Most importantly.

1. My family. My. Family.
My sister, who helps me to feel brave by being the strongest person I know, and also by truly standing by me no matter what crazy path in life I decide to take.
My parents, who didn’t bat an eyelash when I told them that I wanted to move to Korea for a year. Who skype with me once a week even though communication isn’t exactly any of our fortes. Who love me and support me even though I’m a bit of a wild child.
They’re stuck with me, but they seem happy about it. Thank you. I love you so much more than you can possibly know.
My real extended family, who are just as supportive and have made this year bearable.
My other extended family (musical or otherwise), who may not be blood, but are my sisters and brothers and aunts and uncles all the same. You know who you are. Thank you for choosing me to be in your family.

+1 (for luck). My voice, and the people who have listened to, provided for, and nurtured it.

Sometimes you have weeks where things just don’t sum up well. I’ve been staring at my computer, trying to find a concise way to talk about the last seven days and it just doesn’t work.

Last week, my very good friend Hannah came to visit me from Singapore. She was here for seven days and six nights and it was some of the best times that I’ve had in Korea. We did a ton of exploring and walking around and also just talking. It was amazing on a level that I can’t describe to have someone around who’s known me for more than 8 months (in Hannah’s case, it’s my whole damn life). We went to a sex museum I didn’t know existed, a few outdoor markets, and we ate. A lot. 

We also went to a jjimjilbang, which is a Korean spa. And I haven’t slept as well as I did after that night in many, many months.

It was just so amazing, so refreshing, to have her around. On her last day here, before she went off to the airport, we went to the Korean National Cemetery. It was a truly incredible place and really sad, and I was happy to have her there with me. 

Having Hannah here for a week was an absolute Godsend. Sometimes it’s just really hard to not have people around who know you and love you and have done those things for many years. It’s isolating. And I miss my family and close friends a lot, just for that feeling of being known. Of familiarity, of not having to provide explanations. She left on Saturday and it was really, really hard to see her go.

Also on Friday of last week, one of my co-workers and good friends left unexpectedly. I truly understand her reasons for doing so, but I miss her a lot and my schedule has completely changed because of it. I’m no longer teaching two of the best classes that I’ve had so far and am instead teaching classes that I have never been trained in. I feel out of my depth and though I am happy to help, I miss my amazing kids that someone else gets to teach, now. So, Friday was emotional. But my friend Cristina (the same one that was sainted in the hospital visits) offered to walk me through the curriculum and has helped me immensely. Without her, I’d feel really lost in this transition.

And then, before Hannah left on Saturday, I got this: 

That, my friends, is a package from my friend Wendy back in Chicago that is probably one of the most thoughtful things anyone has ever done for me. This is what was inside: 

Four boxes of Cadbury Creme eggs (my favorite), two packages of mini-Cadbury Creme eggs, two bags of Reeses peanut butter cups: minautures, one bag of Reeses pieces shaped like eggs, two boxes of peeps, two pez dispensers, an egg filled with Reeses peanut stuff, three family-sized bags of salt and vinegar chips, aaaaand a Cubs shot glass.

Inside of an Easter basket. SHE SHIPPED ME AN ACTUAL EASTER BASKET. INSIDE OF A BOX. I mean, really.

At this point, I couldn’t even do emotions anymore. When Hannah took a reaction shot, this is what she got: 

That face says, “I don’t even know how to feel right now.”

I was so touched, in such disbelief. The kindness of my friends sometimes truly bowls me over. 

So, that was my weekend. It’s not all that concise, and it doesn’t wrap up prettily… but I can tell you this: people are amazing. They fly eight hours out of their way and spend a lot of money on shipping to make their friends happy. They make sure that you don’t feel like you’re drowning in new kinds of work and they support you. 

No matter what else is happening this week and what happens next week and the week after that, I know that I have incredible friends, both near and far. 

I am so, so lucky. 

 

 

Baking pie is the greatest.

I realized that my posts lately have been a tad on the depressing side. Or on the angry side. Or on the reflective side. 

So enough of that, here’s some food porn. 

I went to Cindy’s house on Saturday and finally baked a cream pie. I was going to do chocolate… but then I decided to do my old standby: banana. I mean, if it ain’t broke, am-I-right? 

I started with the crust, which I baked on its own, then added a layer of bananas to the bottom.

 

(I really like being weird and artsy with my pie decorations.) 

Fun fact: Banana cream pie doesn’t actually have banana custard in it. It has vanilla custard that is sandwiched between layers of bananas. So when you eat it, it tastes like you’re eating banana custard, when (in fact) you’re not. It’s a TRICK! The bananas aren’t cooked! DON’T LET YOURSELF BE DECEIVED. 

…unless, of course, the person making it is making it with pre-made banana pudding. In which case, this doesn’t apply. Mostly because that crap ain’t banana cream pie. It’s pudding pie. Get it out of here.

Then came the custard and more bananas.

 

Yes, that custard set perfectly. Yes, it did. 

And then I got to whip cream for the first time in MONTHS. And y’all, it made me so effin’ happy. Seriously. I was relieved that Cindy wasn’t in the kitchen, because having that mixer in my hand and smelling the cream just made me smile in this huge way. I was dancing in place, shakin’ it with joy. 

Yeah, I’m weird. Whatever. 

Here’s the cream: 

*Drools expansively*

And then I put the cream on the pie and forgot to take a picture cause I was too busy eating it. 

My sister and I have decided that when I’m home after Korea, I’ll have to make a coconut and banana cream pie. 

I might do a test drive here in Seoul. 

Mmmmmmmmmm pie. 

Oh, and I use the Saveur recipe. Found here. 

In Remembrance.

I woke up sad today. I didn’t really know why at first, it didn’t make sense. I’m feeling much better after my never-ending cold seems to be abating a bit. I had a truly fantastic day yesterday.

And then I remembered. Today is April first, Meghan LaRocca’s birthday. She would have been twenty-six today, but she’s not because she died of cancer when we were twenty-three.

Meghan wasn’t my best friend, I can’t claim that honor. But she was a good friend. She touched my life immensely in the five years that I knew her, and I miss her all the time.

Meghan was a truly incredible person. I know that it’s overused to say when someone dies too soon that they were “the best person I’ve ever known”, but she was. She was that for every person who ever met her. Even for a brief period of time. She was light and love and laughter and joy and acceptance.

I wouldn’t be in Korea were it not for Meghan. When we were in college, I had a really hard time believing in myself. So Meghan would often do it for me. When I was convinced that I wasn’t going to be cast in a show we both auditioned for, she told me I was being silly and then sent me texts outlining a story that involved me, Gerard Butler, chocolate, and spaghetti. She could make me laugh, no matter what.
I would call her late at night, sitting in my windowsill, and tell her about my adventures and she would giggle and gasp at me in a half-proud, half-scandalized fashion. Never judgmental. Never.

We had different values, ran in different circles, but she never judged me and never treated me with anything but love and support. I’m proud to say that she let me support her sometimes, too. And I will cherish that gift, always.

The week that she died is really hard, but today is harder. Because she should be here. I should be able to call her on the phone and tell her about the ridiculousness of Korea and she should be laughing and rolling her eyes and saying “Sarah“, to admonish me for being so sarcastic. I want to tell her that I still have the notebook that she gave me for my 20th birthday, and I’ve started writing down my adventures, just like she said I should.

I never wanted to try to make Meghan’s death about me. Not ever. I feel guilty for doing so now. But I wanted to write this down. To thank her for giving me wings. For giving me love and support. And to tell her that every time I perform, every time I do anything brave, she’s there with me. I hope that if you knew her, you understand this.

I also separated myself from a lot of people I knew in college, after she died. I think that it hurt too much to be around them. To those people, I’m sorry. I probably miss you more than you could ever know. I wasn’t the best person in college, or in the years following. but I’m sending you love today. And everyday.

When I close my eyes, I see her smile and her big, gorgeous eyes. I hear her laughter and her beautiful voice. I feel her hugging me, telling me that I’m beautiful and talented and worthy. And sometimes I wonder if we’d still be friends, if she would have realized that I’m not worth all of that. But then I hear her scoff, and know she’d be in my life, somehow.

I’ll never be able to pay her back for the bravery she bestowed in me. But I’ll never stop being thankful, I’ll never stop loving her, I’ll never stop trying to do things that would have made her proud. I am so lucky that I got to be a part of her amazing, wondrous, and too-short life.

Happy birthday, Meghan. We miss you.

Don’t Let Anyone Trick You Into Hating Mumford and Sons.

This is going to be a break from my normal posts in that it doesn’t really have a lot to do with Korea, but it’s something that I’ve been wanting to write about for a while now, and I think I can finally articulate it properly. The music video and article do not belong to me.

Right before I came to Korea, Mumford and Sons released the hilarious video to their song “Hopeless Wanderer“. I am an avid fan of Mumford and Sons, because of their harmonies, their musicianship and the way their songs make me feel. Few things make me happier than conducting a one-woman dance party to “I Will Wait”, or “Little Lion Man” in my apartment. Their songs lift my heart and I can’t wait for the day that I get to see them in concert.

So, you can imagine my disgruntlement when just a few days later, this article started popping up on facebook. The article is entitled “Don’t Let Mumford & Sons Trick You Into Liking Them”. If you haven’t already read the article, go give it a try. It’s well written, but I have a serious problem with what Mr. Sundermann is saying. He tells people that Mumford and Sons making fun of themselves isn’t a good enough reason to like them, because “they make bad music”.

And herein lies the problem.

Working at the Old Town School of Folk Music in Chicago for four years taught me many things, but one of the saddest of these things is that people really, truly enjoy yucking other people’s yum and saying that certain music is “bad” and certain music is “good”; when in fact those people just don’t like that band or kind of music or what have you.

Eric Sundermann is not the first person to try to make me feel ashamed for liking Mumford and Sons, for flat-out saying that they are “bad”. Many of the talented musicians with whom I worked during my time at OTS would throw that assertion around an alarming amount. And not just for Mumford and Sons; I was often mocked for liking pop music or rap music or loads of other things. Having to defend a plethora of my musical tastes taught me one very important thing, and it’s something that I want to share with all of those people.

Let me tell you right now: quality of music is subjective. How good something is depends on your criteria and your biases. By biases I mean the kind of music that you are naturally drawn to as a listener or performer.

There are many different criteria for judging music. Let’s list a few.
1. How talented the musicians are at their instruments (including singing)
2. How good the songwriting is.
3. How well the emotions are communicated through those two things.
4. Whether it is slow or fast.
5. Whether it is innovative or different.
6. Whether people tend to like it.
7. How easy it is to listen to.
8. How well the artists achieve what they have set out to achieve.
9. How well the music stands up to the test of time.

Etc. etc. There are many more. But some things are more important to people than others. And that is where the bias comes in.

The things that aren’t subjective are how well people play their instruments and how knowledgeable they are about music. That’s objective. That’s quantifiable.

And since we’re talking about Mumford and Sons, let’s clear up a few things. First, those men are incredibly musically talented. Regardless of whether you like their music or not, they know their instruments better than most musicians. They understand music theory to a crazy extent and they can harmonize like few other groups out there right now. I took a Mumford and Sons class at OTS, where we learned all of Sigh No More, and the two men who led that class were Jonas Friddle and Jacob Sweet.

For those of you who don’t know Jacob Sweet, he is one of the most respected musicians at OTS, he is “the theory guy” and is a very talented guitar and bass guitar player (amongst other things). He came to class every week excited to talk to us about what insanely inventive musical key Mumford and Sons had cooked up for the song of the day. He was also floored by their seamless transitions between time signatures and keys.
When I told him that there were co-workers of ours running around saying that the Mumford boys didn’t know how to play their instruments, he rolled his eyes, laughed, and succinctly called “bullshit”.

Second, not liking Mumford and Sons does not make you cool. Telling people who like Mumford and Sons that they “suck” and are “bad” does not make you cool.

I know that it’s “in” right now to not like popular things, that it’s “cool” to be above anyone who can break that wall of popularity and become famous. The hipster movement is basically founded on “Ugh, dude, I liked them before they sold out, but now they’re awful,” and “Oh, that pile of talentless jerks? I could do that so much better.” But saying those things doesn’t make you sound intelligent.

Honestly, if you’re a musician, it makes you sound a little bitter, a little jealous, and a whole lot of sanctimonious.

Here are guys who have worked really hard to get where they are, have clearly spent an insane amount of time honing their craft, and if your complaint against them is that they are too well crafted, well, that’s just a fight that they won’t be able to win.

And the worst part, the absolute worst part of all of this (the “most obnoxious of all this obnoxiousness”, to steal a phrase), is that not only is Eric Sundermann presenting his opinion of Mumford’s music as “bad” as objective, but he’s trying to make you feel bad for liking it. He’s saying that if you like Mumford and Sons, you’re not intelligent, or you aren’t educated enough about music to know what’s good and what’s bad.

I’m here to tell you that I’ve studied a whole lot of music. I have about eight years of vocal training under my belt, I took piano lessons for eleven years and flute lessons for nine. I’ve been immersed in music since before I could walk, having grown up in an Old-Time/Bluegrass music community in Minnesota. I have been attending music festivals since I was two months old, learned how to square dance at four, clog at nine, and Cajun dance at thirteen, and I’ve liked underground bands that no one had heard of before that became a stamp of achievement (seriously, don’t even start with me). I listen to Cajun music, Quebecois music, Irish music, Rap music, Indie music and many other kinds. I like bands that are subversive and hipster-level cool. But I also like boy bands, and country music; and I like Mumford and Sons.

I dislike very few kinds of music, but one of them is Instrumental Jazz, particularly of the Jazz Trio variety. It bores me to tears and sometimes snores. But I don’t say that Jazz is bad. Because it’s not. Just because I almost fell asleep during Pat Metheny’s concert doesn’t change the fact that he is a damned talented musician. Cause guess what? I know the difference between my personal preferences and talent.

If what you look for in a folk/indie band is really deep lyrics and members who would hate fame if you threw it their way, if you want a band that isn’t polished, then Mumford probably isn’t for you. But that doesn’t mean that they make bad music.

Look, I get it, you don’t like the band. You hate boy bands. You think pop music is a blight on society. That’s your prerogative and I respect that.

What I most decidedly don’t respect–or appreciate–is you telling me that I’m an idiot for liking a certain band or kind of music, yucking my yum, and shaming me for my musical preferences.

Cause at the end of the day, that’s what they are–that’s all they are–they’re preferences.

There are people in the world who really, truly, don’t like the Beatles. Which is a band that gets as close to objectively good as you can get. But those people are entitled to that opinion, as long as they recognize that it is an opinion, and don’t think that everyone who loves the Beatles are morons.

So quit trying to sound philosophical when you diss popular bands and argue that they suck on a fundamental level and everyone who likes them is dumb. This is my public service announcement: You don’t sound philosophical, you sound pretentious. You sound like someone who isn’t as famous or popular as that particular band, who didn’t get to where they are by the time you were their age, and you sound bitter about it. I’m sorry if that sounds mean, but I’m just letting you know how it sounds to those of us who aren’t trying to be musicians as a career, but who are still rather knowledgeable about music.

If you hate Mumford and Sons, that’s totally fine with me. But if you try to tell me that they have no talent, and then hate me for liking Mumford and Sons… well, you’re wrong, and your anger towards me is unjustified.

To conclude, friends who love Mumford and Sons, rest assured, there’s nothing wrong with that or you. Friends who don’t like Mumford and Sons or the Backstreet Boys, good for you. It doesn’t make you smarter than me, it just means that we like different things. Seriously, get off your high horse and quit yucking my yum.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a music video to watch and ribs to bruise through laughter.

When the Lights Go Down in the City. Oh wait, they don’t.

My third term of teaching started on Monday, and with it came a new textbook for Eagle, the higher level class that I teach at Chungdahm learning. The lesson that I taught to back-to-back Eagle class yesterday was all about advertising and the effects on the human mind. One of the things that they discussed was light pollution.

Now, I lived in Chicago for 7 years, and visited the Museum of Science and Industry a few times, so I know all about light pollution. We can’t see the stars, it’s bad for the environment, etc. But yesterday, this article discussed the effects that light pollution can have on humans. You see, when it’s never fully dark, your body gets confused and finds it very difficult to sleep.

This explains why I’ve been awake since six AM for no other purpose than I just woke up and couldn’t get back to dream land. I’ve used this time to do a little more digging into light pollution how it messes with people. Turns out, it’s really kinda terribly bad.

“Disruption of the circadian clock is linked to several medical disorders in humans, including depression, insomnia, cardiovascular disease, and cancer, says Paolo Sassone-Corsi, chairman of the Pharmacology Department at the University of California, Irvine, who has done extensive research on the circadian clock.”

This is from an article published by the National Institute of Environmental Health Science and can be found here.

It is linked to Insomnia, depression, heart disease and cancer.

Wait. I’m sorry, cancer?!

Granted, this not-sleeping thing isn’t exactly new for me. I was an insomniac when I was twelve-ish, and have had sleeping issues on and off since then. But it’s been worse than ever, honestly, since I moved to Korea. In six months, I’ve only really gotten a good night’s sleep when I was super sick (or recovering from being super sick), and when I was house-sitting and sleeping in a room that was pitch black.

But I’m really bad at buying things for myself. Seriously, it’s a problem, Ask me sometime about when I had to buy a new winter coat and almost had a panic attack in the Northface store. I hate spending money on myself that I find frivolous, so I have to justify purchases kind of to the point of pain. I rationalized that many things can cause a lack of sleep. And moving to a new country, teaching for the first time, living alone for the first time, spending hours and days trying to figure out what’s going to be my next step in life, and all the other assorted crap that’s happened in the last six months have collectively contributed to me thinking that my near-insomnia was due to some combination of those things. So curtains? Frivolous. Particularly for an apartment that I’m leaving soonish.

I mean, never having a dark apartment couldn’t be that bad for me, right?

Well, recent collected data would suggest otherwise. I’m getting over my third cold in six months, and my co-worker, Sean, who has covered his windows with tinfoil to block the light, is the only one of us who has not been sick. I mean, I’m not going to cover my windows with tinfoil, but he’s always going on about studies linking light exposure to a plethora of health problems. And wow, these studies are terrifying:

“The results [of a study comparing breast cancer and light pollution prevalence] showed a statistically significant correlation between outdoor artificial light at night and breast cancer, even when controlling for population density, affluence, and air pollution.”

If you’re like me, and you think that you should minimize your expenditures whilst living abroad, listen to me right now and go buy some goddamned curtains. You’ll save money that would have been spent on endless coffee, medication, and possible hospital visits.

It’s curtains for me, Dr. Horrible. Lacy, gently wafting curtains.

Cause, reasons. Mostly cancer. CANCER. Christ-on-a-crutching CANCER.

You hear that, Seoul? Turn your damned lights off.

(This is from amazingpicturesplace.com. Nice picture, guys!)

Six Month Day Reflection (Look at me, I will never pass for a per- wait, wrong Reflection)

Six months ago, today, I was getting off of a plane at Incheon International airport in Seoul, Korea. I was wearing sweatpants and no makeup and was still feeling a little groggy from the two melatonin and two benadryl I’d taken on the way over to make sure I slept on the plane (you can call me the sleeping-aid girl scout).

I was excited, but nervous, and felt absolutely disgusting. Fourteen hour flights, man. Not the best. 

I didn’t know what to expect, but I knew that I was in for an adventure. 

Today I had lunch with Nick, who I shared a taxi with from the airport shuttle bus station to the hotel I stayed at for training. We got dinner together that first night (fried chicken, what else?) and embarked on this journey together. Sitting across from him in the awesome British Pub that we’ve claimed as our own in Itaewon, I was struck with how much and how little we’ve changed in the last six months. His hair is a different color, for example, but we still talk about much of the same things we did on that first night. Now we just have half a year of experience to draw on as well.

It’s been insanity. Many incredible things have happened, and some equally horrible things have occurred as well. I’ve been on a roller coaster, and it’s honestly been on the down slope an annoying amount. I’m currently getting over my bazillionth cold and feel like I’ve been more sick than well in my time here. I’ve experienced a death in the family far from home, felt completely out of my depth and completely lost.

But I’m also so incredibly happy here. I feel brave and like I can do just about anything. Living abroad, getting by on your own with a support system that you had to build from scratch without any real knowledge of how the hell you were going to manage is an incredibly rewarding experience. I miss my people back home, but I know that no matter what I do from here on out, I can do it. 

And that, is truly remarkable. 

I’ve never really felt like I was all that brave. Most of the decisions that I’ve made in my life I’ve made out of fear or stubbornness. College, for example, was a study in fear and stubbornness. Fear of rejection led me to Loyola and sheer stubbornness kept me from transferring. I wasn’t going to give in, wasn’t going to let them tell me that I wasn’t good enough. 

Which is weird, cause I did that to myself, like, all the time. 

I came to Korea because I wanted to travel and didn’t want to live in Chicago anymore, but didn’t know what my next step was. I knew a ton of people who had taught in Korea, and it seemed like the easiest thing to do. 

I came here because it seemed easy. Which is kind of my life story. 

But being here isn’t easy. I’ve had to figure out a lot of things about myself, find ways to fulfill myself, and change my self-perception (which is actually really bloody hard sometimes). And it’s made me realize that even if what I want to do is hard or scary or something that puts me in a really vulnerable position, I can probably do it.

Because I’m doing this, and that’s actually kind of amazing. 

Not to be dramatic (but I’m an actor, so whatever), but I got sick to the point where death was a serious concern two months ago. –Seriously. If you need a reality check from your fear of hospitals, there’s nothing like being told by a doctor that you’ll die if you don’t let yourself be admitted to the hospital and get an IV stuck in you. NOTHING.– And I’m still here. 

My great-aunt died and I’m still here. 

I am teaching Korean children who are put through insane pressure every day of their lives, and I’m actually making a difference for a few of them. I’m teaching, and I’m learning, and I’m growing.

And I’m so so thankful that I stepped onto that plane six months ago. I’m so thankful that I’m here. 

And all the petty bullshit that I worry about, it’s just that: Petty, and bullshit. Because this right here? This is incredible. This vulnerability, this feeling of strength. I’m acting not out of fear but through it, and it’s a revelation. 

I can’t wait to see what happens in the next nine months, and then what happens after that. 

Because Korea is getting me ready for whatever comes next. Which is miraculous, and, more than that, it’s good. 

This experience is not all good. But it is, overall, good.

My Weekend in the Philippines. (Seriously? That sentence is insane.)

Last weekend, I was in the Philippines. Because when you live in Korea, you can just kind of hop over to the Philippines.
My life, seriously.
But when I found out that I would have four days for Lunar (Chinese) New Year, I grabbed my friend July and said “WE ARE GOING SOMEWHERE WARM.”

A ticket to Manila was the cheapest I could find, considering we’d only been told about a month before the vacay. Before we picked it, I honestly couldn’t have found the Philippines on a map. Embarrassing. My horrid geography strikes again.

July and I decided to go to Puerto Galera, which is an island off of the coast of Manila. It was amazing, and relaxing, and I got to wake up to this view for three days:

 

IN FEBRUARY. 
My Minnesotan mind could barely handle it. 

It was just so nice to be warm, and to get away from my normal existence for a few days. It was colder in the Philippines than usual, which means it was sitting around the 80s during the day and getting down to the 70s at night. I wasn’t complaining. The one day we were going to trek out to a waterfall, it rained and was windy and gross. July was looking up different possibilities when she just looked at me and said,
“You want to just take a nap, instead?”  July is awesome. 

We honestly just slept. A lot. 

We also explored a little, ate a lot, and had some amazing conversations that seem to be a side-effect of taking a vacation with someone. 

Here’s some of the food we ate:

That is Pinakbet, which is just a lot of tropical veggies on a plate with some chicken in a delicious sauce. The veggies are eggplant, okra, sweet potato, and green beans. VEGETABLES. Something that Korea sucks at. Seriously. 

That’s miki, which is Filipino chicken noodle soup. It was spicy and delicious and used egg noodles. 

Okay, that’s not Filipino food. But there were TONS of Italian places on the tiny island where we stayed, and July is addicted to pizza, so we decided that we had to try it. 

It was the best pizza I’ve had in a very long time. Shockingly good. The crust was perfect, the cheese was real (something the Koreans have no idea how to do and seem to have no interest in learning), and we couldn’t stop looking at each other in disbelief. Who knew the Philippines could make pizza so well?

…needless to say, we took that down pretty darn quick. I think it was gone in under 10 minutes. 

Okay, I know that’s not food, technically. But the drinks (both alcoholic and otherwise) were absolutely phenomenal. They used fresh fruit in every single one that we had. Fruit is incredibly expensive in Korea, so having a pina colada that was made with pineapple crushed right in front of you, not to mention the wedge of fruit the size of your hand stuck to the glass? Is completely unheard of.

I ate so much mango. In both liquid and solid form. It was paradise.

But really, it was. I’m so glad that I went, and felt so relaxed after it was over. I feel ready to tackle the rest of this winter, and more capable of attacking life than I was before I left. It was rejuvenating.

If you’re an expat in Korea, travel. Just go. You won’t regret it, even if it’s only for a few days and seems obscenely expensive. Even if the trip isn’t exactly what you’d hoped and you end up just breathing in different air for awhile. It will be what you need, I promise.

I didn’t know that there was healing that I needed until it was happening. It was better than good, it was necessary. 

And seriously: 

That was where we stayed. It was paradise. 

Also, going away for a few days really makes you appreciate Seoul. It is really an incredible city. The airport, for one, has spoiled me forever. This city is so clean, so organized, and it takes leaving, sometimes, to really understand how lucky you are to live where you do. I’m happy to be here, again. That’s something else that happened on my tropical adventure; I was so excited to be going back to Korea, with its amazing public transit, clean streets, and people who leave you alone when you walk down the street. I was excited to come home, even though I was sad to leave the land of warmth and vegetables. I wanted to come home.

I didn’t realize that that’s what Korea is for me right now. And isn’t that strange? 

Now, it just needs to get warmer. I’ve had enough winter for now, thanks. 

 

Sometimes, when you need it most, life throws you a bone (or a blanket): An Enteritis Interlude.

This past week I was on a super fun jaunt through living-abroad-when-a-family-member-dies ville. 

That town sucks. I in no way suggest visiting, even for a day. 

But that’s not what this post is about. I’m sure I’ll write that blog entry one day, but (as Aragorn would say) it is not this day. 

No, today I’m going to tell you about when I was sick and my Korean boss and two Korean co-workers came to visit me in my apartment (pre-hospital visit).

On Tuesday, December 17th, in the aforementioned 48 hours between my first visit to the hospital and my overnight stay, my co-worker Han sent me a text telling me that my principal/boss, Kathy, my other co-worker Sunny, and Han herself would be by around 9pm. I texted her back with a laugh, thinking that something had been lost in translation. There was no way that they would come over when I was that sick. As far as I knew, no one had ever been visited at home by Kathy before, sick or no. So when Han sent me another text telling me that Kathy was worried and was bringing me tea and juk (rice porridge), I responded with, “Wait, seriously?!” And then proceeded to panic.

You see, when you have enteritis as badly as I did, you kind of turn into a hot mess. Which means, hrm. How can I put this delicately?…

Nope, can’t do it. I know I’m a girl and I’m not supposed to say these things, but I’d been pooping. All. Day. No, that’s not right. I had spent a lot of the day sleeping. I had only really been conscious for 9 hours that day, and had gone to the bathroom roughly 30 times. Disgusting, I know, I lived it. 

I felt like hell, my apartment was a giant mess, and my BOSS WAS COMING OVER. My very KOREAN boss, who is very sweet and yet slightly terrifying (which I think is normal for Korean bosses). 

Also, I wasn’t entirely sure that I didn’t smell, at least faintly, of diarrhea.

I was terrified. And super sick. I actually didn’t have the energy to freak out as badly as I wanted to, which was good. But I did try to tidy my apartment as much as possible and make myself a little presentable (I mean, as much as a crazy-dehydrated nasty mess can be presentable).

Then, I waited. Hoping and praying to all of the gods that anyone has ever believed in that I could hold in whatever was trying to race out of my body (at this point, my money was on not-so-vital organs. I thought I’d seen something distinctly spleen-like at some point…) long enough to not have to crap in front of my boss.

It’s a very small apartment. They would have heard. 

 

When they arrived, my boss, Kathy, swept into my little apartment and immediately started saying “no, no, no”. Over and over again. She then strode around my small studio, pointing to everything in sight and speaking in rapid-fire Korean. She refused to meet my eyes, and wasn’t speaking in English, but I gathered that the two biggest problems in my apartment were my bed and my space heater. Han was translating to me as this was happening, and I was bobbing my head and trying very hard not to cry.

You see, when you’re that sick, you tend to be slightly emotional. And I was away from my family and, frankly, miserable, so to have someone come in and swoop around like my MOTHER left me feeling both incredibly touched and absolutely mortified. 

So just picture this for a second. Kathy is walking around my apartment, pointing and directing, Han is translating to me as I stand there in my plaid poncho and try desperately not to cry or shit my pants, and Sunny is waddling around, following as best she can with her very pregnant belly (and, really, whose bright idea was it to bring the super pregnant lady into the sick girl’s apartment?!). 

The gist was that my bed was not in the right place. Too close to the window. Josh (my 23 year old, strapping-male co-worker) was being offered as a solution for moving my bed if I could not do it myself. I did not have enough blankets, and using a space heater to heat my apartment would both kill me in a fire and significantly raise my heating bill.

This last part was the best, because when Han told me that I should turn on my floor-heating (which is how the Koreans heat stuff), I tried to whisper to her that I had no idea how to work the damn thing. 

In my defense, it is in Korean, and hadn’t been all that cold… maybe. Or I’m just weird about asking people for help. Whatever. You live, you get enteritis, you learn.

She gasped, related that bit of information to the other two ladies, who gasped in the exact same way, and then my heat gauge/controller was immediately surrounded by all three, pressing buttons and talking in Korean.

Han told me how to work it, and seeing them all there, with so much concern for my welfare, finally broke the dam. And I started bawling. 

Not, like, cute tears down the cheeks kind of crying. No. The ugly hiccoughing, chest spasming, nose-running kind of crying. 

I was even more mortified than before, because I felt ridiculous. Standing there, with them in my entryway, just crying my face off. I kept apologizing and thanking them, over and over again. Kathy turned to Han and said something in Korean. Han then turned to me and succinctly said, “She says to stop crying”. Wonderful.

I would have laughed if I wasn’t crying so hard. But I couldn’t stop. It’s just that it was so close to having my momma there, and I was so thankful for that much human compassion and care, but so embarrassed that I couldn’t hold it back. 

They decided to leave pretty soon after the waterworks started. 

I found out later that Sunny and Han had beat such a hasty retreat because they both started crying as well, but Kathy (in true, just like my mother form) just clasped my hand tightly in hers, looked into my eyes, and repeated “Okay okay, Okay okay”. Over and over again, to settle me. And it actually worked.

They left, and I collapsed into the floor for about five minutes before running to the bathroom. Again. 

I went to the hospital the next morning, and we know what happened after that.

Now, fast forward a month. We’re zooming past my recovery period, my Great-Aunt dying (not taaaaaaalking about it! Can’t maaaaaaake me! La-la-la-la-la), and my winter intensives schedule: we come to today. 

I came to work for my morning class, and after break, Kathy comes up to me and tells me to wait in the hall. She goes into the back room and comes out with this:

That, friends, is a microfiber throw blanket. In my favorite color. Bought from a pricey department store. It is big and soft and comfy.

She handed it to me and I didn’t know what to do. Honestly. I was so amazingly blown away by the gesture and completely unsure that I could accept the gift that I just stood there, gaping. It was my turn to say “no” over and over. She pushed the bag at me until I took it from her, and finally chased her into her office to give her a thank-you hug. 

The image of her feeling my blankets, making a disapproving, clucking sound rushed back to me. I, once again, felt overwhelmed, and retreated to my room to rub my face on its amazing softness and attempt to breathe and not cry. 

It’s been a really rough week. The not-sleeping, emotionally screwed kind of week. But, this one act of kindness has me feeling unbelievably better. And I might sleep a little easier with my super soft, warm blanket insulating me against the cold. And it might be corny, but I feel wrapped in care, insulated from my own grief for the first time since last Friday. 

Now I’m listening to some Foghorn Stringband (the original), and just feeling that much more human. 

And if I know anything, it’s that I owe my boss some chocolate and a coffee (or seven). 

Thanks, Kathy. Thanks, Universe.