It was a rather disappointing day, I'm afraid. I was supposed to go to a 돌잔치 (which is a baby's first birthday, a very big deal in Korean culture) of a coworker's baby. I was planning to go with another coworker, Jenica, but at the last minute, she bailed. But she was the one who knew how to get there. I tried calling another coworker, Christine, who also knew where it was, but couldn't reach her. I suppose, if I'd been a bit more persistent about it, I could have gotten Jenica to give me directions that I could have used, to go on my own, but I was also not sure about the managing the cultural intricacies in solo mode. So I wimped out, and then felt bad about that.
I went downtown, and spent a very long time book browsing, in Youngpoong and Bandi&Luni's bookstores. I bought a few magazines, but the Economist, my main weekly staple, was still stuck on last week's edition, which I bought last week. I got an overpriced New Yorker magazine, instead, and yet another Korean vocab book to add to my collection of Korean textbooks that see too little use.
I was feeling depressed. I wandered around aimlessly for a while, and then I saw a flashing neon octopus. And I thought to myself: I still like Korea, despite everything. So I smiled.
I went into a Starbucks and ordered a 까페라떼하고 양파배글 (kkaperattehago yangpabaegeul = caffe latte and onion bagel), and studied Korean for a few hours.
Then I came home to Ilsan, and went into a hole-in-the-wall spot in the first floor of my building, that I've never visited before, and ordered some take-out bibimbap for a late dinner. It was a linguistic triumph! And then I came upstairs to my little home. I listened to Abba and Depeche Mode and cleaned my floor.
Thank you, flashing neon octopus, for restoring my sense of perspective. How did you do it?