It’s a huge moment in my life – after 11 years in Korea, I am leaving the country, and not sure if I’ll be coming back (except maybe to visit). I must say goodbye to the rice fields, the pointy green mountains, the apartment blocks, the great, brilliant, shining, futuristic city of Seoul.
I have been feeling a lot of sadness. My flight leaves in 6 days.
What I’m listening to right now.
매드 클라운, “콩 (Hide And Seek),” (Feat. Jooyoung 주영). Included in blog entry dated 2015-01-21.
[daily log: walking, 3km]
Month: July 2018
Caveat: Poem #714
There are 2 types of projects:
Those that must be done…
And those I'd like to get done.
The former get done.
The latter may get done, someday.
Maybe.
Sometimes I prefer to watch the trees on the hillside.
Caveat: the exit 7 gang
I went to Seoul today, and saw my friends Peter and Basil. I may not see them again for a while. Actually, it's been a few years since I last saw Basil, since he'd gone to live in Turkey for a few years. But he's back in Gwangju, so he came up to Seoul for the weekend.
We met at exit 7 of the 동대문역사문화공원역 (Dongdaemun History and Culture Park Subway Station), which is possibly the longest-named subway station in Seoul. It also is a pretty complicated station, with three separate lines and a maze of passages under the neighborhoods above. Anyway, this is the area that I have always called in my mind "Russiatown" – but there's nothing official in that designation, and in recent years the area that had once had the gritty feel of a Central Asian (ex-Soviet republics) immigrant ghetto has been gentrifying quite a bit. But this is the place where I first met Peter, at some party Basil was hosting at a Kazakh-Russian restaurant we've frequented there.
So here is exit 7, looking across the street at a snazzy new cafe with a Russian name next to a 7-11 store.
Here is my never-to-be-missed bowl of borscht, my beloved staple of Russian cuisine.
We took a group photo in front of the restaurant afterward.
Then we went to Gangnam. This is standing at Samseong Station (COEX Mall) looking west along Teheran-ro toward central Gangnam.
I saw this house which I liked architecturally – a rare post-war but pre-boom bit of architecture in otherwise boomified Gangnam.
Basil wanted to go to a bakery in Gangnam that served San Francisco sourdough style bread. It was called "Bob's Bread," which makes me think of my friend Bob, who often ate simple bread (arguably he gave me the habit of enjoying bread without anything on it – just bread).
Then we took a taxi to Itaewon, where Basil always stays when he comes to Seoul. I only ever ride a taxi in Seoul when I'm with Basil. He likes taking taxis places, whereas I'm a subway/bus/walk type person. But no problem. There was a nice view of Bukhansan northward across the river, while we sat in traffic on Eonjuro.
Itaewon is such an amazing place – the atmosphere there is more like Koreatown in LA, or the Village in NYC, than it is like anywhere else in Korea. There are crazy people ranting on the streets, crowds of foreign tourists and residents, Africans and Middle-Easterners hawking things, police patrols, US military on leave, etc. But it's been gentrified, too – 10 years ago, it ONLY had those things. Now there are hoards of Korean tourists, too, looking for an edgy out-of-country experience close to home.
We went to a cafe and talked for a few more hours. Then I went home. … Well, I have to stop thinking of it as "home."
[daily log: walking, 6.5km]
Caveat: Poem #713
Now I've boxed my books,
they're out of both sight and mind.
I study the shelves.
Caveat: Destiny, Destination
I don't have a lot to say today, and currently I have no new "pre-made" posts queued up for my blog.
So I'll recycle some old photographs, from my uncle's house in Alaska. I don't normally like to "repost" old stuff on my blog, but this is where I'm going to be living. Some people might be interested in that.
This photo is from a visit there in 2009.
This is standing at the back of the house, looking down the Port Saint Nicholas Fiord (an inlet of the Pacific Ocean), toward the hill called Sunny Hay, which has a patch of snow on it. The town of Craig is at the base of the hill to the left, behind the trees and across the water.
These photos are from my visit there in 2016.
This is looking "up" the fiord, toward the center of the island at dawn. The house at lower right is my uncle's closest neighbor.
This is looking down onto the dock at his house. Down in the boat is my uncle, Arthur. Standing on the dock, looking down, are Curt and I.
[daily log: walking, 7.5km; carrying heavy box to post office, 0.5km]
Caveat: Poem #712 “Chaos into coffee”
ㅁ dawn coffee typical day's beginning yet soon everything will change, routines will break I'll make chaos of my life but for now I can sit, thoughtful experience the smell of coffee
– a reverse nonnet.
Caveat: this American who mails a box to Alaska every morning
Today when I went to the post office with my daily box, the woman at the counter recognized me. I took my number, and immediately she lit up her window with my number – how did she do that? I guess the place wasn't very busy. So we had a brief exchange about how I was sending a box every day. Then she was explaining, in Korean, to the man at the next window, about this American who mails a box to Alaska every morning.
It was funny. I've become a moment of intrigue and entertainment for the people working at the post office.
[daily log: walking, 7.5km; carrying heavy box to post office, 0.5km]
Caveat: Poem #711
at the edge of mind
slipping into perception
electric fan's whirr
Caveat: de qué sirvió mi fuerte sombra mía
RETROSPECTIVA EXISTENTE
Me registro los bolsillos desiertos
para saber dónde fueron aquellos sueños.
Invado las estancias vacías
para recoger mis palabras tan lejanamente idas.
Saqueo aparadores antiguos,
viejos zapatos, amarillentas fotografías tiernas,
estilográficas desusadas y textos desgajados del Bachillerato,
pero nadie me dice quién fui yo.
Aquellas canciones que tanto amaba
no me explican dónde fueron mis minutos,
y aunque torturo los espejos
con peinados de quince años,
con miradas podridas de cinco años
o quizá de muerto,
nadie, nadie me dice dónde estuvo mi voz
ni de qué sirvió mi fuerte sombra mía
esculpida en presurosos desayunos,
en jolgorios de aulas y pelotas de trapo,
mientras los otoños sedimentaban
de pálidas sangres
las bodegas del Ebro.
¿En qué escondidos armarios
guardan los subterráneos ángeles
nuestros restos de nieve nocturna atormentada?
¿Por qué vertientes terribles se despeñan
los corazones de los viejos relojes parados?
¿Dónde encontraremos todo aquello
que éramos en las tardes de los sábados,
cuando el violento secreto de la Vida
era tan sólo
una dulce campana enamorada?
Pues yo registro los bolsillos desiertos
y no encuentro ni un solo minuto mío,
ni una sola mirada en los espejos
que me diga quién fui yo.
– Miguel Labordeta (poeta español, 1921-1969)
[daily log: walking, 7.5km; carrying heavy box to post office, 0.5km]
Caveat: Poem #710
Humidity puts fog on glass. I think
the summer rains have coated atmosphere
with dim regrets, unspoken colloquies.
Caveat: Sometimes I lay Under the moon
This heartwarming little video appeared in my facebook feed the other day (h/t my own dad – heh). Given that I'm recently returned to facebookland, despite ambivalences, right?
I was curious about the song's provenance, because it seemed a good, positive song for my CC classes at Karma. So I did some google-fu, and found it.
What I'm listening to right now.
Matisyahu, "One Day."
Lyrics.
Sometimes I lay
Under the moon
And thank God I'm breathing
Then I pray
Don't take me soon
'Cause I am here for a reason
Sometimes in my tears I drown
But I never let it get me down
So when negativity surrounds
I know some day it'll all turn around
Because
All my life I've been waiting for
I've been praying for
For the people to say
That we don't wanna fight no more
There will be no more wars
And our children will play
One day (one day), One day (one day)
One day (one day), One day (one day)
One day (one day), One day (one day)
It's not about
Win or lose
'Cause we all lose
When they feed on the souls of the innocent
Blood-drenched pavement
Keep on moving though the waters stay raging
In this maze you can lose your way (your way)
It might drive you crazy but don't let it faze you, no way (no way)
Sometimes in my tears I drown
But I never let it get me down
So when negativity surrounds
I know some day it'll all turn around
Because
All my life I've been waiting for
I've been praying for
For the people to say
That we don't wanna fight no more
They'll be no more wars
And our children will play
One day (one day), One day (one day)
One day (one day), One day (one day)
One day (one day), One day (one day)
One day this all will change
Treat people the same
Stop with the violence
Down with the hate
One day we'll all be free
And proud to be
Under the same sun
Singing songs of freedom like
One day (one day), One day (one day)
One day (one day), One day (one day)
All my life I've been waiting for
I've been praying for
For the people to say
That we don't wanna fight no more
They'll be no more wars
And our children will play
One day (one day), One day (one day)
One day (one day), One day (one day)
One day (one day), One day (one day)
[daily log: walking, 7.5km; carrying heavy box to post office, 0.5km]
Caveat: Poem #709
swathes of blue or green will set free
the rising tree, maybe clean
air unseen.
Caveat: I’m an apostrophe
As mentioned before, we have this thing at Karma called "CC" class – a somewhat opaque name for what are essentially focused listening exercises using English-language pop songs. Mostly, these days, I can proudly say that my initiative to have the students prepare and present their own choices of songs has gone quite well, and 90% of the time, the students do their homework and they lead the class. I love sitting in a class where the students are leading, and even using English fairly successfully to manage the class.
But sometimes a student forgets his or her homework, or some miscommunication causes there not to be a prepared song for a given class. So I have some "backup" songs prepared. One of the "CC" songs that I've been using for this is "Whatever It Takes," by the group Imagine Dragons. Like many of the CC pop songs, I was fairly neutral about the song at first, but with repeated careful listenings and presentations of the song, it's grown on me.
Last Saturday, I presented the song to my HS2-T cohort, because they were returning from their month-long "naesin" hiatus and the song that the student had prepared was one it turned out we'd done before. As usual, I was deeply impressed with these students' amazing listening skills, quickly identifying missing words in the Cloze passage of the song that even I struggled to hear. So we made our way through the song.
As we wrapped up the class, I told the students that I'd grown to like the song.
One of the girls asked, "Why do you like it?"
In fact, I couldn't think of a reason. But I always have to say something, right? That's what I'm known for, and that's my reputation: Jared always has some opinion on anything, and he'll present his reasons in little coherent, organized paragraphs, like a good debate teacher should, right?
So I had to think fast on my feet. Offhandedly, I said, "Because the song has lots of long words in it." This is more or less true. It does have some unexpectedly sesquipedalian vocabulary, which the singer rattles off in rock-rap style quite amazingly.
"For example," I added, spontaneously, "it has the word apostrophe. I never heard a song with the word apostrophe in it, before." This is true, as far as it goes. But then I elaborated, "'Apostrophe' is one of my favorite words." That was pure confabulation, but it supported my argument with a subjective, emotional appeal. Anyway, it satisfied the girl's request for a reason why I liked the song.
But then the girls started saying, "Apostrophe, apostrophe," over and over. "Is that good entertainment for you?" one asked.
Indeed. Good entertainment.
What I'm listening to right now.
Imagine Dragons, "Whatever It Takes."
Lyrics.
Falling too fast to prepare for this
Tripping in the world could be dangerous
Everybody circling, it's vulturous
Negative, nepotist
Everybody waiting for the fall of man
Everybody praying for the end of times
Everybody hoping they could be the one
I was born to run, I was born for this
Whip, whip
Run me like a racehorse
Pull me like a ripcord
Break me down and build me up
I wanna be the slip, slip
Word upon your lip, lip
Letter that you rip, rip
Break me down and build me up
Whatever it takes
'Cause I love the adrenaline in my veins
I do whatever it takes
'Cause I love how it feels when I break the chains
Whatever it takes
You take me to the top I'm ready for
Whatever it takes
'Cause I love the adrenaline in my veins
I do what it takes
Always had a fear of being typical
Looking at my body feeling miserable
Always hanging on to the visual
I wanna be invisible
Looking at my years like a martyrdom
Everybody needs to be a part of 'em
Never be enough, I'm the prodigal son
I was born to run, I was born for this
Whip, whip
Run me like a racehorse
Pull me like a ripcord
Break me down and build me up
I wanna be the slip, slip
Word upon your lip, lip
Letter that you rip, rip
Break me down and build me up
Whatever it takes
'Cause I love the adrenaline in my veins
I do whatever it takes
'Cause I love how it feels when I break the chains
Whatever it takes
You take me to the top, I'm ready for
Whatever it takes
'Cause I love the adrenaline in my veins
I do what it takes
Hypocritical, egotistical
Don't wanna be the parenthetical, hypothetical
Working onto something that I'm proud of, out of the box
An epoxy to the world and the vision we've lost
I'm an apostrophe
I'm just a symbol to remind you that there's more to see
I'm just a product of the system, a catastrophe
And yet a masterpiece, and yet I'm half-diseased
And when I am deceased
At least I go down to the grave and die happily
Leave the body and my soul to be a part of thee
I do what it takes
Whatever it takes
'Cause I love the adrenaline in my veins
I do whatever it takes
'Cause I love how it feels when I break the chains
Whatever it takes
You take me to the top, I'm ready for
Whatever it takes
'Cause I love the adrenaline in my veins
I do what it takes
[daily log: walking, 7.5km; carrying heavy box to post office, 0.5km]
Caveat: Poem #708
My soul is a slate
upon which fate inscribes lines:
curves and cool whitespace.
Caveat: Poem #707
The sky, simplest blue;
the rain having fled, clouds too;
but things are clean, cool.
[daily log: walking, 1km]
Caveat: on the desirability (or not) of movement
I have a student named N__. Because the current "test prep period" for middle schoolers (colloquially called "내신") is just now ending, a lot of students are still absent, so much to N__'s dismay, she found herself stuck with me in a class where she was the only student present. I know this is unpleasant and awkward for typical teenagers of any nationality: getting stuck in an impromptu one-on-one class with a teacher.
When this happens with an advanced-level middle-schooler, I pull out my pile of randomized Type 1 and Type 2 TOEFL Speaking questions, which hinge on personal opinions and preferences, and I subject the victim to an onslaught of timed, unprepared speaking drills.
N__ was quite reluctant at first, but I shortly realized that despite her being a fairly recent arrival at Karma, she'd obviously done TOEFL style speaking drills before – she was quite competent even relative to her peers who have had to suffer my insistence on this method for several years. Further, although lacking much vocabulary and having rather poor pronunciation, she had a good instinct for making instant, logical, meaningful answers. She even introduced quite a bit of humor at several points.
One question was something along the lines of "What is your favorite season?" Without pause, she simply said:
"Argh! I hate ALL of them!"
And then she said nothing more. That was sufficient, as far as she was concerned. She folded her arms to punctuate her point.
My favorite was with a question that went as follows:
What is your favorite way of getting around? (This question is meant to evoke responses on the topic of means of daily transportation, e.g. cars vs buses vs walking vs biking, etc.).
N__ asked me for clarification on the exact meaning of the question, nodded her head twice, and then, without missing a beat, immediately began:
"In fact, I don't much like moving at all. I would prefer to just sit at home… "
I broke out laughing, which broke her concentration, so she wasn't able to give more detail. I'm sure this pleased her.
In her several months at Karma, I'd already developed an idea of her personality as one of those laconic, can't-be-bothered teenagers, and here she was showing a full self-awareness and even some humorous intentionality to this image she projected.
By the end of class, she was less sleepy-eyed and more comfortable – I think my positive feedback on her pragmatically appropriate answers, regardless of their official TOEFL quality, helped her feel more confident.
What I'm listening to right now.
Arnold Schoenberg, "String Quartet No. 4" performed by LaSalle Quartet.
[daily log: walking, 7.5km]
Caveat: Poem #706
The world suddenly turns blue and then fades
and lurking shades surge on through
night, made new
Caveat: well, whatever
Now that I have made my departure announcement "official" – by telling my students in my classes – and even putting it on facebook – I have to confront the ways people deal with the news.
It's interesting seeing different student reactions to the news.
Of course some students are clearly sad. And although that's sad to see, at least it also shows me that they have some attachment to me, which is gratifying for my ego, right?
In fact, the student reactions that most depress me are the reactions of shrugging indifference, often from students I have known for quite a long time. Certainly, there are cases where the student's reaction is a sort of emotional self-protection, a refusal to admit outward interest, and their actual feelings remain opaque. But there are clearly other cases where it's just simply that, for all that I was a part of a student's life for 2 or 3 or 4 years, I just don't mean that much to them. And I guess that's OK, too. Nevertheless, there can be noticeable asymmetries in these feelings – which is only to say, some of these indifferent students, I will miss a great deal.
The other day a student said to the news, simply, "well, whatever," and rolled her eyes.
[daily log: walking, 7.5km; carrying heavy box to post office, 0.5km]
Caveat: Poem #705
such melancholy
telling my students I'll go
their looks of surprise
Caveat: My own private DMZ
My packing progress reached a kind of milestone, today.
I have been doing a sort of "bubble sort" on my apartment. I divide things into piles, and go through piles doing a sort of "keep, give-away, trash, defer decision" classification on each item. Today, I implemented a broad categorization for the two non-trash categories. I have one side of the apartment classified as either "keep and send to the US" or "defer decision", and the other side of the apartment classified as "leave behind". The goal, of course, is that between trips to the post office and trips to the trash zone downstairs, these categories will finally result in only my packed luggage on the "keep" side, and everything else on the "leave" side so that I can have some friends over to help me dispose of it.
I took a picture.
Everything on the left is "leave behind" and everything on the right is "still needs to sort" or "ready to send to US."
This doesn't include some items still in my closets, behind me in the picture. But I feel like the end state is within conception, now – and that's the first time I've felt that. I have 16 days left.
This reminds me a lot of the summer before I came to Korea, in 2007. I really spent all of August packing and sorting and organizing my stuff. And my storage unit in Minneapolis represents the frozen result of that effort. So now I'll have a new similar result – a bunch of boxes waiting for me in Alaska, and some suitcases, and the rest is abandoned.
I guess it's good to tackle this kind of thing once a decade or so. But I'm realizing that this is just phase one. Once back in the US, I'll have to go to Minnesota and repeat the process to get out of that storage unit.
[daily log: walking, 8km; carrying heavy box to post office, 0.5km]
Caveat: Poem #704
the monsoon might rest
for a moment: hello sun;
hello brooding heat
Caveat: Still Not Dead
Maybe I’m still alive.
Today is a kind of milestone – five years ago today, I had surgery to remove my tumor.
My final check-up at the cancer hospital is coming up in about 2 weeks’ time – it was originally scheduled for today, in fact, but they had to move it for some reason. After my check up, this time, the hospital releases me from “monitoring” (ie. the scheduled semi-annual CAT scans, mostly) under the assumption that any metastasis is unlikely at this point.
Thus, any cancer I get, from here forward, is presumed to be “new” in some sense, I guess. Not that it really works that way. The current understanding is that we all have cancer, all the time. But mostly, our immune systems in all their guises keep it in check. So getting sick with cancer is mostly a failure of some aspect of the immune system.
[daily log: walking, 8km; carrying heavy box to post office, 0.5km]
Caveat: Poem #703
I lay prepared like poultry: grist for knives
or scalpels held by surgeons, mentally
relinquishing a grip on life, unknown
events awaiting, ghostlike now and gone.
Caveat: 스무th
Today at work I saw a student (I’m not sure who) had added a comment to one of my whiteboard alligators.
They gave the “annoyed alligator” something to say, with a speech bubble. What he was saying was, “스무th” [seumu-th] which is a transliteration of “smooth”, I suppose. I think there’s some kind of meme going around Korean tweenagerdom using this English word. But what I found surprising was that the transcription into the Korean alphabet (hangul) shows a certain phonological sophistication, in that the “th” sound is un-transcribed, which in turn indicates an awareness that the “th” sound doesn’t exist Korean. Normally, the “th” sound is alternately transcribed as either “ㅅ/ㅆ” [s/ss] or as “ㄷ/ㄸ” [d/tt]. And most Koreans seem singularly unaware that in fact it is not either of these sounds but rather something else. So this unusual non-transcription event makes me feel happy that at least one junior whiteboard vandal at Karma has got the concept. Here’s a picture.
[daily log: walking, 8.5km; carrying heavy box to post office, 0.5km]
Caveat: Poem #702
Eight thirteen AM
Vast piles of my own past sit
drinking atmosphere
Caveat: Signs or Omens
For the next three weeks, as I prepare my departure from the place I've called home for more than a decade, I will be making a daily trip to the post office. That's because it seems like the best way to get some of my possessions back home is to simply mail them. It may not the be the cheapest, but certainly I suspect it's the best compromise of price and convenience.
So I pack boxes and mail them – if I do one a day between now and my departure, that should be about right, I'm guessing.
Today at my local post office branch, I saw this at the back entrance.
I've circled in red the notable detail: that container is one of the US Post Office's proprietary containers. It's being used as an overflow trash can at a Seoul suburban post office.
I guess that's yet another sign to go back to the US, right?
[daily log: walking, 8km,; carrying heavy box to post office, 0.5km]
Caveat: Poem #701
well now it's raining
and raining and raining and
emptying the sky