Travel and Travail

Last Saturday and Sunday, I chased the sun around the world. As dramatic as that sounds, that’s sincerely how it felt. After a sleepless night of packing (or cramming stuff into things that weren’t meant to hold twice their weight), I boarded a plane from NYC to Los Angeles. I could tell that some of my fellow passengers were also making their way to Korea, evidenced by the snickering heard whenever I’d take out my bright yellow Easy As Il, Ee, Sam Korean Language book. Whatever, teenage Korean girl sitting next to me. At least I’m trying!

Transferred from United to Asiana upon arrival in LA. Walked with my bulging tumor of a carry-on to the gate and paid $20 for a veggie sandwich, fountain drink and fruit cup.

On the plane to Incheon, I was the only non-Asian within sight. The plane was decked out with individual TV screens (like Jet Blue) – and I watched a terrific Korean film, Castaway On the Moon. Highly recommended. Also, the title pretty much summed up how I felt during the entire plane ride to Seoul. Neverending blinding daylight, unable to communicate with anyone around me and half-crazy from sleep deprivation. The constant sunlight was made stranger by the attendants insisting on closing every window for the entire trip. Strange feeling: knowing that it’s blindingly white outside, but forced into a cave-like environment for an inordinate amount of time. It felt as though I was on some lost episode of The Twilight Zone, drifting in an out of consciousness, eating food I’d never seen before (some dishes packaged in toothpaste tubes), strapped into an uncomfortable chair where aliens would observe me as they trotted by. The movies were my one respite and boy, did I take advantage. I even managed to watch New In Town after exhausting every other semi-decent option. Somehow the pinched face of Renee Zelwegger provided a weird comfort for me. I remember reading an article in The New Yorker about some American’s travels in Siberia and how, after traveling the barren landscape for several days, he found comfort in the occasional presence of American-like retail strips (or as I like to call them: concrete wastelands- like the town I grew up in.) It was akin to that.

Before I knew it (or rather, a long-ass time later) – I was in Suwon, awkwardly greeting my new Korean neighbors and standing in bewilderment at the size of my new apartment. Beyond small. But I suppose I shouldn’t complain since I’m not paying rent. Yeah, I shouldn’t. I won't mention it again.

So now I’m here. It’s my 3^rd day of teaching. There is, of course, lots of other stuff to note, but I wanted to begin with my harrowing journey here so that I don’t forget how I got here and that I did in fact, come here from another country- another city. New York City. That’s correct, right? Yes, I think so.

With my poor object constancy, it’s easy to feel as though I was dropped from the sky one day a long time ago and have been living here as a foreigner for some time. Honestly, it seems my object constancy is what helps me transition from one place to another. Pairing that with my lack of ‘normal’ foundations (e.g. religion, a dominant ethnicity, an attachment to family, etc.) – moving to a foreign country isn’t as difficult as one might think. Certain negatives have become positives here. My paranoia that everyone is staring at me has been completely justified (everyone really IS staring at me ALL of the time). Also, feeling like the requisite ‘other’ now has its place here. In a way, the confirmation of my paranoia and feeling alone is helpful. Because now I can focus on other things. Like learning Korean, finishing my script, getting healthy, et al…

I hope this feeling lasts.