It's been awhile since I last wrote, and a lot has transpired in that time. I am stuck in my apartment for the time being, but the landlord did fix the water problem as well as the stove. (Not that I'm letting him off the hook... the mold is as bad as ever, and when we came over to look at the water leak he was his rude, creeptastic self. At one point, he hacked up a chunk of phlegm, spit it into his hand, and proceeded to just hold it there. I was appalled). Actually, the fact that he had my stove and water problem fixed was dampened by the fact that, when I returned home from work after giving the landlord my door code, I discovered that someone, repairman or landlord, had been all over my place. I had wrapped some fairy lights around my banister railing, but whoever had been at my place had unwrapped all 20 meters of lights and taken them down. My trash can was full of strange things, including a pair of shoes I'd never before laid eyes on. I was disturbed that someone had been in my place. I felt mildly violated, and very wary that my door code was no longer exclusively known to me. (The code has since been changed, and I do feel safe now).
About a month ago, Kaela and her coworker Connie and I went to the Onggi festival. I spent both Friday and Saturday evening at Kaela's place, and we had a nice time, indulging in makkeli and girl talk. After the festival, the three of us travelled to Busan for, what I had been told, was the most epic firework show in Korea. Since the crowds at this event tend to be horrific, Kaela suggested that we view the show from the top of a mountain. In theory, this plan was great. In reality, the physical exertion was painful (four hours of mountain climbing will make anyone's ass hurt) but we didn't even get to where we needed to go. (And the normal soreness of climbing was amplified by the fact that I was on my period). We kept climbing and climbing, then suddenly we saw this:
We kept climbing. The barbed wire thickened. The signs grew more ominous.
Still, we were determined to reach our destination; we had come this
far, how could we give up? The trees were thick and the path was steep
when we heard a booming Korean voice, magnified by some unseen speaker
located somewhere above our path. Since none of us understand Korean,
we tentatively continued our trek. Suddenly, the announcement changed
into English, warning us that "This is a minefield! Do not approach the
area."
We hightailed it back the way we came.
Climbing down a mountain is much less exhausting than climbing up; climbing a down a mountain in the dark, though, can be mildly frightening. By the time we reached sea level, night had officially fallen and it was nearly impossible to find a taxi to the underground station. After the taxi took us to the train and the train took us to our stop, we emerged from the underground to find that the crowds were so congested that the police formed a seemingly endless human chain to keep more people from going to the beach.
We had no choice but to return to the underground. We ended up near the water, but this beach was too far away from the firework show to offer any kind of view. We opted to buy snacks and alcohol from the nearest convenience store and embraced the Korean freedom to drink in public. We sat on the sandy beach, seeing approximately one firework from the distance. It had truly been an excursion of blood, sweat, and beer. And the real entertainment turned out not to be the fireworks (which we all but missed) but the romantic antics of a young, college-aged Korean couple down the beach from us. Yes, I felt like a pervert, but 1) they were doing it openly 2) nothing got past the level of chaste Korean drama (PG rating, tops) and 3) My acute awareness of my own singleness would not allow me to look away.
Couples culture in Korea is tangible. It's normal to see people paired up, linking arms, holding hands, wearing matching outfits. A few weeks ago I was waiting at a crosswalk in Samsan-dong and I noticed this young couple, probably just post-high school. They were clearly in love with each other and when I saw them I was overwhelmed with a pure, empathetic happiness. (It was the same kind of "happy for" I felt during one of my last weekends in Minnesota with my sister Greta. We were driving down to Minneapolis and the night skyline was just coming into view. The song "Boom Clap" was blaring on our radio and there was a couple, tattooed and decked out in leather, riding a motorcycle next to our car. She had her arms around his waist but she spread and lifted her arms like she was flying... Greta and I were just like, "You go! Be happy!" And honestly, it probably wasn't safe for me to be crying so many tears whilst operating a car on a freeway... but I was deeply happy for them and thankfully no accidents were caused on account of my sincerity).
I'm happy in Korea. I wake up in the morning with a smile on my face. I ardently believe that being in Korea is a gift, a true blessing, and I am infinitely thankful for my life. Also, I have news of a more personal level that I can't not address here:
The day that the landlord and repairman came into my apartment was Halloween, and it was that evening, while I was wearing white, feathery angel wings, that I met my boyfriend. He's Korean but he lived in my home state of Minnesota for a year as an exchange student. (What are the odds of that? Seriously). Everything clicked, and my life in Korea somehow became even brighter.
Sometimes the best parts of life are the most unexpected.
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