Before Korea Pt. 1

When I was a kid my favorite thing to do was go on adventures. Usually this simply constituted walking around in the woods behind my house. The horses in my neighbor’s yard were mythical sea serpents that galloped away in fear when they saw me with my mighty sword. My parents’ Japanese maple tree was a twenty armed snake monster that was no match for my ninja skills. Halfway through hacking up the tree, reality suddenly set in and I thought “This probably isn’t a good idea,” but I justified my decision to stop beating up the tree as an act of mercy. So when my parents found that I had only hacked off half the limbs they only grounded me for a week instead of the rest of my life. 

Armed with a good toy sword I could conquer anything that stood in my path. My favorite was a light-up Aladdin sword replica that my grandma got me when we went to go see Disney on Ice. It was the best sword because it could not only hack down branches and monsters but it could also light up the darkest deer paths and caves under my house. 

But then you get older and the woods behind your house are no longer interesting. Going to your friend’s house for the day seems like no time at all and the blanket and stuffed animals you’ve loved your whole life suddenly become embarrassing. I became more interested in playing video games or chasing girls and the worst was when I started caring what girls actually thought of me. 

High school for me was like a very boring after school special. Nothing terrible happened except for the occasional hook-up and/or break-up. I never got beat-up by an upperclassman or shoved into a locker. I suppose I was born a romantic though so after every breakup I thought I would never find love again. To be young and dumb is such a wonderful thing. After my first real relationship in high school ended I decided the best solution to curing my endless sorrow was to completely leave town and pursue the life of an artist. So my parents sent me to a summer art program in San Francisco after my junior year. I was eager to learn how to become a real artist and learn how to draw and paint from live models. My only fear was seeing a nude model and my raging teenage hormones getting the best of me and not being able to leave class until every student had left or someone conveniently had a bucket of ice water that I could pour down my pants. But that never happened. Drawing from a model, for me, was completely natural. All I saw was form and I wanted nothing else but to be able to replicate that form in a way that was accurate and unique. I knew after that summer that all I wanted to be was an artist in some form or another and travel the world like the expats I learned about in my freshmen English class.

Before Korea Pt.2

After high school most of my friends went to the University of Santa Cruz. I wanted to be completely independent and explore the world further so I went to art school in Kansas City, Missouri.  I had never been further east than Arizona and when I thought of the Midwest I thought of dangerous tornadoes like the ones from Twister. “Look how brave I am!” I thought. “I could get sucked up into one of these things but that’s the risk I take cuz I’m an artist and I’m reckless!”  My opinion changed after my first bitter winter and after being harassed by one too many well-intentioned Christians who said they would pray for my soul when I told them I wasn’t religious. No offense to Midwesterners but the Midwest kinda sucks.  I met some great friends and the writing program at my school literally changed my life but given the choice between living in the Midwest or eating a jar of pickles every day, (I hate pickles) I would probably choose the jar of pickles nine times out of ten.

While in college I took a summer class in Paris hosted by my Art History and Writing professor.  My short one month trip to France spurred my love for travel. Every second in France was amazing.  The history, art, and romance of France was never ending. It sounds like a horrible tourist summary you find in a brochure but sometimes clichés are the most sincere. Coming back to the Midwest after Paris was like eating at IHop instead of a classy restaurant with candlelight and a secret wine cellar—it’s more than doable but you know you would choose the other if you had the money or the means.

While I was in college the economy and the whole world seemed to collapse. After graduation I found myself moving back home with my parents with no job prospects.  I spent five months looking for a job with no luck so I took a job at a local pizza parlor. Working at that pizza parlor was like someone had gone out of their way to find the bane that would completely destroy my soul.  Home, which had always been a place of comfort, had now become a place of angst and frustration.  I couldn’t focus on my art and I couldn’t make enough money working at a shitty pizza parlor to move out. I seriously considered joining the army.  My first choice was actually the navy because even if I had to take orders all day at least I would be on a boat, traveling the world. I told my parents my great idea and they basically told me I was out of my fucking mind.  “You’re sensitive and rebellious. Your ears are pierced and you like your hair long. You wouldn’t last one second in the army before going crazy.”  So I took my research on getting into the navy more seriously just as a “Fuck you” to my parents for telling me what I could and couldn’t do. After I got done being pissed off and feeling rejected I calmed down and I remembered talking to my counselor in college about teaching abroad. I researched the best ESL certificate programs and a year later I was getting ready to move to Korea.

The two months before I left for Korea was like getting ready to jump into a cold mountain lake.  I knew where the lake was and I knew it would still be there when I finally worked up enough courage to jump so I kept putting it off in my mind. I knew I would have to go sometime but it was always in some mysterious future that never got closer. It didn’t register that I was actually going to Korea until the week I started packing.  Packing never took very long for me.  Tell me where I’m going and for how long and I would have my bag packed in ten minutes. That’s assuming I could find everything in the chaos of my room.  The first day I packed for Korea it took me ten minutes. Then I found things I forgot I had and knew I needed so I packed again.  Then when I realized it would be impossible to bring four fifty-pound suitcases with me I threw everything out and started over.  I couldn’t decide between my favorite movies or books, shirts, and pants. Then I realized I wouldn’t be able to bring my guitar and it was almost like being told I couldn’t bring my family dog with me. Playing the guitar had become my favorite hobby just before leaving and I was excited to try and woo the hell out of some Korean girls. I finally finished packing the night before my trip. At 6a.m. I would be leaving for SFO airport. It wasn’t until I was in the security line saying goodbye to my parents that I realized I was actually leaving for Korea. I was finally jumping and I have no plastic sword to defend me and no professor who could translate for me. I didn’t look back at my parents because I wanted them to see how strong I was so they could be proud of me. But when I got to my gate and sat down the only I could think was, “What the fuck am I doing?”

So this is my first post for this blog but I've been in Korea for two weeks now. I have a lot of catching up to do. These next few posts will be in retrospect until I get caught up.