Tang San Mountain Tonight

I put on my new waterproof windbreaker I received via a delivery guy last week for the first time. I had already de-factoried it last week with a nice wash and ten hours in the sun hanging out my window and the smell is fresh air not plastic and chemicals. This made me smile casually. I stepped outside my, door and my neighbor across the hall was returning to her place and said “HI. How are you?” She meant it. We met a few times previously. She can speak English and is an English teacher at a hag won (institute) here in Cheonan. “Good! I am going out for a nice walk.”

Her face looked puzzled. “But it is raining outside.”

“I know. I said I was going for a walk, I didn’t say it made sense.”

She smiled warmly, “It should be good. Bye-Bye.”

“Yes it should, thanks. Bye-Bye.” And down the marble brown and tan steps to the exit door and the stone and cement walkway in front of our building. It is barely raining, one of my favorite walking environments, especially with the temperature in the lower sixties and dark. This kind of weather seems to always facilitate reflection and sensory awareness that I typically do not have at my access. I walked up the little hill across the street with the green and white concrete tiles to the main drag in my neighborhood. My neighborhood. Wow, I really live here now. I am no longer rock star nor Martian. I have achieved both neighbor and alien residentship. I am an alien. Many of my family members and friends have wondered if I was an alien for as long as I can remember. They have proof now in the shape of an ID card in my black Eagle Creek wallet.

There are less folks out on the streets than usual. This makes me happy. Tonight I brought my iPod and headphones seeking private time in public; hiding in plain sight. I do not put on my headphones yet. I want to feel the rain and hear the water and smell the freshness before I go inside the tangled web called my brain. Maybe I should take a shot at walking up Tang San Mountain. How muddy and slippery could it be? I have now passed Young Am Chatam Hokyo (elementary school) where I am an English teacher. I like teaching at a public school. The sense of hominess that is present supports me being me and them being them. Yeah, I will take a short walk up Tang San tonight. How bad can it be? I have my cell phone if it gets too bad. Crossing Ssang-yangdong 2 and heading towards the back of Highvill apartments where the trailhead begins. I hesitate at the trailhead, fear is ugly and ruthless. I take my first cautious steps up the steps to the dirt trail. I see three young guys walking down talking casually. They are not alarmed or cautious; I will be safe. They are the last humans I see on the mountain tonight. A rare contrast to the fifty or so I typically see at ten at night on a weeknight. I am grateful I will get rain, mountain, dirt and space while listening to the bugs and insects make their chirping and buzzing sounds. They are different than what I know them to sound like back in the states, more buzzing than I can remember. The dirt is soft but not slippery, which makes for a nice gentle walk. I slow down to breath in the smell of green, wet. It is its own smell without name or identification but certainly fragrant and embracing all who care to give in to its loving sweetness. The drops on my head are small; I take my hood off. I want to miss nothing tonight. Wet, the smell of greenness wet, the wet soft soil and the sounds of those who live here on the mountain. Tonight is my night here since others chose to stay indoors tonight. I feel bad that folks run for cover at any sign of inclement weather, it is such a treat on nights like tonight. Then I again smile that hidden gesture of knowing a secret that you won’t share; the secret is life is good and I am on the mountain by myself. The motion-sensor lights on the path tickle me every time they go off and on, I feel like I am walking through a scene in some movie from a time in the future or on planet Q or something. Time to turn around; I have enjoyed the walk and the mountain, no reason to get greedy. Besides, I want to listen to Vas and it seems like sacrilege to put on my headphones and iPod at a moment and place like this. Maybe even blasphemy.

I reach the bottom and enter the sidewalk with ochre, green and burnt red tiles and start up the hill to the right. I walk while searching for Vas on my iPod. They rocked me last night on my bike ride and I want to relive that again tonight in slow-mo by foot. I pass a couple who gaze at me, I feel shame at now being one of the people I judge walking in public with headphones and shutting off the world. I am back on Sang-yongdong 2 and turn left towards home. The fresh air pulls my head to the right and I notice the signs for Boar English Academy and HanKook University for Foreign Studies with its green, yellow and white sign. I approach the first of two Paris Baguette bakeries on my short walk home. The have a new Korean wheat and buckwheat cornmeal bread I tried tonight for the first timer, it was good with my jinn Ramen and Curried chicken over a vegetable salad I had for dinner tonight. I am back at Young Am Chatam Hokyo. I look up at where my classroom is. There it is, third floor on the corner facing the police station across the street. I am not ready to go home yet. I want to sit somewhere dry and appreciate the night air and mist. I remember there is a small shelter near the soccer field across the door I enter and leave daily, since my slippers are in a cubbyhole there for me to wear every day at work. I love wearing slippers at work; it should be an international law that every school in the world bans shoes worn by anyone. I imagine a lot less violence and disrespect. I plop down under the shelter on the top step of the left hand side. It feels nice. Fresh, clean, alive. I relax for just a few minutes. I am pleased and satiated; I do not want to be greedy tonight. Take what I need and leave the rest for others. Life is good.

I leave school grounds through the gate and turn right. I pass the other Paris Baguette and Nong Hyup Bank where the Korean government sends my paychecks and takes out money to pay for the delicious lunches provided at school, and I wire money to the states to pay some old balances left from six months without pay. The American dollar’s crash has cost me about four hundred dollars on Friday due to exchange rates having dropped almost 30% in the three months I’ve been here. Should I go left up the hill by the park next to Mama’s Touch Chicken or the usual way? The usual way. It occurs to me stronger and louder than earlier tonight. This is my neighborhood. I live here. This is my home! I am a neighbor again. People know me. They cannot speak with me and do not know my name, but they know me. We have exchanged bows and smiles- connection. Warmth and respect do not need words.

Tonight I will write about tonight. I have written intentional lies my last three pieces. Time to return to me, the real me. Tonight is about me. Well, not really, it is about us. Our lives, our dreams and our moments together and separate. We breathe, we eat and we love and then we cry. This is who we are. This is my home. I live here. I am a neighbor again. I can offer my home to Couch Surfers again. I have a home. I see it, there it is right in front of me now. I think I will go inside, turn on my MacBook, continue to listen to Vas and type till I am done.

I am done.

August Nights In Cheonan

It is a cool night for August in Cheonan. The humidity is still present, I can tell by the moisture in my apartment from the shirts, socks, underwear and slacks hanging to dry. We have not had many nights like this in the five weeks I have been here. I take advantage of the break in the heat and venture out for an evening walk with a stomach full of tofu, potatoes and carrots sautéed over green cabbage and a large fresh vegetables salad with sunflower seeds on top. The oil and vinegar dressing I made reminds of home, my mother.

I walk out the front door of the Darae House where I live across the stone and cement walkway to the street cattycornered from the Blue Café still trying to seduce me in its doors unsuccessfully. I pass the Cozy Café again peering in and wondering if it is really a café, or is it another code word for bar. Everything else on Ssang-yongdong gil is restaurants with Korean names I cannot yet understand but can read without any comprehension. I turn right up the slight incline to the main street in the Ssang-yongdong neighborhood before I get to the Police station with policemen always outside smoking cigarettes, since they seem to have little else to do. I have been here five weeks and have not seen or heard anything producing evidence of crime in this mid-sized city of a half million people. Next to the station is a lighted park with some cement seats and a basketball court with teenage boys shooting hoops. A boy of about 6’2” is playing against two boys and beating them badly, he has skills and knows it. I cross the street and see many families and young people playing soccer, basketball, badminton and just hanging around the dirt and gravel lot of Cheonanyoungam elementary school where I am a teacher. I smile knowing that fun, family and community continue there long after I go home. I like this school and the family-based feeling it manifests. I continue around the corner to an area of the neighborhood I have not ventured to yet except by #14 bus to downtown Cheonan.

They have nice wide sidewalks made for comfortable walking for families and relaxation. Koreans love to enjoy a casual walk after dinner till late at night. They are out most nights as individuals with iPods, couples holding hands, teens walking home from English academies and families being families. I notice the soft, gentle pace of all the walkers, none have on designated walking outfits, none are with equipment to lose weight, and none are running in tight Lycra displaying their bodies. They are walking for walking sake. They look happy with smiles on their faces evidencing the simplicity of an activity of peace, community and health. It is refreshing walking on these rose, yellow and green tiled cement walkways without observing people jogging in complete misery desperate to lose another three pounds. No misery walking in Korea. Walking is for health, not appearance.

After a mile or so, I mean about fifteen hundred kilometers, (I couldn’t resist); I walk up an incline to little park with benchs and a center resting area. I sit and stare at the clouds hovering above; they are white, soft and mostly still. The gentle breeze is not enough to get them moving, so I can see and take time to watch. A young girl of about eight or nine runs up the hill excited, quickly looks at me and sits across from me to look at the foreigner. She is careful to not be rude- her glances are brief and non-direct. Since she is young, I know she can speak some English, I assume that is why she is here in the first place. Young kids love to practice their limited English on foreigners.

I say, “Hello”.
She smiles, containing her excitement and replies, “Hi!” She looks away to not seem eager or disrespectful to an adult, especially a foreigner. A moment later, she gets up, says, “Good-bye”, glances at me briefly and runs down the hill and across the thin side street. She is back a few minutes later while I am still staring and appreciating the clouds and the trees. I say, “Hello” again to make her feel welcome. Kids here cannot wait to say “Hello” to anyone who will let them. I am a willing participant at any opportunity I can get. Who would not want to be the focus of these beautiful, excited smiles?
I get up to leave, and say “Good-bye” again.
She says, “Bye Bye”.
I ask, “How are you?”
“I am fine” she responds in perfect English as if she has done so every day of her life.
“Nice to meet you” I say knowing they are all taught to say this.
“Nice to meet you too.” She bows, as do I. I walk away smiling from ear to ear, she is beaming next to her little brother.

The walk back to my space is full of breathing in the night air, noticing young kids out walking, talking and riding bikes after ten at night and feeling Blessed to be here in Korea. I reflect for a moment on how I will ever be able to return to a land without bowing, casual walking, friendliness, cops too bored to do anything but smoke cigarettes and families enjoying the night without regard for the hour embracing now and this moment. I have a flinch of shame over how many nights I have been too lazy or distracted to make my evening walk here in Cheonan to remember life and why it is so special. I stop at Tous les Jous and buy their last baguette for the night for the equivalent of $1.50. I walk with it in my right hand past folks sitting on the floor of the restaurant on my right just before I turn towards my street. Again, I peer in the windows of the Cozy Café without discerning any more than the other ten times I have tried and failed. This was a great walk. I walk up the steps to the second floor, entering my apartment and clothes hanging on my hand made indoor clothesline. It is good to be home and actually have a home.

Greater Value Than Money

As an American that grew up thirty miles from NYC, money has always had high importance in my life. Both my parents were children during the great Depression and never quite accepted times of affluence or at least economic comfort in their lives. I inherited their fears and sense of scarcity in general but more specifically, food and money. I was raised to be financial successful as a means of measuring my manhood since money is the currency that acquires women, the ultimate prize and stature of a man. The value of money and the women attached to its attainment were al I was groomed for as a young man. It took forty-seven years and a seven thousand mile airplane flight for me to see there is actually something of greater value than money. A good umbrella.

It rains often and heavy here in South Korea. There are times it is a complete downpour for hours and hours. There has only been one day since I have arrived that at least a quarter of the day wasn’t raining hard. I have never been an umbrella kind of guy. I was the tough it out like a man sort of rain dweller. That has changed. I have a good umbrella by my side whenever I set foot outside the apartment building I live in. I can hear the pitter patter of the raindrops on the roof as I write this. It is soothing and disruptive at the same time. The noise feels very comforting to me as if a gentle reminder that nature is nature. This kind of voice whispering to me, “You are not in charge or control and never will be.” is such a relief to me. The force of the downfalls can be unsettling in the exact same way, a reminder that nature is nature and will do as he pleases when she pleases to whatever extent she pleases. I tried to be cool my first couple of days walking about without and umbrella but after totally soaking my purple t-shirt to the point where it became heavy to wear, I accepted I am not bigger nor bolder than nature herself. I humbly spent 12,000 Won to purchase a nice strong but simple plaid green, black and red umbrella that I have only left behind at one restaurant and my classroom at school twice so far. As with many other adjustments, like putting on the air conditioner for a few hours so my clothes will dry before I go to work on Monday, I am have learned why and what value a good umbrella is here on the peninsula of South Korea.