In a two block radius of our apartment there are probably about 10-12 seafood restaurants, identifiable by the massive glass tanks of live seafood prominently on display outside their walls. Big, dirty glass boxes of hose-propelled water roiling on the surface full of fish, eels, crabs, and squid in their final hours. One place on the corner always catches my eye. Whether it's the same squid that has somehow managed to survive a whole week, or it's just a common captive-squid practice, I don't know. But one squid is always, without fail, mercilessly attacked the upper-left corner of it's tank. Thump, thump, thump. A little, tentacled torpedo surging forward and being knocked back by the unrelenting solidness of the tank. It disturbs me every time, but I can't tear my eyes away.
Having never been a squid myself I can do nothing but project myself onto its stupid, small existence. A flurry of intent, purpose. Penetration, liberation, never ending desperation. That's a lot of ations for something I enjoy cut into little rings and deep fat fried. An unfamiliar place, the instinct to flee. If it just accepted its new, tanked life, then at least temporarily the pain would subside. Of course, eventually it will be scooped up in a net, suffocated, cut up, cooked and eaten. But that's beside the point.
Yes, I am using a squid as a metaphor for my Korean life. As you may be able to tell, I am having difficulty defining a lot of things in said life. And, as some of you may know, I am a person who likes to have definitions. The squid will do for now.
Heather, in a fit of drunken wisdom, helped me match a definition to a rather large problem last night. I had fallen into a bar-induced melancholy and in her supportive, girltalk rambles she uttered a phrase that I clamped onto like a life-preserver after a shipwreck. And I realized that I've been sitting here these 2 1/2 months just waiting to be rescued.
Recused literally, metaphorically, metaphysically...whatever. This whole time I've been honestly believing Evan would come and save me from the unknown. That's why it's remained unknown. I won't settle in because I believe it's all temporary. Evan will come here, or he'll ask me to come home (which I would do in a heartbeat), and everything will be better.
I don't know what to do with this now, this label that I pressed against my eyes like a compress, relieving all the tension, cooling the aches. I feel stronger for having it, just one more piece of information in a place where I so often feel clueless. But I'm still not sure what it means, or how to get beyond it. Maybe just knowing will make the difference.
I kinda did the same thing with Germany at first, keeping the "this is temporary" mindset, missing home, and feeling stuck because I'd be disappointed in myself if I quit. Around that time I joined a choir. Creating music with a group of people helped me feel like I'd found a second home.
ReplyDeleteKeep your job, keep your English-speaking friends, but seek out the natives who could make you feel supported by something that's grounded in Korea. Maybe you don't want to join a choir, but a painting class? A hiking club? A community theater? I know the idea of finding a group and plopping yourself in the middle of it is alarming, but it's empowering to show yourself that no matter where you are you can make the life you want.
Another way I liked to think about living abroad: even if you spend the whole time making mistakes and being socially awkward (the latter applying much more to me than to you), so what? You're going home in a year. Do things that intimidate you, and if you make a fool of yourself, you don't admit it to anyone back here.
-Brianne