Now the routine has REALLY settled in

Last Wednesday Marina and I went to Itaewon for an open mic night that has become a pseudo-routine for us. There we were, in this tiny bar with our mugs of mulled wine, ready for some entertainment that came with its own unique brand of coziness, accessibility and camaraderie. The one of the stand-up acts decided to target us. And he targeted others too, but he made jokes out of them that even they had to laugh at. All he did for the two of us girls was repetitively call attention to the "two uncomfortable-looking girls in the middle of the room." And it became painfully obvious that we were the cygnets sitting in the middle of a close-knit family of ducklings. It was like we were extras on Cheers; everyone knew everyone except for us. Why this guy felt the need to heap attention on to that fact - especially when there was nothing even resembling a haha attached to it - is beyond me.

Culture Burnout. Andrew Mueller got the phrase stuck in my head and I've been on the lookout for it ever since. It's crept up on me in minor ways: don't ever let me get started on a rant about how SLOWLY everyone in the country walks, and how they like to carry out their SLOWNESS in the middle of the sidewalk so there is no way to get around them because you won't be able to shut me up. But knowing my time here is coming to an end takes the edge off just a little. People around me are starting to feel it though. There are certain steps that come with the life shift we've all made. At first you're wide-eyed and excited and surprised you don't feel more homesick. Then you hit what you assume is "the routine settling in" and the homesickness comes. Then comes what you assume to be "the routine REALLY settling in" as the homesickness fades, life become life and you feel lonely pretty much all the time. Only now is the routine actually settling in, when you stop thinking that it's finally settled in, and you realize that you've been so lonely because the majority of the friends you've made aren't actually friends at all. They're people you met once and exchanged phone numbers with, or people who've gone out with a few times but wouldn't dream of seeing sober, or friends of friends you don't feel comfortable contacting without the go-between.

Now, I'm not complaining. Too much. I have at least 5 people I could comfortably text right now to see if they want to do something. Granted, that includes my 2-headed roommate Beather. But if one of them isn't up to doing something, the other might just go along with me anyway.

Look at me, counting my friends. That's what it boils down to here. Only now that we're six months in, were counting "real friends" as opposed to drinking buddies or coworkers. I suppose it's a natural defense mechanism for the alienation we all feel. I still don't mind the staring. Sometimes I make a game out of staring back. That was really fun while I was walking home from work yesterday, my mood shattered beyond recognition by an abysmal last class and the dukboki place where I had been hoping to have dinner refusing to serve me for some reason lost in translation. Waiting at the crosswalk an old guy in a car pretty much had his eyes up against the windows staring at me. I channeled all of the power of my trollish mood into glaring right back at him. Scared the crap out of him.

We take our victories where we can, Korea.

Meanwhile, if one more person, while observing my frequently voiced cravings for Korean food, comments on how much I'm going to miss the cuisine when I'm back in Michigan I'm going to turn on my Cyclops eye beams and vaporize their heads.

There are Korean restaurants in Ann Arbor. I think I'll be just fine.