It's been a long while.

I found myself going through old bookmarks the other day when I stumbled upon this blog again. It's been almost 7 years since I came back from Korea and in that time many things have happened and yet I didn't take the time to blog about any of them. I won't attempt to cover that ground yet I do think I will take up blogging again as it's a lovely little outlet and I miss writing non-academic works immensely. So, here's to picking up the pen (or laptop, as it were) again. I can't wait to share some adventures!

Shaman Walk.

If you take Line 6 to Dongnimmun station and walk down a winding alley and up a steep hill, you leave the contemporary cityscape of Seoul behind and enter a different era.  One clear Sunday morning, I did just that.  Clinging precariously to the rocky cliffside were traditional Korean homes.  Amidst them, the roofs and remnants of temples blended into the view seamlessly, creating a pastiche of domestic life, times, religion, and spiritual practices.  As I meandered slowly through concrete corridors and down rock-strewn paths, I left the city even farther behind and entered a world of shrines and shamans.  The path climbed ever-upwards and as I walked, a deep sense of purity, even clarity, overwhelmed my soul.  Around one turn, looking carefully, I saw an ancient Buddha carved into the granite cliff.  Candles and incense burned beside it, offerings and tokens of prayer.  I sat atop any number of jutting rocks and gazed down upon a breathtaking view of the city. Even more moving were the sights and sounds of shamans, engaged in their rituals.  One woman rhythmically pounded a drum and sang out, her ululating voice resonating with something unnamed within me.  I did not understand her words but could hear the plaintive notes in her voice.  It was a deeply moving experience.  When I finally reached the summit, I lay back on a rock and basked in the sunshine.  My thoughts were still and deep.  It was a moment of joy and reflection.  I reveled in the day, in the experience, and felt incredibly blessed to be in that place, at that time, feeling more alive than I had in a while.  

Like James Bond? Most Likely.

Waiting outside the subway station one day, an elderly gentleman approached me. He spoke English with wry wit and great ease and we soon struck up a vibrant conversation. Shortly thereafter, my friends Jen and Krysta arrived and he decided to accompany us on our way to the Seoul Museum of Art. As we walked, he regaled us with tales of his long life, from time served in the Korean Special Forces to his many loves and current life labors. We were quickly enamored of him. When we paused at the museum to part ways, he announced "I have free time, I will come with you". How could we refuse such a bold declaration? However, we soon found out that the Museum was closed for an art installation. Seeing our crestfallen faces, our new friend promptly invited us to attend a wedding with him. At first, we were apprehensive as we didn't want to impose and certainly didn't want to offend anyone. But, after some thought, a reckless spirit overtook us and we decided that crashing a wedding with this 80-year old darling was the best thing we could do. Hallelujah.

The service was beautiful and the bride was stunning. However, after about 5 minutes, our host beckoned to us and led us to the wedding feast where his friends had convened. At his insistence, we sampled the buffet, all while maintaining our lively banter. As seems to invariably happen at social functions in Korea, beer and soju appeared and we began to drink with a group of 80-year old Korean men. It was a priceless experience. In the course of our conversation, we learned that our host had been a spy for the Korean army. This quite naturally prompted Jen to ask, "You mean like James Bond?" to which he replied "Like James Bond? Most likely" with utter calm and a straight face. It was a perfectly ludicrous comment to top off a perfectly outrageous day.

Hey, White.

The other day, as I was walking down the street in Gangseo, the district in which I live and teach, a man approached me and uttered these two words:  "Hey, White!" and, with a wave of his hand, strode off in the opposite direction.  It was one of those short interactions that, however brief, summed up a large portion of my life in Korea.  As this adventure unfolds, I will certainly have more to say on this topic.  For now, I am merely amused.

Misadventures at M2

Hongdae is not for the shy or weary of feet.  During the day, vendors hawk their wares, which range from fluffy sweaters to Russian style faux-fur hats to the latest in Korean fashion.  At night, the grimy streets and shuttered doors are transformed into an electric, pulsing haven for dancers, drinkers, and merrymakers alike.  Personal space becomes a notion of the past, bass thrums through every bone, and an air of excitement and expectation abounds.  

One fine evening, some friends and I arrived on the scene.  We wandered to M2, a swank techno club, and were quickly swept up by the beat.  After surveying the scene, Wink, a dear friend, boldly ventured onto the stage.  Wink is something of a physically imposing fella.  At a beefy 6'7", he towers over most people, Koreans and foreigners alike, and certainly stands out in a crowd.  His moves on the stage were a hit and in short time he was working the crowd like a master puppeteer.  He held his audience rapt for some time but eventually the allure wore off and he decided to leave his post.  Thus began our misadventure at M2.  Being quite intoxicated, Wink failed at dismounting gracefully and tumbled off of the stage which, in itself, was quite dramatic.  Much to our chagrin, he also fell on top of two small Korean girls.  Needless to say, they were severely unamused by this mishap and Wink wisely decided to slink away.  

However, his hasty escape proved to be too slow.  The girls decided that they needed to be checked at the hospital and notified a bouncer who quickly found Wink and the rest of our group.  A heated debate ensued outside of the club with the bouncers insisting that Wink pay for the visit and our Korean  friends insisting that it was not his responsibility; all while the two girls clutched various parts of their bodies.  At this point, I should point out that the bouncers at swank clubs are not to be disrespected.  They are often the employees (read:  minions) of unsavory characters that are not to be crossed.  However, this also means that they like to fly under the radar.  So, the debate was cut short when one friend, tired of the argument, said "We will just call the cops and have them sort it out".  With those simple words, we were quickly asked to leave with the implied request that Wink not return.  Ever.  It was, to say the least, a shocking and memorable first night in Hongdae.

Contact.

I live in a city of ten million people.  Inevitably, contact occurs.  Shoulders brush.  One hand grips another.  Sounds stream through the air to collide with an eardrum.  Florescent signs cast garish light on ancient temples.  Rain drops stream down one cheek only to meet the foot of another.  East meets West.  Random collisions are mingled with deliberate touch. 

It is the latter that I miss.  When touch becomes a mere byproduct arising from the completion of daily activities, it loses meaning.  Touch becomes a sterile thing, devoid of intimacy.  Human connections fizzle and die before their potential is realized.  Existence becomes insular.  This has been my hardest challenge. 

 

Huxley captured this phenomenon more accurately than I can ever hope to.  He wrote:

We live together, we act on, and react to, one another; but always and in all circumstances we are by ourselves.  The martyrs go hand in hand into the arena; they are crucified alone. Embraced, the lovers desperately try to fuse their insulated ecstasies into a single  self-transcendence; in vain.  By its very nature every embodied spirit is doomed to suffer and enjoy in solitude.  Sensations, feelings, insights, fancies - all these are private and,except through symbols and at second hand, incommunicable.  We can pool information about experiences, but never the experiences themselves.  From family to nation, every human group is a society of island universes.  

I do not desire to be an island any longer.

Let your S(e)oul Shine

Disclaimer:  this post is a rather incoherent, rambling reflection of my current thoughts.

I once watched a film which was based on a simple principle: the universe is a conductor of acoustical energy.  As such, music flows through every aspect of life.  Places, moments and memories all have a particular rhythm that is created spontaneously, or stumbled upon by curious minds.  The latter describes my induction into Seoul culture; I have simply fallen into its rhythm and am held, rapt, by its seductive beat. 

Seoul is alive.  The city vibrates with energy and never seems to sleep.  My experiences and memories here are more vivid and raw.  It's as if someone peeled off a layer of my skin, exposing my nerves to a jingle-jangle of currents and sensations heretofore unknown.  Perhaps this newfound hyper-awareness will fade with the novelty of this place.  Perhaps not.  For now I am reveling in each electric moment. And as I revel in, and explore my new surroundings, I also explore myself.  In time, the architecture of my soul will change to reflect what I learn here.  I hope it will be a beautiful transformation.