It’s been less than two weeks since I was in Korea. It feels like an entire lifetime and also, like yesterday. This may partly be due to my exceptionally unusual sleeping schedule. I will never be an international jet-setter. My body would like me to choose a side of the international date line and stay put. I think I’m finally able to wake up in the morning time and recognize what day of the week it is. Today’s Monday, right?
I still get easily exhausted by doing things. Basically, any day I have more than three things to do, it makes me need to curl into a ball or fall haphazardly into my bed. I’ve been sorting a lot of papers, my papers, my mother’s papers, strewn-about boxes of paper my father left with scraps imprinted with his lengthy, messy scrawl. I especially like the box of cotton balls and bottle of nail polish remover he packed with the label “Ginger’s Crap and plastic thing.” I’ve been answering a lot of questions and trying to remember what life is like in Meeguk (America). What I’ve surmised is that Meeguk is a place where I have to fake it a lot of the time; mostly, I have to pretend I have a lot of answers to questions I barely hear, or pretend “I’m okay,” because that seems to be the only acceptable answer to the many questions I’m pretending to hear.
I was forewarned by others that while my grief remains fresh and my father will forever be dead, not all of the people in my life will accept that I may not be willing or able to “hit the ground running.” Some people have good intentions that are misplaced as tough love. Other people have ignorant coldness which I have ignored for many years and cannot endure at this time (and may not wish to resume enduring). But what has been pervasively overwhelming, is that I have an amazing tribe. I have busy mom friends who answer my calls in the middle of the night and distract me with stories of toddling tots. I have couple friends who interrupted their anniversary getaway to make time for a sad friend. I have single friends who entertain me with tales of dating woes and triumphs and who let me complain or cry. I have lawyer friends who have taken time out of burgeoning careers to remind me how to be a lawyer. And I have people who know me inside and out, people who know how to normalize even the most abnormal circumstances, and have huge things happening in their own lives. I love my friends who have made no demands except to ask me to take care of myself and to remind me they are omnipresent, even at a distance. I love more that those friends have stopped asking “How are you doing?”
I am reminded everyday that I am loved, beloved, valuable (though potential employers have yet to discover how much they really love me – job searches are not fun.) Slowly, I am developing some kind of guide to recreating a life…something I was sort of trying to postpone by renewing my contract in Korea. But here I am – thrown back in and doing my best to build something new. I think the thing I like to remind myself is that there is no roadmap or plan to chart personal loss – people grieve separately, differently – and there is no formulaic answer that solves or heals or resolves or improves for every single person – even as they suffer the loss of the same person.
SO, the short answers are: NO, we are not yet “okay.” Some days are better than others, and none of them feel “normal.” NO, we are not attending family bereavement counseling and NO, at this time, I do not believe it is necessary. NO, there is nothing you can say to make it better. YES, there are times you say or do the wrong thing. NO, I will not be able to answer all phone calls and NO, I do not know the best time to call. Just try and if I can answer, I will. If I can’t, I won’t. YES, I’m looking for work, and NO, I don’t know where I want to land, and NO, right now, I don’t think it’s a good time to reevaluate my life plan. YES, there are things you ca probably do, but you should probably be more specific about what you are willing or able to do, because right now – we’re kind of in survival mode and we aren’t 100% sure of what we need until we need it.
But here’s the shortest answer: I love you all too. Thank you for those who try, who put aside personal inconvenience and replace it with generosity, who have gone out of their way to try to make things seem less uncomfortable. My appreciation is unending, and I will probably not remember all of the tiny kindnesses that have been gifted to my family… but I hope I will…
It seems hollow to say my life has changed when nothing about my life in Korea has changed. Except, this huge thing has happened: My Dad DIED. And I’ve had to tell the story to far too many strangers. Far too many times. Too much, too soon, too many.
My life in Korea is easy, and if it were only me alone suffering through something, I’d probably stay and pretend that everything else is normal. I can talk workplace politics. I can feed students. I can hold babies on weekends and sleep in late everyday. I can let the routine and calm and nothingness and mundane simplicity of Korea be home. It would be easy, especially since most days, my classroom is just a stage for the Ginger Show anyhow. In Korea, I can pretend to be someone else with a different life. Actually, I just AM someone else with a different life.
But, someday, I’d have to go home. Since Korea has never been, nor was it intended to be, a permanent plan, someday, I would have to be just regular Ginger again. Someday, I’d have to come back to a life I left at home. When I get there, no one will have washed and waxed Henri Le Celica or made sure my tires have air. No one will call to report how many times Wagger-Grace, Border Collie Extraordinaire, has sniffed the interior of the car looking for me. There won’t have been anyone moving around my boxes or repacking things already packed or printing random new articles about Korea. Because, when I get home, whenever that would be, my dad will never be there again. Even if in Korea I can pretend that he MIGHT be…
So, I can delay the inevitable basket drop feeling of resuming a life where I return to being half-orphan, or I go home now. I’ve spent the past few years delaying a lot of realities, but this one isn’t something I can change with an insane delusion or a lot of hope or strategic planning. There is no use in stretching out a grieving process that never ends, only transitions into another kind of thing. At Christmas, my dad and I were talking about our birthdays and his parents, who had died many years ago. He said, still – there were times he thought of things he wanted to tell his parents, or his twin brother, and there were times he thought “I’m gonna call…” only to remember: There was no one to answer. I think that’s how it is already, except I’m still in some sort of half-denial phase.
If I don’t go home to feel my feelings, I probably will just be delusional forever about my grief. I’ll let grief get caught up in the nasty web of Korean culture clash and bad communication. I’ll let grief catch in my throat instead of be released. I’ll let grief capture me and make me freeze to a moment in time and a place in life. I’ll be trapped – in more ways than one.
And since I’m a girl that really really loves her freedom, that is not acceptable. So, as much as going home sounds super not fun at all, and looking for a new career in a new city, in a world without a dad seems extremely unappealing, that’s what I’m doing, because that’s what a girl does when she doesn’t want to belong to grief forever.
So, someday soon (like next week) this blog ends because there won’ be a Ginger and Korea anymore. But stay tuned, Readers… I’m sure to pop up somewhere else.
So, I am having an incredibly difficult time leaving America. I have not lost a credit card, I have not found a job, and actually, nothing incredible has happened while I’ve been back Stateside except I interchangeably call America AND Korea “home.”
When I first left Korea after my program at Inje University, I LOVED KOREA. I think the experience in a program specifically designed for Korean adoptees was insulating, plus, the atmosphere in the Busan area is incredibly warm. It was a definite softball way to acclimate to Korea, learn some culture, make some friends, and drink some soju. I acquired a strong affection for Korean ramyeon, shorter skirts, Gwangalli beach, bingsu, and all things aegyo. I came home excited to share my new affection with all of my Desert Dwellers, and about 500 different kinds of cosmetic products.
An extremely difficult summer fraught with about 100 extenuating circumstances, plus my first bona fide job offer in two years resulted in a knee jerk reaction to move to a city that did not make a great first impression, and to a University that gave me a definite bad feeling. I ignored these gut reactions because a) that’s what I do when I try to be reasonable b) the extremely difficult thing made me want to run far far away; c) I was broke.
My ultimate lesson in life is to learn to trust my extreme first impressions, and not rationalize with reason, logic, and good common sense. When I go against these instincts, bad things happen. Without going into a lot of detail (see all my prior posts from this past year) I now basically HATE KOREA. Daejeon has made me hate Korea, my current job makes me hate Korea, my boss and work environment make me hate Korea. I’m not sure I understood oppression, discrimination, or the feeling of despair so clearly until I moved into this situation. The level of lying and deception in the job recruitment process was so disgusting, I can’t believe how foolish I must have been. Or desperate. I have to remember how broken I was when I decided I HAD to move to Korea. A few people peeled me from the floor to make sure I got on the airplane last summer.
Except now, I’m not broken. I’m feeling rejuvenated and back to my old self (in all the good and bad ways). My mind is working a million times over and I have opportunities to create a different life, and I actually feel motivated to begin again looking for new work in a new city. Despite a million and one complications, I’m happy in my relationship, I know who my core friends are, and I have developed better communication skills with the people who I love.
But, despite these many strengths, the recovery process from two years of stapling together a financial living is very difficult in consideration of my law school debt. Bottom line: My bottom line is still in the red. Staying in Korea will give me a TINY bit of savings, but it might be enough floating money to get me to the next place. RATIONALLY, staying in Korea is the best thing financially and reasonably.
EMOTIONALLY, INSTINCTIVELY, VISCERALLY – I feel I should turnaround as soon as I land. I could spend three days and pack everything to return to a land where I speak my native language, find comfort in the familiar, and love people. I’ve been encouraged by more than one person (and The BF has threatened more than once to burn my passport) that if I feel I’m done in Korea, I should just come home and not waste another year feeling hatred and misery… as the saying goes… life is short.
The hardest thing, though, is that I cannot imagine NOT being in Korea. Something about Korea IS familiar and easy and I live every day with only my voice in my head, making decisions based purely on my (sometimes delusional) ideas and feelings. My plans for the future will still be there when the future gets here, and the people who love me will (or should anyhow) still love me. And it gives some things time to settle into the right place… and some love to normalize instead of fester. SIGH.
I said earlier on FB that the rock is hard and the hard place is rocky. I’m not sure what the right thing is…. I guess I just have to take some time to feel like I’m in Korea and try to have only my delusions and my voice guide my choice.
It’s really easy to take life for granted. Day-to-day living and day-to-day problems, like: baby and child crises, back-stabbing coworkers, annoying ex-boyfriends, current romance rockiness, traffic, bills and debt, educational woes, and long-distance relationships of all varieties – it’s easy to take for granted these things as constants. Except when they are no longer constant.
Today, I take a short break from complaining about the (sometimes imagined or embellished) difficulties I’m facing in Korea, to acknowledge the loss of a high school classmate. Travis Carter was one of the Granite Mountain Hotshots killed in the Yarnell, AZ wildfire this week. Travis was a year younger than me when I attended a tiny boarding school in the Arizona desert where I lived in dirt and went camping twice a year for credit. There is nothing bad to say about Travis because he was one of those people whom no one can think of anything remotely negative to say. This is not just because he is deceased (which seems often to be the case when a person dies so tragically), but because he was a sincere, genuine guy who was affable and kind. This is, of course, from the far reaches of my non-law-school-damaged brain. I barely knew this person (then or now), so I can only comment that I remember him as sweet boy at 14.
But here’s the thing I must comment on…. this unique sense of grief that people share when they are even tangentially touched by tragedy. My Facebook feed, email accounts, and texts have been flooded with old pictures and comments, and group get-togethers, and random memory posts (like this one) from people from high school that I haven’t seen since we were pimply-faced and awkward (and awkwardly riding horses or awkwardly camping in dirt or awkwardly kissing our first loves – or awkwardly kissing our first loves on an awkward horse during an awkward camping trip). ANYHOW: These people do remember Travis as more than a fuzzy memory; they not only remember, but they know Travis as a roommate, a teammate, a confidante, a friend, a husband, a father, a son. Their memories and their loss reverberates to those of us who can only respond with vague ideas of what and who will forever be missing.
Those of us who didn’t know Travis, or any of the other 18 men who perished, as personally as we would have liked – we still grieve for the small fragments of memory we possess about these people. We grieve, because the loss reminds us of the fragility of our mortality, of the mortality of our loved ones. We grieve in the knowledge that one day can change your life – or end it. And it isn’t the same kind of grief that is being suffered by widows who lost their lovers, or children who lost their fathers, and companions who lost their best friends. But it is grief we share.
Those of us on the fringes can only say that we know we share your grief shallowly – the impact of your loss is only a vibration to us. But, what we share with you is sincere and genuine. We care that the world has lost a guy no one can say anything bad about – even during a pimply and awkward time. There are no words that will give enough comfort or solace, but hopefully, the knowledge that strangers are thinking of these families, of the memories of people we knew long ago (or not so long ago) helps – somehow.
At least, that is what we hope.
For more information on a memorial fund created for Travis Carter’s survivors, please see: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Travis-Krista-Children-Carter-Family-Memorial-Fund
It seems impossible that I have now lived in Korea for a year (well, with those two long vacations back to The Desert). But it isn’t impossible; it’s reality – MY reality.
I remember with vivid clarity the anticipation of what it would be like to move to Korea – having so many expectations and also having none at all. I’m not sure what I wanted at that time, except I know I needed life to be simpler. I seem to complicate simplicity so easily, but I’d spent years jumping from one beautiful, albeit sinking, ship to the next, hoping that one would sail me to the Next Best Thing Ever. When I left America a year ago, mostly what I needed was a place and some time to stop jumping altogether.
When I came to Korea, I did not come alone. All of the people who encouraged me, supported me, guilted me, threatened to expose me as a whiny baby, loved me, laughed at me, and who stared at me incredulously (Not BF) and then told people, “she’s not really moving to Korea, don’t listen to her…” – these people, my friends, family, loves, and Wagger-Grace, Border Collie Extraordinaire, all came with me to Korea – some in spirit and some in my inbox (and some – Wagger – came by leaving about 2 pounds of Border Collie Extraordinaire fur on all of my belongings). But mostly, the people that love me came with me by creating the version of me who got on that plane, who knew nothing terrible could really happen, and that whatever happened next was entirely in my control. Thank you – I don’t think I was strong enough a year ago to know I could change my life.
When I came to Korea, I also did not find myself alone. I may have left my family, my LSA family, and my urban family behind, but I landed into the nest of an Adoptee Family. I cannot express how much I still think of these people everyday. I will never forget walking up and down the rows on that Korean Air flight asking each passenger if they were Jenny (I found her eventually). I’m not sure how we all were able to find connections betwixt and between, but I feel like my Adoptee Family from Inje are permanently imprinted as part of me… of part of who makes me who I am NOW. I still incredibly miss Family Dinners. Nothing will ever be as good as Family Dinner…. As I begin to have mini-reunions with my Adoptee Family, I realize there is something there that lets us pick up from a good place… a familiar place.
Maybe too familiar. I recently saw Tommy in Gangnam and as I was on the escalator into the subway, he was on the escalator coming up. TOMMY: “Oh, hey.” ME: “Oh, hey. Did you see Mina?” TOMMY: “I assume she’s at the top.” ME: “OK. See you up there.” So much for an emotional reunion filled with excitement. The rest of the night we laughed and caught up and drank wine and it felt like eight months had not elapsed since our last dinner. Except, I was tanner and Tommy has better hair. 😉 So, I was glad to start my second year in Korea, with someone from my Adoptee Family, and with CJ, part of my new KUF (Korean Urban Family) to celebrate her birthday (I’m not exactly sure how old she is in Korean age, so I will just assume she’s my age – 29).
Things in the Desert are changing with rapid pace. Things in my old life are falling away, dust is settling. I realize now that I spent a lot of time holding my breath, afraid that the air from my lungs would disturb something I loved: predictability. I stayed the same so that I could stay frozen to a moment in a time – but moments are fleeting, so instead, my life became a recycled version of former moments. I was restless. I was static. But I knew exactly what to expect.
Maybe now, I can’t predict the future, or even tomorrow, but… I think… maybe I’m not supposed to know everything that happens next.
To Sunny San Diego! Except it wasn’t sunny. And my sister isn’t a baby anymore. About some things.
Krista: “Ginger, are we gonna leave soon?”
ME: “Ummmm, does that mean I have to get out of bed?”
ME: “Maybe in an hour.”
One Hour Later…
K: “Ginger, are we gonna leave soon?”
ME: “Ummmm, does that mean I have to put clothes on?”
ME: “Maybe in a half an hour.”
One Hour Later…
K: “GINGER I WANT TO GO TO SAN DIEGO!”
ME: “GOD, STOP YELLING AT ME! I’m ready. I just have to do this list of errands and then we can leave town.”
4 Hours Later…
K: “Ginger, can we leave now?”
2 Hours Into The Road Trip…
K: “Can I smoke a cigarette in Henri Le Celica?”
ME: “No. I want to conserve smoking in Henri Le Celica as little as possible so we don’t reek like cigarettes forever.”
K (pouting): FINE.”
3 Hours Later…
ME: ” Let’s smoke a cigarette now.”
K (excited): “Really???”
ME: “Yes. Just be really careful not to let ash fly and put it out in this water bottle.”
4 Seconds Later… K looks around with exaggeration. She is no longer smoking.
K: “Um, I THINK my cigarette flew out the window, but I’m not really sure what happened to it. The wind was soooo strong and it just flew out of my hand!”
ME: “KRISTA! This is why I said NO SMOKING in Henri Le Celica! Look in the backseat! NOW, before the whole car is on fire!”
K looks around.
K (triumphant):”I found it! And I think the cherry was still on it!”
2 Hours Later…
ME: “Okay, we’re almost there. Just read the map and tell me where to turn, since we don’t have GPS.”
K: “Errrr. I don’t know how to read a map. It’s dark in here. What should I do?”
ME: “I’M DRIVING!”
So, two sisters finally arrived in not-so-sunny San Diego. We went to Sea World, we went to two beaches, we ate tons of yummy, delicious meals, we had lots of fun with my friend Jo, and we had the requisite 2.5 fights about nothing and everything that is mandatory for every road trip involving family members. I was glad I put “Sister Road Trip” on my 35 Before 35…
It’s hard to believe how fast money spends in the United States. What was that? Money can’t spend itself? Huh? Someone has to push in the pin number of my debit card? Wait, it was ME?! You’re kidding!
So, I may gone a little overboard with the shopping excursions while I was back stateside. I am a natural pack-rat, and am finding myself pack-ratting a lot, when really I don’t NEED to bring seven pairs of leggings and five kinds of tea back to Korea. I didn’t even drink tea while I was in Korea. I have so many sundresses it’s truly insane (and, by the way, it will not be sunny and warm in Korea for many months). I’m not sure I REALLY need classification folders in five colors (but I really WANT THEM) or a brand new day planner in which to put almost no meetings, since I barely speak Korean so I have no one to meet.
But, a lot of my pack-rat shopping is about trying to make Korea feel more normal this time around. Even though I live in a tiny dorm room that never feels like home, I need to try to normalize my experience so that it is more livable.
Also, there is a shitload of things I said I would do, like: NOT procrastinate, work on legal research, finish my CLE credits, write fiction every week, and stop talking to my ex-boyfriends. Oh, and be on time to class, not write lessons the night before, and learn how to read Hangul more fluently. I didn’t do any of those things (and yes, BB taught me a really big lesson blah blah blah, we won’t talk to him anymore), and the big issue is that there wasn’t a huge detriment to me doing these bad things. Especially in Korea, where there is basically zero accountability because no one knows what I’m doing, and almost everyone in the world thinks your Facebook account is like your real life. (NOTE: It is not. Facebook is the advertisement everyone posts for what they want people to believe their life is like.) My life in Korea may look idyllically entertaining, simple, fun, and full of food, but the truth is: it’s just regular life (with a lot of delicious food). I’m pretty solitary in Korea and most days, it’s just me talking to me about stuff we’re SUPPOSED to be doing, like lesson planning, grading papers, writing fiction, and not talking to our ex-boyfriends.
So, as I wind down my Stateside Vacation with a trip to Southern California and a tiny 3 day layover in Hawaii, I remind myself that I don’t need to pack-rat my life as much as I need to fully unfurl it in Korea. But until then… I still need a few pairs of leggings and a couple dresses. And the classification folders…