Various Instruments of Torture

Dear Ones,

Chusok, Korean Thanksgiving, is upon us. This is the second most important holiday in Korea, next only to their three day New Year celebration. All my shopping for the week was done in advance, because shops will be closed up until Thursday. Seoul is a pretty quiet city during this week, because most families have traveled to other parts of Korea, to spend the holiday at the home of the paternal family's eldest son. When the families are together, they visit their ancestors' graves to set out food and pay obeisance. It used to be believed that every person has three spirits. When a person dies, one of those spirits enters the spirit world, one remains in the grave, and one returns to the house of the family. So I think the idea is to keep the 'grave spirit' happy, so that the 'house spirit' will protect the family, instead of becoming a menace. I don't know if that's still a serious belief any more, but the custom of ancestor worship is still observed, and some of my Christian friends have experienced conflict with relatives, who consider their refusal to bow to be nothing more than a disrespectful demonstration. For myself, the holiday is nothing more or less than an welcomed break from school.

I'm a little headachy, because I've been cleaning. On Thursday I had my wisdom teeth pulled, and since then the least exertion wipes me out. It puzzles me a little bit, because it really wasn't that much of an ordeal.
Ruth came with me to the dentist's, which I was glad for. It was a good thing to have her company to keep my mind off of what I uneasily looked forward to as my impending doom. After getting only a little bit lost, and understandably exasperating our poor taxi driver, we arrived at the office just on time.
My dentist is wonderful, and was very patient with all my nervous questions. I was glad to learn that he didn't mean to put me under, but only to numb me. Somehow, the idea of being knocked out while native parts of my mouth were forcefully removed wholly unsettled me. However, when the dentist picked up a three inch long needle I nearly changed my mind. I closed my eyes, but Dr. Jung didn't like that. He made me open them again, and look at him. He told me later that he needed to be able to watch my pupils, to make sure that I was reacting to the anesthesia okay. And so I nervously watched the needle being brought to my mouth, and clenched my fists as felt it burry itself in my jaw. It hurt, but I have a pretty high pain tolerance, so I was surprised to feel tears rolling down my face. The needle was drawn out, and re-pierced me again and again, until my whole mouth began to ache. It was an eternity and eighteen shots, before Dr. Jung was satisfied. He sat me up, and left me for five minutes while the numbness spread mercifully through my jaw and over my face, until all I could feel was a five pound lower lip.
The first tooth came out quickly. While Dr. Jung worked, I tried to keep my mind else where. I was pretty certain that when the tooth was ripped out, it would feel intolerable. So I put into practice a little trick I've used before: I pulled to mind all the blessings in my life, particularly those related to the present situation, and thanked God for them. "God, thank You for a good dentist. Thank You that I have enough money to do this. Thank You that Ruth could come with me. Thank You we were able to find our way here. Thank you for…" I fired them off in rapid succession, leaving no room for uncomfortable thoughts, and as always, this calmed me. Somewhere in the back of my mind I knew that I was feeling a pressure somewhere in my mouth, but it was entirely painless, and I was surprised when Dr. Jung announced, "The first tooth is out."
After that, all nervousness dissipated, and I began to be interested in the proceedings. I opened my eyes, and watched various instruments of torture being lifted toward my mouth. Always they came away covered in blood, which was actually pretty gross. I didn't like to watch Dr. Jung preparing to sew up my gums after each tooth was pulled, but otherwise found it interesting.
The second tooth was out, and Dr. Jung let me close my mouth for a minute to rest. I was glad for that, because my neck was beginning to ache. Before he began again, I asked if I could use a mirror to watch the next one being pulled. To my disappointment, he shook his head.
The third tooth came out as unconcernedly as the previous two had. Almost as though it didn't consider itself bound to me by our previous four years of experience together, and would just as soon be out of my mouth as in.
The last tooth, however, was not so complying. My lower, left jaw wasn't as numb as the rest of my mouth. I had wondered if I should tell him so before he began, but hadn't wanted him to give me another shot, and so had kept silent. When he reached in and began to loosen that last tooth, I felt it being worked out of the socket, and began to regret my squeamishness. My neck was so tired, by this time, that I couldn't hold my head against the dentist's pull. His aid gripped my forehead and lower jaw and held me in place, and as they pulled against each other, the muscles in my neck and shoulders began to tremble spasmodically with weariness. When Dr. Jung showed me the tooth after it was all over, I saw why this one had been so difficult. The roots were bent and twisted at the tip, nearly to a ninety degree angle, so that they were almost barbed. "We have a saying in Korea," Dr. Jung smiled, "A person is like the roots of his teeth. If the roots are twisted, then his personality is very unique." Is this good or bad?
Dr. Jung sat me up, and gave me a glass of water and ibuprofen. Remembering the last time I'd attempted to take a drink while my upper and lower lips were both numb, this time I tipped my head back to keep the water where it should be, and gratefully swallowed the pain killer.
I wanted to stand, so I looked over to where Dr. Jung was pulling of his gloves. "Can I gelluf?" The sound of my voice startled me into giggling, and I modestly covered my mouth with my hand, a very Korean gesture. "I thoun thransh!"
Dr. Jung, bless him, speaks very equitable English, but his skills were no match for my slurred words. Fortunately, he seemed to understand that I was finding amusement in the way my words 'thounded' and just smiled.
I wasn't supposed to talk much, and since I had wads of netted padding stuffed into all four corners of my poor, swollen mouth it was more comfortable to be still. But when we went back out to the waiting room to find Ruth, I wanted to relate all my experiences to her. This attempt earned me a gentle rebuke from Dr. Jung, "Don't talk!"
I was really alert, so instead of taking a taxi back, as I'd intended, we rode the subway. Aside from drooling blood the whole way home (Ruth had happily thought to provide me with tissue, bless her!), it was an uneventful ride.
I was happy to be home, and to be still. But I couldn't rest, so I sat down and wrote a simple poem, to remind myself of God's goodness:

Lord, You have searched, and have known my ways:
When I wake, when I sleep, how I structure my days.
Your hand rests upon me, my thoughts are Your own.
My path is compassed, all my ways You have known.
Every word on my tongue You have heard in my mind.
You uphold and compass me before and behind.
I cannot conceive why I should be thus sought;
Such wonderful knowledge is greater than thought!

Where can I hide from Your Spirit in me?
Where from Your presence of love shall I flee?
If I raise up to heaven, my way You prepare.
If I lie down in hell, You remain by me there.
If I fly on the wings of the dawn, to be free,
Or dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea,
Even there will Your hand in my own lead my feet,
Will Your right hand enfold me and make me complete.

How precious and rare are Your thoughts about me,
More numerous in count than the sand of the sea.
Before I was born, Your love set me apart.
You have purchased my mind, and have captured my heart.
Search me, O God, know my thoughts and my ways.
May each breath that I take render glory and praise
To the One Who so fearfully and wonderfully chose
His wisdom and power in me to disclose.

Indomitably Plunging

Family o' mine,

Today is Saturday, and what a lovely day it is. Overcast and cool. I don't usually like autumn, being the forerunner of winter. But always before I've possessed some means of dominating summer's ruthless heat. Now I have no AC, no fan, and even open windows at night are taboo, because this is mosquito season. So, while I still stand in dread of the coming frigid temperatures, today's coolness is very welcome.

I write, not because I really have anything to say, but because I miss you all. Saturdays are slow and lazy, which is nice in some ways. But it does leave me with a lot of unoccupied time on my hands. Mom is sending me two boxes of books, which I expect to get any time now. I look forward to that.

Meanwhile I continue to plod doggedly along. But perhaps the words 'plod' and 'dogged' are too arduous. I have, after all, been back at it for only two weeks. Maybe I should save that expression for some five or six months down the road, where it may be more applicable, and be content at present to 'plunge indomitably forward.'
Ah yes, that's much more apt! When I picture a man standing to take an indomitable plunge, I can see fire burning in his eyes, and can feel the charge of electricity coursing through his body. That same thrill of vigorous life has been my experience since being back in Korea. I love to wake up every morning. I love to breath, and to flex my fingers, and to shiver with delight at God's all-ness. I love to sing to myself, and to wait for the traffic light to turn green, and to watch the sky grow dark every evening. I love all the wonder of feeling and thinking and breathing and doing that comes with being alive.

I picked up a bug, while in China, that I just don't seem to be able to shake. This morning my head was feeling particularly uncomfortable. But later, after school, I slept for two and a half hours, and hopefully the rest will help me to be able to fight whatever this is that's taking me out.

I had my first dream in Korean. Yay! Well, maybe it wasn't really in Korean, but I dreamt I was studying, and through the whole dream all of my hundreds of vocabulary words and phrases were shooting themselves through my mind, over and over and over and over again. It was actually kind of stressful, but hey! If I can sleep and learn at the same time, I'll be the last to complain.
I really love the challenge of learning Korean. Studying this language stretches my mind. It focuses my energy. It tantalizes and teases, laughing at my efforts. It dances and skips just out of reach. But someday I shall get the better of it, and I love to hope for that time.
I appreciate my language teachers, too. Last year, I took one level at Ewha, and there's no comparison between my present experience and that. The Sogang teachers enjoy their job and want us to learn, and the program here is really student friendly. Lots of speaking/listening time, which is what I need more than anything. My strong points are reading and writing, but the oral skills just kill me. I feel, though, like I'm finally breaking through that. It's still a challenge, and often frustrating, but I'm on the up-hill, and that excites me.

My back has been aching lately. It's the same old story, from when I fell on the ice several years ago, in New Hampshire. It hurts especially when I sit for long periods of time, so three hours in the morning during class, and two or three hours of study in the afternoon leaves me with a sharp pain between my shoulders that sometimes goes away quickly, but other times lasts for days. So please be praying for me.

I'd like to thank you again for your emails. I'm sorry that I've been so bad about responding in a timely fashion. I still don't have a phone line in my house, hence no internet connection, so communication with the outside world is really slow right now. But to be unable to reciprocate as I would like to, makes me appreciate your friendship all the more.

Missing you all,
Elisabeth

Domestic Humdrum

Dear Family,

Two hours ago I very much wanted to sit down and write to you all. Instead, I dutifully forced myself to memorize Korean vocab. Now that I've finished with that, and have a few free minutes, I want to do nothing more than to lie down, shut my eyes, and turn my mind off.

Last night was the first night I spent in my little home. It was also the first night that I've been alone since leaving the States. I had forgotten how very quiet and lonesome a room can be, with no one else to break the silence.
I had also forgotten how very close God draws in the stillness.

It's been a difficult week. Every morning I raise early to get some time with God. Those few hours before ten o' clock are the most relaxed time of day for me. The remaining twelve hours I simply walk through one step at a time.

Classes began on Monday, and are so far pretty easy. I've familiarized myself with the contents of the workbook we're now using, so I don't feel like my mind is frantically grasping at simple concepts. That is a feeling which I am, unfortunately, all too familiar with. The only difficult part of school, so far, is the vocabulary memorization. They tell me that the grammar gets more complicated at the levels progress, but that doesn't intimidate me. I like puzzles, and language is like that for me. It's a mental challenge to wrestle with. But vocabulary is just drudgery, and I have a really hard time remembering which crazy sounds belong to what concepts.

After school I come directly home, and do what I can to beautify my very unbeautiful house. Hours of sorting, and cleaning, and unpacking have left me with something resembling a comfortable home. Yesterday I bought myself a fridge, washer, bed, wardrobe, and desk from a English teacher who's heading back to the states. It makes me happy to finally be settling in.

I still have to clean the kitchen and bathroom. That's going to be a big job, and I'll probably tackle it tomorrow. The previous renter must have been a southern deep-fryer, because the entire kitchen, from ceiling to floor, is bespattered with grease. I'm going to have to pull out the stove, cupboards, and sink to scrub the yellow walls behind them back to their natural blue color.

Actually, yesterday I wasn't very enthusiastic about the kitchen, at all. Except that's describing my feelings mildly. To begin with, the entrance to the kitchen is barely as wide as I am across the shoulders, and not nearly as tall. It looks as thought it was built for a dwarf, and I've lost count of the number of times I've turned and smacked my head into the frame. The bright yellow linoleum is blotched and stained beyond repair, and the cupboards, once sky blue, are now a faded, nondescript muddy color. And smack in the middle of the room, taking up at least a quarter of the floor space, stands a deep, electric blue washing machine. Add to that a rust stained gas range, a small, aluminum sink, the cord hanging from a single florescent light, and rust colored gas and water pipes snaking their lugubrious ways across the walls, and you'll have a pretty good idea of what that particular room looks like.

As I lay awake last night, I chided myself for being disgruntled, and determined that, if initiative, creativity, and resourceful energy can turn a dreary kitchen into an artistic cubby hole, then I shall try my hand at all three. As soon as I get the time, I'll set to work, and see if I can't achieve something with a little flair.

Wow. That was half a page of unexceptional, domestic humdrum. My apologies! Unfortunately, there's not much else to write of. I hit the ground running, when I landed on Korean soil, but so far the race has involved nothing more than school, domesticity and, when I get the chance, an occasional meal.

I did want to let you know, though, that I've been so blessed by the all emails that you've sent! I wish I could somehow convey how much it means to me when you send one or two sentences just to let me know that I'm in your thoughts and prayers. I usually check my email in the morning, and those notes that I receive help to set the pace for the entire day. They really make all the difference between the feelings of close camaraderie and absolute aloneness.

I pray for God's protection and guidance over you. Please continue to come before Him boldly and unceasingly on my behalf,

Elisabeth

Bleach and a Bucket

Dear Family,

Today was a long one. After church this morning, I headed over to my apartment, armed with bleach and a bucket. I was amazed at how much dirtier the place was that I had supposed. It seemed like the longer I scrubbed, the dirtier it got, until my fingers were raw and I completely wore a hole through one of the rags I was using.
Several grueling hours into the afternoon, a little old man stepped through the door, "Hangungmal issayo? Do you speak Korean?"
"Only a little." I replied.
"It's okay, I speak English." He introduced himself as my landlady's brother-in-law, and informed me that he had come to fix the toilet.
While he replaced all the toilet parts, inside and out, we chatted. I was glad for the brake, and he was happy to practice his English while spinning stories of his adventurous younger years.
My landlady, a little, eighty year old ajumah, came by a few minutes later to see how I was progressing with my work. She nodded, smiled, and jabbered away in Korean. I regularly inserted a comprehensive, 'Nae' at what I hopped were appropriate intervals. She seemed satisfied, and soon tottered away only to return a few minutes later with a vitamin yogurt drink for me. I laughed, thanked her kindly, and went back to work.
Hopefully tomorrow I'll be able to finish the kitchen and the bathroom, and then I'll be ready to move in. Yay!

I don't have time to write more, but know that you're loved,
Elisabeth

Back Home

Very Dear Family,

I'm back in Korea, and it's so good to be home! Who would have thought that I'd ever be able to call it 'home' with real sincerity?

My time in China was amazing. Because of the canceled NK tour, I was the only person who decided to go ahead and go up to China instead. Being last minute, everything was a little bit disorganized, which my friends there felt badly about. From my perspective, however, it was great. I think I was able to get a much better picture of how things work there, and of the different projects and relationships that the foreigners in that area have going, than I would have if my days and hours had been more planned, and filled in with exciting things to do and see. As it was, I was able to meet a lot of people, and just tag along and watch them relate and work.
It was a good time to focus, too, and to remember why I'm here. A lot of westerners moved into that area after having studied Korean for only a few months, and every one of them voiced their regret at not having learned Korean more fluently before moving up to China. I was encouraged to plough through school, and to not let myself get distracted by other opportunities before I'm well prepared. That was a good reminder, and I'm eager to start studying Korean again.

While I was there, I was taken up to Tumen, a little border city. We walked around, and had a great view of the city and some people on the other side of the river. Then we went out onto the river on a long, narrow log raft. A little Chinese man stood at the back with a long river pole, and pushed us up stream, just four feet off the bank of NK. It was a great experience, with water lapping at our feet, through the gaps in the unsteady raft, and tall reeds on the shore just out of reach.

I flew to Beijing three nights ago, and the next morning took off for Seoul.
Coming out of the airport, I caught a bus to an area close to my destination. I was dropped of in front of an elaborate, black-glass hotel, with limos, porters, the whole nine yards…far out of my league.
"Can I take your bags in?" asked a pill-capped boy.
"No, no!" I hastily replied. "Get me a taxi, please."
I asked the driver to take me to Naksapyeong Station, and from there walked uphill with two 60lb suitcases, a backpack, and my carry-on, until I found a pay phone.
Brenda came down to pick me up, and brought me back to her apartment where I'll stay until I have a place to move into.

Yesterday morning I registered with Sogang, and then spent the rest of the day wandering on foot around Sinchon with Titus and Ruth looking for an apartment. Toward evening I found a place that I like, within walking distance from the university, very reasonably priced. Of course, it was priced according to its condition. It'll need a lot of elbow grease and the basic appliances before I can move in. But hopefully I'll get some of that done this weekend. I'd like to be moved in before school starts on Monday. That is, provided the place is still available when I go back this afternoon to pay for it. Apartments are snatched up like hot cakes in this area.

Like I said, it's really good to be back. Contrasted with my ten days in China, where everything was foreign and crazy, Seoul is warmly familiar and welcoming. And all I can think over and over again is, "God is so good to me!"

Thank you so much for holding me up in prayer over these last two weeks. God's hand has been with me in a remarkable way.

Elisabeth

Safe 'n Sound

And here I am in Yanji. Thank you, my family, for your many thoughts.

As the train drew near, Yanji station was announced in mutilated English, so I had time enough to gather my wits and my belongings, and make a hasty exit.

I was exhausted and disoriented enough that most of that day remains a blur. Mike introduced me to a few of his own friends, and together they contrived (quite deliberately) to keep me away from home and sleep until around 8:00. Miserable as it was at the time, I was grateful for it later, because that night I slept like the dead. The only thing that really stands out in my mind, was crossing streets. It was insane. At first I was able to cope with being nearly run down several times in succession. But as the evening wore on, and I became more disoriented, my fried mind blew a socket whenever we came to an intersection, and it felt as though I was flying in every direction at once, as maniacal vehicles careened past and around me in the dark, often with only inches to spare. My head snapped around, but it didn't seem to matter which way I looked, there was always a worse fate over the other shoulder. The 'Intersection of Death' was especially intense, and I came, then, as near as I ever have to panicking.

That night I slept soundly, and woke up the next morning pretty rested. Which was fortunate, because at 5:00 AM a group of us took off for Baekdu Mountain. That was a beautiful experience. After a five hour drive in a rickety bus, we hiked for one or two hours up the lovely, mellow green mountain, to a waterfall. We were to have hiked up the fall, but that trail was closed due to rock slides. So we hired a SUV, instead, and drove to the very top of the mountain, from where we had a breathtaking view of the glassy, water-filled crater at it's center. About two thirds of the crater is actually in NK. So standing on top of the world, over a magnificent scope, so close to the land of my people, was exhilarating.

I could write of more, but I know how quickly an email can get ­very long, so I'll stop here. I mostly just wanted to let you know that I got here safely, and to thank you for thinking of me.

Elisabeth

A Grueling Experience

Family...

Well, this train ride has been a grueling experience. With five hours left to go, my neck and shoulders are beginning to ache from three days of cramped inactivity.
I've seen a little of the country side, which is much like one would find anywhere, with it's greens and browns under a very blue sky. Here and there are herds of long haired goats. Their herders stand in the road side or sit picturesquely in the shade of a near by tree, with gnarly staffs and conical, straw hats. There are a lot of corn crops, their silky tassels hinting at the ripeness of their fruit. It has been pleasant to sit on one of the little, backless bucket seats by the window and watch the world sluggishly roll past. But, as those seats are quite uncomfortable, I've spent most of this journey lying in my bunk, above two others, with about three feet of head room. The forced rest has been a disguised blessing: I feel much more alive today than I did yesterday.

I found the train depot, yesterday, as you may have gathered. After paying the taxi driver, and hoisting my luggage out of the car, I began to walk in a generally unspecific direction. Before long I spotted a police officer on the corner. Showing my ticket to him, I pointed in several directions at once, and shrugged my shoulders. He obligingly gesticulated, grunted in four or five different tones, and made me to understand that I was to walk down to the nearest crosswalk and cross the street. This I did, and found myself before an impressive, stately building, pressed in on every side by a throng of people all heading in the same direction. For reasons ambiguous, only one person was permitted to enter the building at a time. So the surging crowd outside pressed and pulled together, moving like a strong current of water, while one individual at a time burst through the doors, much like a wet watermelon seed. Once inside, of course, the crowds thinned a bit.
I wandered around the depot for a while, until I eventually spotted a billboard above 'Waiting room number 4' that had numbers to match those on my ticket. I stood, looking around me uncertainly at the hundreds of people crowded, sitting, into this large room. Spotting an official at the very back, I picked my way over to her, and showed her my ticket. She unexpectedly punched it, and opened the little gate in front of which she stood, ushering me through.
I followed several corridors for an eternity, until my whole body began to ache from the weight of the two backpacks I carried. None too soon, a long cement hall opened on the left to a flight of stairs. Up these, and there was a train, with an officer standing at the door of each car. Again, out came the ticket. Again I was gesticulated at, and understood that I was to move further along the train. At every car I stopped, showing my ticket, was pointed in one direction or another, until at last I gave my ticket to an officer who scrutinized first the ticket, then myself, then stepped aside to let me in. Without too much more ado, and with the help of some helpful fellow passengers, I found my bunk, stowed my bags, and settled down for a very long ride.

I must leave you now.
Much love,
Elisabeth

Perfect Rest

Dear Ones,

I may or may not have the opportunity to send any emails while in China. In any case, I thought I'd keep an account of life on a daily basis, so that when I do get the chance to email, either from here or from Korea, I won't have to dig back into the recesses of my mind to remember what happened when and where.

In these last forty four hours I've been able to catch a total of four hours of broken, alert sleep. So if what I write today seems in any way scattered or irrelevant, that will have to be my excuse. And I will continue to use it for the next thirty hours. My travels, you must understand, are only half over. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

It wasn't too difficult to wave goodbye to you, two nights ago. I've said good-bye enough times that I'm pretty much able to disengage my mind, at times like that, from what's happening. So it wasn't until I actually stepped on to the plane, nine hours later, that a heavy weight settled on my chest, and my mind screamed at me, 'What on earth are you doing?!' Somehow planes always seem to have that effect on me…they're so irrevocable, you know. But I told myself that now was not the time to be entertaining such thoughts, and allowed the candy and cookies you sent along turn my mind to more pleasant, or at least less restless, channels.

The rest of the plane trip was uneventful enough to satisfy the most prosaic of travelers, if you don't count the fact that the seats were so squeezed together that my knees pressed into the seat in front of me for the entirety of the twelve hour flight from San Francisco. I was most sincerely thankful when we finally touch down in Beijing.

…Except, I'd never met (or, of course, seen) the man who was to meet me at the airport. I picked up my luggage, went through customs, and from there was quickly re-initiated into the very east-Asian method of maneuvering through a crowd (this, for those of you who are drawing a blank, employs mostly the elbows). And it was a crowd. I looked over the sea of glossy, black heads (I really don't know what for. As I said, I didn't know for whom I was looking) and quickly decided that the one who didn't have the luggage must be the one to do the finding. So I dragged everything over to a row of seats, pulled out a sudoku puzzle, and settled down to wait for an indefinite amount of time. It occurred to me that I should be a little nervous, at least. And certainly I berated myself for not having gotten Marvin's phone number, or at least having arranged a particular spot at which to meet him. But in the same moment I knew that He had His eyes on me, and absolutely had my hand in His. And sure enough, one from a multitude of Asian faces spotted me about a half an hour later, and called my name. He had been looking for me for several hours, and 'was just about to take off.'
'I'm very glad you didn't.' I replied with intense sincerity.

Marvin took me to the apartment where I'll stay tonight. To my very great joy, the elderly couple with whom I'm living speak fluent Korean so that we're able to hold basic, albeit stunted, conversation. Sometimes they laugh, so I know either that I've misunderstood their question, or somehow miscommunicated what I had attempted to say. It's all good practice, and I'm happy that, despite my deplorable lack of studying this summer, I'm able to pick up where I left off.

After exchanging some money into Chinese currency, Marvin brought me around the corner to a little cubby hole in a wall where I purchased a train ticket that will carry me up to Yenji tomorrow. That will be a twenty-one hour journey, which I'm not even remotely looking forward to. Marvin will put me in a taxi, give the driver directions to the depot, and then I will be on my own, with no way of contacting anyone, if I need help. As he was telling me this, he said, 'You should probably know that the driver won't take you all the way to the station, because he's not allowed to drive that far. He'll drop you off somewhere near by, and you'll have to find it from there.'
In relation to which train to take, 'Someone will be able to help you, but don't let anyone besides yourself hold your ticket. If you let go of it, you'll never get it back.'
And when I asked how I'll know at which station I'm eventually to disembark, 'Oh, you'll probably just know.'
The entirety of the trip is fraught with vaguenesses, and if you've ever spent time in a foreign country, you'll understand some of the discomfiture I experience in being set loose to find my ambiguous, twenty-one hour way, alone on my second day here. If it weren't for the absolute certainty that every step (I do not speak generally, but very specifically: every foot step) I take is Ordered and Prearranged, I would be experiencing every emotion other than that which I now feel, and that is perfect rest.

...

Yay! I get to send this sooner than I thought I would. I'll be taking off for the train station very soon, and hopefully (though by no means probably) will be able to send a quick email tomorrow, when I've arrived, letting you all know that I'm still alive and hopefully not too disoriented.

Missing you already,
Elisabeth

A Bloody Nose, 주세요.

Dear Family,

Too many weeks have passed between my last email and this. I've been intending to write for some time, but some how have heretofore lacked the necessary enthusiasm. Correspondence is not the only thing to have become colorless. I've been remiss in studying Korean. Crafts that interested me a month ago, have since lain untouched. Many other mundane tasks have been neglected; I won't bore you with a more exhaustive list. I've only become aware of this state of lethargy within these last few days, and have puzzled over what could be the cause of it. I'm in fine health and my work situation is no more chaotic or insane than usual, so I don't feel any remarkable physical or emotional stress. The weather is warm and beautiful, entirely un-depressing. I sat in silence for a while this morning, to consider if perhaps my relationship with God has become indolent. Aside from feeling keenly how little I know and love Him, not by any means a feeling isolated to this last month, I am glad to say that I don't think that spiritual regression is at the root of this torpidity. Then the only thing I can put my finger on is that I'm simply winding down in anticipation of being home in just four weeks.

Only four weeks! I've never experienced such escalation of appetent impatience. If other pursuits have become dry, that eager interest which they once commanded is now redirected, with all the force of bridled energy, toward intensifying my voracious desire to be home - like a lens that focuses scattered rays of sunlight into a live, smoldering radial, until its very heart must, by the laws of nature, burst into flame. To be with the ones I love best. I believe I'm not alone in the persuasion that there is no stronger earthly pull.

On the other hand, I experienced for the first time, the other day, while hanging out with my Korean friends, some small regret for the things I will leave behind, and find myself excited at the prospect of being back here in August. I look forward to being able to devote my time to studying this complicated language in earnest. I know that so many of the frustrations and difficulties I experience arise from my lack of comprehension.

Though I've been here for over ten months, I'm only just beginning to realize how very different Korean is from English. They don't just speak differently, they think differently, and to become fluent, one must learn to think the thoughts of a Korean. Some time ago we experienced an unexpected rain. Boyeun and I were just leaving the Kindergarten, and neither of us had an umbrella. She turned back to speak to one of the other Korean teachers. I was puzzled by the question I heard her ask, and supposed that I had mistranslated.
"Did you just ask her if she doesn't have an umbrella we can borrow?" I verified.
"Yes." Boyeun replied, "That way whatever answer she gives will be okay."
It took me a while to figure out what she meant, but after having listened to several similar dialogues, I begin to understand.
In America, one would ask his friend, "Do you have the time?"
Either "yes, I do" or "no, I'm sorry" would be the reply.
However, in Korea one mustn't place a friend in the position of having to give a negative answer, so the question will be stated, "Do you not have the time?"
To this, the reply must be either "yes, I don't" (positive accedence) or "no, I do" (positive modification). The situation has been handled with delicacy and no apologies are needed.

Along the same train of thought (that is, creating circumstances most comfortable for your audience) is the idea of mi casa es su casa. It's not 'my apartment' or 'my car' or 'my phone.' It's ours: 'our teeth hurt' or 'our left shoe is missing' or 'I'd like to introduce you to our wife.' …huh?!

However, I regret to state that not all of my linguistic difficulties can be explained so casually away. Some mistakes simply take the form of those errors which other language learners may struggle with, but I had determined never to make. I have been adequately humbled, however, and step forward to join rank with countless others who have been humbled before me. Not very long ago, upon sanguinely ordering a 'coppie latte' at the local Star Bucks, I was rewarded with that bemused look that has become as familiar to me as the back of my hand. Being accustomed to receiving such peculiar glances, especially at cafes, I paid no heed, but Boyeun began to laugh.
"Do you know what you just said?"
"Of course I do. Why?"
"I think you mean 'cappie'… you ordered a bloody nose."

While my opinion of own intelligence may suffer severe blows, at least I don't feel entirely alone. Korea has economically developed at an amazing rate. Sometimes it's difficult to picture this Korea that I know today as the war-torn, isolated country that it was just over fifty years ago. So when Koreans present their old ways of thought as proven fact, it can be somewhat startling. I've mentioned before, for example, that hiccoughs are caused by eating stolen food, and that rain water will make one's hair fall out. But I think I should warn you, also, that it's fatal to closet oneself in an unventilated room with a running fan, and that to prick one's thumb is to draw bad blood from his stomach, thereby relieving a bellyache. What a wealth of information one amasses in a foreign country!

Once a month all the English teachers eat dinner out, on the company's bill. This is always a pleasant experience, especially since we usually go to a western restaurant. This month, for various reasons, I happened to be the only Western teacher amongst us. Being easily outnumbered by the other bilingual teachers, my lone vote for Outback Steak House was overridden by six in favor of Seafood Ocean. I took this in good grace, and each laughed at the strangeness of the others' peculiar taste.
In most cases, one establishment is pretty much like the next, where seafood is concerned. Each sports several large aquariums out front; the equivalent of a sidewalk menu. One studies the various fish and squid and rays and octopi and eels and barnacles swimming round, and if the restaurant has a palatable assortment, he steps in to find a seat on the floor round a long, low table. From the moment our hungry friend has ordered to the moment his dish will be placed before him, only as much time passes as is necessary for the chef to reach into a fish tank, slay his unlucky victim, and diametrically arrange this still pulsating, writhing creature on a lovely bed of crisp, green lettuce. This adds a whole new dimension to my understanding of fresh seafood.
With this picture in my head, a quaking in my heart, and a smile on my lips, we were off. I'm happy to be able to report that my heart quaked in vain. Not only was most of the food in the Seafood Ocean buffet edible, but much of it was even quite delectable, and I heartily enjoyed my dinner of fried shrimp, chicken shish kabobs, sharks' fin, and various pastas and fruit. The tray at the very end of the line was a novelty to me. It bore a mound of sea-snails, their large, gyroidal shells still stained green with algae. I toyed with the idea of eating one, until I happened to spy one of the other teachers prying his from its shell. The strings of slime involved dissuaded me, and I had to hide a smile when Boyeun leaned over and whispered,
"Koreans don't like them either. But they're so expensive, that people aren't going to pass up the opportunity of eating them at no extra cost."
As we filed out of the restaurant two hours later, our waiter handed each of us a bar of soap - dish soap, I supposed, glancing at the sparkling, clean dishes pictured on the box. I opened mine, and took a big whiff. Wrinkling my nose with disgust, I cried out,
"Ugh! It smells like fish!"
"No it doesn't." The others protested, smelling in turn. But I laughed when it was later explained to me that the soap was made from the used oil in which the restaurant had fried its seafood. When they knew why I was laughing, they grinned sheepishly, and admitted that maybe there was just a hint of fishy odor about it.
"But that's okay. It's not dish soap, so your dishes won't smell fishy. It's laundry soap."
I gave my bar away.

It occurred to me for the first time, the other day, that I will always be seen as a foreigner here. I may learn to think, speak, behave, and even feel like a Korean, but until my eyes develop a slant, and my hair becomes straight and black, I will always be stared at as I walk down the street, and strangers will always shy away from me at the super market or in the park. While I dislike it, I've become used to some Koreans refusing to talk above a whisper in my presence, or even turning their backs to me in their shyness.
On Monday, riding from the first floor to the cafeteria on the eighth, Boyeun and I were joined by two other employees. They hesitated before stepping on to the elevator with us. This bashfulness was overcome, but once in, they stared silently at their shoes, with their hands clenched tightly together, until they were able to make their escape. It's not really an uncommon scenario, but for some reason it struck me particularly then. I commented on it to Boyeun, only half funning.
"I don't bite!" I protested. "Maybe I should hang a sign around my neck to that effect."
She laughed, but I don't know if she really got it. Cross-cultural humor is hardly communicable.

I bought myself a hand crafted fife, a few weeks ago. The instrument sang so beautifully when the salesperson wielded it! My pains, however, produce no more than a clumsy squawk, and I'm lazily inclined to believe that a sleight-of-hand was pulled, and the exceptional instrument I purchased mysteriously exchanged for the one I now hold. I shall continue to practice, however, until I have rung out of the lemon a tune as sweet and melodious as ever. I do so enjoy making music!

Several evenings ago I glanced at the pile of dishes in my sink, and sighed. Suddenly I was very, very tired. It was raining out, so I opened my sitting room window and pressed my cheek against the wet screen. It felt so cool and beautiful. The rain was fine, and the icy-green leaves on a tree just outside the window were covered with sparkling droplets. It all shouted God's voice at me, "See what I have done!" I opened the screen and held up my hand to catch the rain. It gathered in a little pool in my palm and ran down my arm, and again the silent but distinct exultation, "See what I have done!" My heart thrilled as a sudden gust of wind shook the leaves, spraying me with water. Leaning as far out of the window as I could, I lifted my face to the sky and laughed with spontaneous delight at the wonderful care of my God.

May He so care for you,
Elisabeth

'Shattered Hues of Light"

A silent ache, a trembling droplet blears
The vision of my vacant, brimming eye.
Color melts with color, drips, and smears
A stained glass world, washed and splashed awry,
And falls among the thousand watery tears
That tumble from a weary, weeping sky.

Then in a trice, one captive shaft of light
Bursts from the prism of one raindrop’s bight

And shattered hues of joy illume the night.