As I stalked old friends on Facebook this morning (whatever, don't pretend you don't do it, too), I came across someone catching up with one of their old friends. He said, "Yep, I'm married and we have a baby daughter with another boy on the way. Sometimes we even shop at IKEA. Pretty much the boring suburban life."
A close friend of mine just gave birth to her second baby yesterday. My best friend is due within the next several weeks. Despite this, it took reading the above message for me to feel, if only for a few seconds, that maybe I wanted the same -- a "boring" suburban life. Settled down with a partner and *gasp* kids??? (Well, maybe not so much the kids part, but it was a nice thought.)
Suddenly, I felt very alone here in South Korea. What am I doing? Why aren't I doing the things "normal" 31-year-olds do? And then, I remembered: I DID do (some) of those things, or at least pursued them for a bit. I steadily worked in a 9-5 job for several years, attending happy hours with friends, and, ultimately, wondering where my life had gone. Was that all life had to offer? Were my dreams of traveling forever banished?
Turns out that, no, my traveling dreams and career opportunities were not banished, nor do I have to ever wonder where my life had gone. Now, my life is right here - I'm doing what I've always wanted to do. Yes, my choices sometimes afford me some loneliness... but I can't return "home" to plug away at a life not meant to be mine. My life-partner will emerge as I'm living the life I'm happy with. She'll come across my path as she's living the life she's happy with. I just have to remember that. And with the invent of magicJack and my newly acquired Skype account, keeping in touch with family and friends will be that much easier.
But, after visiting my family last week, it's still hard. As independent as I am, it's hard to miss out on best friends giving birth to their first (or second) babies. It's difficult not to be present for their weddings.
There's a balance to be had, I know, between work, family, and friends. It's just a little harder to maintain it being 8,000 miles away. But don't get me wrong, I still wouldn't trade my current position in life for anything else.
Saturday, September 25, 2010
Fall arrives; Chuseok begins; another trip to Japan
The weather has turned. It's officially fall and I couldn't ask for better days and temperatures than those of today and the last few days. I've been on vacation for a week (whoo-hooo!) as Korea celebrated Chuseok... In celebration of the holiday, my coordinator at school gave me hand lotion, a coworker gave me New Zealand toothpaste (and, no, I don't think he was trying to tell me anything), and my vice principal gave two bottles of wine to the Western teachers (not individually). Yay for Korean holidays!
** About Chuseok -- Chuseok is a major harvest festival and a three-day holiday in Korea celebrated on the 15th day of the 8th month of the lunar calendar. Like many other harvest festivals, it is held around the Autumn Equinox. As a celebration of the good harvest, Koreans visit their ancestral hometowns and share a feast of Korean traditional food such as songpyeon. **
Last Friday, my school held a dinner welcoming our new teachers after several of us hiked a mountain (which was beautiful)... The dinner was great, morale was high, and true to form, the evening progressed into a night of noraebong.
I left the following day for a five-day trip to Okinawa, Japan to visit my sister and nieces/nephew. Although short, it was a good to see them and I'm so happy that I had the time available to jet over there!
Unfortunately, I left my camera there (at least I didn't lose it), but it's going to cost a pretty penny to have it mailed to me. The question on my mind now is, is it worth it? Should I pay a fraction of the price of a new camera (probably the smarter, financially responsible thing to do) OR do I take the plunge and buy a new camera? Such decisions.
In the meantime, I'm going to set up a Flickr account to share my photos. Soon, I'll post the address.
I discovered a new path close to my apartment leading up to a small mountain and took full advantage of this crazy, beautiful weather by hiking the other day. I've also been playing catch-up on a number of random, relatively unimportant, but lingering organizational tasks lately. Makes me feel good and productive, but now, I think it's time for some fresh air!
** About Chuseok -- Chuseok is a major harvest festival and a three-day holiday in Korea celebrated on the 15th day of the 8th month of the lunar calendar. Like many other harvest festivals, it is held around the Autumn Equinox. As a celebration of the good harvest, Koreans visit their ancestral hometowns and share a feast of Korean traditional food such as songpyeon. **
Last Friday, my school held a dinner welcoming our new teachers after several of us hiked a mountain (which was beautiful)... The dinner was great, morale was high, and true to form, the evening progressed into a night of noraebong.
I left the following day for a five-day trip to Okinawa, Japan to visit my sister and nieces/nephew. Although short, it was a good to see them and I'm so happy that I had the time available to jet over there!
Unfortunately, I left my camera there (at least I didn't lose it), but it's going to cost a pretty penny to have it mailed to me. The question on my mind now is, is it worth it? Should I pay a fraction of the price of a new camera (probably the smarter, financially responsible thing to do) OR do I take the plunge and buy a new camera? Such decisions.
In the meantime, I'm going to set up a Flickr account to share my photos. Soon, I'll post the address.
I discovered a new path close to my apartment leading up to a small mountain and took full advantage of this crazy, beautiful weather by hiking the other day. I've also been playing catch-up on a number of random, relatively unimportant, but lingering organizational tasks lately. Makes me feel good and productive, but now, I think it's time for some fresh air!
Thursday, September 2, 2010
Losing it...
I've lost it. Unfortunately, "it" was not my mind, though I suppose I could make that argument after losing my wallet in a flustered taxi transfer. After my inaugural trip to Costco, I loaded my my bags in a cab just to have the driver turn around to tell me he was finished for the day and he couldn't take me home. Really, Mr. Taxi Driver? You couldn't have mentioned that as I clambored into your vehicle... thank you SO much.
So, I hoisted my stuff out and hailed a new taxi. We drove for five minutes before a sinking feeling set in. I frantically started looking for my wallet, and soon I realized, it was gone. My cabbie returned to where he picked me up, at my request, to see if perhaps my wallet was in the road, but it wasn't. So, apparently, I managed to leave valuable business cards of contacts, hundreds of dollars in cash (Costco only accepts cash), my Alien Registration Card (to keep me legal in SoKo), and my debit card in the first taxi.
Thankfully, though, I had my T-Money card in my pocket, so I could at least hop on the subway to get home after I tearfully inquired within Costco if anyone had turned in my wallet.
No worries, though. Two days later, I was back in business with a new debit card and an ARC... The six-hour return trip to Yangju Immigration was the biggest pain in the ass about the whole ordeal (except, of course, for losing my cash). I spent only 20 minutes in the office. After submitting a reissuance application, two passport photos, and a 10,000 won (approx. $10) fee, I was handed a new Alien Card. I could only think how lucky I was to be in country that doesn't have such a phobia about immigrants. (Not that I'm an immigrant here, but I am working, so... you know what I mean.) God help the Mexican in the U.S who loses his/her Green Card and tries to replace it. I hardly think they would have as easy as a time as I did in SoKo. So, for that easy process, I am grateful.
Now. Dear Universe, if you could somehow convince my off-duty cab driver to send me my cash, I would be forever grateful. Thanks.
So, I hoisted my stuff out and hailed a new taxi. We drove for five minutes before a sinking feeling set in. I frantically started looking for my wallet, and soon I realized, it was gone. My cabbie returned to where he picked me up, at my request, to see if perhaps my wallet was in the road, but it wasn't. So, apparently, I managed to leave valuable business cards of contacts, hundreds of dollars in cash (Costco only accepts cash), my Alien Registration Card (to keep me legal in SoKo), and my debit card in the first taxi.
Thankfully, though, I had my T-Money card in my pocket, so I could at least hop on the subway to get home after I tearfully inquired within Costco if anyone had turned in my wallet.
No worries, though. Two days later, I was back in business with a new debit card and an ARC... The six-hour return trip to Yangju Immigration was the biggest pain in the ass about the whole ordeal (except, of course, for losing my cash). I spent only 20 minutes in the office. After submitting a reissuance application, two passport photos, and a 10,000 won (approx. $10) fee, I was handed a new Alien Card. I could only think how lucky I was to be in country that doesn't have such a phobia about immigrants. (Not that I'm an immigrant here, but I am working, so... you know what I mean.) God help the Mexican in the U.S who loses his/her Green Card and tries to replace it. I hardly think they would have as easy as a time as I did in SoKo. So, for that easy process, I am grateful.
Now. Dear Universe, if you could somehow convince my off-duty cab driver to send me my cash, I would be forever grateful. Thanks.
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Bali or Bust
Jet-setting to Indonesia
And while I did accomplish those pre-determined to-do tasks, Bali went something more like this...
After an hour-long delay while on the plane, my Garuda Indonesia aircraft departed Seoul. With an empty seat next to me, I nestled into the flight like a baby curling into her mother's cradled arm, sighed, closed my eyes, and settled in for the seven-hour ride. Descending into Bali, I caught my first sunset over the Indian Ocean. I was disappointed not to have been on the beach with a Bintang in hand, but I was happy to at least catch a little bit of the spectacle.
From the air:
From the tarmac:
Typical of southeast Asia, touts were waiting to pounce on any unassuming visitors fresh off the plane. Thankfully, the airport has an "official" taxi service to shuttle you to your final destination, though that certainly doesn't stop other touts and drivers from offering "transport" -- at a much inflated price.
The number one thing I found the most overwhelming on first arriving was understanding conversations around me! Bali is to Australians as the Carribbean and Hawaii are to Americans. English was spoken everywhere; I understood side conversations, and my sense of hearing went on overload. It felt like I'd just emerged from a six-month stay in a silent bubble. You might think I'd be happy to understand what was happening around me. You'd be wrong, though. I'll be honest, it was slightly offensive to my ears. I'm so used to blocking out "background" noise in Korea that I didn't know what to do with shit I could understand!
**Sidenote: The other two things that I found the most foreign were the complete darkness of the rooms (in SoKo, neon lights stream into my studio apartment, making the concept of a "dark" room comical), and the silence... I could hear birds chirps, geckos croak (do geckos croak??), and other animals of nature exist peacefully. It was surreal. It was the loudest silence I've ever experienced.**
After dumping my luggage off at the *beachside* hotel, I sauntered onto the beach and walked the edge of the surf for an undetermined amount of time reveling in the disbelief that I was in BALI! Finally, I made my way back to the hotel, stopping to sit on a lounge chair when a Balinese man approached me, asking for a "light"... After assuring me he was a "good guy" (because, certainly, if a guy says he's one of the good ones, he MUST be, right?), we sat and chatted for an hour. Turns out he works on the beach and does tourist-related stuff to earn his income. So, I hired him to take me around the island the following day on his motorbike.
FYI: If you're on an island, like, say, Bali, going by motorbike is the ONLY way to go. Not only is it super fun, it's the most efficient. When traffic backs up, you (or your driver) weaves in and out the stuck cars :)
I *heart* motorbikes
Safety First
We had a long day; it started beautifully at Ulu Watu, a temple dedicated to the spirits of the sea, and then we headed to Dreamland. Dreamland is this hyped-up "best" beach, that, in my opinion, doesn't live up to its reputation. About two hours in, the clouds unleashed periods of pounding rain, forcing us to pull over a few times, but I absolutely welcomed the break because as much as I love motorbikes, my ass can only take it for about an hour at a time!
Ulu Watu
As we made our way north, I saw the deepest rice paddy in Bali:
Further north, I visited Gunung Batur, an active volcano, and its sidekick lake -Danau Batur. I was pretty disappointed at first as the area was covered in mist and fog when Toto and I first arrived. But after 30 minutes, it dissipated and I was able to take a few shots and actually see the crater.
We raced to the south to reach Tanah Lot by sunset, but we hit a street ceremony along the way, and between that, the traffic, and the rain, we arrived too late.
*No photo of the most photographed site in Bali* :(
Sunday marked a day in which I followed through on an amended bucket list task: I tried surfing. The original goal was to "surf in Costa Rica." I think surfing in Bali is just as sufficient, though. :)
Toto was also my surf instructor, which at the time, I thought would be better than doing a Quiksilver school group lesson. After an hour of failing to stand on the board, however, I started thinking maybe Toto wasn't so great for teaching beginners how to surf. Then again, it could have been the Bintang. No matter, we had much fun alternating between comical surfing attempts, splashing in the water, and lounging in beach chairs.... As the Bali buzz rolled on, Toto offered me "Magic Mushroom" juice, assuring me that he would "take care of me and that everyone on the beach knew him and it was all good."
Source of the juice?
Ahhh, magic mushroom juice -- would it be everything my college hallucinogenic experiences had afforded me? As an avid viewer of "Locked Up Abroad," though, I opted not to find out what this magic Bali juice was all about.
Just when I thought the unexpected was over, Toto declared his undying non-love for me. He went on and on about how he "really, really, really" liked me and how he's usually super shy and never talks this much to women and blah blah blah. He told me of his middle-school love who set a poem he had written for her on fire and how it had broken his heart. "Oh, Suzi... please, I don't want another broken heart. Can we make love?"
Here's the thing: I'm a laugher. I laugh when I'm nervous. I laugh when something's funny. I laugh when it's inappropriate to laugh. I laugh when I'm speechless. I laugh when I don't know how to respond. I laugh when I'm not paying attention. Sometimes, I even laugh when I'm pissed. If you really know me, you tend to know which "laugh" you're getting. But, really, even if you don't know me well, but are in tune with pitch levels and aren't completely out of wack with the world, you can usually gauge what my laugh means.
Toto, unfortunately, did not know me well, nor was he in tune with pitch levels. In this case, I laughed because I was mildly amused, completely taken off-guard, and was stuck for an adequate response. Toto then assured me (he was big in assurances) that we would use a condom. I was so taken back by his directness that I laughed again. Harder. Seriously? That works on girls?
*Surf lesson over!*
That evening, I tried to catch the sunset over Kuta-Legian beach. The thing about Kuta and Legian Beaches is that the minute you step foot onto the sand, you're in someone's "territory..." meaning someone is going to try to rent you an umbrella, sell you a beer, charge you for a "beach" massage, or dump a load of crap on you, like a fake Rolex watch. Lonely Planet said I'd be able to rest in peace after crossing the invisible line in the sand, but hell if I ever found it! Anyway, I rented my lounger and settled in for the sunset...
Two seconds passed and a woman offered me a foot massage. I thought it would be relaxing, so I naively agreed. It took less than a fraction of a milisecond for the other hawkers to descend on me like Asians on white rice. The thing with the Balinese is that they really are as friendly as their stereotyped reputation precedes them, so it's super hard to be a bitch to them. So, I just smiled and repeated "no, thank you" which often resulted in a ten-minute banter of adjusting my tone to mean "get the f- away from me or I swear to god, I'll stab you in the eye." But all with a smile! :)
The next few days found me in Ubud, about an hour north of the majorly touristed Kuta-Legian beach area. It's known as the arts and culture center of the island and I was excited to buy original artsy things. Unfortunately, I didn't find anything I was all that interested in buying, save for a painting of Ganesha, the Hindu god known for assisting in overcoming obstacles, from an artist I met on my trek along the Campuan Ridge.
Awesome, friendly artist whose name escapes me now
Rice Paddy
Working in the Paddy
It was the first day the sun shone in Bali since I'd arrived and I was out the door for a long hike. It was beautiful. The trek took me through rice paddies, artist huts, small villages, and unfortunately, by several wild dogs. SE Asia, I've noticed, is home to heaps of wild dogs. And I hate them. They're big, mean, and absolutely unpredictable. My policy with wild dogs is the same with touts and hawkers: don't make eye contact.
Despite this policy, I managed to lock eyes with a burly, strong, mean-looking wild white dog, claiming the street as his own as I walked through a village. This dog stared me down, daring me to continue. He even called his chocolate buddy to help work the intimidation factor. It worked. As I begrudgingly forced one foot in front of the other, I passed a teenage Balinese boy and an older guy working in a shed. Much to their amusement, I sheepishly explained how deathly afraid I was of these dogs and asked if one of them would kindly walk with me down the road, past the dogs. The younger guy agreed and we struck up a conversation. He asked if I wanted to see his house to which I replied with a resounding "hell yeah!"
The "houses" are protected and sealed from the main roads by concrete walls, so I couldn't see beyond those and I was dying to have a peek into traditional Balinese lives. He took me past the concrete slabs and we entered, for lack of a better term, a compound... three families lived there, in three separate, free-standing "rooms." There was a communal kitchen. His elderly father sat on the stoop drinking coffee, his mom standing in her bra smiled at me... I saw the pigpen in the back, and I was a little unclear if they raised the pigs to eat them, or if they fed the pigs special meals. Or maybe they fed the pigs special meals BEFORE they ate them. It was a communication breakdown.
His Family Temple
At any rate, he was so nice and after we emerged from his home, he walked me a little further and sent me on my way, but not before telling me what hotel he worked out in case I needed anything (and that I could also expect to come across a few more dogs on the way back to town).
One of Bali's many wild dogs
While in Ubud, I stumbled upon young girls learning a traditional Balinese dance - the Legong dance. Later that night, I saw a professional Legong and Barong dance performance.
What the young girls will grow up to look like:
Before departing Ubud, I enlisted a tarot card reader. I've had my cards read once or twice before and always took it with a healthy dose of skepticism. Given the squirvy way my life is evolving, I decided to see what the cards had to say at this juncture. I'd share the results with you, but maybe that's like sharing the wish you make when you blow out birthday candles -- if you tell, it won't come true!
My remaining few days in Bali were spent on a small island just to the southeast of Bali: Nusa Lembongan. Staying in an amazing villa for three days was just what I was seeking in Bali. Granted, I hadn't counted on all the families, but it was no worries. One of those days, I hired another motorbike driver (actually, I tried to rent my own motorbike, hellbent to overcome my MB fears stemming from my Thailand trauma when I somersaulted down a gravel hill on my motorbike and was pinned underneath. However, after five minutes of failing to truly acquire balance on the bike, I realized that I was ok with not conquering this feat. With lessons, I'm sure I'd be a stellar motorbike chick, but until then, I couldn't afford to wreck the bike and possiby suffer from a brain anneruism... so, a dude named Wayan got my business!)
Wayan was awesome-- he took me to the island's Mangrove Forest where I took a "traditional" boat ride, drove over to Nusa Ceningan (a small island connected to Nusa Lembongan by a suspension bridge that is large enough for one motorbike to cross at a time) to see some awesome views, and then finally to Dream Beach - a beach that TRULY lived up to its name. No boats in the "harbor" (for lack of a better term)... no water sports activities... just sand, palm trees, pounding surf with killer currents, and sun. It was heaven.
Dream Beach
Sunset at Jungutbatu Beach
Livin' it up on my balcony
View from villa
My final day in Indonesia found me taking the fast boat (I *heart* fast boats) back to mainland Bali, licking the salt from my lips as the Indian Ocean waves sprayed me. As I mentioned earlier, my to-do list listed reading and writing as my primary tasks; however, there was one more thing I had to try: parasailing. It was "late" in the afternoon (2:30 p.m.) and I had been told it was too late to go. Refusing that reality, I hit up one of the guys I met when I was first in Legian. Good ole' Christopher got it done, but we were given only 20 minutes to reach a location that typically takes 45-60 minutes to get to. We hopped on his motorbike and holy shit, I absolutely feared for my life. Motorbikes are fun when the driver isn't INSANE. Christopher was absolutely insane!
The ride down to parasailing was infinitely more adventurous and exciting than being pulled by a boat while hanging in a harness above the water. Nothing like barreling down an island highway at 100 kilometers weaving in and out of cars and dodging other motorbikes to kickstart a return trip home. As genuinely scared for my life as I was (my helmet was useless; the only reason it didn't fly off was because of the chin-strap), I genuinely had fun on that dare-devil ride.
To restore my heartrate to normal, however, I did indulge in one last Balinese massage before heading to the airport late Sunday night.
And, of course, there was one last sunset...
Because I know most people don't like to read long blog entries, I thought I would offer this alternative to my travelogue:
*Top 10 Reasons Bali Kicks Ass*
1. Sun
2. Water
3. Silence
4. Nature
5. Motorbikes
6. Balinese massages
7. Grilled prawns in garlic butter sauce*
8. Bintang
9. Friendly Balinese
10. Motorbikes!
*Top 10 Reasons Bali Kicks Ass*
1. Sun
2. Water
3. Silence
4. Nature
5. Motorbikes
6. Balinese massages
7. Grilled prawns in garlic butter sauce*
8. Bintang
9. Friendly Balinese
10. Motorbikes!
*Number 7 may only apply to those living in countries where finding these meals is impossible, like, say, South Korea.*
For those of you interested in more details, read on...
For those of you interested in more details, read on...
Ahhh- vacation. Sweet, sweet release. Some people may think it's weird and not a justifiable desire... I hear some people say, "Why do YOU need a vacation? You're living in South Korea!" Well, folks, that's exactly why I need a vacation! Seriously, working here is just like working at home, but with a few additional stresses... you know, given the different culture, language, and food and all.
This is my first vacation since the summer I went to the Florida Keys with my family when I was 11. Some of you may question that statement, countering that I've traveled many places throughout the years...True enough, but "travel" is the keyword... I've never vacationed. Trips have always been more like work in terms of schlepping around with a backpack and hitting the streets trying to find cheap hostels, cheap eats, and cheap entertainment. This trip to Bali was different; I simply schlepped my backpack from the airport to the (first) pre-booked hotel and enjoyed the ride there.
Although there were a few cultural things I wanted to experience in Bali, my primary goal was to re-lax. I simply wanted to vedge on a sun-drenched beach, soaking up all the Jimmy Buffett tunes and sunrays that I could handle. My basic "to-do" list looked like this:
This is my first vacation since the summer I went to the Florida Keys with my family when I was 11. Some of you may question that statement, countering that I've traveled many places throughout the years...True enough, but "travel" is the keyword... I've never vacationed. Trips have always been more like work in terms of schlepping around with a backpack and hitting the streets trying to find cheap hostels, cheap eats, and cheap entertainment. This trip to Bali was different; I simply schlepped my backpack from the airport to the (first) pre-booked hotel and enjoyed the ride there.
Although there were a few cultural things I wanted to experience in Bali, my primary goal was to re-lax. I simply wanted to vedge on a sun-drenched beach, soaking up all the Jimmy Buffett tunes and sunrays that I could handle. My basic "to-do" list looked like this:
- Read
- Reflect
- Write
- Read more
- Write more than that
- Get out of my head
- Repeat
And while I did accomplish those pre-determined to-do tasks, Bali went something more like this...
After an hour-long delay while on the plane, my Garuda Indonesia aircraft departed Seoul. With an empty seat next to me, I nestled into the flight like a baby curling into her mother's cradled arm, sighed, closed my eyes, and settled in for the seven-hour ride. Descending into Bali, I caught my first sunset over the Indian Ocean. I was disappointed not to have been on the beach with a Bintang in hand, but I was happy to at least catch a little bit of the spectacle.
From the air:
From the tarmac:
Typical of southeast Asia, touts were waiting to pounce on any unassuming visitors fresh off the plane. Thankfully, the airport has an "official" taxi service to shuttle you to your final destination, though that certainly doesn't stop other touts and drivers from offering "transport" -- at a much inflated price.
The number one thing I found the most overwhelming on first arriving was understanding conversations around me! Bali is to Australians as the Carribbean and Hawaii are to Americans. English was spoken everywhere; I understood side conversations, and my sense of hearing went on overload. It felt like I'd just emerged from a six-month stay in a silent bubble. You might think I'd be happy to understand what was happening around me. You'd be wrong, though. I'll be honest, it was slightly offensive to my ears. I'm so used to blocking out "background" noise in Korea that I didn't know what to do with shit I could understand!
**Sidenote: The other two things that I found the most foreign were the complete darkness of the rooms (in SoKo, neon lights stream into my studio apartment, making the concept of a "dark" room comical), and the silence... I could hear birds chirps, geckos croak (do geckos croak??), and other animals of nature exist peacefully. It was surreal. It was the loudest silence I've ever experienced.**
After dumping my luggage off at the *beachside* hotel, I sauntered onto the beach and walked the edge of the surf for an undetermined amount of time reveling in the disbelief that I was in BALI! Finally, I made my way back to the hotel, stopping to sit on a lounge chair when a Balinese man approached me, asking for a "light"... After assuring me he was a "good guy" (because, certainly, if a guy says he's one of the good ones, he MUST be, right?), we sat and chatted for an hour. Turns out he works on the beach and does tourist-related stuff to earn his income. So, I hired him to take me around the island the following day on his motorbike.
FYI: If you're on an island, like, say, Bali, going by motorbike is the ONLY way to go. Not only is it super fun, it's the most efficient. When traffic backs up, you (or your driver) weaves in and out the stuck cars :)
I *heart* motorbikes
Safety First
We had a long day; it started beautifully at Ulu Watu, a temple dedicated to the spirits of the sea, and then we headed to Dreamland. Dreamland is this hyped-up "best" beach, that, in my opinion, doesn't live up to its reputation. About two hours in, the clouds unleashed periods of pounding rain, forcing us to pull over a few times, but I absolutely welcomed the break because as much as I love motorbikes, my ass can only take it for about an hour at a time!
Ulu Watu
As we made our way north, I saw the deepest rice paddy in Bali:
Further north, I visited Gunung Batur, an active volcano, and its sidekick lake -Danau Batur. I was pretty disappointed at first as the area was covered in mist and fog when Toto and I first arrived. But after 30 minutes, it dissipated and I was able to take a few shots and actually see the crater.
We raced to the south to reach Tanah Lot by sunset, but we hit a street ceremony along the way, and between that, the traffic, and the rain, we arrived too late.
*No photo of the most photographed site in Bali* :(
Sunday marked a day in which I followed through on an amended bucket list task: I tried surfing. The original goal was to "surf in Costa Rica." I think surfing in Bali is just as sufficient, though. :)
Toto was also my surf instructor, which at the time, I thought would be better than doing a Quiksilver school group lesson. After an hour of failing to stand on the board, however, I started thinking maybe Toto wasn't so great for teaching beginners how to surf. Then again, it could have been the Bintang. No matter, we had much fun alternating between comical surfing attempts, splashing in the water, and lounging in beach chairs.... As the Bali buzz rolled on, Toto offered me "Magic Mushroom" juice, assuring me that he would "take care of me and that everyone on the beach knew him and it was all good."
Source of the juice?
Ahhh, magic mushroom juice -- would it be everything my college hallucinogenic experiences had afforded me? As an avid viewer of "Locked Up Abroad," though, I opted not to find out what this magic Bali juice was all about.
Just when I thought the unexpected was over, Toto declared his undying non-love for me. He went on and on about how he "really, really, really" liked me and how he's usually super shy and never talks this much to women and blah blah blah. He told me of his middle-school love who set a poem he had written for her on fire and how it had broken his heart. "Oh, Suzi... please, I don't want another broken heart. Can we make love?"
Here's the thing: I'm a laugher. I laugh when I'm nervous. I laugh when something's funny. I laugh when it's inappropriate to laugh. I laugh when I'm speechless. I laugh when I don't know how to respond. I laugh when I'm not paying attention. Sometimes, I even laugh when I'm pissed. If you really know me, you tend to know which "laugh" you're getting. But, really, even if you don't know me well, but are in tune with pitch levels and aren't completely out of wack with the world, you can usually gauge what my laugh means.
Toto, unfortunately, did not know me well, nor was he in tune with pitch levels. In this case, I laughed because I was mildly amused, completely taken off-guard, and was stuck for an adequate response. Toto then assured me (he was big in assurances) that we would use a condom. I was so taken back by his directness that I laughed again. Harder. Seriously? That works on girls?
*Surf lesson over!*
That evening, I tried to catch the sunset over Kuta-Legian beach. The thing about Kuta and Legian Beaches is that the minute you step foot onto the sand, you're in someone's "territory..." meaning someone is going to try to rent you an umbrella, sell you a beer, charge you for a "beach" massage, or dump a load of crap on you, like a fake Rolex watch. Lonely Planet said I'd be able to rest in peace after crossing the invisible line in the sand, but hell if I ever found it! Anyway, I rented my lounger and settled in for the sunset...
Two seconds passed and a woman offered me a foot massage. I thought it would be relaxing, so I naively agreed. It took less than a fraction of a milisecond for the other hawkers to descend on me like Asians on white rice. The thing with the Balinese is that they really are as friendly as their stereotyped reputation precedes them, so it's super hard to be a bitch to them. So, I just smiled and repeated "no, thank you" which often resulted in a ten-minute banter of adjusting my tone to mean "get the f- away from me or I swear to god, I'll stab you in the eye." But all with a smile! :)
The next few days found me in Ubud, about an hour north of the majorly touristed Kuta-Legian beach area. It's known as the arts and culture center of the island and I was excited to buy original artsy things. Unfortunately, I didn't find anything I was all that interested in buying, save for a painting of Ganesha, the Hindu god known for assisting in overcoming obstacles, from an artist I met on my trek along the Campuan Ridge.
Awesome, friendly artist whose name escapes me now
Rice Paddy
Working in the Paddy
It was the first day the sun shone in Bali since I'd arrived and I was out the door for a long hike. It was beautiful. The trek took me through rice paddies, artist huts, small villages, and unfortunately, by several wild dogs. SE Asia, I've noticed, is home to heaps of wild dogs. And I hate them. They're big, mean, and absolutely unpredictable. My policy with wild dogs is the same with touts and hawkers: don't make eye contact.
Despite this policy, I managed to lock eyes with a burly, strong, mean-looking wild white dog, claiming the street as his own as I walked through a village. This dog stared me down, daring me to continue. He even called his chocolate buddy to help work the intimidation factor. It worked. As I begrudgingly forced one foot in front of the other, I passed a teenage Balinese boy and an older guy working in a shed. Much to their amusement, I sheepishly explained how deathly afraid I was of these dogs and asked if one of them would kindly walk with me down the road, past the dogs. The younger guy agreed and we struck up a conversation. He asked if I wanted to see his house to which I replied with a resounding "hell yeah!"
The "houses" are protected and sealed from the main roads by concrete walls, so I couldn't see beyond those and I was dying to have a peek into traditional Balinese lives. He took me past the concrete slabs and we entered, for lack of a better term, a compound... three families lived there, in three separate, free-standing "rooms." There was a communal kitchen. His elderly father sat on the stoop drinking coffee, his mom standing in her bra smiled at me... I saw the pigpen in the back, and I was a little unclear if they raised the pigs to eat them, or if they fed the pigs special meals. Or maybe they fed the pigs special meals BEFORE they ate them. It was a communication breakdown.
His Family Temple
At any rate, he was so nice and after we emerged from his home, he walked me a little further and sent me on my way, but not before telling me what hotel he worked out in case I needed anything (and that I could also expect to come across a few more dogs on the way back to town).
One of Bali's many wild dogs
While in Ubud, I stumbled upon young girls learning a traditional Balinese dance - the Legong dance. Later that night, I saw a professional Legong and Barong dance performance.
What the young girls will grow up to look like:
Before departing Ubud, I enlisted a tarot card reader. I've had my cards read once or twice before and always took it with a healthy dose of skepticism. Given the squirvy way my life is evolving, I decided to see what the cards had to say at this juncture. I'd share the results with you, but maybe that's like sharing the wish you make when you blow out birthday candles -- if you tell, it won't come true!
My remaining few days in Bali were spent on a small island just to the southeast of Bali: Nusa Lembongan. Staying in an amazing villa for three days was just what I was seeking in Bali. Granted, I hadn't counted on all the families, but it was no worries. One of those days, I hired another motorbike driver (actually, I tried to rent my own motorbike, hellbent to overcome my MB fears stemming from my Thailand trauma when I somersaulted down a gravel hill on my motorbike and was pinned underneath. However, after five minutes of failing to truly acquire balance on the bike, I realized that I was ok with not conquering this feat. With lessons, I'm sure I'd be a stellar motorbike chick, but until then, I couldn't afford to wreck the bike and possiby suffer from a brain anneruism... so, a dude named Wayan got my business!)
Wayan was awesome-- he took me to the island's Mangrove Forest where I took a "traditional" boat ride, drove over to Nusa Ceningan (a small island connected to Nusa Lembongan by a suspension bridge that is large enough for one motorbike to cross at a time) to see some awesome views, and then finally to Dream Beach - a beach that TRULY lived up to its name. No boats in the "harbor" (for lack of a better term)... no water sports activities... just sand, palm trees, pounding surf with killer currents, and sun. It was heaven.
Dream Beach
Sunset at Jungutbatu Beach
Livin' it up on my balcony
View from villa
My final day in Indonesia found me taking the fast boat (I *heart* fast boats) back to mainland Bali, licking the salt from my lips as the Indian Ocean waves sprayed me. As I mentioned earlier, my to-do list listed reading and writing as my primary tasks; however, there was one more thing I had to try: parasailing. It was "late" in the afternoon (2:30 p.m.) and I had been told it was too late to go. Refusing that reality, I hit up one of the guys I met when I was first in Legian. Good ole' Christopher got it done, but we were given only 20 minutes to reach a location that typically takes 45-60 minutes to get to. We hopped on his motorbike and holy shit, I absolutely feared for my life. Motorbikes are fun when the driver isn't INSANE. Christopher was absolutely insane!
The ride down to parasailing was infinitely more adventurous and exciting than being pulled by a boat while hanging in a harness above the water. Nothing like barreling down an island highway at 100 kilometers weaving in and out of cars and dodging other motorbikes to kickstart a return trip home. As genuinely scared for my life as I was (my helmet was useless; the only reason it didn't fly off was because of the chin-strap), I genuinely had fun on that dare-devil ride.
To restore my heartrate to normal, however, I did indulge in one last Balinese massage before heading to the airport late Sunday night.
And, of course, there was one last sunset...
Friday, July 2, 2010
Part I: Turning 31...a brief reflection
Birthdays have usually been a time of contemplation and reflection for me. I've never been a huge "birthday" celebrator, but the year of age 30 was one HELLUVA year and I fully feel justified in celebrating the next year. On the one hand, admittingly, it's slightly scary to be fully entrenched in my 30s (although, according to subject matter experts, you're only fully entrenched once you reach age 35). On the other hand, age really is just a number... unless you're in Korea. Wait. I'm in Korea. SHIT! According to them, I'm an old freakin' maid destined to the bowels of society with absolutely no chance at love -- ever. Hmmmm. Bummer.
Although the Western world is slightly more forgiving for aging without having yet secured the time-honored tradition of a life-long partner by age 31, I am still surrounded by and reminded of societal "expectations," if you will. So many friends are engaged or already married. A few are sporting children or are have them in utero. WTF! What happened to slurping Snoopy Sno-Cones on the corner of Pinehurst St. condeming the conventional life that was destined to be forced upon us? (Ok, fine... maybe I was the only one bitching about convention, but I certainly wasn't alone in slurping Snoopies!)
This birthday is especially contemplative considering my current residence. One year ago, coming to Korea wasn't even on the immediate radar. Looking back, it seems that the *slight* chaos that consumed my life was creating the perfect situation for me to finally follow through with my plans to teach abroad. (For those of you in the know, I'm sure "*slight* chaos" is amusing to you.. as it is to me... !) Regardless, you never know what will materialize in life. What appears as detrimental one second manifests into the best freakin' thing you could ever imagine.
There was a time when I sought answers for impossible questions... not "Why am I here" or "What's the meaning of life", but rather, I wanted concrete explanations for certain events that have occurred. And that's just not the way life is. Life is messy. It's complicated. And really, I don't need to have all the "answers" ... Where I've been is where I'm coming from, but I'm certainly not chained to the past. As a great philosopher whose name escapes me at the moment said, "Life isn't about finding yourself. Life is about creating yourself."
And I know, the life I'm creating for myself has long since been waiting for me. I might have mixed feelings about turning 31, but it is absolutely never too late (at any age) to live the life you've dreamt of. Maybe I don't have a pension plan right now; maybe my student loan debt seems to be on par with the national deficit; but bump it, I'm living life on life's terms and creating a world in which I'm happy to inhabit.
Although the Western world is slightly more forgiving for aging without having yet secured the time-honored tradition of a life-long partner by age 31, I am still surrounded by and reminded of societal "expectations," if you will. So many friends are engaged or already married. A few are sporting children or are have them in utero. WTF! What happened to slurping Snoopy Sno-Cones on the corner of Pinehurst St. condeming the conventional life that was destined to be forced upon us? (Ok, fine... maybe I was the only one bitching about convention, but I certainly wasn't alone in slurping Snoopies!)
This birthday is especially contemplative considering my current residence. One year ago, coming to Korea wasn't even on the immediate radar. Looking back, it seems that the *slight* chaos that consumed my life was creating the perfect situation for me to finally follow through with my plans to teach abroad. (For those of you in the know, I'm sure "*slight* chaos" is amusing to you.. as it is to me... !) Regardless, you never know what will materialize in life. What appears as detrimental one second manifests into the best freakin' thing you could ever imagine.
There was a time when I sought answers for impossible questions... not "Why am I here" or "What's the meaning of life", but rather, I wanted concrete explanations for certain events that have occurred. And that's just not the way life is. Life is messy. It's complicated. And really, I don't need to have all the "answers" ... Where I've been is where I'm coming from, but I'm certainly not chained to the past. As a great philosopher whose name escapes me at the moment said, "Life isn't about finding yourself. Life is about creating yourself."
And I know, the life I'm creating for myself has long since been waiting for me. I might have mixed feelings about turning 31, but it is absolutely never too late (at any age) to live the life you've dreamt of. Maybe I don't have a pension plan right now; maybe my student loan debt seems to be on par with the national deficit; but bump it, I'm living life on life's terms and creating a world in which I'm happy to inhabit.
Monday, May 31, 2010
Bound for Okinawa, Japan
*Pics to be included soon*
Five days was hardly enough, but it was so great to see my sister and family after nearly two
years! Currently based in Okinawa, Katie is closer to Taiwan than Japan, and the culture of Okinawa is, by most locals' accounts, decidedly Okinawan and not Japanese. With two brilliantly beautiful days when I arrived, Katie, the kids, and I walked to the Okinawa Zoo on Day 1-- and although we didn't see any of the animals, we did catch an Okinawan dance performance that was awesome.
Not necessarily feeling awkward, Katie was nonetheless accutely aware that she and I were the only Westerners in the park (well, except for two men, who were individually with Japanese women, which prompted Katie and I to discuss the intricacies of "inner-culture" marriage/relationships... since I haven't cleared this blog entry with her, I will refrain from sharing her viewpoint... and mine, too... stay tuned for Chapter 5 of my book. I'm conducting more research while in SoKo about the fascination men have for Asians.)
Because Katie and Chris live off-base (FYI: they are not "military;" rather, Chris is civil service with the Navy), Katie experiences a more authentic experience amongst Okinawans. Which isn't saying it's all that great. Okinawans are especially hostile (not necessarily phyically harmful, though) to Americans right now. For one thing, the American military has a base for each of its branches -- army, navy, air force, marines, etc -- on the island. And as is bound to happen anywhere, there have been unfortunate incidents between soldiers and Oki civilians (the most recent is one in which a soldier was drunk driving and killed an Okinawan). But the main thing, is that Okinawans want one particular base off the island. And a Japanese politician campaigned on the promise that he would make it happen.
So, when I was in Okinawa, tensions were high because talks of moving the base were to be held in the coming weeks. I say this to say that the stares Katie and I received from the Japanese are much more severe than the harmless, non-hostile curious stares I receive from Koreans.
*Sidenote: Since then (May 5-9), the politician renegged on his campaign promise, causing much upheaval amongst Okinawans. Although he said it was because of North Korea sank a South Korean ship (see other entry!), who knows if that's the truth, or a simple convenient scape goat?
My nephew, who is almost one year old, is bar none the cutest damn kid around. Of course, don't all aunts say the same thing of their nephews? But, because Katie gave birth to Brennan in Japan, I hadn't met him yet, and it was amazing.
Day 2 was a trip to Hamahiga, a not-so-well known small beach about an hour from Oki City. I had already known from my descent into Okinawa how much I missed the water, but being on the beach cemented my heartache. I am, first and foremost, a water girl. With seven generations of Floridians in my blood, I suppose it's genetic, but after settling in Orlando (yes, I know it was only an hour or so to the nearest beach) for so long, and now Korea, I know in my heart: I'm meant to be on, by, or in water!
Katie's husband had a 24-hour "layover" at home (his job takes him to far-reaching places on the globe for undetermined amounts of time) on Saturday, so I offered to babysit the kids so they could have a "Date Night." So, after a day of watching one of my nieces play soccer and then shopping for "American" products on the base to bring back with me to Korea (really, I just needed a new supply of Crystal Light lemonade!), I settled in for a night with the kids. After making dinner, changing Brennan, doing arts and crafts, and putting the kids to bed, I felt super domestic -- something I don't ever feel. Something I'm ok with not feeling right now :) I quietly thanked the universe for my current position in life.
Sunday morning, we made the trek to the airport. It was sad to leave Katie and the kids, but we'd had an awesome time.
Thanks again, Korea, for celebrating Children's Day, which gave me the opportunity to chill with the fam for a few days!
Five days was hardly enough, but it was so great to see my sister and family after nearly two
years! Currently based in Okinawa, Katie is closer to Taiwan than Japan, and the culture of Okinawa is, by most locals' accounts, decidedly Okinawan and not Japanese. With two brilliantly beautiful days when I arrived, Katie, the kids, and I walked to the Okinawa Zoo on Day 1-- and although we didn't see any of the animals, we did catch an Okinawan dance performance that was awesome.
Not necessarily feeling awkward, Katie was nonetheless accutely aware that she and I were the only Westerners in the park (well, except for two men, who were individually with Japanese women, which prompted Katie and I to discuss the intricacies of "inner-culture" marriage/relationships... since I haven't cleared this blog entry with her, I will refrain from sharing her viewpoint... and mine, too... stay tuned for Chapter 5 of my book. I'm conducting more research while in SoKo about the fascination men have for Asians.)
Because Katie and Chris live off-base (FYI: they are not "military;" rather, Chris is civil service with the Navy), Katie experiences a more authentic experience amongst Okinawans. Which isn't saying it's all that great. Okinawans are especially hostile (not necessarily phyically harmful, though) to Americans right now. For one thing, the American military has a base for each of its branches -- army, navy, air force, marines, etc -- on the island. And as is bound to happen anywhere, there have been unfortunate incidents between soldiers and Oki civilians (the most recent is one in which a soldier was drunk driving and killed an Okinawan). But the main thing, is that Okinawans want one particular base off the island. And a Japanese politician campaigned on the promise that he would make it happen.
So, when I was in Okinawa, tensions were high because talks of moving the base were to be held in the coming weeks. I say this to say that the stares Katie and I received from the Japanese are much more severe than the harmless, non-hostile curious stares I receive from Koreans.
*Sidenote: Since then (May 5-9), the politician renegged on his campaign promise, causing much upheaval amongst Okinawans. Although he said it was because of North Korea sank a South Korean ship (see other entry!), who knows if that's the truth, or a simple convenient scape goat?
My nephew, who is almost one year old, is bar none the cutest damn kid around. Of course, don't all aunts say the same thing of their nephews? But, because Katie gave birth to Brennan in Japan, I hadn't met him yet, and it was amazing.
Day 2 was a trip to Hamahiga, a not-so-well known small beach about an hour from Oki City. I had already known from my descent into Okinawa how much I missed the water, but being on the beach cemented my heartache. I am, first and foremost, a water girl. With seven generations of Floridians in my blood, I suppose it's genetic, but after settling in Orlando (yes, I know it was only an hour or so to the nearest beach) for so long, and now Korea, I know in my heart: I'm meant to be on, by, or in water!
Katie's husband had a 24-hour "layover" at home (his job takes him to far-reaching places on the globe for undetermined amounts of time) on Saturday, so I offered to babysit the kids so they could have a "Date Night." So, after a day of watching one of my nieces play soccer and then shopping for "American" products on the base to bring back with me to Korea (really, I just needed a new supply of Crystal Light lemonade!), I settled in for a night with the kids. After making dinner, changing Brennan, doing arts and crafts, and putting the kids to bed, I felt super domestic -- something I don't ever feel. Something I'm ok with not feeling right now :) I quietly thanked the universe for my current position in life.
Sunday morning, we made the trek to the airport. It was sad to leave Katie and the kids, but we'd had an awesome time.
Thanks again, Korea, for celebrating Children's Day, which gave me the opportunity to chill with the fam for a few days!
Thursday, May 13, 2010
Hiking, bookstores, and baseball games
Hiking is a big sport in Korea. Everything I'd read before coming to SoKo indicated that Koreans were outdoors-crazed and loved to deck themselves out in hiking gear and hit the mountains. When I heard that I would be hiking a moutain with my fellow teachers, both Western and Korean, I though, what better time to invest in hiking sticks! HAHAHA. I was wrong!
I brought my cool new sticks to school the following Monday and just happened to show them to a Korean teacher, whose reaction I can hardly capture in words. Her gut-wrenching belly laugh, I had never heard, but I was so happy I could elicit such happiness and joy from my innocent purchase. J told me that only ajummas (really old women) use hiking sticks and that I'd be laughed right off the mountain. Of course, because I'm in Korea, no one would actually laugh to my face, but laugh they would... and they would do it heartily.
Needless to say, I didn't bring the sticks on the mountain hike (which was no worries, because the "mountain" was more of a kiddie-mountain with no need to stablize my footing. Even though we did get rained on when we had almost reached the top!
Baseball vs. Bookstores: A Fair Fight
I'm not a huge baseball fan. Actually, I'm not a huge sports fan. Sometimes, I wish I was, but I think there's something in my blood preventing me from indulging in the latest sports news. I am, however, very much interested in meeting new people. So, when I was invited to attend a Korean baseball game, I faced a dilemma: socialize and be bored at the game, or do something on my own? *Shocker*- I did something on my own. Liz said, "What other time in your life can you say you've been to a baseball game in Korea???" Fair enough. My response? "What other time in my life could I say how BORED I was at a baseball game in Korea?"
And, so on that beautiful Saturday afternoon, I bypassed Olympic Park and headed to Gangnam, an affluent area of Seoul, to check out Kyobo Bookstore. Man, did I make the right decision. Bookstores are my sanctuaries, my temples, my churches, my places of worship. They rank even higher than office supply stores (given my fierce opposition to "real" 9-5 corporate jobs, perhaps it's shocking that office supplies give me unmeasurable pleasure, but it's true. I could spend hundreds of dollars on paper clips, binders, notebooks, legal pads, markers, pens, retractable pencils... the works. OH! Just writing about it makes me giddy.)... but, as usual, I digress.
Walking into Korea's largest chain bookstore (which, incidently, puts Borders and Barnes and Noble to shame), I instinctively let out a breath of air and released weeks of unrealized stress. Turns out I was in desperate need of some quality alone time, wandering racks of stories, browsing a surprisingly large section of English books, and sifting through countless options of book escapism. It was heavenly.
True to form, I walked out with five books: One on learning Korean (for the love of god, I need to learn it!!!), one on Korean culture -- cartoon style, a pocket atlas (SWEET), a collection of stories by David Sedaris, and Paulo Coelho's "The Witch of Portobello," which is turning out to be an incredible book. While I'm not a big fan of fiction, Coehlo is a fantastic author. Admittingly, I've only read two of his other books, but I devoured them. "The Witch of Portobello" struck me for another reason, though... One of its catch lines is:
"How do we find the courage to always be true to ourselves -- even if we are unsure of who we are?"
Given some recent events that shall only be published in my Great American Nonfiction Novel, this line rang so true to me. I could write a whole other blog entry on this theme. Although I'm not entirely sure why I hold the view that I should know who I am, I'm even more unsure as to why I think it's unwise to share this sentiment with others. Upon reflection, though, why is that so bad? Yeah, I don't know entirely who I am... Does anyone? Are we not constantly evolving, adapting to new beliefs or thoughts? Maybe, maybe not. Personally, I believe if you're not growing or evolving, you're stuck. Stagnant. Living an unfilling life. For me, I hope that I always continue to grow and evolve... and that means sometimes being unsure of who I am. It can be uncomfortable, not knowing who I am. Labels help us identify with certain groups. But, as I recently read somewhere, labels are for food, not people! Insightful, I know. Sometimes I amaze myself at how freakin' reflective I can be.
Finding someone who claims to know exactly who they are is like someone who claims they have found the Truth. You should always doubt that claim; it's an impossible feat.
This whole "Who am I" business is tiresome. I'm thrust back to Mrs. West's eighth grade English class when I wrote a poem titled, "Who am I". I was the wind. It was a pretty heady poem for a 13-yr-old. And god knows, it was so indicative of my adolescence -- I mean, classbook Erikson in keeping with the stages of development...
Anyway, I don't think I'm the wind anymore, though my travels sometimes make me feel like it (but in this case, being the wind is good!) Whatever. If I had to create a business card, and I mean, my ideal business card, it would probably just have my name: Suzi Ball.
I am so many things. I just don't want to be boxed in.
And, so, I am reminded of Cat Stevens:
"Well, if you want to sing out, sing out
And if you want to be free, be free
'Cause there's a million things to be
You know that there are."
So, that's it. I'm free. Because that's who and what I want to be.
I brought my cool new sticks to school the following Monday and just happened to show them to a Korean teacher, whose reaction I can hardly capture in words. Her gut-wrenching belly laugh, I had never heard, but I was so happy I could elicit such happiness and joy from my innocent purchase. J told me that only ajummas (really old women) use hiking sticks and that I'd be laughed right off the mountain. Of course, because I'm in Korea, no one would actually laugh to my face, but laugh they would... and they would do it heartily.
Needless to say, I didn't bring the sticks on the mountain hike (which was no worries, because the "mountain" was more of a kiddie-mountain with no need to stablize my footing. Even though we did get rained on when we had almost reached the top!
Baseball vs. Bookstores: A Fair Fight
I'm not a huge baseball fan. Actually, I'm not a huge sports fan. Sometimes, I wish I was, but I think there's something in my blood preventing me from indulging in the latest sports news. I am, however, very much interested in meeting new people. So, when I was invited to attend a Korean baseball game, I faced a dilemma: socialize and be bored at the game, or do something on my own? *Shocker*- I did something on my own. Liz said, "What other time in your life can you say you've been to a baseball game in Korea???" Fair enough. My response? "What other time in my life could I say how BORED I was at a baseball game in Korea?"
And, so on that beautiful Saturday afternoon, I bypassed Olympic Park and headed to Gangnam, an affluent area of Seoul, to check out Kyobo Bookstore. Man, did I make the right decision. Bookstores are my sanctuaries, my temples, my churches, my places of worship. They rank even higher than office supply stores (given my fierce opposition to "real" 9-5 corporate jobs, perhaps it's shocking that office supplies give me unmeasurable pleasure, but it's true. I could spend hundreds of dollars on paper clips, binders, notebooks, legal pads, markers, pens, retractable pencils... the works. OH! Just writing about it makes me giddy.)... but, as usual, I digress.
Walking into Korea's largest chain bookstore (which, incidently, puts Borders and Barnes and Noble to shame), I instinctively let out a breath of air and released weeks of unrealized stress. Turns out I was in desperate need of some quality alone time, wandering racks of stories, browsing a surprisingly large section of English books, and sifting through countless options of book escapism. It was heavenly.
True to form, I walked out with five books: One on learning Korean (for the love of god, I need to learn it!!!), one on Korean culture -- cartoon style, a pocket atlas (SWEET), a collection of stories by David Sedaris, and Paulo Coelho's "The Witch of Portobello," which is turning out to be an incredible book. While I'm not a big fan of fiction, Coehlo is a fantastic author. Admittingly, I've only read two of his other books, but I devoured them. "The Witch of Portobello" struck me for another reason, though... One of its catch lines is:
"How do we find the courage to always be true to ourselves -- even if we are unsure of who we are?"
Given some recent events that shall only be published in my Great American Nonfiction Novel, this line rang so true to me. I could write a whole other blog entry on this theme. Although I'm not entirely sure why I hold the view that I should know who I am, I'm even more unsure as to why I think it's unwise to share this sentiment with others. Upon reflection, though, why is that so bad? Yeah, I don't know entirely who I am... Does anyone? Are we not constantly evolving, adapting to new beliefs or thoughts? Maybe, maybe not. Personally, I believe if you're not growing or evolving, you're stuck. Stagnant. Living an unfilling life. For me, I hope that I always continue to grow and evolve... and that means sometimes being unsure of who I am. It can be uncomfortable, not knowing who I am. Labels help us identify with certain groups. But, as I recently read somewhere, labels are for food, not people! Insightful, I know. Sometimes I amaze myself at how freakin' reflective I can be.
Finding someone who claims to know exactly who they are is like someone who claims they have found the Truth. You should always doubt that claim; it's an impossible feat.
This whole "Who am I" business is tiresome. I'm thrust back to Mrs. West's eighth grade English class when I wrote a poem titled, "Who am I". I was the wind. It was a pretty heady poem for a 13-yr-old. And god knows, it was so indicative of my adolescence -- I mean, classbook Erikson in keeping with the stages of development...
Anyway, I don't think I'm the wind anymore, though my travels sometimes make me feel like it (but in this case, being the wind is good!) Whatever. If I had to create a business card, and I mean, my ideal business card, it would probably just have my name: Suzi Ball.
I am so many things. I just don't want to be boxed in.
And, so, I am reminded of Cat Stevens:
"Well, if you want to sing out, sing out
And if you want to be free, be free
'Cause there's a million things to be
You know that there are."
So, that's it. I'm free. Because that's who and what I want to be.
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