Now

Tuesday, I finished work at 8:00PM and decided to walk around the city for an hour or so. I stopped into a cheap, little variety store, and like all stores of this type, the junk was compelling in all its useless glory. A lot of stuff at dollar stores in Korea have English print on them for whatever reason. I purchased an insanely grammatically incorrect folder with psychotic babbling about vitamins and best friends or some other such cutesy drek. The rabbit on the folder had big westernized eyes and the electric nature of the sugar-fiend who designed it was clearly palpable in the "artwork."

Anyway, I came across some seashells that were kind of nice and decorative, so I bought them as I am forever in search of objects to spruce up my rather sedate-looking apartment. Upon examination, most of these seashells have little concentric lines and bumps running through them. It's easy to forget sometimes that something used to live inside, and that my recent dollar-store purchase used to be something's home. I guess that's just like the irony of most true-life situations: People value things for the wrong reasons. We live in a society that worships the tasteless, tacky and innate…we admire objects for their aesthetic appeal rather than their actual purpose, if in fact there even is one to find. But, I guess I shouldn't criticize, since I can barely find a use for most individuals, myself included.

Lately, as far as the issue of purpose is concerned, I've been considering my own quite a lot. It is amazing to me that someone as shiftless as me has managed to successfully become an adult, if not an adult who is entirely successful. It's annoying that I still suffer from teenage existential angst and dissatisfaction at my age. This makes me neglectful, I think, not only of my ever-growing responsibilities, but of finding means to my ends that I actually support unwaveringly. ..As far as reaching this realization and actually getting the thoughts down in print, I am generally uncertain. Furthermore, were it not for my life-long habit of procrastination, I may have made said discovery a decade earlier and now be a very self-aware person. Unfortunately, no.

I have always had trouble approaching the ends of things. I am terrible about putting things off and very few of my projects reach their end-stages. Maybe it has to do with the fact that much of what I would like to do ideally, is too lofty, ambitious (I am a girl with big plans, though I've learned throughout my time on Earth that disappointment affects me too dramatically, that the regular pitfalls of life may floor me, demoralized, inward, hopes crushed like a paper-cup in a zealous hand.

I am sure I come off this way to people also, like a girl who looks a little unsure, unprofessional, unfocused. I have to concentrate really hard to blink away the cloudiness ever-present in my eyes, but often I don't bother…My face always looks exhausted and my shaking coffee-cup hand gives away the truth. I am also a terrible liar, though I often find myself wishing I were more gullible.

I am getting used to my job, if 'used' is an expression I can actually be justified in using given that a steady routine, a schedule, and the acceptance of said schedule tend to play a requisite part in being 'used' to anything, situational or otherwise. In any case, I have entered a sort of groove at work— the days just sort of bleed together. My boss no longer criticizes my teaching style, my students attend class regularly, I correct journal entries, and I drone on about how to write proper thesis statements. My life has reached this weird state of pseudo normalcy, of expectation, which I'm not entirely sure I'm fond of, but can definitely get 'used' to. ..Though it's exhausting me and potentially using me (and my remaining resources) up.

Sometimes I am hard pressed with the feeling that there's only so much time in life and that one ought to (as they say) "make the most of it." I know I am young, (though I am approaching yet another birthday), but as I often say, some days I just feel incredibly, decrepitly old. It makes me reluctant and terrified to think of what 30 will feel like and I am certain I will not see 40. I'll have just become too accustomed to life, or rather, too 'used' to life by then, or maybe, in some weird cosmic megalomania-driven twist; life will have become too used to me and all my melodramatic whining. And finally, desperate for some fresh air, I will be thrown upon the scrap heap with all the other empty shells. And maybe some will think of me, the absent person, as valuable and worthwhile (for their own reasons), while others will consider the things I leave behind, my paper-trail, messy like cut up bits of confetti paper, as representative of my legacy, proof of my significance.

So, I've decided that if the world ever deems me a worthwhile person, I'd rather it not be a posthumous realization. I'm just going to live (if that's the correct term to use) for each day and discover that I've yet again managed to somehow wake up for another day of work or school, or whatever the case may be. And when I am all used up, I hope I can just vanish from all memory, my paper-trail burning up behind me like a lit fuse.

I haven't had much time to write these last few weeks, but I suppose time is still moving very quickly. So quickly in fact, that days and memories get confused in my mind. It makes me think of Salvador Dali's The Persistence of Memory, that all too famous, verging upon the cliché painting of clocks hung out on a mindscape, lingering, gradually dripping like slices of melting cheese. It makes me hope that most minds are in as disarranged a state as my own, that different moments are hung out to dry all at once and are slowly becoming less solid as time progresses. With all this lack of clarity, of certainty existent within most human minds, or at least within minds that consider such matters, who can even account for what they did earlier that day? Is it not reasonable to assume that quite likely if one wished to remember morning, they'd have countless near identical memories from which to draw.

Maybe the "Now" moment, which so many people claim is of the utmost importance, is not actually "now," but just some celestial trick on the (mind's) eye; smoke and mirrors; a parlour game…It would certainly account for the many creepy déjà vu experiences, or those strange times in cities on the other side of the world when you see someone you've never met, who despite their race, looks identical to someone you know at home. Maybe it can all be traced back to the elusive melting clocks…or that great mystery of the divide between time and space…

So, yeah. Purpose. Maybe the point is to see how much a human can actually remember in life. If that's the case, the school system would make sense I guess (history class was worth it, maybe?), and perhaps then, we'd have very fulfilling, purpose-driven societies. On the other hand, it could instead be that the point is to remember to forget, or to forget to remember, whichever makes the most sense. If one were truly to "live in the moment," memory would serve no purpose, it would in fact, be entirely against the theory of 'now.'

Someone, somewhere (I can't recall, ironically enough) once told me that goldfish have a memory of only 10 seconds. So, they are literally forced to just live when they are alive and nothing more. As they swim around their little domes, the last 10 seconds of swimming is all they remember. I suppose this is why they never appear to be bored out of their tiny little minds—they've only been trapped in this dull little enclosure for 10 seconds. When they die though, the only thought they'll have left is of the previous 10 seconds, which is unfortunate since this means that their only memory of life will be those final 10 potentially unpleasant seconds while expiring. I suppose it cuts the messiness of life into more palatable bits, but it does seem just as pointless as the alternative—producing a million or so new thoughts a day, which many humans suffer to keep in check.

Sometimes these thoughts melt right away, like how we often only remember dreams for a moment, then can never recall them again as they soak into our individual subconscious realms (what a scary place mine must be!). Others stay, hauntingly, stubbornly with you for always, like a stubborn birthmark…on the surface, an item of disdain and reluctant acceptance, something we try to hide. Make-up helps to mask these types of blemishes only slightly. Some tell me that the goal of life is to interact with people, to make connections. If they're right, I am in trouble. In my next life, I'll be back as a goldfish.

I have been getting better in the area of human connections, I guess, but sometimes I just feel so hollow, vacant. Other times I find myself missing the company of particular individuals. And while this sentiment makes me smile, the memory of select moments, the very notion that I, girl that I am, could possibly desire, perhaps even need someone I don't know entirely (how could anyone ever succeed here, at a rate of a million or so new thoughts a day?), terrifies the hell out of me. Perhaps it has to do with the previously discussed issue of control. If I can control nothing else, at least I should be able to control my body and its actions. Being involved with another individual, there is sometimes that fear of a loss of self, somehow. Even if one is particularly fond of said individual…I don't know, but upon letting a new person into one's life (for me, this is not often), there is always this strange sense of self-division in an attempt to sort out the reality of one's self and how to best present it to another person. Maybe we're all just show-pieces. That would explain a lot about modern culture, I suppose.

Essentially, given that I fear the uncertainty and spontaneity of my own thoughts so often, when I am with another person, and can't remember to forget to remember that I shouldn't be thinking of such things, I am terrified…There beside me, so physically close, is a body (warmer than mine), with a mind I won't ever be entirely aware of. It is distressing, but the fact that I am currently willing to accept it gives me an odd sense of peace and has made me contemplative, which is a distraction for less pleasant pastimes, I suppose.

Anyway, in recent weeks, I've been to Coex Aquarium in an area that is rather far from the now familiar Insa Dong. This Coex Mall is extremely crowded and though it wasn't a lot of walking, we were exhausted from the tiresome shuffling of moving at a snail's pace and manoeuvring through throngs of people, mostly squealing, hyperactive, smelly children. Fish sort of freak me out, but I must admit that some were pretty beautiful, hypnotic even, to watch. I thought the jellyfish (the ones in the aquarium lit with a purplish sort of light) were gorgeous. We watched them for about 5 minutes. They were translucent and had a way of moving that seemed to me to be very precise, leisurely almost. They reminded me of ballet-dancers, bobbing up and down in ultra-slow-motion, their appendages (?) like gorgeous skirts blessed with kinetic energy.

I was induced to pick up a starfish. I was a little wary about it, but it was incredible, if a little slimy, to feel its breathing on the palm of my hand. It's wonderful that something so…decorative (?)…could have life. The axolotls (essentially fish with the beginnings of tiny legs) were really amazing to see. They must be a link in that evolutionary chain Darwin dreamed up over a century and a half ago—one of those creatures who pulled itself up out of the swamp waters (how, um, inspiring!) and learned how to move around on land too.

The seahorses (or sea-dragons, as they are called here) were so brilliant. I'd only ever seen fossils before, so I was very intrigued. They have these amazing tails that coil around each other and plants, and they just float in the water, heads bobbing up and down, tails ever coiling, always graceful. They look like they don't belong on this world, but would be better found in a fairy tale or off some hidden isle veiled in fog and mist, the inspiration for fantasy stories, the offspring of a more magic and more ancient time.

Essentially, even if it was an ordeal to walk, and the aquarium was sorely lacking in big fish like whales and dolphins, I'm glad to have gone. I'm sure that if it is ever quiet there, it would be a beautiful thing to silently walk around, listening to your footsteps and surrounded by water and the movement of so many other strange creatures…There was of course, a tacky gift shop (nothing is complete without one). I bought a keychain flashlight sort of thing that lights up in (red, blue, orange, yellow, green) the shape of different sea creatures. It's kind of a pretty, if a bit tacky sort of souvenir, but sometimes those are the best kind.

We also managed to get to Seoul Tower, which is on Mount Namsan ('Nam' means 'North,' apparently. There's also a mountain on the southern edge of Seoul, so the city is essentially enclosed, or so I've been told). We caught the cable car up and this experience was thankfully, briefer than I'd anticipated, as the volume of people along for the ride made me feel much like a canned sardine, a feeling I've experienced often since landing in Korea… Unfortunately, the most vivid memory I have of this place is of being freezing. Upon consideration, it probably wasn't the wisest choice to visit the top of the mountain on one of Korea's colder winter days. It was nearly 5pm by the time we got there and nothing was really open except for restaurants, ice cream shops and the observatory. I wanted to go to the zoo (I haven't been to one in so long!) and the botanical garden (apparently there's one somewhere, as well as some sort of art museum housing ancient Korean artifacts), but according to the woman at the info booth, who put up her arms to form an X, nothing was open. The only thing of actual interest was the old towers where they used to light signal fires to alert the next post that danger was near. We took a picture. Overall though, it was kind of disappointing. I wondered why so many people had come to visit the tower on this day and why it was an important enough outing to wait awhile in line for the opportunity to do so.

The weekend before was spent going out to a myriad of bars and clubs, including one in Hong Dae called "S" bar, which I've decided I don't really like very much. It was a typical club, awful hip hop music and eager young people using social lubrication as an excuse for their behaviour. It wasn't our first choice, particularly, but Pam, the Irishwoman, who we met on New Year's, was out and we thought we'd say hello.

These sorts of clubs have always irritated me. No one acts this way in real life, the way they would act in a club, I mean. But I guess the table-dancing, ass-shaking, essentially unreal personality of this kind of place is what gives its appeal to so many people. Maybe people don't want to think about anything but the "now" either. It makes me doubt my convictions when I consent to go to these places…But yeah, like my Coex souvenir, bars like these are basically tasteless little distractions one can hardly help but be compelled toward (ooh…shiny). And "Now," ironically (and slightly hypocritically), I am writing this blog about past weekends, writing now, but on subjects entirely divorced from the current time, proving that being who I am, it is with difficulty that I remember to forget even the foggiest of experiences.

Blur

Memory is sometimes a touchy issue. How much of what we remember about our lives is a product of what we desire to recall, how much complete and utter fabrication? There's an old expression I've always been rather curious about: Something about how the body remembers what the mind forgets…Is the implication here then that the two are separate parts of individual wholes? If the mind forgets something and the body innately stores the experience in its skin, its shell, hasn't the mind maybe just sort of stored it away for awhile…for safekeeping…or protection? Isn't the mind the body's control center? Can one really function without the other? Is the body really able to handle change better than the mind?

I realize that this issue as long been much discussed, especially in metaphysical circles (or rather, the soul vs. body debate—but for the sake of argument, mind and soul are one and part of the same enigma)…I can indeed understand how consideration of all the moral implications could drive a person (body and mind) to madness. If people think often about doing terrible things, but never act on them, are they just as bad as people who act impulsively, never considering their actions?

Or maybe it's all just skin receptors, really. Like, the way someone can touch you to make you remember a whole bunch of distant, unrelated stuff. Like, how an unshaved face brushed up against the skin can send you back, make you remember vividly, the awkward hugging rituals of youth…And how the fact that you consider it left behind, part of that old, childhood life, makes you contemplate your age and you marvel at how many hours have been wasted, how much you have already forgotten, how much more you will forget. How, in relative terms, being as young as I am, with experiences limited to certain things, mostly cerebral, how much can my body already have forgotten?

Lots of people know I am frozen. Some construe this as unfeeling, unemotional. Others try, often on vain, to warm me up. Descartes once wrote, famously, "I think therefore I am," suggesting that a functioning mind was all you really needed to will yourself into existence. I think in old Creation stories, East Indian ones in particular, the creator came into being because he willed himself to exist (don't ask me how…). By Descartes'

theory therefore, the physical self holds very little sway.

Yes, I used to really like this theory, an expression I hardly understood…I used to want to be the girl who'd shatter if touched, made of crooked icicles maybe…A girl supported by her own very questionable thoughts—not a weak mind, to be sure, though some would say slightly off balance…The lightest graze of another's fingers would surely break my concentration and make me no longer able to 'be.' I used to hate the idea of being trapped in a hideous, cumbersome, freezing shell, a shell I had to take into consideration: feed it, was it, allow others to sometimes see and touch it. Thinking that this body of mine would sometimes be examined by others, I became overcome with the desire to make myself as inconspicuous as possible. This meant, the less time spent in the company of others, the better. The smaller, paler and less remarkable I became, the more at ease I would be.

This tactic might have worked if my thoughts were more disciplined, actually able to assume some form of direction. But being of a highly dual mindset most times, some days I needed to be disruptive, whether out of a very justifiable sense of rage (which they wished to repress) or the very simple need t be noticed for once, for someone to offer real help, love, before I sought it out…which will never happen. The shinier the better, the more outspoken, the more hostile, the more relief I felt. I'd yell louder because I knew that's what they expected. They'd instigate until I'd crack. I'd become sullen and antisocial because I knew that's also what they anticipated of me…And they'd always have someone to blame for making everyone miserable, but no one really questioned my motives…And now, this trend of mind, of assuming characters, makes me wonder how much of my current confusion is a result of not knowing quite what is a result of truth (regardless of my honesty and/or bluntness) and what is construction—Think: "the Lego blocks of mind."

I guess my problem is I don't quite know what there is to think anymore and sometimes in that blank state of dreamless sleep, I'm sure I'll disappear if I didn't have someone to assure me otherwise, that I convulse in my sleep or mumble confusedly…

Yesterday, I was sure I was feverish. I went to bed as soon as I got home from my new, miserable 12 hour a day schedule (today, my boss tried to add an extra hour and I nearly started to cry I was so exhausted. He's promised to cut one…He admitted he was being greedy and trying to cut costs by having as few teachers as possible…I also confronted him about the fact that he unprofessionally keeps changing my hours and not telling me, making me look like a moron, when I am late…I raised my voice…I still have to be there all day tomorrow though…) I thought I just might die…One minute I felt just so cold, the next like I might suffocate. I went to the little convenience store off my building to buy some water and I've never felt so nauseous, warm and generally strangled in my entire life…I paid as quickly as possible because I can generally feel a pass-out coming and wanted to avoid more embarrassment (than I feel on a daily basis) than necessary. I tend to recognize oncoming fainting spells by those miserable little red and yellow dots I get inside the corners of my eyes. I ran to the steps, sat down with my head between my knees (the 2 L water bottle was so heavy) and felt this awful surge of blood rush to my face. I'm sure I was red as hell. I pulled my scarf and hood off, opened my coat and tried not to hyperventilate. If Descartes' mind/body theory has any validity at all, maybe it means I am overwhelmed generally, with my life or that, back to old habits and feeling too warm, I am trying desperately to cool myself down.

Back upstairs, I gulped down the cold Jeju Island water like I'd never drink again along with my pill (I think I should take it again—perhaps the general shittiness and light-headedness I've been feeling lately is some form of withdrawal—or daily manic/panic attacks), and smothered myself in blankets, though I barely slept. I got up at 6:30 AM. It has been such a long, long day. It'll be like this until the end of February, unless it gets worse. The students are on winter break now and so I am currently teaching 19 and 20 year olds, which is a bit awkward, considering I'm about their age.

I am, however glad to report that the holidays were actually survivable—good in fact—for the first time in my life…It was very cold out though…I will never get over my cold, or spend thousands (of won) in tissue a week. A lot of our Christmas plans fell through, but we saw a really strange, surreal take on Lewis Carroll's Alice in Wonderland play called Shocking Alice. Though it was entirely in Korean (the dormouse occasionally interjected with some terribly sarcastic Konglish—"America Number One", etc), I loved it. Especially the sheep...hehe… I might have simply eaten the oddity of this play up if I hadn't begun to drowse off in the last half hour (We'd done a lot of walking in the Insa Dong area). We stayed at relatively decent, cheap motels, some of which were difficult to secure because of our having not taken the holiday tourism rush into consideration beforehand.

In our seemingly never-ending search for a place to stay one night, I noticed a "Hotel" sign in an alley (which just so happened to be filled with messed up, soju drinking homeless guys). We checked it out very briefly, but for W4500 (about $4), and a dirty looking blanket (most likely on a floor that was far from sanitary), surprise-surprise, we never made our way entirely up the staircase (I feared they might collapse, as held together with dirt as they were)…On our beeline out of what I'll guess I'll refer to as a local crashpad for squatters unable to brave the cold (or economically-strapped desperate men too drunk to go home), we nearly stepped on a scurrying, disgusting rat…Needless to say, we gladly paid the advance Xmas rate of W60000 for a decent place, a very wise move…

As for New Years, it was much more planned out, though scheduling delays and yet more crap with my boss never allow me to start my weekend quite as early as I'd like to—or stay away as long. We returned yet again to Insa Dong, a place I'm sure I'll never lose interest in, though which I am sure we may begin to know a little too well (When we start frequenting regular, unremarkable little teashops and restaurants, it could be a problem…J)

Christmas weekend I guess, I was a little more into shopping…I bought a present for Sacha, a picture of a traditional Korean classroom, a really very amazingly cool (and heavy!) brass statue of an old Korean man laying on a raft with a stick in his hand, as well as a reproduction (made in China…lol) of a long opium/tobacco pipe based off a folktale of a smoking tiger (in Art Galleries, especially around the more traditional areas, we see this image everywhere).

We returned to the gallery celebrating Warhol and Pop Art, though the crowd was maddening. We painted our own designs on some mugs—I spilled paint-water on my jeans because I had no elbow room and I'm sure mine turned out terribly, though I'm hoping by some miracle, the glaze and the kiln makes it some sort of gorgeous piece of art which I won't have to plant a flower in and hide under a curtain…We get to pick them up on the 13^th of January I think.

This holiday season, the streets were so packed…The littlest restaurants had wait times. We tried Mokkoli along with dinner one night (which is strong rice wine that comes in a massive bowl (a small size)—we barely dented it). The movement everywhere made me dizzy and rather claustrophobic a lot. We drank at various places throughout the weekend, including some cool rock/metal bars in Hong Dae (notably, one called JUDAS OR SABBATH and another called 52^ND STREET, where I got some good pictures of a very memorable performance…). We also went to City Hall on Christmas Eve and would have tried to go ice skating if the line for the rink didn't look about 5 hours long…

On New Years, we went to a lot of different places, including the old belfry at Jogyesa, which was packed with people from all over the world, traditional dancers, going madly around in circles (an pulling me in ) to the beat of echoing drums. I held a roman candle for the first time, which was cool, although in my case, a nice safe sparkler may have been smarter…People were also selling balloon animals and golden piggy banks (2007 is the year of the pig—another reason for excess consumption of pork, I guess)…It felt like a real carnival…A reason to actually care about New Years for once.

The only shitty part of the night is that we'd 'sort of' been pressured into soju and I ended up dropping my wallet and spending the night freaking out about it until we backtracked the next day and found it behind the bench I had been sitting at (clearly they don't sweep…). Nothing was missing—Koreans are remarkably honest… Otherwise, most of the night I'd been feeling pretty good for once, sociable, and fancied meeting people, so I struck up a conversation with some cool older Irish school teachers. We ended up tagging along with them to Hong Dae where we went to a cool place with a really sort of psychedelic atmosphere, cushions on the floor, etc…Very chill. It reminded me slightly of India Style Café (though not as cool, admittedly), a place we'd been the day before where we smoked a hookah, drank long Island Ice teas, and relaxed on gilt coloured cushions in a venue lit entirely by candles beside a fountain with floating wax lotus flowers. Interpretation was a bit hard (as it usually is, despite the phrasebooks which all seem to have different interpretations of the Korean language), but we met a cool guy named 'Charles, 'whose English was pretty good.

Anyway, we're planning to go out with my new Irish friends next weekend in celebration of a 41^st (!) birthday…I'm sure it may be another potentially action packed weekend. I'll try to write everything down sooner this time around, instead of waiting a whole two weeks, not that I've got the time—I'm about to go to bed—so tired!....I'll try to dream vividly and so remind myself that I still exist, though I remember little, and most days blur like street signs in a foreign language…