Paradox

Tonight I've considered the paradox of my personality. While I have long considered subscribing to the general-consensus-mob-mentality of popular culture an odious waste of time, being 'different' is often easier in theory. Subsequently, although being in a state of constant misery keeps me in said state, feelings of happiness and euphoria (either in me or others) tends to confuse and irritate me at once, which leads to feelings of guilt for having such negative reactions to something potentially wonderful. At certain moments of my life I've even thought that I've consciously been restraining myself, filtering out any good that might come to me and instead, saving all the grit. In my head I've got this image of trying to pass broken bits of glass through a window screen. Any attempt to ease the process may result in bloody fingertips, so there's no point in trying.

I hate this attitude in others, and as this is so very identifiably 'me,' or it is as I've allowed myself to be seen by others the majority of my life, I've (un?)consciously made myself into a hypocritical, unapproachably sharp, guilt-wracked ball of tension. I really need a vacation or at least a major diversion to escape the thoughts in my head…

Today in one of my classes, I decided to do something a bit different and photocopied a poem by Nadine Stair called "If I Had My Life to Live Over." Whether I inspired them to think independently or if they even understood the point is, of course, questionable, but in any case it got me thinking a bit about my own life and the moves I've made to get to where I am at present.

If I am entirely honest with myself, I regret a lot. Unfortunately, being as stubborn as I am, I probably won't even try to correct the mistakes I've made in the past—you know, like all that stuff about learning from the past in order to prevent making the same mistakes in the future…that. Maybe the fact that I am aware of where I've gone wrong yet remain unwilling to change dooms me to self-destruction, as I cannot seem to absorb information, good advice or prescribed gel-capsule programming…Damn it, right? Or worse, that I have yet to reach my 23^rd year and still feel responsible for errors in judgement or behaviour made a decade earlier. I think I have a protruding guilt complex. I wonder if it shows.

What bothers me most though is that for my entire life, even when I was young, as events would occur, I'd be aware of their repercussions. Like, I'd be doing something and all the while I'd be thinking about how it would most definitely boomerang to hit me in the face on its way back. Maybe I've been consciously making myself unhappy for my entire life, as some people like to suggest. Or, maybe it's just a warped sense of personal truth—like if I'd acted differently, I could have potentially enjoyed myself a lot more, but at the same time I'd not have been at all sincere regarding my sense of self. I'd have succeeded in nothing more than making myself uncomfortable in going against my gut reactions to life's ironic little freak-show.

The weird part is that I've only recently come to the understanding that life is just random, mostly nonsensical little events, generally having some sort of flimsy connection to each other, though not necessarily. Sometimes my days are so easy to anticipate, while others, such unpredictable things occur which seriously cause me to question the logic and/or sanity of a universe that would have all my deadlines and responsibilities due on the same day and time…How about some fucking space?

Sometimes I wish I wouldn't think about anything but the task at hand. I was up really late last night despite having taken sleeping pills (they don't always work for me), thinking about all the people I've come into contact with in life and how they may have changed me or I them. I like to think that there are a few people on this planet who still know me really well, well enough to know why I might be who I am or do the things I do, why I have a tendency to catastrophize everything, resent others and clench myself (to the point of exhaustion) against blows that might never come. Even I don't have specific reasons 'why' which I am able to articulate, but according to some, I've created a lot of tension in my time. But, though we live in an age where very little elicits surprise or explanation, where we hardly even bother to question anymore, I maintain that there are reasons for nearly everything and they should be sought out, despite the mess.

Some seem to think our current era is very privileged, but I have my doubts. Though we are undeniably more technologically advanced and have essentially instant access to any information we might possibly desire, I think we live in a time where personal enlightenment, actually understanding ourselves and others within our species, is sorely lacking…When else have people had as many crises of self? The fact that we hear about so many psychological problems on a daily basis and spend so much time trying to get to the root of the problem, trying to pinpoint that quintessential tragic moment back in childhood where everything turned sour, is proof that generally as a society—at least in the West—we are sick and sort of want to stay that way (though we'll never admit it).

I think there's some sort of romantic fascination with 'disturbance' of some kind. Not able to handle the mundane, expected occurrences of life, we seek out melodramatic problems whether in search of pity or to convince ourselves we've got it harder than others, that though we've merely accomplished the same thing as our peers, we are more impressive because of having "overcome adversity"… I know I really shouldn't generalize and say Western culture (and me, by extension) are absolutely this way—I know there are always exceptions…Not to say that it isn't this way at all in Korea; Western influence (and "democracy") will make drama queens of us all…

However, most people here in South Korea spend all their time working and seem happy to do so. Everyday I leave my apartment, generally feeling not at all enthused about another day at work and having to "interact" (ha!) with people (my coworkers) who seem for the most part to prefer keeping communication with me at an uncomfortable minimum, as I am still the anomaly, a Westerner, true, but also just generally socially awkward. And everyday, walking the same route to work, I see the same people working their vegetable stands, shouting out the specials of the day which I cannot understand, but certainly can appreciate at least for the sake of atmosphere. They huddle by their electric space heaters on frigid days and wear those awful, rather sterile-looking SARS face-masks in lieu of scarves, to keep their noses from running. I see old women peddling ankle socks with K-pop stars cheaply stamped on them, and terrible, hastily put-together jewellery—tacky pink scrunchies with dangling knock-off "Hello-Kitties", though I never see then with customers. Their faces are weathered from spending countless hours out in the cold and their backs are hunched from carrying the weight of their babies so many years before strollers finally became the norm. And, outside Sognae Station, where I catch the subway, there are always these ancient looking old women selling garlic or ginger or herbs which are all simply laid out on a blanket at their feet. It's not as if these particular herbs are especially hard to get—they're available every few feet at large vegetable stands, not to mention grocery store and whole food markets, so I sometimes wonder why they even try and not just admit to themselves that they are essentially begging for change. But, their faces speak of patience and moderation, of dealing with life's unpleasantness as it comes, and this seems to me to be a special sort of quality that I respect entirely, though I have trouble summoning it within myself.

What is really striking is the dual nature of this country, the intermingling of old and new. It's the clash of the innumerable neon lights from nightclubs blaring ghetto hip hop against palaces and temples that have stood ground for over a thousand years. From what I know of history and what I can tell just by observing the old and young and the differences in their behaviour, it seems to me that most of the major changes in culture and way of life have, like all other places on Earth, occurred here in the last half-century after the Korean War (the one the United States were involved with—Korea has been in a lot of wars…). Needless to say, I occasionally wonder what these old people think of the current generation of young people, fascinated with the latest cell phones, MP3 players and American pop culture. In any case, there seems to me to be a very significant divide between the Deep-rooted and the Pristine in this culture, and the fact that they are able to coexist might elicit a variety of impressions. I of course, generally tend to think it's asymptomatic of America's tendency to dominate culture by spreading money around to eager foreign markets, but I'm sure very few Koreans would agree with me. Koreans seem to be very proud of their heritage: They've been careful about keeping their traditions alive and preserving the long-standing palaces by building modern cities like Seoul all around them. In fact, despite the clash of old and new, a situation that might cause problems in other, less balanced societies, Koreans for the most part, just seem to have a really positive mental attitude about life.

However, teaching teenagers, I've come to be much more aware of the other side, the newer side—a side that seems to me to ring less true of the far-east and instead laud the grandeur of the west. Essentially, this attitude contradicts much of the values the traditional side extols.

Aside from the importance placed on learning English in this country, young Koreans, particularly the girls, are obsessed with having a certain look—namely that of their pop stars, who have all whitened their skin by avoiding sunlight and buying special cosmetics (skin whiteners are available at stores like "Skin Food" and the "Body Shop" for well-under 20,000 won, or $20), gotten the much-desired double-eyelid surgery, and gone for rhinoplasties to lift and narrow their noses. A disturbing number of my female students constantly tell me how they hate how they look, how they wish they could have smaller faces, thinner bodies, higher noses, curlier hair. They are generally fascinated with my "wide eyes" and eyelashes and often ask whether they're natural…It's making me all a little self-conscious how thoroughly I am examined. Anyway, my point is, were I to badmouth Korea (hypothetically), I'd be verbally attacked by defensive students, their level of patriotic pride is that high, yet at the same time there's this paradox wherein they seem to detest all their typically Korean physical attributes (which are beautiful) and do whatever they can to appear more Western. Like my mind, Korea is full of little hypocrisies, and while I don't devalue the people for them, as with my own conflicting dual nature, I can't help but question why.

There's something weird about the whole nature of hypocrisy, however. An idea generally has to be straight, abstract that is, in order to be warped or countered, right? Yet, it is always people we blame for committing hypocrisies. People. Excuse me, but have you ever met an abstract person, someone who never wavered, never crumbled, never doubted or defensively denied out of a sense of self-protection? Theories are abstract, I think, but that is why they remain theories; it is a rare occasion when they are actually put to practice. And the human mind, as filled with bias and emotion and memory as we all know it to be? I think it is absolutely incapable of representing one singular part of any spectrum, it is unable to serve as a constant, concrete, figurative force, be it political, emotional or otherwise. But maybe I am being hypocritical by being presumptuous enough to speculate…

Anyway, this weekend was pretty good for the most part. We went to the National Museum of Korea and wandered around the Exhibition Hall where we saw mostly artefacts from the Joseon Period—lots of pots and tea cups made of celadon or white porcelain, as well as scrolls and the old letter blocks used in early printing presses (at least I hope there were presses and not done entirely by hand, though I might be wrong). There was also a lot of military history to be seen, particularly documentation in the form of extremely precise illustrations of envoys encroaching upon Japan (or other countries). I honestly wasn't that fascinated by the Joseon Period, but I did particularly enjoy seeing the 19 story pagoda in the center of the hall.

The pagoda is extremely awe-inspiring, not for its grandeur particularly, but rather for its intricacy and precision to detail. A lot of the motifs were really very difficult to make out, but I did see lions and birds carved along the base. Winding upwards towards the top, the pagoda is decorated mostly with people, and according to the little blurb in English on the sign in front of the "Do Not Climb Fence" notice, these carved-out people are meant to tell the history of a dynasty, which is amazingly ambitious considering how long most Asian dynasties seem to last.

We saw calligraphy, the preserved handwriting of kings, and it made me think about the importance of writing and how computers have all but destroyed the sincere, simple act of putting pen to paper. The handwriting styles of the emperors were so respected that the people would be compelled to learn how to write in the same fashion (An interesting fact: Apparently, there is 100% literacy in South Korea!). I think maybe this could have had something to do with the development of Hangeul—slight changes over the years and dynasties, which were based on the inclinations and brush-strokes of Kings (?).

We saw all manner of masks, portraits, figurines, incense holders, parasol rims, jewellery, mirrors, hairpins and combs (many of which belonged to royal concubines), as well as many landscape drawings and sculptures highlighting the difference in art styles in Asian countries. I was particularly impressed with the art from Nepal, which was markedly less vibrant but seemed to have a fierce sort of intensity to it which seemed almost hostile, angry. The masks from this country were unpainted and carved to show angry, slit-eyed visages baring teeth in small rough mouths while the masks from other countries generally had mirthful or idiotic expressions, and were colourful and decorative.

My favourite rooms contained the giant statues of the Buddhist and Hindu gods. The giant Buddhas looked sublime, though they weren't exactly what I was expecting. I always have this image of the fat-stomached bald monk, laughing or looking intense, smiling mystically. Instead, we mostly saw the spiky headed version of Buddha, lithe and beautiful with a hole (or bindi mark?) in his forehead (for a third eye?), seated in a meditative pose, holding his hands in one of the many yogic postures meant for contemplation. I think the majority of these statues were from Singapore and Indonesia.

Particularly amazing were some of the extremely massive scroll paintings (sometimes done on silk) which must have been terrible to transport (one can see the lines where the painting was rolled or folded in its move). There was an incredible painting of a Bodhivista surrounded by Lotus flowers, holding a rose up for contemplation. The painting is especially famous for the man's expression—the mysterious and highly enigmatic sort of half smile as he looks upon the flower. It is extremely colourful and I can only imagine how much strain must have been exerted in its completion. I think it takes a particular sort of vision to paint on such a large scale. One has to back up at least 30 feet to properly take it all in. I was very impressed.

In the Hindu-deities room, which wasn't nearly as large, there were statues of Ganesa, Shiva, and various other gods and goddesses. I did not see Vishnu (the destroyer if memory serves), but I guess it makes sense that there wouldn't be many altars to worship destruction (but I could be wrong). All in all, we spent about 4 hours walking around the 3 floors of the Exhibition Hall, which is a large part of an even more massive museum (apparently, it is the 6^th largest in the world). The gift stores weren't very good—mostly just books and overpriced plastic figurines. I bought 2 postcards of especially nice golden Buddha statues in reflective poses, but virtually nothing else was very appealing to me.

That night, we went to Hong Dae again and managed to find another really comfortable Arabian/Indian style place called "Six Bar." I really liked how it was decorated. There was this lush purple silk draped to hang from the ceiling. It was pinned in place by the chandelier, which thankfully, was very dim. There were cool paintings (done in a sort of African art style) of people on the walls, and all the patrons seemd very relaxed. Like at "India Style Café," we removed our shoes and put them in hemp bags so we could hang out on floor cushions and sip on really strong Long Island Ice Teas. These types of bars are really cool, but it's a bit easy to get too comfortable and maybe take a little nap considering the whole place is made up of blankets and pillows. Overall, except for supper at a Chinese food restaurant, which I found disgusting and really couldn't eat after I'd realized that the awful chewy bit I'd spat into my napkin wasn't in fact a mushroom, but an octopus tentacle, it was a really good night. J

On Sunday, we woke up late and decided to go to Namdaemoon Market because the weather was really mild for once. There's so much to see there! This was my second time there and although it can get repetitive and it's really hard to move as the alleys are jammed with people and carts and vendors and garbage, I still maintain that there's a special sort of cacophony (despite the pig heads in saran-wrap and the repulsive squid smells on the wind making me nauseous) about the place that a person can just lose themselves in, and I think that's wonderful.

We managed to find a real art store called "Alpha," which is extremely well-stocked. I picked up some acrylic paints and some small brushes, as well as some (expensive) grey-toned markers. But the best find of the day were these plaster-of-Paris (ready to paint) faces and body parts and busts taken from Classic Roman art. I bought a large mould of an eye (I think it's the eye from the statue of Michelangelo's "David") as well as a really sublime-looking Asian faced with closed eyes. I'm going to start painting them this week, I think. It should serve as a good sort of distraction (better than obsessing over boring jigsaw puzzles or other equally pointless endeavours), and I really want to get back into painting anyway.

The upstairs of the "Alpha" building had a small art gallery featuring contemporary works form artists mostly from Asia (though there was one from France and one from Jordan, I think). There were a few paintings by a Filipino artist (I can't remember her name, unfortunately) that I thought were very good, although many of the others seemed kind of amateurish. It was good for a quick look anyway.

My weekends seem to go by extremely quickly; there never seems to be enough time to do everything I'd like to do. In our very drawn-out search for a western bathroom—a lot of toilets (not all, of course) here are squatters with no toilet paper, soaked-floors and a terrible wreak, as Koreans (for whatever reason), don't flush their toilet paper, but instead deposit everything in the open-air waste-baskets below flushers that often don't work—we came across the Seoul Museum of Contemporary Art, which was closing, but the gift store kind of gave us a preview of the cool Surreal, Dada and Abstract works within. I was flipping through posters of prints of paintings by Dali, Picasso and Magritte, and I think I'd really like to go to the Magritte exhibit. Also, if the collection on loan from the Louvre is still available at the National Museum of Korea in the coming weeks, I'd like to check it out. I'm a sucker for the classics.

I took the subway train home at about 9. The subways here are never creepy or lonely places, like the way they sometimes felt late at night in Montreal. Always packed with people, many of whom are sleeping, the last trains usually run a bit after 11pm. On the rare occasion I actually manage to get a seat, there is something very soothing about the train's motion on the tracks, and this, in conjunction with the heat coming directly at the back of my legs, usually makes me pass out along with everyone else.

After transferring at Guro Station, and waving goodbye from inside the train, I settled up against the wall for my ride, which was rather entertaining. I was standing near the section reserved for the old and disabled and there were 4 ajumas (old Korean women) with no teeth laughing like maniacs at some joke an old man was telling them. They all looked kind of drunk (soju for breakfast, lunch and dinner...lol), but happy. Until then, I'd never seen an old woman sit sprawled out on her friends' laps before, but I guess it was kind of cute. At their feet, a little boy of about five was playing with a K'nex sort of puzzle and becoming increasingly frustrated, tossing the pieces back into the plastic container between his knees. The image made me consider my earlier thought about the divide between old and new, young and old in this country (and really, all countries). Maybe it's not so much unfortunate that ancient culture is sort of being brushed aside by a generation that favours the flash and influence of other nations. I guess it's just something that happens.

Though there really does seem to me to be a fascination with American culture here, I don't exactly consider it to be an overwhelming one. Instead, the clash of the ancient and modern actually makes Korea more interesting. Maybe Korea can serve figuratively as proof that change is possible, and while the differences aren't always necessarily good, they aren't always necessarily bad either…Instead, for a country or a person subject to such influence, things will no longer be the way they used to be…And there's no hypocrisy in that.