12.00

One day, Friday, Angela went to the DMZ while I caught a bus to my old neighborhood. Standing in the parking lot six floors down, gazing up to the windows, I favored the strange sensation of intimacy without longing or a residual sense of belonging. Stayed only a minute or two meditating on that feeling before heading out of the apartment complex to the trail. Out there the block of skyscrapers have been given the OK to grow and shoot they have beyond our necks' possible stretch. I strained to admire them anyway and remembered the cold and hot nights on the trail and seeing Dave running toward me, trying to remember that we walked that way nearly everyday together and now it is not. My mind searched to understand how something so rote could dissipate into mere imagery. Contemplating those memories validated the discovery of having no attachment to the apartment by revealing that something about what it was like for me when I lived there is yet unresolved. But what that is has nothing to do with Korea itself. Being in Korea this time reiterated a feeling of power that I'd gained there but that I'd never actualized. This power is mine; it lives. I've concluded that Korea, to me, represents masculine energy. The country is yang heavy and demands incredible agency from its populace in order to survive. When I am there I am triumphant in survival, taking risks and navigating quagmires to manipulate that energy in my favor. To the point: I trust my own judgement, and act on it.

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