I saw Lost in Translation finally. I'd avoided it because I thought I'd get pissed off at simplistic constructions of culture shock and the concomitant cultural stereotyping. Instead, I was totally surprised to find that the themes of dislocation in relationship and culture hit close to what my experiences were like when I first arrived in Korea.

I lived in a hotel the first three months I lived in Seoul. The King Sejong was a nice place, but provided nothing near the familiar comforts that the characters in the film find in the Tokyo Hyatt. And certainly, no American movie star—no Americans at all—were available to provide temporary comaraderie. What a fantasy that is!

I remember those mute days. I remember the drizzly city and wondering how the rain had followed us there. A bright green patch of astroturf on the hotel patio several floors below is the only non-gray memory. But at night, the roving color was inescapable and I practiced my Hangul by trying to read the words on the neon signs. I watched [V]; the hotel didn't get AFKN. I wrote long letters and long-winded entries in my journal with my new set of Hi-Tec-Cs. I spoke to no one except Dave, who was around only in the evenings.

I wasn't prepared to be so alone. It was like that from the start and it never subsided. Almost all the valent memories from the three years that I lived there are of times when I was traveling alone in the city, discovering the wondrous parts of the culture by myself.

I think if I were to do it now, at this age, with this knowledge, I would be different. I would take care of myself, asking, What do I need to do to feel OK here? But that's a lot of self-possession to expect from a 24-year-old, and I didn't have it then.

I have wondered how it would have played out had I been able to do that. The relationship would have ended—sooner and cleaner, no doubt. But I think maybe I would've done more in Korea, taken more risks insteading of deferring to the relationship for my sense of safety.

For my part, I held Dave accountable for taking us there. I demanded that he assume responsibility for his job, his half of the relationship, and, regrettably, a large chunk of my discomfort. He couldn't do it, of course. And by making those demands, I was trying to ensure my security through his behavior. Worse, that meant being passive to his struggles and letting it dictate what happened in my life. I wonder what would have happened if I could have taken responsibility for myself and left his struggles to him?

I did change eventually, about 1.5 years in. Suddenly it wasn't so hard to be in the culture and the interest in learning new things overcame the difficulty. I became more assertive. That's when I began to notice just exactly how I was trapped.

My attempt to get him to take responsibility was really me taking responsibility for his stuff (and that's a twisted bit). I notice that when I start to do that (and I'll do it still if I don't pay attention), it's in part an attempt to alleviate the doubt that the relationship is viable. The question becomes, If I am taking responsibility for my life and presumably he is just fine the way he is living his, would I still be with him? It's scary when the answer might be no.

Back then, I could not reason as far as that question. My reaction was more youthful: I just felt like I was dying.

Moreover, that question isn't a conclusion; it is, perhaps, not even a fair question. It would be better to ask first, What is it about the way he's handling things that makes me so uncomfortable? What, then, does that say about me?

That's harder to do.

Back to the movie. It is a concrete example I can point to and say, That's what it was like for me, even the part where you get so frustrated you will spit insults in English to people you think can't understand you. It's an ugly thing, but authentic.

I want out of here for a while. Go overseas somewhere to visit, or to live. I keep thinking, When can I live abroad again? I look at my five-year plan and it has no provision for expatriation. Travel, yes. But traveling is not quite the same.

Money has been tight and unpredictable. That's why I haven't gone. That, and the fear of flying.

There was a time when I was flying across the Pacific regularly. I even flew around the world once. I wasn't so afraid then. Desensitization, frequency, is the key.

These days I notice that the need for extraordinary experience is gaining strength against the fear, and that is a welcome feeling. I don't care where I go, but I am more familiar with Asia. The last time I was in Europe, it was easier to get around than places I have been in Asia, but I understood less. That was strange.

I do want to spend more time in Europe. All that beautiful stone.

This point is so obvious and oft-repeated that it's nearly driven into the ground, but something about living outside of the U.S. really stuck with me. I think it only continues to be astonishing because, before I left, and for much of the time I was away, I really dreaded the idea.

I want to see unfamiliar things, to be treated to alternative ways of living; something novel, just for a little bit.

Which says a lot about how I'm living now.