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It’s been raining all day. I liked seeing the city wet. The water weighed heavily on the dying leaves causing them to fall and then flattening them to roads and sidewalks so that the pavement looked like calico paper. In some places the leaves fell in thick drifts, and it did actually look like a golden orange snow.
I went to an international bazaar today. It’s organized by the Seoul International Women’s Association, which means that just about every country with an embassy in Korea is represented. I guess the diplomats can use their privileges to import products that would otherwise not be allowed. Either that or people smuggled in small amounts all year long in suitcases. Anyway, it’s pretty cool to see the stuff from each country. I just wish it wasn’t so expensive and so crowded. The crowds are worse than the expense. I got there early and it was jam packed. There was a lot of kicking and stomping on other people’s feet - it was not a day to wear good shoes.
I went last year and it was a nightmare. This year I prepared a strategy: 1. I was going alone; none of this crap of having to keep track of others. 2. Decide from which countries I might want to buy and only go to those. You know what? It worked. I was outta there in less than an hour. Of course, I managed to spend a lot but that’s OK.
I concluded that Central/South America has the best stuff. It’s just a shame that the people selling the items made by the indigenous people are themselves of European descent and paid next to nothing for these items but sell them at an obnoxious price to others. At the Guatemala booth I asked where the proceeds go. I know that ALL the money goes to charity, I just wasn’t sure where. The woman at the booth said they had to give the money to SIWA and it would be distributed to charities in Korea. That was good enough, though I would’ve liked to see some of the money go to charities in the country of origin too.
On the bus to the bazaar I was still thinking about yesterday’s class and all the stuff women from various countries had to share. When it came time for Americans to talk I felt anxious because not only do I feel that we (Americans) talk too much instead of listening to other’s voices, but because to some extent our culture seems lacking in tradition. I know it’s not true; that if I think about it I realize tons of tradition and culture unique to America. But our culture is also very plastic-seeming. Like, Mala most often wears sari and Dr. Chang wears a modern version of hanbok. White Americans kind of don’t have that heritage to claim. Western stuff is our stuff but it is so manufactured that it doesn’t seem real or that it has any substance or value - not like other cultures. It reminded me of Real World III (the best one, in my opinion) where the young blond white woman laments not having social injustice in her cultural background that she can claim and would consequently give her purpose, passion, depth, and identity. I guess maybe she was wanting for a sense of instant community as part of that need; being a part of something because you are it. I don’t know. I guess I can see that because sometimes I feel that I’m so devoid of culture and that only other people from different nations have legitimate use for the term. American culture almost seems more identified by its economic system than its traditions. Maybe it’s the individualism, or maybe it’s being part of such are large mass of people who essentially have power over the globe that it is just simply a case of the norm becoming dull. Who knows. All I know is that I really dig stuff from places other than the United States, unless it is something from a group of people who are indigenous to the land or crafted by a local artisan.
At some point in the day AFKN radio was having "Way Back Wednesday." They played some good old Dire Straits and I regretted getting rid of the Dire Straits CD’s and tapes I used to have. Seems like such a good idea at the time - to shed those artifacts that prove you did live through certain times. I think it’s necessary to abandon them in order to move on, but at some point it’s desirable to re-claim them and to feel the memories of those experiences. I guess you reach a point where you realize that all experiences and time periods contribute to who you are. When you accept yourself, you must also accept what you’ve endured and maybe then you can also embrace it - but the distance is far enough that embracing it is not so painful. Like, survivors of sexual assault sometimes reach a stage where they don’t feel the trauma so acutely, but there is a feeling that the assault is a part of them like any other life experience, not something that just happened to them.
*yawn* Time to hit the hay.
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