 Ah! The latest H and D sticker incarnation. You can see that we haven't mastered this art yet. We stand too close to the camera so that our faces appear crammed. We thought we just had big heads. *shrug* Next time we promised ourselves to stand back a ways. The funny thing about the machine we visited this time was that it was perched on some steps. The owner had constructed a rickety scaffolding for stickerphiles to stand on. So, if we'd stood back too far we would've fallen three feet onto the street. THAT would've been an interesting photo op. |
All it takes is one bad moment to remind me how fragile this new found peace is. (If you just tuned in: Living in Korea’s been one helluvan anxious pain in the ass going on two years now.) I hate the Post Office. I’ve written about that before. These days I’ve taken to going early or late in order to avoid the mid-day rush. I strolled in at 5:30, one half hour before PO’s all over the city close. It was empty. I stood at the counter waiting for one woman to stop doing whatever she was doing and help me. This isn’t unusual because the women are always hunched over writing something. The other woman got up, grabbed the tea pot on top of the kerosene heater, and left the premises. I waited…. A few minutes later, the remaining woman mumbles something to me. I look at her for clarification. She says it again. I have no idea in f-ing hell what she’s saying to me; she’s using some words I don’t know and she’s totally saying them fast and slurred. I tell her I don’t speak Korean very well, but she just says the same thing over at the same speed. It’s obvious she’s not going to weigh my letters and give me stamps, so I start saying in English, "Closed?" She just keeps repeating the same thing. Finally she points at the clock and I figure she means the office is closed. So I say - in Korean - that I understand, and then I leave.
For some reason, this little incident totally upset my little comfortable world. I was so angry and upset. I felt like I hated every person I passed on the street after I left the PO. I thought those days were over. Thing is, the PO is not supposed to be closed at 5:30. It’s suppose to close at six. And, she could’ve been way more nice. That woman is always cold to me and I have no idea why. I’m always an easy customer; I never ask for anything difficult. I just want stamps for my letters and the occasional package. Don’t need to do much communicating for that. (Whine, whine, whine.) Later I went to the grocery store and the people were so friendly. The black market stall guy helped me find Chips Ahoy chocolate chip cookies among his towering pile of Oreos. The culture was redeemed a bit.
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The first thing I did this morning was hit the PO. The cold woman gave me a look like, "Figured it out, eh?"
Stood the whole hour on the train to Ewha. Once there I sat in the office and nearly froze to death. That chilling to the core is still afflicting me now in my warm home; I can barely type and my fingernails are blue. I didn’t feel much like editing today, so I drew Mala into chatting about her fieldwork in India. She gave me back the paper I wrote with some corrections. My hands were shaking - I swear. I’m such a dork for being a perfectionist and for being totally mortified of constructive criticism. I was fearing big "content" questions, but there were only little grammar ones. Whew.
Later I met Lee Byongyoon. Haven’t seen her in a long time and now she’s over two months pregnant. She says she was ill for the entirety of the first two months and that the English term for her experience, "morning sickness", doesn’t cover nearly the scope of the problem. Heh. We sat chatting and drinking hot chocolate for two hours and then she took me to a dokbokee place. Dokbokee is a kind of stew consisting of a sweetened hot pepper sauce with rice cake, cabbage, onions, and ramen. Sometimes the ingredients vary, but the rice cake and pepper sauce are always present. It was really good. She also confirmed that the post office closes at 5pm. Hmpf. Aren't I the idiot.
Stood the hour home on the train.
At one point, sitting in front of me was this old woman with age spots dotting her face. One was really huge, occupying the space below her temple next to her right eye. Her head was bowed, and it bobbed back and forth as she snoozed. From my vantage point, the soft strands of hair forming black eyebrows poked straight out from her forehead, like bristles on thin paint brush. A few were white. I wanted to reach out and run my finger along them, and then to touch her soft old skin. Sleeping woman, tell me a story from your youth. What did you look like when you were young? I want to grow old and have soft skin hanging from my jaw, drooping on both sides of my eyeballs so that the eyelids become like perfect bell curves, the pupil the mean.
Right now, what I really need is chocolate. Chocolate, chocolate, chocolate. I’m not eating dinner tonight. The heat is cranked and I’m still totally freezing.
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