I don’t know what happened yesterday. I wanted to write about reflecting on the past few years. I even had the format worked out in my mind beforehand; all I had to do was type it. Well…

Something went haywire and I couldn’t get out what I was feeling in a way that really described what’s been going on. For several months, I’ve been thinking about writing a blip about the "turning point" and sticking it in the Stranger section. I guess it was back in October, around the time of Mary’s visit that I started feeling really OK about being here. When the new grocery store opened up down the street, life got even better. I kept thinking I was just going to have to write all about the miraculous transition that was allowing me to finally feel "normal" and even affording some feelings of being "special" because I’m living in a foreign country. It goes something like this:

My God! I came to this place not knowing a damn thing. I couldn’t read, I couldn’t speak - nothing! And here I am, two years later, Queen of the City. I know the city like the back of my hand. I can maneuver with ease through all of the obstacles. Blah, blah, blah.

I was really just marveling at all the good feelings that had returned. I was feeling so thankful for being able to appreciate being here before the tour is up, because, you know, when I leave I don’t want to come back. I would hate to get home and then regret not having enjoyed anything.

But I kept putting off the writing. First I thought I’d write at the New Year. What a great time to reflect, I thought. That time passed and I kept postponing, thinking I had until the middle of March before I really had to complete it. Wham! It’s the middle of March and I haven’t written shit. So I sat down to do it when my heart wasn’t in it.

Instead, my heart has been evaluating the part of myself that I’ve shoved under cover. I’ve been a bit depressed lately, thinking about my life choices, whether or not I’m happy now - I’m not - and what I should do about that. I’m feeling pressure to make changes to alleviate the unhappiness, but those choices are very hard - in fact, the very hardest for me to make: Decisions about endings.

You know, I’ve spent the majority of my time here diving inward and brooding. Recently, I’ve met some young women from Australia, Canada, etc. - like me - who are here in Korea and enjoying it. I listen to them whip out Korean efficiently (though usually horribly mispronounced), and listen to their stories about how they are confronting the challenges posed to them and seeking out opportunities that will help them in their careers.

They seem so happy.

Is it because they chose to come here on their own? Is that the difference? I didn’t choose to come here; I never would’ve come to Korea in a million fucking years. That’s the truth. None of my own personal goals led me here; I followed my love and his goals. (So I did choose in that sense.) I was always ambivalent, but because I didn’t have any other more appealing options at the time, it was easy to make that choice; it’s always easy for me to move from the heart: The path of least resistance.

OK, hours have passed and the feeling is gone. Tom popped up on ICQ and we Netmeeted for awhile. I only see him about once a year these days and it was really nice to hear his voice. Afterward I made the mistake of turning on the TV. The Last Emperor was on and I was hooked for the next three hours. One of my favorite movies. All I could think was, "Why don’t we have this on LD? Huh?"