There was so much content in those entries from Korea. I couldn't leave out anything because each experience was so intense, and all my energy went toward regurgitating it just for remembering. I am so hyperaware when I'm there. I've thought about how not being able to speak, nor listen, nor read necessitates a higher level of awareness, but that doesn't explain the phenomenon. I think it's more the saturation of stimuli that is impossible to ignore: so many cars, so many people, so many lights, so many sounds. Every little thing absorbed by each cell, like experiencing each and every particle of light hitting the body, and then feeling compelled to tell about it.

Thursday before I left I saw Mrs. Chung one last time. We drank tea together and she showed me how to serve malch'a. She gave me some of the powdered tea as a gift, and then asked me to choose which one of her own bowls I would like. Of the ones she set before me, I chose one with a hen and chicks feeding beneath a willow tree painted on the inside of the bowl. She said I'd be wealthy one day because a chicken protects her young very well. A chicken is auspicious, she said.

Just call me Grasshopper.

In the afternoon of that day I met with Mala at Ewha Woman's University Center for Women's Studies. We ate lunch together and talked. I always enjoy talking to her because I learn so much. Her husband is a diplomat so she is well-traveled; and being a researcher in women's development, she's very knowledgeable of global currents in women's issues.

I like what I've gained from the scholars at Ewha. Women in developing nations researching their own cultures seem much more pragmatic than idealistic. It seems that Western women who travel to research, or who write about women in developing nations, do so with that particular bleeding-heart condescension. It occurs with the good intention of promoting awareness and, hopefully, international support for these women, but it's completed without true contextual understanding - in insolent belief that an outsider can truly write something comprehensive about another's experience without having lived it, at least for a little while anyway. The distance shows. The arrogance of wealth shows. The inexperienced idealism reads like naivete and it pisses off feminists in regions where the "subjects" reside. The one thing that's gained from it is that outsiders are often more able to clearly see, and are more willing to confront, some of the forces prohibiting progress within the culture - forces strongly reinforced and perpetuated by widespread denial.

Back at the Center, the staff gave me an Ewha University sweatshirt. I gave them chocolate - the last package of it I'd brought over, one I'd managed not to eat. They are going to try to email me articles to edit for them. I said I was still interested and they've been unable to find a reliable volunteer to help them, so it's a good thing for everyone.

I wasn't able to leave on Saturday like I'd planned. At first it was stressful thinking about how much more I'd get behind in my class. But, one more weekend with Dave was irresistible. Before long I was thinking I should've just planned it that way all along. So good to see him. When it was time to think about leaving again, I couldn't think of any reason why I should. Here I am anyway.

I flew Business again all the way through. There is no other way to go. On the Tokyo - Seoul leg I had a personal video monitor. I could flip between nine channels and the GPS map the pilots use. Additionally, I could tune into radio transmissions in the cockpit. I did this for awhile. We had a chatty captain who solicited questions from the herd in back. I enjoyed listening to his answers and it was a great way to learn more about how they do their job. I sent up a note telling them how great I thought it was that they were willing to interact with us.

Landing in Tokyo we experienced wind sheer conditions, according to the pilot's own words. Passengers gripped their seats in silence as the plane rocked and bounced in the wind. When a gust of wind hit the plane, we could hear the swoosh of it against the fuselage and then the plane would slide to the side. When we landed and disembarked onto the tarmac, the wind was so strong it was difficult to walk. I was impressed pilots could land those heavies at all.