Reborn

Three years ago I stepped off a plane at Incheon Airport in Seoul, not knowing what I was exactly doing. Who I was then is certainly not who I am now. And I am forever grateful for that fact.

Weeks leading up to the initial departure of myself I had trouble breathing. I would be completely calm and then I would feel my heart begin to race. I couldn't take in sufficient oxygen to satisfy my lungs and I would stop and think, "what is wrong with me?"

I went to the Google doctor and diagnosed myself as having panic attacks. I didn't understand why I was panicking. Wasn't this what I had always planned on doing after I finished university? I was going to be reunited with two of my best friends from my adolescent-hood and I had planned to pay off my student loans, go on to grad school, then earn my doctorate like so many of my fellow English majors from Roosevelt University.

I realize now they weren't panic attacks. They were labor pains.

Well, not labor-labor pains. Allow me to explain.

I was about to be reborn. I was leaving the care of my mother and entering into a completely new world where I would have to fend for myself. Make friends. Learn a new language. Be misunderstood. Learn how to walk. Everything that goes along with a becoming a part of a strange, new society.

When I emerged from customs and saw Kat for the first time in years, we hugged. And like any newborn baby, I cried. I remember Kat asking me why I burst into tears. I just said that I didn't know. Because I didn't. I had no idea what was about to happen to me. Either did she. I don't think anyone knew, save for God.

The first years of childhood are all sorts of exciting. New places, new faces, it was all so fascinating. I knew from the first month of teaching that I wanted to be here as long as they would have me. I liked teaching. I liked being a part of an activist community (Mad love and respect for my V-DAY Crew).

I've learned much more about myself than I actually did in my real childhood. I learned how to live. How to love. How to be a better writer. A better teacher. A better human. These lessons were invaluable. And I'm still learning.

My mom would always tell me that getting a college education would provide me with the credentials I needed for my future. I used to think she was just trying to motivate me to finish school. In actuality, she was cheering me on to earn my own birth certificate. After all, I wouldn't be in Korea if it weren't for that piece of paper.

It's funny how everything is 20/20 in hindsight.

I won't say that there weren't missteps. There were always missteps. But with each stumble, I laughed. I didn't judge myself. And I picked myself up. My dad says that people don't count how many times you get knocked down, just how many times you don't get up. I thought I understood that as to never give up. To always get back up. And it is. But it isn't. I think the real truth is that even though we stumble, we should get up being thankful for it--because it brings you back to your goal. To your win. And when you accomplish what you came to do, someone will raise your hand and shout, "Winner!"

In fifteen days I will be heading back to Chicago and Florida for a month. Just a month. And I am excited to share who I was always meant to be with my family and friends back in the states. Much more that what blog posts, long distance phone calls, and status updates can bring.

But as excited as I am to get back to my family. I'm equally, if not more so, excited to get back to Seoul. My home.

Last year, I wrote a poetically written blog post about being in Korea. But as I set out to go back to the states after three years of living abroad, I know that Korea is not just a place where I am living. It is living inside of me.

Carrie Bradshaw, a fictional character--yes, I know; would always write about her great love. Not Big. Not Aiden. But New York City. She loved that city. And I totally understand her. Maybe I'll find an Aiden and a Mr. Big. But throughout all of it, I will always be in love with this city. My home. My Seoul.

Some say that true love is rare to find in this world. I don't know about that. What I do know is that, I hope all of you have a love like this. I hope you all have a place where you truly belong.

Finding my Shadow

I saw my shadow this morning as I was traipsing across the street to head to my favorite Starbucks to grade papers and enjoy a venti americano.

I don't normally enjoy looking at my shadow. It represents a false self. It lags behind, reminding me of who I once was, never allowing me to forget. I've hated my shadow for a long while. It was she who told me I wasn't pretty enough, thin enough, smart enough, good enough. But I never once stopped to consider who created my shadow. Who gave her life. Who was responsible for her. It was me.

I wasn't able to accept the sun shining upon me with its graceful rays, so I compartmentalized all the bad parts of me and forced them into my shadow, trying to shake her off. Never once did I stop to consider the weight of what I was doing. Instead of casting off my worries and false identity, I cast off a mile long shadow. I shoved my fears under the bed because that's where monsters are kept. And I became the princess and the pea, always feeling the uncomfortable writhing of my festering fears in the dark space between my floor and box spring. I pushed the skeletons into my closet, next to the ugly prom dresses and the cute coat I bought at a vintage thrift shop that I would "one day fit into," but never did. Everything else was consumed by the shadow. Anger. Hurt. Envy. And she took it, never once complaining.

She never once said no. She never sighed as I piled more and more upon her. She gave me the space.

Later, I learned that when you are dealing with a monster, you must give it space to be a monster. Only then can the monster transform into who he or she is meant to be. I viewed my shadow with contempt. I filled her with every evil part that has been a part of me. But she never judged. Never wavered. She gave the monster space. I was the monster.

So when I saw her today, I looked at her differently. She didn't look scary anymore. She didn't seem like a mass of darkness. She was me. She is me. And she is rather beautiful.

I took away her anger and her pain. I threw it away. I took her rags that i had clothed her in and dressed her warmly for these cold Korean winters. I told her I was sorry. She forgave me. And I forgave myself for virtually shitting all over me. For not finding worth within myself.

My shadow doesn't trudge along behind me anymore. She dances all around. In front of me, at my side, twirling behind me, I've even caught her twerking. (Don't tell her I told you that, she'd be embarrassed. Still, she rocks it.)

So today, Thanksgiving Day, I am thankful for not being who I was, for being a better person for others but more importantly, for myself. I am infinitely thankful to God, Jesus, and for the path He has me on. Even if it feels as if I am treading water, I know He is there to help me walk upon it. I am thankful for my amazing family, friends, and work family--both at E-Spirit and ProtoStar. I am thankful and grateful for you, dear reader. Maybe we know each other and maybe we don't. But thank you for allowing me to share my life, my thoughts, and everything else in between with you.


Happy Thanksgiving everyone. Love and Light to you all.

Sick in the ROK

Many, many years ago, my great grandmother was living in Boston and she happened to cut her arm. Because she immigrated from Greece, she didn't speak English very well, if at all, and she refused to go to the doctor because of her lack of communication skills...well, in English anyway. She also didn't trust them because they weren't Greek, but that is another story for another time.

So the cut got worse. And worse. Gangrene settled in. And they had to amputate her arm.

When my Yia Yia told me this, I scoffed. "Come on," I'd begin, "that was stupid! Because she was too afraid to go to the doctor, she had to lose an arm? That's ridiculous."

Oh how privileged I was. I had no idea what it was to be a foreigner in a new land, and trying to make it a home. I felt no compassion toward this woman who I was related to but would never meet. Until, that is, I became her.

Wherever you are living, and then contract some sort of illness or mishap with your body, it's never a pleasant thing. But being an American was was living in an English speaking country, it mattered very little to me. The only thing that weighed upon me was the cost of treatment. And, as you are all aware of, it still is an issue that weighs heavily upon most Americans.

And then I moved to Korea. To teach kids. Who are the cutest little germ carriers ever. Make no mistake, I am not calling out Korean children as being dirty or germ infested...all kids are. And some adults too. Eww. ^^

Now I am the stranger in a strange land. I am Helen Tournas with my arm cut and bleeding.

In my first year, I was sick every month. New hours, new job, new kids, etc. Just sinus infections--nothing serious.

Then came my first real illness in Korea. I had this massive sore throat that wouldn't go away. I went through all the normal troubleshooting techniques I've picked up over the years.

Growing up, we didn't have a whole lot of money, so I relied on homemade chicken soup and vitamin C. When we were REALLY sick, that's when we'd see the doctor.

So naturally, for this first bout with sickness, I drank hot tea, made gallons upon gallons of chicken soup, and the like. Finally, my head teacher called and made an appointment for me to go to an ear, nose, and throat doctor. The ENT doctor spoke English but his staff didn't really. I was so afraid in seeing a doctor because my Korean was not efficient enough for me to say "Here hurts." I know that I live in Seoul, in Gangnam (Yes, that Gangnam) for that matter, and that many people speak English here. That didn't take away my anxieties that seemed to harden like concrete around my feet.

So the diagnosis? I had an abrasion in my throat. No clue as to how it got there, but there it was. And all the hot liquid I was putting on it was making it worse. (oops!) So I drank lukewarm to warm water, took the antibiotics, and I was at right as rain.

I have since discovered the Itaewon International Clinic, which is where I always go now. The staff is polite and everyone speaks English. I am spoiled. Especially when my doctor visits are only about $2.50 and the medicine is less than $10.00. I am insanely blessed here.

It's not easy being a foreigner. But there are some things that definitely make it worthwhile. I just wish my great grandmother could have been as fortunate as I am now.

Light Your Spark

There are so many things that we should be grateful for in our lives, but often we are so lost in the shadows of things we don't believe to be working in our favor to truly see how fortunate and blessed we really are. Heavy handed sentence? Yeah. I know.

I'm currently sitting in my Starbucks in Seocho, listening to random Korean conversations, beeps from the micro-oven, espresso machines and do I detect Rufus Wainwright amid the noise? But this is what it is. We are lost in the noise. The imbalance of what isn't that we can barely strain to hear what is.

But is it really worth it to be grateful for things when we could just be sad? I know, you read that right. Some people just want to be sad. I used to be that way. I wanted to be this tragic character, that everyone wanted to save. But no one ever did. Do you know why? Because I didn't want to save myself. Life is not meant to be some tragic series of events where you are stuck in a prison, waiting for someone to recognize how much you're worth so that they will save you. Life is not meant to be lived in a prison. And the saddest, yet most empowering thing was when I realized that I was stuck in this prison, and I had the keys, the map, the way out...and I had it all of the time. I could have left at any time. But I didn't see it until I accepted who I was. And loved me for it. For all of my scars. For all of my flaws. And do you know what? Those scars? What I found to be so ugly? They were beautiful. And they always have been.

I had to see the value in me. I couldn't before. I spent YEARS blaming others for locking me away. But I never looked out the window to see how many people were standing vigil, waiting for me to return to them. The interesting thing? They never wavered. They never left. But locked in that prison, I couldn't see or hear their songs, their candles that would have lit up the sky if only I would allow myself to see it. My eyes were on the locked door that lead to the hallway, yearning to be rescued. "Why aren't they storming the gates?" I would ask. "Why don't they care?" All the while, they were singing, "Why doesn't she free herself? Why doesn't she care about herself?"

I know I'm not alone in what I experienced. But to those of you who haven't seen the key that has always been on your side of the door: It's there. Grab it. It's real. It's not a trick. And when you see it. Realize your worth. Be grateful. As you are leaving this graveyard of a prison, you will pass by others who are screaming, "Why aren't they storming the gates?! Why don't they care?!" You can't open their door--the lock is on the inside. They will not hear you say that they are loved. They will not listen because they do not believe. But when you exit this prison, you will walk and join those who have waited. You will embrace. And they will hand you a candle, and you will sing with them for the others who are still there.

You will feel a range of emotions. Sorrow for lost time, but immense joy for being brought out into the love and light. But just know, that time was never truly wasted. You can use this prison tale, and you can write about it in a blog, sing about it in a song, paint the pain in a picture, and you can be a light to someone else in the dark. You were meant to shine. So it's time to light your spark.

Like Riding a Bike . . .

So here it is. Blog post number 70. I wonder what this one will bring...


It's been quite a while, my dear readers. I've been rather busy with the edits on the book I've been writing. Things are looking really great, I must say. The story is becoming much more cohesive now, which is fab. Today's editing meeting threw me for a loop though. The reason, you ask? Well, one of my main characters has to write a poem.

Now, most of you who truly know me, know that I got my start writing the girliest poetry known to mankind. My first poem was written at the tender age of eleven and it was about a picnic. We went through this unit in fifth grade where we all had to write poems and share them in the class (if we so desired). There was a boy in my class that would always write about war--and it was always wicked graphic and I remember thinking "ew." hahah My, how I've grown since then.

Truth be told, I haven't really written a poem since I've lived in Seoul. That's almost three years, if you're keeping score. I've been so busy with blog entries, short stories, and this particular novel that when I sat down to write the poem, I stared at the blinking cursor for ten minutes.

I'm reminded of a particular scene in Hamlet 2 where Steve Coogan's character acts out the creative process. It's genius. If you haven't seen it, well, just don't ever say I never gave you anything.

Writing is hard, incredibly hard. But what other reason do I have for living? Well, I suppose that's not accurate. But writing is what I love. And it is ultimately what I want to do with my life. So there's that.

So, I know what you're thinking. Come on, Shea. If you got your start in writing poetry, what's the big deal?
Well....

I not only have to write in a form that I haven't been using lately, but I also have to write as if I were a 12 year old girl. And that is proving itself to be a difficult task. I'm not saying it can't be done, but it's going to take some time and a whole lot of revisions.

I think it also has be said that I'm a little scared. I haven't written in prose in a while. What if I can't muster anything up? Writing is not like riding a bike. Or, maybe it is. A really scary bike that is willing to fall apart at any moment...and it's filled with reflective mirrors so the world can see your pain. And the mirrors squirt lemon juice in your wounds.

Okay, I'll admit that that particular scene is a bit dramatic. But you're still reading, right? So..yeah.

In other news, I have a wicked cold right now. Or maybe it's allergies. The change in seasons was rather sudden this year. So I'm currently riding this out. My voice is not the same tone at the moment--my register has gone much deeper. Which is cool, but it's not a sultry, husky voice. I just sound like a boy going through puberty. Hooray?

There has been a lot of updates that I have been rather negligent about, so I will do that all soon. I promise.

Until then. This will just have to do. Besides, I have a poem to write. ^^

Respect

Let's take a moment, how ever brief, to consider the human body. Or what you think you know about the human body.

Ok. That's long enough.

You probably thought of a healthy human body--or maybe you didn't. And perhaps you thought of the most beautiful kinds of bodies. Maybe your imagination ventured off to a medical text book with velum overlays of skeletal structures, nervous systems, and muscles. Then again, maybe it was a sketch you did in your period three art class in high school.

How many thought of the limitations the human body can have? What kind of limitations? Well, that all depends on the individual.

I know my own limitations, and I do try to push beyond them by hitting the gym. So this year, when I was given the opportunity to see some amazing athletes and dancers at R16, you better believe I was all about it. R16 Korea took place on July 13th and 14th at Olympic Hall in Seoul.

This is my second year witnessing the awesome power that encompasses R16 Korea. Last year was completely mind blowing, so I knew that this year would be no exception. Foreigners and nationals alike braved the battling rain (hello Monsoon Season...) and were able to become part of a movement that has certainly taken the world by force.

Unfortunately, my camera's memory card has malfunctioned and I cannot seem to upload any of my pictures from the actual event. My friend John did happen to take some pretty amazing shots on the second day (especially one random picture of Jay Park at the after party at Club Able in Itaewon).

So let me break it down for you.

Salah, the world famous popper was there as a judge and he performed during the second day. Jinjo, the winners of last year's best performance award served as an amazing opening act to Leessang's "Hard to be Humble."

There were some amazing individual performances on Day one--most notably that of Bboy Blond, a Korean native who now reps for SKB, an Australian crew.

When the judges came out to oversee the poppin competition...well...that was one of the highlights for me.



But the real story is about the winners: Korea's Morning of Owl. When they came out as the last crew in the showcases, I saw so much beauty and art being put forth into their style of dancing. They are so very light on their feet and while other crews are battling in the old school style, there is no way that any crew can compare in their quickness. I was worried each time Japan stepped up to battle, the same way I get nervous when the Yankees play my beloved Red Sox. You know they are good. And there is a lot of pride on the line, even though I am a foreigner living in Korea. You want Korea to win. Whether it's soccer, Dokdo, or a bboy competition.

But Korea brought it. They gave respect and it was given to them in turn.


So if you're ever in Korea, visiting me, or just coming out on your own, you need to check out this scene. It's thriving, much like this peninsula. Korea really is an amazing place to live, work, and above all, enjoy your life.


Respect.

c

A Step-by-Step Guide to Enjoying the Rain in Korea

Hello Rain! No..not that rain...this rain.


So yeah.... The rainy season is upon us in Korea and what have we to show for it but soggy feet because we were unprepared...Well consider this your guide to enjoy the rain while you're in the ROK. 'Tis the season, after all..


Step One: Get the gear.

Korean Monsoon Season survival depends on the best gear. So get the rain boots, for sure. But since you're in Korea, opt for colorful umbrellas. On the sunny days, they double as parasols to keep that pesky sun away.

And yes, get a cute one. Here is one I procured while in Itaewon.

Step Two: Shoes. If it's not rain boots, it's flip flops. **Note: this is my own personal preference. Do what you will.**

Step Three: Leave Early. You're not getting a cab in this weather.

Step Four: Soundtrack.

On the days where the rain is fairly light, I go for the Amelie soundtrack. It can make any drizzly day seem like a walk in Paris.

Step Five: Make it a Parisian Day!


Go to Paris Baguette or Paris Croissant. Get a baguette. Be French for the day. No one is watching. It's cool.

Step Six: Watch where you are going.

If you're not careful, you're going to step into a massive puddle or hit someone else's umbrella. And that's awkward...

Step Seven: Enjoy the rain!

Weather should never dictate how you're going to enjoy the day. So just enjoy everyday you're given! Even if the humidity causes your hair to go a little cray. ^^