Dear Family and Friends,

I forget, sometimes, that I am in Korea.

When I first arrived in Daegu, I was always lost: amongst the streets, amongst the language, amongst people, amongst every aspect of everyday life. Every step was about discovery: uneven bricks here – don’t trip, this road leads to the big university, what the heck does (*&(*&** mean?, and oh, yes!, there is a subway stop close. Yet I was keenly aware that I was always lost - and that I was strange. When I walked down the street, people said “hi” to me because they could – or just stared because nothing about me looks or speaks Korean: my red hair waves at angles, my body is large and comparatively voluptuous, my nose is long. Going to the grocery store meant being hit on by Pakistani guys or nice Korean ladies intent on snaring me as a private tutor. Running in the park in the morning meant girding my courage to brave rows of old ladies on benches who would turn one by one, with Rockette-precision timing, to unabashedly stare at me as I puffed by.

One day early on, we had taken a number at the bank and I was seated on a padded bench with my guiding teacher. Seemingly out of the blue, he quietly said, “You’ll be ok. You’ll meet people. You’ll be fine.”

At that very moment, I had been brooding about my inability to withdraw money from the United States – and was surprised by his comment. “Thank you.” I replied in all sincerity. “But I am fine. I have all of you at school. And I am likely to make other friends. But I am fine, truly fine, as I am now.”

But later I felt the full import behind his concern when I momentarily visited the States while watching “To Kill a Mockingbird.” At the end of the film, the camera pulled away from Atticus cuddling Scout, shared love and a history of palpable in their embrace. Suddenly I became breathless, jerked back to Korea from imperfect 1940s America, with my inquiring mind demanding to know who loved me enough to hug me. I counted the relationships that I had formed around me – lovely unto themselves – but none, I felt, that were kindred or deep. Everyone I loved, shared a history with, was scattered, continents away. Never had I forgotten how important relationships are, how important love is (in all its forms), but at that moment, I re-learned love’s importance. I flung my mouth into my hands as I gasped and sobbed. I wanted to shout in pain, I wanted to cry aloud, I was immeasurably pleased to be sobbing. And I alternated muffling my sobs and hugging myself while I paced my dark room, tripping over my low table, knowing everyone I loved – and who loved me – was inaccessible, a world away.

Consequently, the full import of a visit from my sister Emilie was not just the celebration of a holiday, not just the visit of family. It was the first history-bound love that I had experienced in 5 months. A hug from Emilie was the first touch of affection that I had had since... since... Her visit, amongst other things, became a respite from missing those I love.

As a result, the dark Sunday morning of her departure had me in red-rimmed eyes and flowing tears, not just because she was returning to her home, but because I was returning to my home without. She walked through the airport gates, waved good-bye and disappeared. I waved back before fleeing to the bathroom and then took a taxi home, tears blurring the city lights all the way home. That dark morning, I couldn’t forget that I was in Korea, on a continent where no one truly loved me – and I truly loved no one.

But that was momentary sadness. Do not feel sorry for me; I am surrounded by wonderful people, with great generosity and open hearts. My constantly being lost and constantly being strange has diminished a little – to the point that I truly do sometimes forget that I am in Korea. I navigate Daegu with a certain amount of confidence - my mental city map has become shaded in, in parts. And I am experienced with everyday life - my grasp upon the language remains weak, my ability to communicate what I need is growing. I am now simply accustomed to being strange – and I don’t go running in front of old ladies any more.

Korea is Korea – and despite my strangeness in it, despite my longing for love, I have enough to feel that Korea is home, at least for the time-being.

With the strongest affection for you all,

Laura

PS: Today’s pic: a corner of my local market. About 5 blocks from me, the market opens every morning and closes beyond dark. Some vendors are wrinkled and bent and spend hours peeling garlic or ginseng and only minutes actually selling their wares. Others vendors remain upright near their tables piled with cabbages, apples, radishes, peppers. Still other vendors hawk row upon row of gleaming fish & squid (fresh when the weather is mild, fish ices over when the wind blows). My favorite vendors (surprise) are the food vendors with stainless cooking carts steaming with rice cakes or Korean-tempura or pajon or cinnamon-sugar filled pancakes. I am neither lost nor (these days) strange in this market!