A Korean in New York
Sunday, March 4
It is somewhere near midnight. I am in SoHo with Han, my coworker from Kim Hak Soo.
I need to stop calling her my coworker; we haven't worked together in over a year. Now she is just my friend. A really good friend. She has done her time and is no longer responsible for my wellbeing and happiness in a country that is strange to me.
She goes to school in New York now. Everytime I see Han in the States it jars my reality. It is like a kind of ghost of a dream that invades the day. It is wonderful.
Last time she was up we got drunk in Ralph's Diner with Mike, Patty, and Larry. As we laughed, glossey-eyed, at the 3-6-9 game and pounded beers I became aware at how odd it can sometimes be when two totally seperate social groups that span the globe come together in a union you never thought would ever happen.
If this were at a party that I had thrown, then the two groups would have not mingled at all and I would have gotten drunk alone off the keg in the middle of the room.
But, we are getting drunk in SoHo now. Outside New York revelers scatter this way and that. It is February but the weather is freakishly beautiful, even at night. Little Tokyo is abuzz. We are in a Mexican joint. Through the window I see Kanji script, English, and Hangeul. We might as well be in Itaewon.
We talk about students and the other teachers and the rumors of that fledgling school.
My mojito is destructive. After that and another beer I am speaking in mumbled slurs. It is liquid courage that is necessary maybe because I am staying at Han's apartment with what sounds like the United Nations of alcoholics.
We talk about money. I am drunk enough to start going on about some nonsense about not caring if and when I die broke and alone so long as I can see the world. Han agrees with me. Over the past year and change Han became a really great friend. It is funny that one of the people that I can relate to the most is a 22 year old Korean girl.
"I wonder if it is all a huge mistake," I tell her. My head sinks a little. It is still drunken conversation over rum and tequilla, but I am talking about something that genuinely worries.
Many of my conversations with Larry from Cheonan entail him telling me not to go back to Korea. I spent god knows how many nights and days dreaming about going back to Korea and almost always caught myself using my Cheongju friends' faces as stand-ins for the friends I will make in Seoul.
I have this fear that I will land in Seoul and then get hit in the gut with that "what the fuck have I done?" feeling.
I need to stop calling her my coworker; we haven't worked together in over a year. Now she is just my friend. A really good friend. She has done her time and is no longer responsible for my wellbeing and happiness in a country that is strange to me.
She goes to school in New York now. Everytime I see Han in the States it jars my reality. It is like a kind of ghost of a dream that invades the day. It is wonderful.
Last time she was up we got drunk in Ralph's Diner with Mike, Patty, and Larry. As we laughed, glossey-eyed, at the 3-6-9 game and pounded beers I became aware at how odd it can sometimes be when two totally seperate social groups that span the globe come together in a union you never thought would ever happen.
If this were at a party that I had thrown, then the two groups would have not mingled at all and I would have gotten drunk alone off the keg in the middle of the room.
But, we are getting drunk in SoHo now. Outside New York revelers scatter this way and that. It is February but the weather is freakishly beautiful, even at night. Little Tokyo is abuzz. We are in a Mexican joint. Through the window I see Kanji script, English, and Hangeul. We might as well be in Itaewon.
We talk about students and the other teachers and the rumors of that fledgling school.
My mojito is destructive. After that and another beer I am speaking in mumbled slurs. It is liquid courage that is necessary maybe because I am staying at Han's apartment with what sounds like the United Nations of alcoholics.
We talk about money. I am drunk enough to start going on about some nonsense about not caring if and when I die broke and alone so long as I can see the world. Han agrees with me. Over the past year and change Han became a really great friend. It is funny that one of the people that I can relate to the most is a 22 year old Korean girl.
"I wonder if it is all a huge mistake," I tell her. My head sinks a little. It is still drunken conversation over rum and tequilla, but I am talking about something that genuinely worries.
Many of my conversations with Larry from Cheonan entail him telling me not to go back to Korea. I spent god knows how many nights and days dreaming about going back to Korea and almost always caught myself using my Cheongju friends' faces as stand-ins for the friends I will make in Seoul.
I have this fear that I will land in Seoul and then get hit in the gut with that "what the fuck have I done?" feeling.
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