Wednesday 19 August 2009

One Blink, One Third









Being thrown headfirst into a different culture was a cathartic and bizarre experience, with all the prettiness and shock and excitement and anxiety and shiny-shiny twinkling lights all squished up and rolled out together like one mighty long existential kimbap.

Before I’d blinked, a month had passed. Then two. Then four.

I realised quite suddenly one morning, waking up a little clammy and lethargic in the Korean heat, that I was really quite thrilled to be alive. I was thrilled to see the kindergartens tugging at my sleeve every morning, even on the days that Social Studies stole Bunny the teddy bear and hid him under a pile of books (and then told me that he’d died), or when I looked down to behold several 5 year old boys from my Cafeteria class lying on the floor giggling exhuberantly as they looked up my skirt.

I was thrilled to jump on a bus or train every few weekends and go on an adventure into an unknown district to converse with an as yet nameless stranger and take photos of mysterious fluid imaginings that would always take me by surprise and never be quite what I was expecting.

Swimming in the Pacific, staring astounded at a temple complex teetering on the edge of an ocean cliff, touching the hand of a hareubang and drinking too much soju under the bright lights of Seoul on a Saturday night… crying at the lady selling baby bunnies on the subway, and the time I saw a woman skin an eel alive and chuck the squirming dying pink body into a bowl of a hundred others just like it; chatting up boys on a night out in Itaewon, getting spanked by a naked lady halfway through a body scrub at the jjimjilbang, or the time I stripped off in the little hours of the morning in Busan and ran into the sea, only to have a giant wave soak me up to my shoulders then have to sit in a cab for 20 minutes dripping and covered in sand while we headed back to the hostel. All in all, some decent memories made.

And the best bit was knowing that I was ONLY four months through, with just as much to come and more… and being oh so very ecstatic about that.

Autumn next...

Friday 26 June 2009

May.



  • Soju on the pavilion. Not illegal to drink in public here. Score.

  • Seoul City is mobbed. They love their neon lights and blinky signs. Epileptic’s nightmare.

  • There’s a big yellow thing in the sky. I’m from the Tundra and therefore can’t be certain of its motives.

  • Kimchi is orgasmic.

  • The best part of Korean culture must be the jjimjilbang. The worse is selling bunnies in plastic bags on the street, and skinning fish alive.

  • Haejangguk will cure any hangover.

  • Only in Korea would you find a group of teenage boys sitting in the local park practicing their origami.

  • I am not mae-guk. I am yon-guk. Now quit staring.

Wednesday 24 June 2009

Suwon


When Paldalmun reared up in front of my taxi a week after landing on the Spring-kissed shores of leafy South Korea, I finally got that existential knuckle-sandwich I'd been needing for a very long time.

I got out. Stared. Pulled the perfect startled-bunny tourist face.

"Oh."

This was, of course, a fairly substantial understatement.

What I meant to say was "Holy shit... I'm in Asia!!"

Monday 22 June 2009

20/20 Vision




A soft blue light loitered around the edges of the river, shifting bleakly amongst the afternoon snow. The river trundled by, aloof, gargling a befuddled ditty to itself and sending a shiver through the long grey heron that sat perched on a nearby rock. The heron glared at me when I spied it – clearly, in no mood to be bothered. That was fine. Neither was I.

The beautiful city of Edinburgh had captured me in its frozen economic tendrils a few months earlier. Waitressing hours had petered out after the mediocre Christmas rush and the real threat of homelessness and permanent unemployment had settled ominously over my head. In lieu of anything practical to do, wandering the city with a second-hand camera and a miserable countenance was always an option. Pushing against the snow flurries, putting my welly boots through the skin of ice that covered every puddle on the way – it wasn’t long before I received only radio silence from my toes but hell, you’d stop appreciating that soft feather duvet of yours or the wonders of hot water coming straight out the tap if you didn’t, on the odd occasion, set out to make yourself thoroughly uncomfortable.

St Bernard’s Well reared up on my left – a stunning piece of Victorian neo-classical architecture, tottering on the edge of the Water of Leith just 5 minutes from my tiny flat in Dean Village. Edinburgh never ceased to amaze me. But in that moment, I felt a very real stab of resentment towards my own country for putting me in this horrible and unfair position, and I really hated being made to feel like that.

I was huddled beneath my mosquito net deep in the Amazon rainforest, terrified at the night-time grumbles of the jungle erupting around the feeble wooden hut, the giant insects crawling all over the floor and up the walls and the possibility of hungry jaguars prowling outside. The guide had told us that the camp keeper was eaten by jaguars two months before we arrived. Talk about making yourself uncomfortable, Blackwood. Will this do?

Edinburgh was my home and my true love. But over a year and a half spent there after graduating, and I had nothing to show for it. I had become decidedly uncomfortable in an entirely different way - uncomfortable with sitting still, waiting on the economy to get a bit better on the off-chance that I could nip in and get myself a mediocre office temp job for less than 15k a year. No. That’s not what I spent 4 years at university to achieve. Life is just too short.

Nobody is too privileged to be eaten by jaguars. The last thing I intended to do was spend the next year unemployed or waitressing while the job market continued to vomit out the half-digested remnants of the last 10 years of corporate malpractice.

It was DEFINITELY time to leave.

Sunday 21 June 2009

Arrival.



Dear Louise,


I picked this card for 2 reasons: firstly, it reminded me of the day in Dysart when you took such beautiful pictures and I just sat and thought. Secondly, I thought it would be nice to have a little piece of home stuck on your wall or fridge to look at when you get homesick. I remember when I craved home and how comforted I felt when I looked at pictures. I hope this card brings you the same comfort when you need it.

I am going to miss you so much. You have been so instrumental in welcoming me to Scotland, Edinburgh and into the Blackwood family. Christmas time won’t be the same without you. I am SO proud of you for taking this chance and you can trust me; it will change your life forever. Here I impart 3 pieces of advice:


  1. Don’t give the time of day to random boys – S. Korean or otherwise. Always listen to your gut.
  2. Try everything and accept every invitation (except when it contravenes with piece of advice no. 1)
  3. Enjoy every day – savour the sweet moments and learn from the shite ones.


Call/email/write anytime. Big hugs and kisses. Your (very near) future sister-in-law,


Kaki xoxo


Just below, my brother had scrawled a picture of a cat saying “Rawr” along with the following:


Be safe and make the most of it, because when you get back you will have to get a real job! Love Dave.


I laughed a little into my fourth glass of orange juice. The Glaswegian sitting beside me snorted in his sleep.


Says it all really.


I closed the shutter against the cloud-sprinkled Himalayas, and went back to sleep.