Touch
The streets are littered with spit, like raindrops or bird shit. I've perfected the art of getting the glop of green phlegm out of the back of my throat that seems to build up every day from all the pollution. I pull my face mask off and add my spit to the drops on the sidewalk. It doesn't seem so gross anymore. Just daily life on my walk to school.
I've lost my bubble. (Some of you may be thinking I meant to write "marbles," but you'd be wrong). I mean my bubble. That bubble we all believe we reside in that no one can enter without prior permission. My bubble is gone.
A few months back, I rode the subway to Gangnam to meet some friends for galbi. At Sinseol-Dong, I transferred subway lines. As I ran up the stairs to catch the subway that was sitting there, I realized I was actually going to have to run in order to push hard enough through the wall of people to get on the subway. I pushed and squeezed my way through the crowd until I found a place large enough to stand. As I sat there pressed tightly against people and waiting for the subway doors to close, I noticed more people pushing their way on and each time someone did, the sea of people would careen to one side like a giant wave. After 15 minutes when the doors still hadn't closed and more people got on and some people got off, I decided to take my chances and pushed my way out of the subway. I walked out to the crowded street and tried to hail a taxi. The trouble is, taxis would much rather pick up a Korean who can speak Korean than a foreigner who may or may not be able to tell them where it is they want to go. So, I stood there for another 15 minutes as taxi after taxi passed me by. When I finally managed to get one to stop for me, a man came running up behind me.
"Where are you going?" he asked.
"Gangnam yok," I said.
"Can I share the taxi?" he asked. I had heard about people doing this before, but had never actually experienced it. At home, I would never get into a taxi with a strange man, but it's Korea.
"Sure." The strange man and I got in the cab. He told the cab driver where he needed to go as well as me. During the ride, he explained in very limited English that someone had jumped in front of the subway and that was why it had stopped. And through his telling me this, I felt closer to this stranger.
The thing about Korea is this: touch. Everyone is touching. All the time. By sheer unavoidability. But also out of love. It is impossible not to touch strangers. There is no apologizing in touch here. If you bump someone, you don't need to say "I'm sorry." They know that bumping into people happens, that it's unavoidable. And friends touch. Not just touch, but hold hands and link arms. The thing I love about Korea is seeing men hold hands. Old men. Young men. It doesn't matter. Men are not afraid to touch their friends.
Back to my bubble. At home, when someone would come into my bubble without invitation, I felt threatened, attacked. But here, there is no personal space. And no one enters any space in a violent, threatening manner. People are simply there, pressed into people. Feeling the warmth of strangers, holding each other up when the sea begins to crash, keeping company with a million friends. It's impossible to keep people at arm's length, so why not just hold hands instead?
I've gotten some questioning e-mails from people about whether or not I'm staying. I'm not staying. I turned down the offer my school gave me and instead will be traveling to Vietnam, Cambodia, Laos and Thailand for a month and a half and then back to the states. Logistically, I wouldn't be able to just resign my contract and stay another year....but there is always the option of coming back. I'm just going to keep the future open to any possibility.
I've lost my bubble. (Some of you may be thinking I meant to write "marbles," but you'd be wrong). I mean my bubble. That bubble we all believe we reside in that no one can enter without prior permission. My bubble is gone.
A few months back, I rode the subway to Gangnam to meet some friends for galbi. At Sinseol-Dong, I transferred subway lines. As I ran up the stairs to catch the subway that was sitting there, I realized I was actually going to have to run in order to push hard enough through the wall of people to get on the subway. I pushed and squeezed my way through the crowd until I found a place large enough to stand. As I sat there pressed tightly against people and waiting for the subway doors to close, I noticed more people pushing their way on and each time someone did, the sea of people would careen to one side like a giant wave. After 15 minutes when the doors still hadn't closed and more people got on and some people got off, I decided to take my chances and pushed my way out of the subway. I walked out to the crowded street and tried to hail a taxi. The trouble is, taxis would much rather pick up a Korean who can speak Korean than a foreigner who may or may not be able to tell them where it is they want to go. So, I stood there for another 15 minutes as taxi after taxi passed me by. When I finally managed to get one to stop for me, a man came running up behind me.
"Where are you going?" he asked.
"Gangnam yok," I said.
"Can I share the taxi?" he asked. I had heard about people doing this before, but had never actually experienced it. At home, I would never get into a taxi with a strange man, but it's Korea.
"Sure." The strange man and I got in the cab. He told the cab driver where he needed to go as well as me. During the ride, he explained in very limited English that someone had jumped in front of the subway and that was why it had stopped. And through his telling me this, I felt closer to this stranger.
The thing about Korea is this: touch. Everyone is touching. All the time. By sheer unavoidability. But also out of love. It is impossible not to touch strangers. There is no apologizing in touch here. If you bump someone, you don't need to say "I'm sorry." They know that bumping into people happens, that it's unavoidable. And friends touch. Not just touch, but hold hands and link arms. The thing I love about Korea is seeing men hold hands. Old men. Young men. It doesn't matter. Men are not afraid to touch their friends.
Back to my bubble. At home, when someone would come into my bubble without invitation, I felt threatened, attacked. But here, there is no personal space. And no one enters any space in a violent, threatening manner. People are simply there, pressed into people. Feeling the warmth of strangers, holding each other up when the sea begins to crash, keeping company with a million friends. It's impossible to keep people at arm's length, so why not just hold hands instead?
I've gotten some questioning e-mails from people about whether or not I'm staying. I'm not staying. I turned down the offer my school gave me and instead will be traveling to Vietnam, Cambodia, Laos and Thailand for a month and a half and then back to the states. Logistically, I wouldn't be able to just resign my contract and stay another year....but there is always the option of coming back. I'm just going to keep the future open to any possibility.
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