I have been dying to write another post for several days now, and have tried several times to rework one around the basic idea that "my imagination is freer when I am abroad because I am more stimulated and have more time to give over to to wandering thoughts." But every attempt went from smart and inventive to bland and boring very quickly. One attempt opened with blatant stereotypes of every nationality I have been exposed to for any length of time; that's probably a bad idea even with only six readers. It was at least interesting though!
So instead I am throwing down the gauntlet to myself, and perhaps to a lesser extent one or two of my readers after our conversation on Saturday. The most mundane occurence two weeks ago fired my imagination. I came up with a wonderful idea for a short story. It is still in its embryonic stages however, and so I'm going to offer up one of my favorite stories that I have written in the hope that people will read it. It's all of 700 words, so not too much time. (If tomorrow morning I have zero followers I will know I have to start from scratch with an alias). But hopefully this is the first of... let's say some.
The village of Cantiano in Italy is bordered by the Tecchie forest. An ancient Roman road becomes a well trodden path west of the village. After less than a kilometre, the road is covered by the shade of imposing beech and ash trees. The road runs straight into the forest. White truffles grow in the damps. Eagles and peregrine falcons flit across the sky, almost invisible. Gnarled roots sprawl and interweave as the road becomes a path and progressively more labyrinthine. Then it bursts into a picturesque meadow full of violets, primroses, buttercups and narcissus in full bloom.
The meadow is the sort of place to sleep away an afternoon after a picnic. I used to do just that rather often, years ago, with Monica. She knew what sort of wild mushrooms were edible and the perfect Verdicchio wine to drink with them. We used to lay in the sunshine, sometimes sleeping, sometimes reading to one another. We walked more often after she got sick, until she didn’t have the strength to go anymore. After she died, I did not go back to that field for a long time.
Today the road seems longer, and somehow colder, than I remember it being on past July mornings. Resting myself against a knotty old tree, I feel a reassuring hand under my arm. After a moment I slowly raise my gaze to Stefi’s deep brown eyes. Looking at her brings a momentary gasp. Every inch her mother’s daughter, she is long and lithe, almost a silhouette. But it is her eyes that flood me with memories. Not just picnics and lazy Sundays, but Capri, Budapest, Buenos Aires.
“Come on, papa. It’s not that much farther. Or was this exercise regimen you bragged about a lie?” She smiles and pulls me along.
“No lie. But I have been easing myself into it, just building my strength slowly.” Six months on, and I still drive for my morning coffee and newspaper. Stefi laughs, an almost childish giggle as she mentions she stopped to see Stephano before continuing home. “All it took was one smile from you and that old man told you- didn’t he?”
“A kiss on each cheek in exchange for the priceless advice to check your odometer.” Stefi locked her arm in mine and pointed ahead to a tiny patch of green visible. “We are almost there. I remember…”
I remember as well. Monica and I walking hand in hand, Stefi singing and running barefoot among the grass and flowers. I remember purple and red, yellow and white. And suddenly, in the painfully bright sunshine, it is not a memory but a canvas spread in front of me. Stefi unhooks her arm and is a girl again, somehow moving through the flowers without disturbing them. A memory, one specific memory, crushes me to the overgrown grass. It is my own voice, many years ago. It is her favourite poem. It is the past and the present interwoven, a grown woman and a little girl, a young father and an old man. Though much is taken, much abides. Warm tears slide down my cheek.
Monday, May 25, 2009
Sunday, May 17, 2009
Talking the talk
I'll be honest, in 10 weeks I have learned about 10 words of Korean. There are two reasons for this, neither of which is particularly flattering. The first is that I rely too heavily on a Korean speaker being around- my girlfriend. (One would think that dating someone who speaks a language other than English would be good motivation to learn the language, but I don't seem to be wired that way.) The other reason is worse; I have to some degree accepted being a foreigner and "getting by" with English. Note: I am both publicly and privately uncomfortable with this, yet also unwilling to change what has become the status quo.
Now a generous person might be thinking, "it has only been 10 weeks." To a certain extent this is true, however after meeting many Westerners, I am still searching for one who is bilingual. Someone who reads Korean newspapers, who converses with their colleagues and friends in Korean. I have been told such people exist, and I hope they do, but they are few and far between.
Speaking I think from a distinctly American perspective, (yes I realize the irony of my needing to assert that my perspective is American, and also that the mere admission means yes, I'm not certain how "American" it really is) I believe there is a reason for this. Seoul, indeed Asia, is still more exotic than romantic in most foreigner's imaginations. It is an important distinction. Very few, I think, could see themselves in Seoul long term, calling it home. The language is exotic, the people look different, the lifestyle and culture are different. This sounds obvious, but let me turn the idea around. Suppose you were offered, I don't know, three years in Paris or Buenos Aires for work. Would you be fluent in French or Spanish by the end? I think almost everyone would say yes. I'm not a linguist, so I won't be talking about the ease of Latin based languages as opposed to Asian ones, and I think the reason people believe this is different anyway. Americans/Westerners? can see ourselves living in Paris, going to the boulangerie, the cafe. We get to know our neighbors and become local. We can see ourselves blending in, perhaps because aside from the lack of American fashion sense, we look close enough to these people. Our culture and history is closer. Our romantic idea of ourselves in these cities allows us to believe we would create a home there, a new life, a wonderful life. Because Seoul is not romantic in our imaginations but foreign and different, we perceive our time here differently. Therein lies the problem.
Perhaps some might think my bias towards Europe means I see Seoul differently, or rather others are more adept at seeing themselves here than I am. There may be something to this, but at least in an anecdotal sense, my argument holds water.
Hmmm... this became a little heavier than I intended. If any of the five people who actually read this have another perspective, I'd love to hear it.
Now a generous person might be thinking, "it has only been 10 weeks." To a certain extent this is true, however after meeting many Westerners, I am still searching for one who is bilingual. Someone who reads Korean newspapers, who converses with their colleagues and friends in Korean. I have been told such people exist, and I hope they do, but they are few and far between.
Speaking I think from a distinctly American perspective, (yes I realize the irony of my needing to assert that my perspective is American, and also that the mere admission means yes, I'm not certain how "American" it really is) I believe there is a reason for this. Seoul, indeed Asia, is still more exotic than romantic in most foreigner's imaginations. It is an important distinction. Very few, I think, could see themselves in Seoul long term, calling it home. The language is exotic, the people look different, the lifestyle and culture are different. This sounds obvious, but let me turn the idea around. Suppose you were offered, I don't know, three years in Paris or Buenos Aires for work. Would you be fluent in French or Spanish by the end? I think almost everyone would say yes. I'm not a linguist, so I won't be talking about the ease of Latin based languages as opposed to Asian ones, and I think the reason people believe this is different anyway. Americans/Westerners? can see ourselves living in Paris, going to the boulangerie, the cafe. We get to know our neighbors and become local. We can see ourselves blending in, perhaps because aside from the lack of American fashion sense, we look close enough to these people. Our culture and history is closer. Our romantic idea of ourselves in these cities allows us to believe we would create a home there, a new life, a wonderful life. Because Seoul is not romantic in our imaginations but foreign and different, we perceive our time here differently. Therein lies the problem.
Perhaps some might think my bias towards Europe means I see Seoul differently, or rather others are more adept at seeing themselves here than I am. There may be something to this, but at least in an anecdotal sense, my argument holds water.
Hmmm... this became a little heavier than I intended. If any of the five people who actually read this have another perspective, I'd love to hear it.
Sunday, May 10, 2009
What's Korea like?
Korea doesn't seem to do moderation. My life here varies between rushing from activity to activity with very little time to unwind, sleep, or reflect, to days like today- spent entirely alone and encompassing fleeting "just what exactly am I doing here?" thoughts. There is a simple response to that question- working a job I like, dating a girl I like very much, getting to know some pretty good people. Things, it must be said, pretty available in many places. So what exactly is in Korea that makes it memorable, unique, and worth traveling to the other side of the world?
I'm very intrigued by the fact that in a country full of natural beauty, Koreans managed to build the ugliest city I have ever visited. This is not to say that I dislike Seoul- I love it, but never have I seen such a sprawling, disconnected, pedestrian-unfriendly place, and I've been to Dallas! Even the parks in Seoul are moderately ugly (save the wonderful Olympic Park), let alone the innumerable high rises. What other city on earth is so full of high rise buildings and yet has no definable skyline? Conversely, what other city on earth has multiple subway stops doubling as launching points for a mountain climb?
Korean food is wonderful; I just don't want to eat it every day! Already I have eaten more rice, kimchi, and tentacles than I would consider "acceptable." I have also eaten western food in korea, notably Pizza Hut (no please, in my country this is for the animals... sigh) covered in sweet potato sauce, and pasta containing what I can only identify as bite size squid (whole). Eat the head, eyeballs and all? Why not... Give me Korean BBQ anytime- cooking up generous portions of meat with onion, garlic, and mushroom yourself, washed down with the devil's brew (soju).
Then there is the paradox of Korean people- some of the warmest, most generous, closed people I have ever met. There is such a disconnect between the lives of "westerners" and Koreans here. Sadly, it is relatively easy to immerse yourself in an English world, even where it is not widely spoken. And I say this as someone dating a Korean.
My first post! Anyone bothering to read this, you obviously know how free I am with my speech, almost to the point of carelessness. Yet of course I am the opposite with my writing- this meager effort took me over an hour.
I'm very intrigued by the fact that in a country full of natural beauty, Koreans managed to build the ugliest city I have ever visited. This is not to say that I dislike Seoul- I love it, but never have I seen such a sprawling, disconnected, pedestrian-unfriendly place, and I've been to Dallas! Even the parks in Seoul are moderately ugly (save the wonderful Olympic Park), let alone the innumerable high rises. What other city on earth is so full of high rise buildings and yet has no definable skyline? Conversely, what other city on earth has multiple subway stops doubling as launching points for a mountain climb?
Korean food is wonderful; I just don't want to eat it every day! Already I have eaten more rice, kimchi, and tentacles than I would consider "acceptable." I have also eaten western food in korea, notably Pizza Hut (no please, in my country this is for the animals... sigh) covered in sweet potato sauce, and pasta containing what I can only identify as bite size squid (whole). Eat the head, eyeballs and all? Why not... Give me Korean BBQ anytime- cooking up generous portions of meat with onion, garlic, and mushroom yourself, washed down with the devil's brew (soju).
Then there is the paradox of Korean people- some of the warmest, most generous, closed people I have ever met. There is such a disconnect between the lives of "westerners" and Koreans here. Sadly, it is relatively easy to immerse yourself in an English world, even where it is not widely spoken. And I say this as someone dating a Korean.
My first post! Anyone bothering to read this, you obviously know how free I am with my speech, almost to the point of carelessness. Yet of course I am the opposite with my writing- this meager effort took me over an hour.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)
