Home Is Where I Am

I have come to realize that home is not a structure. It's not a house that makes a home, it's me that makes home. We are taught and socialized to understand our home as our house or some material structure in which all of those we consider family can share space and where our belongings can be, or something along those lines. And for some, this is home. For me, one thing that Korea taught me is that home is much more of a state of being than it is a house, a geographic location, or anything that is tangible.

While the house I grew up in has very much been my home, my true sense of home there belongs to the spaces between the paint splotches that are still on the floor in our basement where my dad's studio used to be. I still smell the beer on my dad's breath and can see that Special Export bottle sitting on the counter. I hear the classical music as it finds its way into every corner of that studio. And there's my dad, painting in his yellow and blue coach's hoody. My sense of home is in my old room remembering the plastic/vinyl shades that were in there when I was little and the way they sounded as they were being drawn at night when my parents would tuck my sister and me into bed and the feeling of love and security that even the sounds of shades being drawn evoked in me. Home is also the sound the shades made as they were being opened by my mom when she came to wake us up in the mornings when sleep still consumed my body and with heavy eyes that couldn't stay open, I retreated further into my warm blankets as the first light of a new morning came streaming into the room. These memories, even today with the paint blotches covered up, blinds instead of shades, and how I feel when I remember this make home for me.

Photography has also offered a sense of home for me in that I am truly out of my body and literally in with nature. This is the only thing that is truly meditative. When I can be outside standing in a stream, perched precariously on a rock wall, or laying in the dirt, grass, or snow trying to capture that perfect shot, everything fades away except for what I see in my viewfinder. And, it's not so much the physical pieces of the composition, although obviously that's there too, but it's the feeling, the smell, the emotion, the taste in the air, and the sounds that are abundantly present in every shot I take. Photography is such a sensory experience for me unlike anything else I have experienced. My mind and my body are at ease and things make sense without having to think about anything. The world in my photography realm is perfect and I feel completely whole and completely at peace. I am at home.

I remember being in college. I lived in the dorms my first year. Our beds were lofted and actually quite close to the ceiling as a result of poor measurement by my roommate's family who built the lofts. My first year of college in the beginning was pretty intense emotionally. And while my dorm room was certainly not home, what was home for me was a small patch of glow in the dark stars I had put on the ceiling just above my head. I would fall asleep every night looking at those stars listening to some relaxing music - ambient synthesizers, slow soft piano, low rumbling percussion - that carried my body away. In those brief moments before sleep consumed my body, looking at those plastic stars, and being overtaken by the beautiful music in my headphones, I was home.

As has been previously mentioned in some of my blogs, the night sky has always had a very significant meaning in my life. The night sky is my home. I could lay for hours and just lose myself in its awesomeness and mystery. The stars, the distant galaxies, the planets, the dark spaces between, and all of the questions and ponderings that I have sent up there to wander around until the next time I can visit - these all make up a feeling of home for me. Combining stargazing and photography, which I try and do often, creates the ultimate experience of closeness, completeness, and wholeness within myself.

Biking and running have also fostered a sense of home for me. It's not so much the act of doing it or even how I feel in terms of working out my body, but it's more in the tuning into the sound of my bike as the tires hum on the pavement, the clicks of the gears and movement of the chain, the turning over of the pedals, and the sound of the wind as my body and bike slice through. With running it's about the sounds of my feet hitting the pavement and the different sounds and pitches that change as I run through a sandy patch, a puddle, or crunch through the snow. It's the ability to cycle through my thoughts and my emotions from a place of objectivity, of feeling secure with myself, and of knowing that no matter what, things will be alright. Perhaps it's the endorphins that aid in this kind of thinking, feeling, and being, but I also think it's the result of being truly one with myself.

Feeling the pull and the draw of my body to my home home in Korea as I prepared for the trip, feeling the tug of the Yellow Sea as it willed me to stay while on the beach in Jeju, and feeling such emptiness for not only the land, but also the state of feeling whole and complete in Korea, taught me that home for me is a state of being and the sensory experiences that bring about memories and emotions that seem to fill in the holes in my life if even for only a moment. While the moments can be brief and fleeting, I take comfort in knowing that wherever I am, I can always go home.

My Many Birthdays

August 6, 2010, I learn finally who Lee, ChoHee was as I visit the orphanage in Seoul where I spent the first six and a half months of my life. A few weeks after my return, I continue to learn more about my Korean name. When I was at the orphanage, I was told that the orphanage named me, however, upon further review of my file by some friends who read and speak Korean and who know more than I do about what certain things in files mean, it appears that my birth family named me. Lee, ChoHee, my name of origin. I am fascinated!

October 5, 2010, I was driving home from a friend's Korean dance and drum studio after having an amazing home cooked Korean meal and sharing a night of conversation and food with friends new and old. It struck me as I was heading south on Cretin Ave., a usual route home for me, that tonight was my last night of being what is now my former legal name - a name I had had for 32 years. I felt sad. As much as I am and have not been that person for a while now, it was and always will be a significant part of my identity. It was the second name I was given in my life when I arrived in Minnesota.

October 6, 2010, approximately 10:45am, I, Shawyn Lee, am born at the Ramsey County Courthouse. It was a quick and painless delivery and many were witness to this glorious day! Although I have lived as Shawyn for the past 2 years and 2 months, I finally was able to have my name legally changed. Now, I wait for the official court documents to arrive and then I can begin changing my name on my ids, bank accounts, insurance, etc. Shawyn is the third name I have had - a name that I intentionally gave to myself as I felt it is an accurate and complete representation of who I am in terms of gender identity and expression and in terms of my Korean identity.

October 6, 2010, I also celebrate a year of being alcohol free. A year ago, after not even being able to finish a Mich Ultra by the river on a late fall night, I didnt even realize that would be my last drink. I think a few days or a week later, I made the decision to remain alcohol free for the rest of my life. Here's to year 1!

I hope the rest of 2010 is full of good things and wonderful surprises...like maybe somehow legally procuring a massive amount of money!

Through the Camera's Lens

I woke up in a new place the other day. I moved slowly and quietly as the sleep withered away from my body. The knotted pine door to my bedroom was closed and I noticed the pine knots were glowing red. Just beyond the door were massive windows that overlooked Middle Cullen Lake near Pequot Lakes in Minnesota. I held my breath in that momentary pause filled with wonder, curiosity, excitement, and anticipation. We arrived to the lake the night before and I had no idea what it looked like outside as it was dark upon our arrival. Whatever I was about to see for the first time, I had no doubt, would be stunning.

The sunrise on that early very crisp fall morning on the lake was stunning. I immediately threw on some warm clothes, grabbed my camera, and away I went. Each second was critical as the light changed so fast. I stepped out on to the deck of the lake house, snapped a few photos, and proceeded onward through the dew covered grass. In the tranquility of this morning, you could hear the day waking up. It was tender, gentle, and serene, yet definitely knew how to make an entrance!

I headed down to the dock where a few boats were lazily and patiently waiting, tied to the dock. They slowly moved back and forth as the water beneath them stretched and yawned. I looked out over the lake as the steam rose from the water's surface - rising to meet the sun, embracing the rays as if to say good morning. The water sheepishly lapped against the metal poles of the dock not wanting to be intrusive in its movements, yet uncontrolled in its need to move about. The tall reeds swayed and bowed scooping up the slightest of sweet autumn breezes. The sun dodged in and out of some overstretched clouds across the morning sky causing the sun sparkles on the water to dance with the lily pads speckled throughout the shallow part of the lake. And in the distant, the haunting call of the loon quietly echoed over the lake.

I think I viewed that entire morning through my camera's lens. I stretched out on the dock trying to compose that perfect angle for my shot. The sun warmed my face and cast a stunning brightness through my lens. I couldnt even read the meter through my viewfinder so I did my best to guess the appropriate shutter speed and aperture. I let go of my concentration on the technicalities of my camera and welcomed the image that revealed itself, letting the moment guide me rather than my equipment.

The morning was peaceful and grand. The nipping cold air was refreshing and comforting. This was a perfect autumn morning. As the day continued to wake up and unravel itself, I found myself lost in a cumulative set of meditative moments. I've tried to meditate - sitting quietly, concentrating on my breathing, or sometimes I use music, clear my head and just let go. This has never proven to be successful for me. When I have camera in hand and am able to be in nature and let go of everything else but what I am seeing, hearing , smelling, feeling, tasting through the lens of my camera, it is like no other peace I have ever felt in my life. Each photo is my meditative moment. It's a representation of my most present existence in that exact moment - a visual documentation of the texture of my life, the scent of my life, the scene of my life. Just as I had those sensory experiences while I was there in that moment - living, breathing, feeling, touching, smelling, tasting, and being - I hope for my viewer a sensory experience as well - completely personalized to each individual person of course. My art is alive and while I may no longer be physically there or physically present in that moment, emotionally, I always will be and that permanent presence will continue to live on through my photography.

Lately, life has thrown a few rough patches at me. I rumble over them doing the best I can, but my shocks are worn and the cushion that was once fully intact and strong has been well beaten and worn throughout the years. Some weeks I am clawing and scraping my way to the weekend. My clothes are ripped, the souls of my shoes are shredded, and I feel like my life is literally bleeding out of me. Other weeks, I feel fine and seem to coast through without a care in the world. Or, perhaps I am only living on the surface, refusing to let things in - to let things get too close. While last week proved very well to be one of those weeks that kicked my ass, this weekend getaway was just what I needed. Much of my energy is spent trying to figure out just who I am in this life. Having come from a life-changing experience traveling back to my birth country and navigating daily, hourly, minutely challenges in my professional life, especially around my various social and cultural identities, many times, I feel as if I am reaching out into the universe trying to grasp on to anything that seems sound and stable. If this even works, that object carries so little meaning to me. It's more of a secure foundation for me to rest on just for a moment.

There are places throughout the world where I feel whole and complete. There are people in my life who I know I can count on and are stable fixtures in my life even when I feel chameleon-ish, changing colors and shedding layer after layer after layer. And finally, there are moments, many moments and scenes in my life, that represent all of who I am - the good, the bad, and the ugly at times - caught in the click of a shutter and captured and presented in the most beautiful, honest, and truest way that I could ever reveal myself to anyone. Every part of my life becomes the best part of my life. And my story, my life, is stunningly revealed through the camera's lens.

I'm a Grown Up. I Need to Make Grown Up Decisions

Remember riding bikes with the neighbor kids all over the place - races down the street, skid out contests in the cul-du-sac, wheelie contests and giving our friends bucks on our bikes either on the handle bars or on pegs?

Remember tearing up the neighbor's yard while they were away at work playing tackle football and how we'd always time it just right to vacate the premises just before their car appeared coming over the hill? We thought we'd be safe if we weren't there ripping up the grass pretending to be Joe Montana, Herschel Walker, and The Fridge.

Remember the late night ditch games and the bonfires? Remember when we were running through the neighbor's yard that one night and you didnt see the clothes line because it was dark and the bon fire was too far away for the light to provide any assistance?

Remember just sitting on the front steps with a couple of friends drinking sodas or eating icees and just listening to the distant lawn mower, the birds chirping, and the occasional planes flying overhead? Remember the sweet breezes that used to blow and the warm spots in the sun and cool refuge in the shade?

Remember day long, even on into the night, pond hockey games with the neighborhood? Remember snowboarding contests and icy jumps on the sledding hill between the two houses up on the pond?

Remember when it was a big deal to ride our bikes to Texaco and load up on candy and Texaco Tankers full of some awful mixture of Mountain Dew, Orange Soda, Coke, and Mellow Yellow? How we still have teeth is a miracle of nature I suppose. And remember when $3 would buy you more candy than you knew what to do with?

Remember go-cart races and bumper boat derbies? Trips to the A & W Root Beer stand and Dairy Queen. Remember all weekend long softball tournaments, dusty gloves and cleats, sweaty jerseys and the best cheers ever from the bench? Remember every time you robbed me of my famous home run hits? I may or may not still hold a tiny grudge!

As I sit here typing out these words, reminiscing on these memories, I can still feel the wind in my face as I raced down the street on my bike. I can still see the huge plastic Texaco Tanker cups. I can still hear the voices and laughter of all my friends and neighbors at the bon fire or just sitting outside enjoying a beautiful day. I still smell the bon fire smoke in my clothes and filling the cool night air with such an inviting and comforting smell. And I'm still up on our old pond all day and all night playing hockey. And every now and then, I hear the chatter of my co-workers down the hall, or I tune into the construction sounds outside my window, or I glimpse over at the various piles that have started accumulating on my desk and I am reminded, I am not 10 years old anymore enjoying the freedom of being a kid. I'm 32 and a half and dealing with all of the non stop responsibilities of being a grown up. While in reality, I have much more freedom, or, perhaps, different freedom, from when I was a kid. Most days I wish I could be back out on my bike, playing football, drinking Texaco Tankers, and sitting around bon fires every Friday night without a care in the world.

After going to Korea and experiencing all I have there and through my experiences since being back at home, one thing has become extremely clear to me in terms of my life path and what I want and need. The idea of family is extremely important to me. Going back to the orphanage and finding out the information I did and knowing that at one point I had a family in Korea and knowing that I may still have a family there but then being thankful for the adoptive family I came to and knowing that I have that family here that I can talk to and see on a regular basis, this all has reinforced the need for continued family in my life. For me that means at least a kid of my own. I have no interest in giving birth to this child, but am interested in exploring alternative, and extremely expensive, options that fall within the realm of having children. I am starting to battle a bit in my own head with the idea of international adoption and how would that be for me as an international adoptee who has had the experience of going back and who would be so intentional about making sure my adoptive child would have the resources, support, and access to their cultural heritage and personal history. Again, a very expensive option as well.

I know I do not want to be a single parent. I know myself well enough to know I would not do very well with this. I want to relationship - a healthy meaningful relationship. Romantic relationships have always been places I have struggled for a variety of different reasons. While I know not everything has changed for me because of my experiences with Korea, I know a considerable amount has and I feel more in a place to be able to function well within a relationship context. And I am making those grown up decisions in order to be able to have that kind of relationship. I'm not getting any younger and there are things I want in my life. It's not anything I feel I am forcing for myself, but more of an entry into this particular phase of life that I have been evolving to for quite some time. I can envision a partnership, at least a kid, but probably more, love, honestly, commitment, and all those other necessary ingredients for a good, strong, stable relationship, and shared space that we open up to our family and friends that is filled with lots of light, laughter, and positive energy. I can see this so clearly in my mind's eye that it's almost as if I can reach out and grab it.

So I am here in this moment knowing what I want and knowing how to get there and really feeling for the first time that I'm really close. Along with all of this comes to major grown up decisions that I feel more than ready to make. It's not about someone else. It's about me. It's about making a commitment to myself and filling my life, the life I want to have, with the things that I know will allow me to share my life and my heart in ways that I never have before. And although alot of this unfortunately carries dollar signs with it, it's also not about that. It's so much more than that - above and beyond all that - and like alot of things in my life right now, these are things that are seemingly beyond my control in terms of thinking about them, wanting them, or envisioning them. Everything is flooding in so automatically and this new frame has been put before me. In just the last few weeks I have thrown my arms up in the air to the universe and let go of alot of stuff. It's pretty amazing what's resulted from that I do just have to say.

Internalized Invisibility

I've been struggling alot with the effects of many years worth of messages of internalized invisibility of my identities as a person of color, an adoptee, a Korean, and an Asian. My language and culture were never a part of my life growing up. For so many years, even into my adult life, without even thinking about it, I was a white person. I had many privileges in areas around culture, class, ability, access, religion, age, etc. I was 27 years old sitting in a class in my Master's program when my switch was flipped. I was a person of color who had always had an enormous amount of privilege, including white privilege, but I wasn't white. My world was flipped upside down.

I had blogged before about how the only time I really was aware of my identities as a person of color, an adoptee, a Korean, and an Asian was in situations of being tokenized, oppressed, objectified and eroticized, or because it was more comfortable for the other person/people to not examine their own privileged identities and to only see my identities that were like theirs and dismiss, I have to believe without harmful intention but more from ignorance, the rest of who I was. We spend too much time whittling down that which is different from us to somehow make that person, that situation, more comfortable for us. It's how we've been conditioned. We can't socially interact with that which we cannot understand. Here's the problem. When it comes to identities, at no time are any one of us just one identity in any given space at any given time. We all have rich histories full of unique, painful, challenging, enriching, etc. experiences. We all have come from different places, times, people and have led different lives. Yet, in interactions, too often, we are pegged into boxes, boxes that are uniform with exact definitions and we only get to be in one box at a time. We only see what's on the surface.

After my experiences in Korea - especially those around culture and race, coming back to the US was difficult. I feel like, for the first time in my life, I am so much more acutely aware of how racism and oppression affect my life on a daily basis. I am feeling the effects of those years worth of messages of invisibility to my identities. It seems like there is no one I can talk to who gets it in the same ways that I do. Other adoptees that I have talk to get it and I am slowly creating and finding community there, but for so long, because I wasnt in touch with my adoptee identity, this was a group with which I didnt feel like I had any community. It was a group I didnt even think about. My heart is sad to know that, yet I am a product of my upbringing. I am a product of this culture. And while I am angry at no one in particular, I am angry with everyone - especially those who have so many privileged identities and are not aware of them and how they influence their ability to move through the world and how they impact the interactions with others who do not have many privileges in life. It shouldn't take the person of color, the person with a disability, the queer person, etc. to become aware of their own identities around race and culture, ability, gender and sexuality, etc. first before others see those identities. We all should be seeing each person for the whole and complete self that they are and never assume, judge, silence, or avoid.

Part of my life process as I continue to move through the experiences I had pre-Korea, in Korea, and now post-Korea will be a constant barrage of fluidity in terms of sensing, feeling, becoming aware of, embracing, mourning, celebrating, recognizing, etc. everything in my life. The things I am experiencing, thinking and feeling since being back are brand new to me. I have no idea how to navigate them. I don't always know what's coming. What I do know is that I will continue to feel my feelings and do my life in the ways that I need to to feel whole and complete here too. I felt it in Korea. I am confident I can feel a version of it here or at least come to terms with the constant work in progress that it and I will be as I, with all my identities, claim my space and place in the world and continue to find my voice.

But I will never be something that anyone gets to mold and shape into what is more comfortable for them. I will never stop using my voice and various means of communication and expression. And I will never ever censor myself. This is me, a constant work in progress, an imperfect being, a traveler making my journey full of curves and bumps through life. And I will claim my life the way I want and need it to be. I only hope you'll join me on the ride because if you don't, you better move aside or I'm running you over!

My Skin Bleeds

toxic, poisonous words
they cut through me like a dull, rusty blade
slow, jagged, painful, burning, piercing
the pain is slow and constant
just when i think my body has gone numb to it, a sudden jolt

actions illustrating your ignorance and hate
it was never about me too
it was always about them over there
i wasnt like them
i always thought i was safe, but my safety was in silence and invisibility

did you ever see me?
what did you see of me?
did i fit into your mold or did you appreciate my shape?
what do i have to do to have a true existence in your eyes?
what do you have to do to accept the existence i carve out for myself?

i dont see your brown skin unless i'm envious of your tan.
i dont see your Asian features, unless i'm eroticizing you.
i dont consider you Korean unless you bring it up, and even then, i still don't.
i dont understand your genderqueerness unless i'm objectifying you and silencing your pain.
i dont see your adoptee identity for what it is because at least you're not one of "those Asians."

what will remain of me if i just disappear?
memories of me won't even be about who i really am
they will be about who you've always constructed me to be
silence and invisibility have kept me on this side of the line
silence and invisibility have opened deep painful wounds and salt gets poured in

i feel your hate and ignorance more than i ever have before
the ripping pain of that jagged oppressive blade is cutting me open
your poison and toxicity is consuming my entire being and i am drowning
and there is nowhere for me to find the desperate breaths i need
nowhere for me to cry because it hurts

my skin bleeds for the pain to stop
my skin bleeds out the poison
my skin bleeds so that you can see that which has been invisible for so long
my skin bleeds for me to see that which has been invisible for so long
my skin bleeds to be seen

What These Asian Eyes Say

I'm in Kindergarten, I'm in first grade, I'm in second grade, third grade, fourth grade, on and on...I've lost count of how many times someone looked at me and pulled the corners of their eyes so their eyes slanted. Usually this gesture would be followed by calling me Chinese. I've lost track of how many, probably these same people, pulled the corners of their eyes upwards to slant them for Chinese and downwards to slant them for Japanese. And they'd do this to no one else but the only Asian kid in class. Me. At the time, I didn't think too much of it. I knew my eyes looked different. But I don't recall it ever being a huge painful ordeal in my life - at least not then. I knew they were doing it to tease me, but I never really paid it much attention and perhaps since I didn't react, they grew bored and stopped. Now, however, as I look back on those early years in my life, it is a painful memory and I understand now the full meaning behind their teasing. The sad thing is, I still get "slanty eyes" done to me, but in different ways.


This afternoon I was driving home from work. Maybe it was a combination of the seemingly never-ending construction that doesn't just congest one major intersection, it congests all major intersections and roads. Perhaps it was the two idiots that pulled out in front of me and screwed up the order of the lines at one such torn apart intersection. Perhaps it is the exhaustion on all levels that I still feel as I am recovering from my trip back from Korea. Perhaps it is being re-submerged in the world of social justice at work that has my mind spinning through all sorts of different things. Or perhaps it is because it was just that terrible! The other day, someone I know made some comment referencing Asian drivers on the West coast who are terrible drivers because they have slanty eyes and bad peripheral vision because of this.

*A moment while I upend some furniture, punch a few walls, and yell out some profanity...*


I could not believe what I had just heard. Unfortunately, or actually, totally fortunately, I did not hear it directly from the source. I was told about it. It really is hard for me to believe, although I know it to be true all too well, that people are this ignorant, racist, and just all around terrible! This comment has hurt me so deeply. I have not been able to get it out of my head. And as I was driving home, and while maybe being a combination of some or all of the things above, I found myself growing steadily more angry. I know this person! I've known this person for a long time. I'm pretty certain this person knows that I am Asian (said in sarcasm)! What the hell?!?! Do you not know that you were including me as an Asian person in that horribly racist oppressive comment? Do you really not care about people that much to say such a horrendous thing? I don't understand! It's not fair. You think it's easy for me and other people of color to navigate this world? And how do you think it makes it easier and better when people like you say things like that and only perpetuate the racism and oppressive violence through words of ignorance, mockery, and hate?


And how many more times do I need to be exoticized, sexualized, and objectified because I am Asian? You like me because I am some "hot Asian?" What am I supposed to do with that? How many more white, male-identified, male-bodied people need to tell me they wish I was a boy because they're attracted to young Asian men? How many more people need to tell me that they're only attracted to Asian (oftentimes female-bodied) individuals and wonder if that means they're racist? And when will people start seeing me as an Asian person with all of the identities that I carry? When will I be recognized, supported, and validated for that? I'm treated as invisible as a person of color because I'm an adoptee and have a very American (white) culture. I'm sometimes treated as less worthy or something to be tolkenized or objectified because I'm Korean, an adoptee, queer, and transgress gender in terms of how we view gender, especially how we view gender in Asian cultures. I'm not an "other" for anyone. I am a someone for everyone. We all are and should be treated as such.


Unfortunately some people will never change. There will always be those who say and do horrible things to those who are different. Why is it that we are then left with the intense, and overpowering at times, feelings of hurt, anger, fear, sadness, rejection, and exhaustion as we internalize these messages and then have to work through them? Where do we find the energy time and time again to continue to rise above the racism, the classism, ableism, sexism, ageism, sizeism, genderism, exoticism, etc.? How do we take our hot anger, cuz y'all definitely piss us off, and turn it into cold anger so that we can be constructive and strategic in our organizing, community building, and intentional and direct actions to change the systems in which you all who call us "slanty eyes" in all the ways that you do are a part of?


How I wish the words "that hurts," were enough to make people realize how hurtful they are and to say a simple "I'm sorry." It goes a long way folks. Otherwise I ask, what good are you in this world that is desperate for social justice, inclusion, and freedom from such verbal, emotional, and physical attacks in the name of prejudice, racism, oppression, and ignorance? I am a person just like you. I may look different. I may act different. I may have had far different experiences than you and my values may be different. I may have different interests and skill sets. There are most likely quite a bit of differences, but how about you try and embrace those differences and respect them and realize that our differences make us unique and are things to be celebrated - not hated and teased. I'm a person just like you are and we deserve the same goodness out of life. Can't we help each other out? I'd like to think we're on the same side. Perhaps that's too wishful of thinking.

Restlessness and Memories Are All That I Have

Weaving my way through the crowded streets of Seoul, people are constantly coming at me. I start out on one side of the street and within a matter of seconds, I have crisscrossed back and forth about a dozen times. It's definitely a fend for yourself sort of situation. At the time I had a hard time getting used to the orderlessness there and how no one would say excuse me. As I look back on the many adventures I had wandering the streets of Seoul or even Jeju, I find it humorous to retrace the path in my head as my walking path was that of a meandering river or a mountainous highway full of sharp angles and cutbacks and if you didn't pay attention, you'd be taken out!

Yesterday I went out for Korean food for lunch. While I was in Korea, after about 2 weeks, I was desperate for some kind of Western food. Since being back home in Minnesota, I am desperate for the taste of Korea. The restaurant I went to contained small subtle hints of authentic Korean food. As I ate, each time one of those tastes would fill my mouth, I was instantly transported back to that small restaurant by our hotel in Gyeongju where we sat very uncomfortably on the floor and shared a massive plate of either bbq duck or pork - I think it was pork. I am sitting at the restaurant in the small village near our hotel in Gyeongju eating bibimbap and more bbq pork. I am at Myung-in Mandoo having my fill of bibimbap and mandoo. And I am in Sinchon with Kim enjoying Samgyupsal.

Since being back in Minnesota, it's been fairly cool out. At night, it actually gets a bit chilly. It's a huge and inviting difference from the thickness of the air in Korea. I had never experienced heat and humidity quite like Korea. It was downright miserable, yet I miss it. I miss walking outside and feeling like I was filling my lungs with 900 lbs of stew as I drew my first breath in. I miss existing in a constant state of dampness from all of the sweat drawn out of my body by the unforgiving Korean summer. I miss that feeling of walking into an intensely air conditioned store, restaurant, hotel, finding refuge from the unbeatable heat and humidity. I miss how cold I would keep it in our hotel room and every time I get a chill here from these cool nights and mornings, I am back in our room at the Lotte Hotel sitting at the desk in shorts and a hoody - my favorite outfit ever.

I miss nights of being out late exploring the town. I miss standing in the sea and the feeling of being pulled deeper into Korea. I miss the conversations I had with people, mostly Laura, about the experience and what it meant for us as adoptees. I miss struggling through that. I miss not seeing all these people who look like me where for once I don't stand out in a crowd. I miss the smell of the street food - the hot greasy fried street food. I even miss the smell of the seafood that would oftentimes be such an unwelcoming scent to my nose that I would have to suppress my gag reflex and/or endure a moment of my eyes watering. Not having these smells reminds me I am no longer there. Hearing everything in English and being able to communicate easily and without any thought to it reminds me I am no longer there. Only being able to keep in touch with friends via Facebook, text messaging, emails, etc. instead of calling hotel rooms, meeting by the elevator, and going out together means I am no longer there. Not hearing the constant hum of the city even on into the night means I am no longer there. And when I look out my window and I do not see Korea, I am deeply saddened and wonder if and how I will ever adjust to being back home.

It's only the start of my 3rd full day back in Minnesota and the adjustment hasnt been easy. I haven't been sleeping and when I do sleep, it's so restless. I haven't had a full night's sleep yet at any point during any of the days I've been home. My body aches and feels sickly most of the time as I readjust to our Western foods and try and regulate my eating habits. I worked out yesterday in an attempt to get back on that cycle. It was unfulfilling as I think my body just wanted to quit. I go to bed exhausted and wake up numerous times during the night. It takes me a little bit to remember where I am. I am flooded with memories and thoughts of Korea and in the few seconds it takes for me to realize that I am not there, my whole being is overcome with such sadness. I go back to sleep only to wake up again a handful of times throughout the night going through the same process.

This morning I checked my phone and saw that I had an email from Kim Thompson regarding my name. She was able to get some more information. There are a few more things I want to ask about before I post that information, but just seeing that email from her and reading the contents immediately brought me back to the orphanage and I cycled and churned my way through so many intense thoughts and emotions at 6am. Without ever having served in the military, I have known a small number of people that have. One of the things I know to be true for some is that it is hard to adjust to civilian life. That thought coursed through my brain as I laid there staring out my window to the parking lot below. What if I can't ever adjust to my life back here in Minnesota? What if it's just too hard and too much of me waits for the rest of my return to Korea? I had blogged previously about feeling whole and complete over there and my apprehension of knowing that I was coming back to a life in Minnesota where I never felt fully whole and complete. What if I just can't function here? I connected with Korea on so many levels and - levels I had never known were there and to depths in which I never would have conceived ever! Korea is my home home. It's where I felt I belonged. Everything about me attached myself to that country and without any effort on my part. There was no thinking about it, no processing it, no resisting it, no expecting it. It just happened. The thoughts and feelings I have now are completely new to me and while before I would have tried to control how I navigated them or which thoughts and feelings I would allow to surface and which ones I would repress. Now, I couldnt even do that even if I tried. This is what's in me. This is me aching to return home home and struggling with finding peace and normalcy back in my Minnesota home. This is what true heartache feels like.

When The Wheels Touched Down

Yesterday was filled with all sorts of end-of-trip processes: packing, getting to the airport, checking in, navigating airport politics, getting through customs, waiting for our flight, being nervous as usual about flying, enduring a long flight, and navigating new airport politics all over again. These processes kept my mind far from the emotions that I know I had about this trip coming to an end. After an extremely uncomfortable, warm, and sleepless 10+ hour flight, I was exhausted, crabby, dehydrated, and in pain. As we finally boarded our Delta flight from San Francisco to Minneapolis, I was able to sleep some although it was restless and I was annoyed and frustrated because I couldnt get comfortable and the flight attendants on this plane were not particularly sensitive if your feet were sticking out in the aisle with their beverage cart.

In a state of being half awake, extremely crabby, and still in pain, I looked out the window to see Minnesota. In all of it's greenness, meandering rivers and small lakes and ponds scattering the land, I was happy to be home. In Korea I had not wanted to leave. I could not imagine my life back in Minnesota again. And even being back home now, it still feels quite different - strange really. I know I havent gotten back into my routine of work and play, but even so, that still seems quite far away. Sitting in my apartment, I can still feel, see, and hear Korea. I'm still dodging all the people, cars, and scooters in the alleys. I'm still smelling the street food with the goodness sometimes overtaken by the pungent smell of squid or octopus. I'm still in Myeong Dong or Namdaemun shopping, haggling, and trying my best to communicate what I want with vendors that speak very little English if any at all. I'm still on the subway system exploring other areas of Seoul and feeling the welcoming cool air inside the train. I'm still walking endlessly up and down so many stairs and through so many underground shopping centers. I'm still feeling the heat and heaviness of the air. My clothes still feel damp with sweat and humidity. I'm still standing in the sea on Jeju feeling the water tug at me, begging me, willing me to stay. I'm still tasting all of the authentic Korean food I was able to indulge in. I'm still on that golf course in Gyeoung-ju hoping I dont come across any snakes. I'm still with the friends I made and was fortunate enough to be able to spend this incredible journey with. I'm still tasting the fried chicken and enjoying the sounds of the outdoor concert on Jeju. And I'm still at the orphanage continuing to acquaint myself today with myself from 32 years ago. I will always be a part of Korea and Korea will always be a part of me in so much more of a salient way than ever before.

Yesterday, while being extremely happy to be back in Minnesota, as the wheels touched down at Minneapolis International, I was overcome by such a wave of sadness that it took every ounce of energy I didnt even know I had left to not break down. The sudden jolt of the plane as the wheels made contact with the runway was the jolt back into my Minnesota reality and an obvious end to this trip. I was no longer in Korea, I was no longer flying back. I was home. On the ground. Home. My journey had come to an end. The lump in my throat lingered as I sealed off the experience into a nice container that I will always hold so close to my heart - all the memories, the meaning and significance, the love, and the connection. I feel more whole and complete now knowing that I left a good chunk of me in Korea. Someday I'll be back to meet up again.

And Then There Were Two

I'm holding on to this place as hard as I can and no matter how much I change up my grip, tighten up one hand as I relax the other and vice versa, or shift my weight to pull the strain off my weakening hands, I feel it slipping. My hands shake, my body shakes as I try to keep this part of me completely and intentionally coated all over my surface in a never-ending abundance so that as it seeps in to me, there will always be more. I never want to forget this place. I need to feel and experience Korea just as I do now existing physically in its embracing arms when I am back in Minnesota. The routine of life has a tendency to water down and wash away. My fear is that the salience of this journey will fade over time no matter how conscious I am of making sure to keep Korea a part of my every day life even while not being here.

Like a kid being ripped away from the candy store - for that moment, life is over and nothing seems fair. How will I go on? And as always, the world will keep on turning, I'll keep on living and being. But right now, I'm in that moment of having my candy store taken away from me. I feel like there should be some kind of closure but I'm not sure what that is. As much as my mind is running over the processes of tomorrow - waking up, packing up the last of my things, checking out, getting to the airport, getting our boarding passes, getting on the plane, enduring the long flight, making it through customs, making it to our next flight back to Minnesota, getting home, etc., etc., I am still deeply saddened to be leaving without feeling like I got anywhere near my fill of this place.

We said goodbye to more friends tonight. From the end of The Gathering to this moment, our group has gotten smaller and smaller. I feel the connections I've made will forever be imprinted into my life and my way of being from this point forward and it's hard to not be able to have these people close by to go out on the town and/or process our experiences. Some of us have gone back to our own corners of the world and tomorrow, some more of us will. We came together for this incredible journey and are slowly being carried off by the winds - scattered across the world.

I remember getting to Korea and thinking there would be more of a culture shock. I've felt more at home here most of the time than I ever have in Minnesota. I think it will be more of a shock coming back to the United States. I can just imagine getting off the plane in San Francisco and having everything be in English - I wont have to struggle through communicating about food or beverages. I wont have to worry about not being able to read signage. I'll have internet access fully available on my phone and will be constantly back in touch with the world. I'll be surrounded by white people and suddenly I'll be the minority again. I'll be back where time is super linear and there seems to be more of an order to things than there are here - even with something as simple as walking down the sidewalk. Everything will be easy for me to access. It's a strange place to be to be so uncomfortable with being comfortable!

It is early Monday morning in Korea and this will be my last blog post from here. To say it's been an incredible, life-changing experience is beyond an understatement. I feel this trip has turned me into a different person in so many ways and has given me perspectives I didnt even know were there. This trip has also taught me the best and most flawless lessons in how to be in life - letting go of expectations, investing emotional energy in that that will only make me stronger and wiser, and having faith in myself and in the Universe. This journey has also allowed me to fully complete my life circle and I leave Korea knowing that I did indeed meet and realize parts of who I am and who I was that I had not yet been acquainted with. What a priceless and beautiful thing.

I'm sure I'll be back to this blog periodically as I continue to move through my life and process all that has happened and all that will continue to evolve for me as time goes on. For now though, thanks to all of those who have come on this trip with me through this blog and in your own ways. I came to touch Korea. Korea has touched me. Thank you all for the tremendous love and support. Signing off from Korea at 1:08am Monday morning. See you all soon.

Let The Sea Pull Me Away

As I was standing in the ocean on Jeju Islands, I felt my feet sink into the soft sand beneath the water's surface. I watched as the water enveloped my toes, moved up my feet, and swirled around my ankles. The cool touch of its lapping and the sweet salty ocean breeze brought me to a place of complete serenity. All of the people splashing about on the beach just a small distance away, and the laughter of the two girls engaging in their own photo shoot - all of it melted away and there I was. There I was where Korea's land met the sea and I felt it tug at me. I wanted to just release myself into everything that is this country - its lands, its people, its ocean, its buildings, its culture, its language, but most importantly, its incredibly significant place that it has come to occupy in my heart and in my mind. I wanted to go there with every part of me. I still do.

This morning, we had to say goodbye to some friends that were leaving. Although we'd only known them for a handful of days, I think the magnitude of this experience has brought us all close together in ways that we might never have thought possible. Experiences like this change lives and they change lives deeply and meaningfully - far more than any words could explain. As I was hugging them goodbye and waiting for their elevator to arrive, I was overcome with such sadness. And as one of them wiped away a few tears, it was hard for me to not let mine flow. Seeing them go was a harsh reinforcement of the reality that this trip is almost over. Tomorrow it's back to Seoul and then Monday it will be back to Minnesota. And while I miss my family, my cats, my friends, and my home, being here has allowed me to be the most authentic, the most attached, and the most real person that I have ever been. I know I am home home when I am here. How am I supposed to go back to "normal" in Minnesota when Korea and everything that it is will no longer exist for me in that I am immersed in it, but only through some photos? It hurts my heart to think of that and to know that in a couple of days, this will be my reality.

I never knew I could feel this way. I never knew something could have so much meaning in my life. I never knew I could love a place and everything about it so much. I never knew I could feel so complete. Thinking more and more about my travels back to Minnesota come with a very heavy heart. I'm not ready to leave the people that I've met. I'm not ready to be re-absorbed into the life that I left in Minnesota. I'm not ready to go back to a place and a time where I never felt 100%. I'm just not ready. But it's coming. The challenge is to figure out how to find some closure to this experience. Not a closure to tuck it away, but a closure to figure out how to let everything that has been being physically here, be an intentional part of my life while not being here.

I think alot has changed for me on this trip. I think alot of gaps have been filled. I think alot of connections have been made. I don't think I am the same person I was 2 weeks ago. I dont think I could ever return to being that person. Without meaning for it to be an insult, I feel like everything back in Minnesota is so insignificant. Nothing that was a big deal is a big deal anymore. I feel like I've detatched from so much of my life there and become so attached to what it means for me to be here. And standing in the water yesterday, watching the waves role in and out and feeling that pull - a pull on my body, and a pull on my soul to just release myself to Korea - to my home.

Life Here Life There

So many thoughts have come in and out of my head over the past week and a half. It's hard to believe I've been gone that long! It seems like I left Minnesota so long ago, yet not that long ago at all. Quite a bit has happened since I've been in Korea as I am sure you can tell from my Facebook page and from this blog. It's hard to put into words every emotion that I've had, every thought that I've had, every description of every experience that I've had, etc. It's overwhelming in so many ways. As much as this trip has been an amazing experience, it's also had many times of difficulty and sadness. As I sit here in the hotel lobby listening to the people next to me slurp soup, listening to the hotel staff scamper about behind the counter, listening to the easy listening live music in the coffee shop across from me, and watching my laptop battery slowly die, I try and think of my life back in Minnesota and it becomes quite difficult. It's hard to imagine what my life was like before I left and how Minnesota has kept on keeping on since I've been gone, and to know that I will return to it in less than a week. Everything and everyone back home (MN) seems so far away and I'm not talking about just distance. My life as I left it in Minnesota will never be returned to. It cant be. Not after an experience like this. At this moment I feel so different almost to the point of not recognizing myself. I'm torn between feeling a bit homesick for the few things back in Minnesota that actually mean something to me, and feeling homesick knowing I am leaving my country, my roots, my place of origin. I've connected with this place in ways I never thought possible that run deeper than any photo, any blog entry, or any conversation about how my trip has been and/or was. There is so much to be said, yet not enough battery power to say it and certainly not enough time to process all of my thoughts into words right now. Being this removed from myself and my old life is such a refreshing place to be and so strange at the same time. I feel comfortable, confident, and so changed knowing that I will never live the life I had been living in Minnesota before I left and came to Korea. I'd like to think splendid changes and ways of being and ways of knowing myself and the world around me are en route. I guess only time will tell.

The Story of My Beginnings

August 6, 2010

Thirty two years after my arrival in Minnesota, a place that would be my home, I have come back to where I began. I'm in Seoul Korea and will soon venture out in search of my story.

Roughly 5:00am-6:30am

I've been plagued by dreams of anxiety. I'm running after something or someone and cant seem to catch up. I'm searching for something or someone and cant find it or them. I am driving and getting ready to turn onto a highway. I check my cell phone and it's all in Korean. I realize I have no idea where I am going or what my cell phone is telling me. As I go in and out of sleep this morning, each cycle of sleep contains one of these dreams. My rest is restless and finally I just stay awake.

11:25am

I am headed down yet again to the bowels of our hotel where I can pick up the subway to Sinchon to meet Kim Thompson who will be with me as I make my way back to Korea Social Service to view my file and tour the facilities.

How do I get a T Money pass? Which subway do I take? How many stops up is it? Will the information be in English? Where am I supposed to meet Kim? Between stops 7 and 8. What does that mean? Street level or in the tunnel? What is Missha (the store I was to meet Kim in front of)? What if I get lost? Maybe I should just take a cab and pay all the money for it. What time do I need to be there? How much money do I put on my T Money card? How will I know how to get back? 2pm. 2pm. 2pm. 2pm....

Fast forward to a little after 2pm.

As we're walking up the stairs, I have this feeling of some kind of impending doom. I feel like an inmate on death row walking their last few steps. I knew I was approaching something big, something potentially heavy, and something that would change my life forever. I was about to meet myself 32 years ago. Instead of happy, joyous, celebratory emotions of this homecoming, I was scared, anxious, sad, nervous, and empty.





I sat alone in a small meeting room. The noise of the air conditioner overtook any conscious thoughts in my head. No lights were on. The room took on a dreary grayish blue. It's the same coloring I can remember at my daycare providers house where I spent some of those afternoons peering out the big bay window in the living room looking for my dad. It's a lonely sad hue. I wanted the silence as I waited but all I heard was that damn air conditioner. My body shivered under its icy breath yet welcomed the soothing cool of the air.

A woman, who I think was Mrs. Kim Choon Hee, the director of KSS, walked into the room clutching two files - one for me and one for my sister. She did an awkward pause as I am sure I did not look like a grown up version of Lee Cho Hee (a very unmistakenly feminine name). I assured her it was me. We sat opposite each other at the table. There I was, laying on the table, closed up, and who knows what's inside. But that was me. I was in that file. My history. My answers. My life.


Mrs. Kim opened the folder and began to tell me what was written on the pages, which of course were all in Korean. I was so focused on trying to understand her through her accent, making sure I remembered the questions to ask, wanting to take photos of the pages, make copies, touch the file, leaf through the pages myself, hold them, and just consume the information through some osmosis type process. I wanted to absorb that information into my body, into my core, into my soul. But it seemed clear I could not touch. My mind was a blur as it darted in between conscious streaming thought, clear presence as I strained to make sure I understood every word Mrs. Kim said, and endless wanderings through a barrage of emotions that I could not predict or navigate intentionally. My interactions felt rather businesslike and stoic. I didn't cry. I didnt even get a lump in my throat. But I know deep inside there was incredible release of emotive energy. On the surface, I think my body went in to protection mode from the shock and intensity of this experience that was happening to me right this very moment.

My Story:

I was born Lee, Cho Hee on January 14th, 1978 at 9am at Luke (Nooga in Korean) Clinic. My mother, Lee, Eun Joo was single and unwed. She was 24 when she had me. According to my file, she did not want to share alot of information about her story with the Social Worker from KSS. Information about my birth father is unknown. I was NOT abandoned at Shindaebang Police Station. My adoptive parents were told this story and it was passed on to me. My paperwork probably went through this police station as Nooga Clinic is near it. I was not a healthy baby when I was at the orphanage. I had a pretty consistent cough, fever, and congestion. There were lengthy medical records on my health. My birth family has not been in contact with KSS. Mrs. Kim told me that my birth mother's name is very common and it would be impossible to find her in Seoul. According to Mrs. Kim, I was named by the orphanage. Lee is my birth mother's family name, but the orphanage gave me the name Cho Hee. I do not know how accurate this is because there are some indicators on my file that might suggest otherwise about my name. I have more questions of course. I knew this could be the case. I have a couple of people I can reach out to once I am back in the states should I want to do more research into my beginnings.


After the file review, we went up to the second floor of KSS where the nursery areas were. Of the two nurseries, only the smaller of the two was in use. There were 4 infants and one 1-year-old boy with developmental disabilities at KSS. As we walked into the room, 2 volunteers were helping to feed and tend to the babies. I'll never forget Mrs. Kim's words as she softly said to me, "one of these cribs was probably yours."



I walked over to the row of cribs where 3 of the 4 babies were. Fighting back some tears, I ran my hand along the rails. I felt the cool metal bars and breathed in the stale nursery air filling my lungs with air and my body with the memories of yesterday. I touched the babies very gently and in my mind I wished them well on their journeys. I left a piece of my heart with them and wished for them good lives full of forever hugs and forever love. And I wished that they would never have to feel alone for even one minute. One of the babies in particular looked like me from the baby pictures I have from the orphanage. As I looked at her laying in the crib, I really did feel as if I was looking at myself. My heart filled with sadness as I thought about what the lives of these children could be like with their missing stories. And if anything that they carry with them as they grow older, I hope they remember that I was there offering my love and my heart if even only for 10 minutes.

After we left the nursery, Mrs. Kim gave me a tour of the rest of the KSS grounds. Of the 4 or 5 buildings on the grounds, only the one is still in use. I was told that when I was there, there were 150-200 babies there and 50 workers. Back then there was no such thing as volunteers. As I walked around this place that was my first home, I felt an emptiness to the desolation and junkiness that seemed to have overtaken it. The unused buildings were in various states of dilapidation and the grass was patchy and unkept. As we walked by the building that I was in when I was there, I peered inside. It was dark and empty. I tried to listen for the sounds of the children playing, the workers conversing, the babies crying. I tried to pick up on the residual energy that may have been there, but I didnt sense anything. I felt calm though and somewhat peaceful. Not many words were exchanged by Mrs. Kim and me, but that's ok. I needed that silence to just consume everything around me. My eyes were seeing the same things now that my tiny infant eyes saw for the first 6.5 months of my life.











As I was walking around, Kim was taking photos. As I reviewed them, she was telling me that she had captured a Magpie on my camera. Apparently, Magpies and Tigers are the two good luck/good fortune animals in Korea and it means there is positive spirit energy around you or something like that. Based on her reaction to seeing this bird, which I did not until I looked at the photos on my camera, I was under the impression that it is somewhat rare to see them. I'm taking it as a sign of its presence on this day. I like to think I was surrounded by goodness - good energy, good luck, good fortune, and good spiritual energy as I completed my life circle. I know alot of you back home knew this was a part of my trip back to Korea. I think that Magpie was delivering all of your thoughts, well-wishes, and love as it graced me with its presence while I was having this experience.


Thank you all for your love and support through all of this. It has all helped to make this such an incredible homecoming! And When I Touch the Land in Korea, you all are touching it as well. A piece of it is left in each of your hearts and minds just as much as a piece of you is left here in my home home.

A Rainy Day at the Post Office

Yesterday was quite the day. I skipped out of the conference here and met with a friend of mine and went to the orphanage that I came from. I'll write a separate blog about that experience. Anyway, after that trip, we went to Insadong for some shopping ad then to Sinchon for dinner. Today I decided to venture out on my own in search of a post office to mail some stuff back home. After my experience at the post office, I wouldnt be surprised if it never made it there, but I'm trying really hard to send good vibes out into the universe so that it does make it there.

People here DO NOT EVER say "excuse me," "pardon me," or "I'm sorry." It's quite a shock coming from "MN Nice" but wow Korea! People walk like they own the street, sidewalk, hallway, etc. and if you don't as well, then you better get the hell outa' the way because they will run you down. It's intimidating! And, the ahjumas (older women) and ahjushis (older men) are the worst! Especially the ahjumas. Ruthless!!!

My friend, Kim, who I spent the day with yesterday told me that if you say "excuse me" or something like that to someone, you'll basically stand in the same place just saying that over and over again and you'll never get anywhere. You have to command your entrance into the subway. You have to push your way through crowded sidewalks. You better just own your space or you'll end up curled up on the ground kicked over to the side I think! Also, ahjumas and ahjushis have no concept of personal space here. When I was at the counter at the post office, this ahjushi came right into my personal space and leaned over the counter. Stubborn as I am, I refused to move my arm, which was beginning to be squished between his chest/belly region and the edge of the counter. I know this is very much a cultural thing and I am trying to be tolerable, but it's hard and has tested my patience so many times on my adventures out of the hotel bubble. But, even with it making me mad, I still appreciate the experiences too because I'm getting to see more and more how things and people operate here in Korea.

So, today, I ventured out to the post office. It's been a gray day and raining off and on. Sometimes it's sort of a gentle mist and other times it's a full on downpour with flashes of lightening and loud booming rolls of thunder that seem to stay caught up in between all the skyscrapers downtown. I asked at the concierge where the post office was and was given a cute little map of the immediate area surrounding the hotel complete with comical illustrations of the various buildings. It looked very user friendly as only a few things were highlighted. The concierge said it was within walking distance, so away I went with a backpack full of goodies and a long tube of rolled up prints that would come to live in my shirt as I made my way through the rain.

I walked and walked and walked and walked and walked and walked, etc., etc., etc., for a long time. Occasionally I would have to duck under the awning of a building and wait out the pouring rain. I passed so many little vendors that were selling umbrellas for 5000 won, but did I buy one? No. And why didn't I buy one? I don't know. Is this answer sufficient? By no means, no. But, I digress. So, I got to this area where I was pretty sure if I kept going I would be lost forever. I had pretty much walked in a straight line since leaving the hotel, but I was at a crossroads where continuing forward in a linear path was not an option. I turned in circles a few times and was getting ready to take my chances going "that-a way," determined by pointing my finger out in front of me as I spun my circles and deciding to go wherever I was pointed at spin stoppage. At that point it probably would have been just as well anyway since I had no clue where this post office was. And the funny thing is that the building was called Post Tower. It should be pretty easy to spot if it's a tower. I've relied on all the various tours here to get me back to the hotel every other time I've gone out and they've never let me down.

Well, just as I was about to launch off into the unknown, I looked behind me and sure enough saw Post Towers. I'm not sure how I missed it in the first place as it was a pretty uniquely shaped building and well labeled. I headed back and hoped the rain would hold off as there were no awnings for me to duck under should the skies decide to open. Luckily I made it there, went inside, and downstairs to mail my stuff.

I'll spare you the long version of this story because it would be filled with my rantings and ravings of how impatient and beyond irritated I was at the whole process. Let's just say I was in there for 2 hours and the place closed while I was still there. Luckily I was able to get my packages sent off. And as I said before, I hope they make it home! I spent most of my time at the "Package Center" thinking that's where I needed to be to get boxes for my stuff. Apparently, the "Package Center" is where they make handmade custom boxes for your shipping needs. One person was working and the person before me had 3 boxes worth of magazines to ship. Measurement after meticulous measurement and precise cutting with a cardboard cutter, this box maker as I'll call him, artistically and with more precision than I've ever seen someone with a box cutter have, crafted these exact boxes for each package. It was quite the process. As I watched him work, I was in awe of his abilities and the artistry that went into his box making skills. Well, this awe lasted through the first box until I realized the customer in front of me had 3 of these bundles to send. My feelings of awe and appreciation quickly turned into horrendous impatience, frustration, and anger. Now I know, was it really that bad? At that moment, yes, yes it was. I was pouring sweat. The air here in Korea is so thick you can grab a chunk and chunk it out with your hands when you're outside. In addition to the humidity, it's so hot. Miserable really. Walking for 2 minutes outside will do you in. It's like walking in a sauna except not relaxing at all. So I was pouring sweat, feeling impatient, and worried about being able to communicate anyway with the postal staff to make sure my packages go where they needed to go.

I eventually went over and bought a mailer box from the post office part of where I was and put some of my stuff in there. Once the box maker guy was done with the previous customer, he crafted a mailer for my rolled prints. I went over to the post office counter and waited awhile again as all the people in front of me were sending many packages. I think I ended up paying like 90,000 won to air mail my two packages. It seemed like I had filled the forms out right, but I suppose I cant be sure. The postal worker only indicated a couple more lines I needed to fill in. As I was standing there paying, they closed us in. I had no idea how to get out as both ends were gated and locked shut. Figures I would be trapped in this place. Eventually some other people were ready to leave and trying to figure out how to exit as well. One of the workers took us through this obscure back door into a secret elevator and we were able to get out. FREEDOM!

I resumed my adventure through the streets of Seoul doing my best to dodge the puddles, raindrops, ahjumas and ahjushis, all while being completely over stimulated with all the stuff to buy and trying to communicate what I was looking for or wanted in English with vendors who only spoke Korean. Somehow though, I managed to contribute quite generously once again to the Korean economy. I returned to my hotel room 4.5 hours later half drenched in rain and half drenched in sweat. But I feel empowered yet again that I have been able to do all this stuff pretty much on my own. Hopefully tomorrow will bring one last adventure in Seoul before we head out on the Post-Gathering Tour to other parts of the country.