“I look at you and get so angry,” M’s husband tells me Saturday night.
“Why don’t you have someone?” he asks as I rest my head on his shoulder. We’re in the apartment after my dinner with Zach, reclining on the stiff orange sofa and eating sliced pineapple with chopsticks.
M had tucked in a while ago, most likely bored from our discussion on Catholicism in Third World countries. A World Cup match is on the telly but I can’t recall who was playing.
“I’ve seen so many bad-looking women here with boyfriends,” Y says as I turn my attention to the pineapple on his plate. “Some so ugly–you’d look at her face and wouldn’t eat from her hand.
“Really. You are such a pretty, innocent girl. What do you want in a man? Who are you looking for? Nationality, race, body type?”
“I’m not specific with the physical stuff,” I tell him between mouthfuls of fruit. “Especially with ethnicity. I pride myself on being an equal-opportunity employer.”
“I’m going to find someone for you.”
“That doesn’t sound very romantic,” I mumble sadly. Anyway, I’d heard it before: all my (taken) girlfriends want to set me up.
“You’re in Korea. Love is different here.”
He doesn’t have to tell me that. After only four months of dating, Y and M had married in City Hall a week ago, in an effort to speed up the paperwork for his green card.
The couple don’t consider each other as husband and wife, since a priest wasn’t involved. But Y is definitely happier as a newlywed.
“Excuse me for still being a pathetic romantic,” I tell him, pinching his arm. “But I’d like it to happen on its own. Spontaneously.”
“You don’t want a boyfriend?”
“Of course I do. I mean, at first I was all gung ho with independence and shit. I was really proud of myself for doing this on my own.
“But all my friends here are busy with their boyfriends and girlfriends, having these intense affairs and having sex and falling in love.
“I must be a real nut-job,” I concluded, staring at my empty plate, “because nobody wants me.”
Y shakes out my hair. “There is nothing wrong with you, sister. But you’re always so busy. You have Wonderland, you always have some mission in Seoul. You do Taekwondo most nights.
“And M tells me you’re in love with your Taekwondo instructor.”
I grin sheepishly. “I wouldn’t say love-love. But, yeah, I like him. He’s tall, and nice, and smiley, and sweaty . . . and, uh, sweaty–”
“Pia, you’re never going to get what you want out of a Korean man. A Korean man raised out of Korea, yes. But men are different here. You’re too Western for them.”
“But they are so beautiful,” I sigh. “Like, seriously? Sometimes my chest aches just looking at some of the college boys in Seoul.”
“You just need someone. You just need to date. I’d set you up with my boys, if I was certain they wouldn’t fall in love with you.”
“Maybe I want to fall in love.”
He eyes my face and considers this for a second. “No, you don’t.”
You have such enlightening conversations, my dear. I think you are lucky to have the friends, and know the people, that you do. They are intelligent, thoughtful, and importantly, they see into you — even more important then that, they see what you can’t.
I’m not sure anyone understands me that way. I’d assume so. Logic would be, that I don’t think anyone sees me that way because I’m blind to seeing myself that way and assume that no one else, therefore, can.
Strange reflection, that one is. How do you know if someone knows you well, if you don’t know yourself well enough to recognize when somebody recognizes you?
…
I need sleep.
There are probably people that know certain traits of yours that you’re not familiar with, Kevin. You just don’t know they know, you know?
My relationships with men–romantic, platonic and unrequited–tend to feel the same way: “Older,” “experienced” guys who want to keep timid Little Red Riding Hood from the wolves of the world.
Guys who think they get me, but couldn’t be farther from the truth, really.
The way I’m perceived by the opposite sex is strictly one-dimensional. Not that I give them much to work with.
Looking back on a rather short list of men, I can say only one saw me for who I really was–unfortunately, I saw right through him too.
to be honest this kind of breaks my heart. It gets rough in there for a while when you think there is literally NO ONE that could be for you (which I go into fits of every other month here in NYC) that you finally realize the more you try to look and create a situation the less it will happen.
So, I stopped giving a flying fuck a long time ago and I’m still in the same situation. It’s just going to happen and it won’t be on your terms. Which is bullshit.
But I’m in San Francisco this time tomorrow! Woo hoo!
It is sooooo easy to say we should wait until romance occurs naturally.
But fuck it. I am so impatient.
The upside to this is I’ve found my new favorite expression. “You look at her face and won’t eat from her hand.” I’m going to try to say this at least once a day.
This is off the subject… maybe not. Ever consider being a monk? (Is there a feminine form of monk?)
http://www.rjkoehler.com/2006/06/30/thats-a-lot-of-bald-foreigners/
Given how much action I’ve had since my arrival, I might as well become a nun.
(I do have to admit I was considering that lifestyle when I was a hardcore Catholic.)
Thanks for the link–haven’t seen that site before. Off to Bloglines I go . . .
You were a bible thumper? Hee!
Well, yes, how else could I get so awkward around men?
I just can’t see it.
Going back to the monk article–I saw the one from France, who resided in Golgulsa Temple in Gyeongju.
He was hot–unfortunately, he spoke neither Korean or English. I believe he left a month ago, out of loneliness.
I wrote about the other European monk in “Meat, Men and Meditation,” and “To Dream in the Mountains.” He returned to his homeland a few months ago. I remember he was quite nice.
Why is it that the inside and out pretty girls hardly ever find a good enough bloke? I’ve always wondered this! seems like only the guys they don’t want to talk to them talk to them.
ps: liking the blog, gives me the wanderlust!
“Why is it that the inside and out pretty girls hardly ever find a good enough bloke?”
Hell if I know. In my case, it might be because I’m too busy with Taekwondo, my job, traveling, cakes and this dumb blog.
Thank you for the compliment, nosceteipsum! I read your blog earlier today. It is fascinating to read about your training in Qigong, although I am unfamiliar with that martial art.
I noticed you said on your site that you’ve studied the martial arts for 20 years. Do you practice any other styles?
Hey,
Should probably change that, It’s rolled over to 21 since I did that ‘about’ page!
As far a practicing other styles go, I’ve dabbled in a few over the years, the most notable ones (in terms of years spent practicing them)are Wing Tsun, Shotokai Karate-do and Systema. Never tried Taekwondo though. Have you trained in anything else?
You really should try some Qi Gong, it’s pretty good fun and you see results pretty quickly which is encouraging. Not sure if I’d call it a martial art though, but it is an integral part of any complete martial art system, usually there but just not pointed out.
I fully hear ya about things getting in the way, living it up in London doesn’t leave much time for other things 😦
Good luck with the sweaty instructor 😉
Mark
Mark: In the past eleven years, I’ve trained in Taekwondo, Tangsoodo, Hapkido and Sunmudo–all Korean martial arts. Guess I should branch out, huh?
Unfortunately, as you said, other things do get in the way, and I’ve never received my black belt. I mean, I’ve always loved the martial arts, but other things were getting in the way: school, jobs, traveling, (stupidly) dating instructors.
Not that getting my black belt is my top priority. I just want to do my best in something I’m truly passionate about. If I never advanced to 1st Dan (which would be pretty sad, considering how long I’ve been doing this) and just had as much fun as I’m having now, I’d be pretty happy.
I will have to learn more about Qi Gong. I hadn’t known about it until visiting your page, and I’m very interested in the health benefits a particular style can show me.
And don’t encourage me in regards to my instructor! It’s maddening, I tell you.