Squares

Last Saturday I met Z, his coworkers and The Motherfucker (who you knew previously as T). MF brought his girlfriend, “Janet.”

We stared at each other uneasily in Z’s apartment, unsure what to make of each other. She was taller, skinnier, whiter–enough reason for me to dislike her. And obviously MF had told her I was a coldhearted bitch. Awkward!

We let the boys talk about work before I did what any Seoul girl would do in this particular situation: I complimented her handbag.

“Thank you!” she gasped. “I really like your shoes.”

We talked shop all the way to the galbi restaurant. She was bubbly, enthusiastic, and crazy about him. As he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, she reached over and grabbed my hand. We exchanged smiles. I was won over.

Upon leaving the restaurant, Z tried to grab me as well. That was his third attempt that night, so when no one was looking I thwacked him several times with my umbrella. The next morning I blamed it on the alcohol.

***

We stayed out until five in the morning.

Janet and I managed to separate ourselves from the gents and recover with ice water at the bar. “These men love you,” she said. “How have you managed to stay single for so long?”

“Excessive body hair.”

“What?”

“I’m kidding.” I grabbed another fistful of cereal and popped it in my mouth. “There was a guy I liked, I really liked. I’m not over him yet . . . No one else can compare.”

“Do I know him?” she asked, somewhat uneasily.

“No, he’s not with these hoodlums.” I sighed. “He’s Korean, and doesn’t know English. I’m American, and I don’t know Korean. Anyway, I haven’t seen him for a month, but I still think of him often.”

“That is very romantic,” she sighed. “But I’m sure you could be with him. I’ve known many women who didn’t know English, who dated foreigners–”

“Yeah, but I don’t see myself in that kind of relationship. But still, out of all the men I’ve met here in Korea–Koreans and foreigners alike–he made me the happiest, you know? And I know I can’t be with him, but right now I don’t want to be with anyone else.”

She looked down into her drink. “Do you think T and I will be happy?”

I gave her a small smile. “He really likes you. And, your situation is different from mine. You can talk to him.”

“But even still, the cultures are so different. I know I want to be with a foreigner, but sometimes he makes me feel confused. Sometimes, when we’re alone, he asks me to do things . . .” She flushed. “I’ve dated Western men before, but he’s different.”

“He isn’t going to break up with you if you don’t do everything he wants. He’s crazy about you.” I reached over and rested my hand on hers.

“Yes, but I like him very much.” She lowered her voice and leaned in. “He wants to reserve a hotel room today, but that’s bad, isn’t it.”

“But it can’t be so nice, the three of you cramped in Z’s room, right?”

“Three? I thought you were spending the night.”

I thought back to Z’s beat-down and shivered. “Uhhhhh . . .”

***

Four hours after burying myself into Z’s sofa, I awoke to the sound of him snoring from his bed. I reached down, found a paperback, and tossed it at his head.

MF and Janet were lying on a comforter on the floor. He was spooning her, and her hands rested on his. They just fit.

I watched them for a moment before grabbing my bag and tiptoeing out of the apartment.

***

“And then Janet called me an hour ago,” I told L and D over sandwiches in Sinchon later that day. “She wants to get dinner next weekend.”

“Don’t you just hate it when the new girlfriend is so nice?” D grumbled into her drink. She had just broken up with her boyfriend, after two weeks of avoidance on his part.

I picked the pickles out of my sandwich and put them on her plate. “Oh, I like her a lot. It’s just that, well, he’s going to be there, and I’d rather not be around him.”

“Because you like him?”

“No. It’s just that–well, after the bathroom episode–“

“That was eight months ago!” L exclaimed. “Shouldn’t you be over that by now?”

“No, I shouldn’t, because it’s insulting.” I sat up and wrinkled my nose. “For shit’s sake. A bathroom? It’s so insanitary. No offense,” I quickly added, just in case. “And then she made me talk to him.”

“Does she know that he was into you?”

“She wouldn’t ask me to dinner if she did. Anyway, we hadn’t talked that night–at all!–so what could we say? I don’t like him, he doesn’t like me. And his best friend has a crush on me and his girlfriend wants to be friends.”

“You wouldn’t stick around unless you liked him,” D said. “At least a little.”

I reached over, took her hands and shook my head. “Bless your heart. Clearly, the breakup has made you slightly deluded on my behalf.”

“Okay, deny it all you want. But you’re just screwing yourself.”

I let her go and snatched some of her french fries. “I’ll be fine. Now all I have to worry about is the perfect dress for this particular dinner.”

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A Well-Dressed Airhead

Yesterday Brian, one of my standout kindergarten students, brought me this doll his mother made for me. Out of balloons!

Look at the detail . . . she is so talented. She also speaks English eloquently, and teaches her son at home. If Brian isn’t confident in his second language by the time he’s ten, I’ll be stunned.

Oh, my darling kids–this particular little boy gets restless and naughty, but he is so excited about English. He always insists on carrying my basket, cleaning up the classroom after lessons and helping the other kids with their homework. And he’s only six years old!

I intend to stuff him in my suitcase and take him back to California in November.

My kids and their parents bring me random gifts all the times–pastries, seashells, paper, little love notes and drawings–but this takes the cake.

And yes, I checked and this little tart isn’t wearing any knickers. Intentional?

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Bottoms Up

“My yoga instructor cupped my ass today . . . Was it wrong that I was totally turned on?”

“Your instructor’s a guy?”

“Uh. No?”

“Pia, please. Just get laid already.”

Ten seconds! I’m not gonna wash this right butt-cheek for a week.

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Nukes in North Korea? I need to mend my summer dress.

Z invited me to a wine and cheese party. I’ve never been to one before (I’m a 25-year-old ghetto child from the sticks, remember), and I don’t like wine.

But I do love cheese.

Today’s agenda:

1) Clean the apartment. At this point, it’s so caked with dirt and dust that I have to douse the whole place with gasoline and set it on fire.

2) Get a manicure and pedicure. Earlier this week, my yoga teacher gave me a foot massage while I was in the corpse position, and all I could think about was how gnarly my feet are. After all those years in the martial arts, all I’m left with are feet that feel like sandpaper.

3) Is it appropriate to bring Guinness to this party? No?

4) Buy new shoes, because my green, pointy-toe heels need some rest. I’m in love with the idea of stacked, red pumps, which are supposedly the rage right now.

Aside from all that frilly, over-sized pink crap that most young Korean women wear, shopping in Korea is awesome (if you can find your size–I’m petite but still refuse to go jeans shopping here), because if you take the time to look around you’ll find good deals for cute stuff. Sure, they’ll fall apart after a few washings, but they’ll be out of vogue in a few months anyway.

I’ve bought some summer dresses in the past few weeks, and I have this cute blue, button-down number that I bought from a small shop near my school for 30,000 won (almost 30 American dollars). When I wear it I feel like a tourist going through Africa for the twelfth time.

Ooooooh, but what I love the most is this straight, black pencil skirt that came with this really smart, chocolate brown belt. And even though I never wore sunglasses in California (too SoCal), I now own two pairs that nearly engulf my entire face. My mom and sisters would be so proud . . .

Pieces I’d like to buy in the fall:

a) A fitted vest.

b) A balloon skirt.

c) Anything in a deep purple or red shade.

d) White pumps. The higher, the better.

e) A chocolate, woodsy fragrance with hints of grapefruit. Back to Sephora’s website . . .

But anyway . . . back to today’s schedule. 

5) Catch up on my worldly news. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not the best conversationalist. To make it worse, I get all of my updates from MSN.

Think that sucks? Consider that I only visit because Hotmail sends me there after I sign out of my account. Then consider that 90 percent of my reading is based in the Celebrity gossip section. Well, that’s not totally accurate. Last night I spent two hours taking online quizzes to determine if I should buy a woodsy or fruity fragrance. And I’m still undecided!

I have no idea of who’s fighting who, what books to read or what movies to watch. At this point, I can’t tell the difference between a Democrat and Republican.

I have read the latest on the North Korea crisis, but I couldn’t give a shit. Really, I’m straddling the DMZ right now and no one is scared in the slightest. It would annoy me if my parents were freaking out, which they aren’t. My mom sent me one news item about a shooting incident near the border, and the next day she forwarded an article on bed bugs.

Anyway, it’s almost noon and I haven’t eaten anything but these taffy-like candies covered in soy powder. (Believe me when I tell you they’re to die for.) Time for brunch at my new favorite fruit restaurant, and then to cleaning. Maybe I can fit in some yoga before dinner.

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Birthday Cake

On Thursday my coworkers bought me cake.

We were decorating the school for the monthly activity event, so we didn’t get to celebrate that night. We had five minutes to pose for pictures and sing.

The lights went out, and I was left staring into the candles.

“You blew the candles fast,” C told me after I began to slice the cake. “What do you wish for?”

***

Two nights later I was celebrating my 25th birthday at an Italian restaurant. I was surrounded by my three dearest friends, their boyfriends, a co-teacher I could barely stand and her adorable son, and two admirers.

I tried to chat and entertain everyone, but I went out of my way to avoid T, who sat to my right. I didn’t know why I invited him. I suppose I wanted The Instructor to be at my side so badly, and any guy would do.

When he wasn’t looking, I stole a glance. Attractive, true–but in the cocky way I could barely tolerate. He dressed and carried himself off like he was from SoCal (he wasn’t), and for some reason that bothered me the most. After he professed his loyalty to the Lakers, though, I sat back and relaxed. Surely I would not fall to the charms of a Kobe fan.

He caught me staring and smiled. I swung my eyes in the opposite direction and frowned. He responded by buying me a drink. As I checked my cellphone for messages, he noticed the DVDs in my tote bag.

“You bought The Lover,” he noted.

“Yeah,” I said with a little laugh, embarrassed by how corny it sounded.

“I love that movie. Jane March was so intense as a fifteen-year-old.”

“I guess. I bought it for three bucks today.”

“You were here early, weren’t you? What did you do in Gwangwhamun?”

“I went to a cafe and read “Love In The Time of . . .”

“Cholera?”

“Yeah. You’ve read it?”

“Yeah. I enjoyed it.”

I sat up and leaned forward. “Have you read Captain Corelli’s Mandolin?”

“Not yet.”

“You should. It’s easier to get into. I tried to read One Hundred Years of Solitude, but it was too far out there.”

“Yeah, but I think the best books are like the best actors. A little eccentric.”

I sunk back in my seat. How pretentious! Pushing my plate back, I drawled, “I ate before coming here, and now I’m full. You can have my pasta.”

He’d already finished a whole pasta dinner, and I still had a half of it left. Truth be told, I was still hungry. But I wanted him to get sick.

We locked eyes, and I smirked a little, nodding at my dish, which weighed the same as a liter of water. Finally he shrugged and took my bowl.

“You never told me if you were still engaged to that naval officer,” he said after he finished, holding his stomach and wincing a little.

“One, he was a computer programmer. Two, I was never engaged. I only told you I was seeing someone to spare your feelings after I left you waiting in the bathroom on New Year’s.”

D, who’d been chatting with her boyfriend, threw me a disgusted glance.

T laughed, and I colored. “I must be more drunk than I thought,” I mumbled.

After we left, half the group had to catch the train back home. “Be easy on the poor guy,” M said after she pulled me aside. “Even after you ditched him on New Year’s, he still likes you. And you’ve been a righteous little bitch, to everyone, for the past few weeks.”

I hugged her tight. “I’m sorry, M. I just–”

“I know, darling. But you have to put all that behind you. You only turn 25 once! Just have fun . . . Try not to think so much.”

After they left he offered to carry my cake. I let him carry my tote bag instead.

“You aren’t worried I’ll run off with your money?” he teased.

“Cake is more important,” I said softly, hugging it to my chest. “It’s very sweet.”

As we walked to an ice cream shop, he said, “I wanted to apologize to you in person.”

“You? What for?”

“For ditching you and Z that night. I really wanted to eat breakfast at Gecko’s with you.”

“It wasn’t a big deal.”

“I didn’t sleep with her, you know. She kissed me at her apartment, but then it was really awkward, so I left.”

“You idiot. She was cute.”

“Believe me, I know.”

I shrugged. “Well, cute but not that pretty, really. Her accent made up for it. I guess I should apologize, for calling you a slut. I’m sorry. I guess.”

He nudged me with his elbow. “Let me buy you an ice cream and we’ll be even. They’ll sing and dance when you tell them it’s your birthday . . .”

***

I didn’t want to intrude on D and her boyfriend, so we slept at Z’s place that night. Z offered his bed, but I dragged a sleeping bag on the floor. “I’m more comfortable like this, really,” I insisted when T laid down across the sofa next to me.

“Did you have a good time?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I said, and it was the truth. It was, for the most part, a drama-free birthday. It had been rather nice talking to him–we have more in common than I’d suspected. We want to be writers (although I didn’t tell him that), think the Killers are awesome but way too overplayed, believe exercise is essential for the mind and want to travel through all seven continents.

I felt myself warming up a little.

Then, in the dark, he said, “Pia, did you date anyone here?”

“No.”

“That’s a surprise.”

“Then why did you ask?”

“You just look a little . . . uh, sorry . . . lovesick.”

I chuckled, careful not to wake Z up. “No, I haven’t dated here.”

“And you seem different. Do you still want to convert to Buddhism?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t seriously thought about it for a while.”

“You seemed really happy about it when I met you. And how are your Taekwondo lessons?”

“I gave him up. Uhhhhhh, it. I gave it up.”

“Why?”

“Because I just had to,” I said through my teeth. I nudged his knee with my foot. “Anyway, don’t get the wrong idea. I’m way stronger than I look.”

Sniggering, he asked, “How tall are you?”

“Tall enough to kick your ass.”

“Just tell me this: Was he Canadian? American? The guy you fell for?”

“You mean, my fake naval officer-computer programmer-boyfriend?”

He laughed softly. “The guy you’re in love with.”

I rolled over, turning my back to him. “I have to wake up early.”

“Korean? Hey, Pia,” he whispered, reaching over and pushing the back of my head. “Was he Korean?”

I buried my head under my blankets and feigned sleep.

He shoved me one more time before giving up. “Happy twenty-fifth,” he said.

***

“You wished for him, didn’t you?” M had asked me on Thursday night. We’d had a drink at a little pub near our apartment, and I was gazing up at the sky, holding on to her for support.

“No. I wish I could speak Korean.”

“You know enough to get along.”

We sat at a bus stop to rest our feet for a moment. She pulled me close and I rested my head on her shoulder.

“I put my gold shoes away,” I murmured as the sound of frogs and insects enveloped us. “You know, those ballet flats I used to wear all the time. He loved those . . . every time he saw them, his eyes would light up.

“‘Pia!'” I laughed, lowering my voice, “‘Shoes! Pretty!’ And he would give them two thumbs up. That always made me laugh. Like, I couldn’t understand why these shoes were so amazing. And then I wore them so often, the paint came off, and now they’re this shitty brown . . . but even as they faded, I wore them for my classes everyday, just to see him smile.

“And now I can’t wear them anymore. I’ll probably throw them away with tomorrow’s trash.”

“Just give them away,” M said.

I swung my legs back and forth. “I need to give myself away.”

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Dreams (and a call by one of God’s Chosen People)

I’ve subscribed to a few artists’ sites, but after seeing the latest art on Dex Mission’s blog, I feel like I’d be doing you guys a great disservice by not sending you in his direction.

Reminds me of when I lived in the motherland. I know my parents and Jo will especially like Dex’s writing that accompanies this particular piece.

***

Also had to respond to this siren call from The Hottest Jew In Cyberspace. I know it’s been a while since you posted this survey, Mr. Long, but I’m on Filipino time, and we’re always late.

Four jobs I have had in my life:
1. Sandwich maker
2. Orchard worker
3. Editorial Assistant
4. ESL Teacher

Four movies I have watched over and over:
1. Speed
2. Beauty and the Beast
3. The Mighty Ducks 2 (stop laughing)
4. The Millionaire’s First Love (Only because Hyun Bin’s in it. And I will never admit to this in person.)

Four books I have read over and over:
1. Watership Down (Bunnies! And some political commentary, if you’re into that kind of thing, I guess.)
2. Y: The Last Man
3. Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire
4. Flowers in the Attic

Four places I have lived:
1. The U.S.
2. Guam
3. The Philippines
4. The DMZ–oops, I mean, [air quotes]South Korea[/air quotes].

Four television shows I love to watch:
1. The L Word
2. Gilmore Girls
3. Everyday Italian, because I’m in love with Giada DeLaurentiis
4. Lost

Four places I have been on vacation:
1. The United Kingdom (if interning for three months counts as a vacation)
2. France
3. Japan
4. Canada

Four of my favorite foods:
1. Cheese bibimpap
2. Kimchi!
3. Cheesecake
4. Pineapple

Four places I would rather be right now:
1. Golgulsa Temple in Gyeongju
2. Seoul
3. “The Orchards”
4. my old Taekwondo school

Four people who will steal this meme:
1. Marbs, who will post it on Myspace.
2. Jo, who will also post it on Myspace, only hers will be accompanied by several flattering photos of herself frolicking with the new puppies.
3. Giada DeLaurentiis, if she has read my love letters.
4. Phong, because he just needs to update his blog already. I mean, really. Why else are you still on Friendster, ya freak?

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M Is For Mature

After a brief scolding from my mother, I’ve decided to add a new category to my posts: M is for Mature.

Sorry if I’ve offended or embarrassed my loving, patient and understanding relatives and friends. I considered setting up another (PG rated) site, entirely dedicated to my travels, but I spend enough time on WordPress and Flickr.

I’ve been lazy when it comes to categorizing my posts, but I will start the rating system immediately. I will work on placing the rating under all my less-than-flattering posts this weekend.

Under the title of each of my posts, you’ll notice one or more titles like “Uncategorized,” “California (and The Orchards),” “Food for Thought,” and “Friends and that Gray Area.” If I publish any posts that contain obscene language or other questionable content, you will read “M is for Mature.”

So if you feel queasy whenever I throw around the four-letter words, I strongly advise you to avoid these particular writings like the plague.

And don’t break out the holy water just yet. At least I’m not torturing puppies. (Yet.)

***

To make up for my foul language, I added more photos on Flickr. These new ones were taken at Beomeosa Temple in Busan.

I don’t like this set as much as the ones from Jagalchi Fish Market, but we reached the temple an hour before it closed. I didn’t have a lot to work with.

The Japan pics will come soon, promise!

***

In other news, C gave me the new schedule for next semester. Our prized student has a full workload, so we had to accommodate his schedule. He really is brilliant, and I adore him to bits, so I don’t mind.

This means that on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, I’ll finish my last class at 7 p.m.; on Tuesdays and Thursdays I’ll be done at six. (These past months I’ve finished teaching at 6:30 p.m.)

And I’ve replaced my Taekwondo classes with Yoga/Pilates lessons. Three months for 200,000 (that’s about 200 American dollars), not bad. I took a sample class today and the instructors impressed me. They’re a lot skinnier than I am (I’m not complaining, Mom!) but they are so tough.

One of them also studied in London, so she can speak English very well, although she appears self-conscious about it.

As you’ve probably noticed, I miss my Taekwondo school terribly. Not just the lessons and The Instructor, but my classmates as well. For most of them, I was the first foreigner they’d met (well, outside their English classes, anyway), and they were my first Korean friends. Because of the language barrier we couldn’t talk too much–just help each other out and laugh at our mistakes.

But I hold a tenderness for them that rivals the devotion I have for my own students. I miss their endless energy, their genuine enthusiasm for the sport, their glorious handsprings and their innocent sense of humor.

I have to wonder, will I ever see them again?

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Tying the Knot

“Do you want to be in my wedding party?” she asks me on Friday night.

My supervisor, C, sits down with me on the curb, clutching her drink with both hands. I’d exited the beer house after my eyes had dried out from the smoke.

It’s a hot night in the capital and I’m lightheaded from soju. I personally don’t care for this particular Korean drink because it’s difficult to swallow, although I will gladly take it with orange juice or a bowl of fruit.

I nurse a cool mug of beer in my hands and take a long sip. Considering C and I were at each other’s throats only a few months ago, I feel uncomfortable participating in her wedding–but I feel worse about refusing her offer.

“You don’t have to say yes,” she quickly adds, her tongue heavy with alcohol. “Think about it.”

“How are the preparations going?”

“I’m too busy. But it will be a military-style wedding, so little prepare.” C’s fiancé is an officer in the Korean military.

“How exciting for you,” I mumble, unable to to conjure any enthusiasm. I stare into my drink lamely. Do not cry in front of the boss.

I hear her clear her throat. She rests a hand on my forearm, her fingers stiff, hesitant. “Are you tired, Pia?”

“No. I’m having fun. Your friends are nice. Thanks for inviting me.”

“They like you. I think my friend has little crush on you. Maybe you can see him later this weekend. No stress.”

“Maybe,” I mumble, choking up. I turn away from her.

“Do you want to go home?”

“No. I’m sorry, I know I’ve been a real joykill these past few days.”

“It’s okay.” Pause. She releases me. “I know this feeling. You know, in university, I have German boyfriend in London.”

I nod. She’d mentioned him once, when I told her I could speak a little Deutsch. But she didn’t talk about her life outside the office too often, so I didn’t know too much about him–or her.

“We are still friends. He says, maybe I should not marry my boyfriend.”

“And what did you say?”

“He is still in Europe. What to do. Anyway,” she adds breezily, “he is my old boyfriend, and I will stop talking to him after I am married.”

This irritates me for some reason. “Why should you have to give him up? If he’s just your friend, this shouldn’t bother your husband.”

“No, it’s okay for him. My boyfriend is not like many Korean men–he thinks freedom is very good for me. But maybe if I am a wife, and I talk to my old boyfriend, I will be a little sad.”

We lean back on our palms, watching a drunken group leave a kareoke bar. I finish my beer and wipe my mouth with the length of my forearm.

“Was it hard to have a long distance relationship?” I ask her.

“I break up with him before I go back to Korea. Very difficult for me. More difficult for him. I think he might still love me, but anyway! . . . My parents would not like me to date a man who is not Korean. I’m thirty, it’s time for me to marry.”

“As long as you’re happy.”

“Yes. Anyway, I think maybe dating is difficult when we are from different countries. Even if you share English, maybe it is hard to say what you think.”

I turn to her and she her lips are pressed tight, like she’s fighting to tell me something.

“C? Is something wrong?”

“I think we are a little similar. But you are American, and you think the Western way, so different.

“Maybe that is why you like your Sabunim. He is different, but you share Taekwondo and that is amazing! You know, when I first read your resume, I thought you were a little strange, to know too much Taekwondo, because you are an adult woman. You are the only woman I know who studies a martial art.

“And then I see you, and you are so small and I can’t see you in Taekwondo uniform. But you love it, do you? I see you with your Taekwondo flashcards and your Taekwondo books and your Taekwondo keychain and you talk about it and smile so big! That is why you like Korea, yes? Taekwondo is your big dream.”

“Maybe when I was a kid,” I tell her, but my eyes begin to water. I shut them and steady myself. “It was a hobby. I’m not even that good at it. Nothing serious.”

“You know your Sabunim told me to tell you to stay at his school? We talked about it, maybe thirty minutes? He has strong feeling about you. He says that he wants you to have your black belt. If you don’t finish, no other academy will recognize your studies.”

“That’s not important to me. I’m not in it for the black belt.”

“It’s okay. I told him you would not come back. I think he will understand. Anyway, he used to call me many times before, to talk about your progress. I feel little like your mother.” She laughs, embarrassed.

“I’m sorry about that, C.”

“He would talk and talk and I thought you were so strange! Then you tell me you have little feeling for him and that is funny, because you are American and he is this Taekwondo teacher!”

I bite my tongue briefly. “Yes, it is a little funny.”

“How? How do you have this feeling? And then I think of my German boyfriend, and we speak English but sometimes I don’t understand him. And I still think about him, and he still loves me, I think.

“And maybe I know your feeling. And you are still strange, even with no Taekwondo. I think maybe, you are strange, for giving up your big dream.”

We look up at the sky, and there are no stars, as usual.

When I turn back to her, she’s watching me.

“Everyone needs this strange dream, Pia,” she says.

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How to recover from . . .

. . . a doomed infatuation, without depressing the few-but-questionably-devoted readers of your blog:

1) Drink.

2) Shop.

3) Eat.

I plan on doing all three, because you know you’re starting to look a tad bit sad when you blurt the whole sordid affair to your boss (of all people!). Who, by the way, felt moved enough to invite me to go drinking with her and her friends in Seoul tonight.

A genuine invitation, or a chance to show off the lovesick American? Whatever–I just know I don’t need another two hour stroll to “clear my thoughts.” Jesus.

Last night I actually walked all the way to the train station. I sat down and inflicted poor D with a minute-by-minute account of my last moments with The Instructor, and noticed this young, seemingly homely guy was watching me.

At the time, I didn’t think that much about it, because people always stare at me when I speak English. But when he moved to sit right next to me, I started to get freaky vibes. I was just about to end my conversation when he locked eyes with me and touched my ass.

Shocked, all I could yelp was “What?” He stood straight up and left. I sat there for a few minutes, and then it sunk in. This guy touched my ass. He touched my ass in a train station. He touched my ass in a train station with his actual fingertips.

“Oh. My. God.” I stood up, the cell phone gripped tightly in my fist. “I am going to find that sneaky little motherfucker and beat the shit out of him! I’m going to stick my big toe up his anus!”

“Pia, please don’t do anything that will get you arrested,” D said from the other line.

“He probably thought I was a prostitute,” I said, scanning the area. “He probably heard me and thought I was an easy American slut.” I looked down at my white cotton shirt, jeans and worn-out sandals. “I don’t even look that hot,” I moaned.

“Go home. What that hell are you doing outside anyway?”

“My Taekwondo school is just across the street from my apartment. No, seriously, I face it when I’m standing on the balcony. That’s why I chose to train there. And now I can’t be home when I know there’s a class going on.”

“So you’ve been walking around town all night, every night? No wonder you were mistaken for a streetwalker.”

“I’m so fucking depressed. A few months ago, I ran into him at this park near the school. So all this week, I’ve been spending my lunch breaks there.”

“Wow. That is depressing.”

“I don’t think I even miss him that bad, I just miss my martial arts lessons. I don’t know what to do with myself. I have all this excess energy, and I can’t imagine myself taking it all out on aerobics or guitar lessons or–heaven forbid–sleeping.”

“Then take Taekwondo lessons somewhere else. There are schools everywhere.”

I cringed. “That would only embarrass my old master. You’ve been in Korea long enough, you should know that.”

“Well, can you at least hook up with The Instructor, now that you’re no longer his student?”

“Oh God no. That’s why I left in the first place. God, I can’t find that rapist anywhere. I feel so violated! I’ve been in Korea for nine months, and in all that time no Koreans have ever touched my ass. I only get that kind of shit from foreigners.”

“You’re still looking for him?”

“I have a new purpose now, D. I will not rest until I tear off his nuts and throw him under a bus. To think, he’s probably jacking himself off to that millisecond his fingertips grazed me. I can’t stand it.

“I think I officially hate men now,” I concluded.

*

(P.S. Thanks to those of you who have called or emailed with your support. I haven’t had the energy to respond to everyone, and I’m sorry.

Don’t worry, I’m okay. I’m sad, and lonely, but there’s worse going on in the world.

Also, we should get back on track with my Japan stories and photos soon. Just need to get the recovery chocolates and chick flicks out of the way first.)

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Short Letters

Pia,

For the first time. I’m a lucky man because I know you. Sabunim

*

Pia,

What’s up? It looks like we might go out this coming Saturday night if you’re going to be around. I’m not sure exactly what the plans are, but let me know if that works for you. If not, we’ll get together soon.

I sprained my ankle!! Yeah, it’s going to happen when you’re cliff diving, I’m still learning how to avoid the rocks and sometimes it’s not easy to see from so far up and then it’s too late…LOL

I’ll brush my hair and press my trousers for you…

Are you still engaged to a naval officer? T

* 

Sabunim,

You are a wonderful teacher.

I will not forget you. Pia

*

(Translated from Hangul.)

Pia,

I understand why you left.

I wish I could comfort you. But I don’t know English. I don’t know what to say.

Before you go back to California, I want to promote you to black belt status. You deserve it.

Please keep in contact with me after you go home. I like you. I have always liked you.

See me before you go. Promise.

Sabunim

*

T,

Fine. I’m up for whatever.

Pia

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