I arrived half a day ago, carrying over a slight illness from the States but still avoiding the quarantine line. There is something so terrible about the clinical approach to sickness - not only are you sick but you are alone as well, in a country that perhaps you do not understand, and it is deafening. To die somewhere strange is not so bad, but to do so alone when there is life all around you is horrible. I hold in my sniffles and move on.
While on the bus to Seoul my father points out various places and how they are significant to him, to his history. He doesn't give a shit about the rest of the world and one wonders if it is ever really possible to do so when your own life is staring you down, when your own memories ressurect themselves through a smoky pane of glass. I nod and listen and I wonder whether I should take pictures. I do not - the windows produce too much glare for a lens. Machinery can't see what we see, and sometimes we have to help things along with gentle cooing, subtle coaxing.
The hotel is very large and it sits on a hill overlooking the city center. My windows have a view of all of Seoul and what strikes me the most is the number of red neon crosses that seemingly hang in the sky, suspended from the tallest buildings. Christianity grasped such a firm foothold here when the missionaries came and I wonder if I would be Christian as well, if I had been raised here. I tell myself that I wouldn't have been - but I know that is merely hope and I know, I know that my God right now is on the other side of a mirror.
It is five in the morning or so, and I cannot sleep. I will write more about Seoul and Korea and whatnot - in the meantime, there is a fairly delicious looking asian pear on a table next to me that requires some attention.
-Rich
never remember never remember what'll you say
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