Lughnasa and the Korea Moon
Friday gratefuls: A safe but long flight. Two smiling happy humans greeting me in the Incheon Airport. Driving through streets with signs in Hangul. Lots of Koreans around here. The view from my son and Seoah’s apartment. Loss of a whole day. Time. Eh? Where did it go? Murdoch the happy. Being on the road again.
Sparks of Joy and Awe: Lift
One brief shining: That moment when the landing gear whines as this heavy, heavy object filled with human lives including mine breaks free of the planet’s surface and soars into the air much more clumsy than a bird but sufficient to its task.
Three or four movies, one Jack Reacher novel, a few hours of fitful sleep and voila! Asia. Korea. Incheon. My son and Seoah. Songtan bus. Walk a bit. To their apartment building. Seojong bu-ro 99. Up 12 floors. The journey was over. The destination achieved.
Next morning now. Thursday disappeared somewhere in the air over Vladivostok. So Friday morning. Looking out over a Korean Sky filled with puffy Cumulus and an overhang of gray. In the distance apartment buildings literally as far as I can see. Back in the direction of the Seoul. I think.
Korean buildings in this area, larger Osan, have some soot and a palette that varies from muted white through muted greens and pinks. Some old style tile roofs but most are gone. Replaced by much less beautiful modernist works. Blocky and unimaginative. But easier to build.
The general impression. A bit tired, used, yet still useful.
Tried to use the microwave. All in Hangul. Which I can parse, but I don’t know the words. Couldn’t figure it out. Ate cold chicken. Seoah showed me when she got back from walking Murdoch.
Traveling has displacement as its objective. Not only the physical body, but also the mind, the soul, the everything that makes home home. All left behind, displaced by a new place, other peoples homes. This is truest when going to a country not only far away but far from the assumptions of home. Asia, for example, when reached by an American soul.
Here the language does not conform to an American’s eye, nor do the faces and habitus of the people. Epicanthic folds. A skin color, definitely not yellow, a lighter tan perhaps also not familiar. Shuffling, hurrying, moving on paths known to them but mysterious to me. Yet all human, most likely thinking about grocery lists, family squabbles, work that needs to get done.
Three workmen have come in to replace the stove. All ready, tools in the inevitable plastic bucket and toolbox. The smaller guy seems to know the work. He’s engaged now turning screws. One guy watches, the other cleans the sink!
About time for a nap. Still tired from the journey even after 12 hours of sleep. Where part of Thursday went. Mostly settling in, learning the Korean way of refuse. Particular bags for fruit, general waste. Separate bins for plastic and cardboard.
