9-30

Today was a day that arrived as a resuscitating gasp of fresh oxygen. The antidote to the poison of depression is friendship, and that is exactly what I received today. I needed to do something today. The formula of reading and watching the same three movies in a row until I fell asleep was simply not working. I needed to get out, talk to a human being, and try to escape this prison of homesickness.

I stepped outside of my apartment, onto the narrow street in front of me. I walked around the block to find a towering, red-bricked building labeled Seongchan Church in the Korean Hangul script. This would be my first real time interacting with my new Korean community here in Daejeon. I walked into the church and was led by an usher into the main service. I looked around. I was clearly the only visible foreigner inside the congregation of about 300. As I sat through the service, all conducted in Korean, I began to feel the creeping tension of cultural and linguistic discomfort. I really had no idea what the pastor was talking about, and I relied on the cues around me to follow the congregation in prayer and liturgy. Even in that moment of discomfort, and colliding pretty much head on with the language barrier, I felt peace. This was a group of people who have put their faith in the same thing I have. Who believe in the same things I do. Even if we don't understand each others languages, we are bound together by this unshakable truth we all hold on to. As this peace grew inside of me, I found myself smiling for the first time in about 72 hours. The service concluded in prayer and I stood up to leave, only to be greeted by a man and women sitting next to me in the pew.

"Did you understand what he was saying?" asked the man sitting next to me, in English.

"No, not really," I said, laughing a nervous laugh, unsure of whether or not I would be understood.

He asked me to follow him downstairs, asking me how I had ended up at Seongchan Church. After explaining my situation to him, and that I had just moved to Daejeon on Friday, he paused for a moment. After speaking a few words in Korean to whom I later learned to be his sister, he introduced himself to me as Peter Kim.

He was visiting Daejeon for the Chuseok holiday weekend (Korean Thanksgiving). He stepped aside to make a brief phone call, then asked me if I wanted to come over for lunch.

Wow. It was almost too perfect - I meet an English-speaking Korean family who invites me over for a traditional family meal. The invitation immediately brought a smile to my face, and I stepped into their car and rode with them back to their nearby home. Peter, his father, his mother and his sister invited me inside, and I followed their lead.

Side note: If you want a quick & easy win in Korean culture, take off your shoes at the door.

I sat semi-anxiously as the family members prepared the meal, creating a medley of unfamiliar but delicious smells from the kitchen.

When the meal was ready, Peter hesitantly asked me if it was ok to sit down on the floor, at the traditional Korean dinner table. I laughed a little, and said that it would be a good introduction to Korean culture.

We sat down to eat, and I started nibbling on pieces of Korean cabbage, dumplings, and of course, kimchi. This was really the first, decent homecooked meal I'd had since coming here, and it was everything I could have ever wanted it to be. The perfect blend of family, tradition and generosity was exactly the pick-me-up I needed.

After eating, Peter offered to show me around Daejeon and teach me how the public transportation system works here. Once again, his compassion was exactly what I needed, as a confused, homesick soul stranded far from the comfort zone. We rode both the bus and subway, and explored the urban jungle of Daejeon throughout the afternoon. 

As our feet got tired from walking on sidewalks and standing on the bus, Peter treated me to a literal hole-in-the-wall dinner of Korean noodles and kim-bap (seawood rolls stuffed with all kinds of goodness). He was genuinely interested in me as a human being, and truly wanted me to feel welcome to Korea. I am so incredibly thankful for his kindness and generosity.

We ended the day of adventure with the Korean version of spa, what Peter called a "juju bong." The experience was almost as strange as the name, but in a good way.

We stepped up to the counter and walked into the men's locker room. I soon found myself in a room filled with showers, hot tubs, pools, steam rooms, and dozens of naked men. The juju bong is an institution in Korea, Peter explained to me. Its a part of the culture itself. He directed me through the process: shower, steaming hot tub, cooler pool, sauna, cold shower, freezing cold pool, and another warm shower. My body had no idea what to do with all of these changes in temperature. In some strange way, it was deeply refreshing. I felt relaxed, clean, and collected. We concluded our juju bong experience with a series of dry saunas, each with its own personality, smell and temperature. I absolutely loved it. It was a perfect conclusion to a revitalizing day. I feel blessed, thankful, and reenergized for the challenges ahead.

 

9-28, 29

The sounds of cars whizzing pass in a unending waterfall of mechanized movement. The neon lights glowing, like Vegas everywhere, but written out in an alien language, with strange shapes, images and locations. People. Communities. History. A homogenous society of industry and production - where ancient hierarchies and traditions find a place among a young and globalized generation. Welcome to Korea (or at least my first impression of it).

Day 3 of my life here in Daejeon is just now coming to an end. I feel like right now, in this moment, I have finally obtained enough peace and clarity with my mind and soul to write a semi-coherent blog post.

On Friday, I landed in Incheon International Airport, just outside of Seoul around 5:30 pm Korea time. The 13-hour flight from San Francisco was mostly uneventful. As I drifted in an out of a restless sleep, I slowly began to realize just how far away from my home and comfort zone this plane would be taking me.

A long 4-hour bus ride later, through holiday traffic, I soon found myself sitting with my two bags of luggage in the middle of the Daejeon bus terminal. As I held my luggage close, I began to look around at the bustling, crowded and completely foreign-to-me scene taking place around me. It was at the moment when Joseph, my main contact person for my school, tapped me on the shoulder asking me, "Brett Johnson?"

I said yes, and followed the man into his Hyundai SUV, one of what I would guess to be about 500,000 in this city of 1.5 million. Hyundais, Kias, and Daewoos. Tons of them. Everywhere. I had really never seen traffic like this before. After a hectic and speedy drive through the city of Daejeon, Joseph quickly dropped me off at my current apartment, informing me that this would be just a temporary location. It was a Friday night, and Joseph said he would see me on Tuesday for my first day of work. I stepped inside, closed the door, and took a big sigh of fatigue and shock.

It was at that precise moment when the wave hit me. What. Did. I. Just. Sign. Up. To. Do. Homesickness is not an easy thing to describe. I'm sure it's different for anyone who goes through it, but I can't imagine anyone ever describing it as a pleasant experience. As I stepped further into my temporary Korean apartment, a wave of numbness began to cascade down my body. I took a gulp, and another one, and another one. Panic struck me like a bolt of lightning. I was completely alone, in an a completely unfamiliar city, and in a completely unfamiliar culture.

Culture shock, homesickness, jet-lag or whatever you want to call it, is a painfully holistic experience. It is a disease of the mind, soul, and body. It is an illness that cripples and paralyzes. It is a close cousin of regret and contempt. It is the antagonist of proactivity. It is a cancerous sore of the heart, and once it spreads to the mind, it only grows and grows. What can I say? The first two days in Korea were two of the most challenging days I've gone through in a long time. Then came Sunday.