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I went to Korea to teach English when I was 22. It was January when I arrived, and it was my first time away from home for such a long commitment. Rather than being depressed, though, when I stepped off the plane in Pusan I was excited. For starters, I had never been a minority before, but when you go through that airport and for the first time realize that you don't look like anybody else, you don't dress like anybody else, you don't talk like anybody else, and for icing you are a wreck because the flight was long with two transfers and a lady beside you who snored and used your shoulder as a pillow; oh, and that wise decision to take the exit row meant you couldn't see the movie screen. But you could hear it.
This was 1993, and Pusan airport was on the far fringe of the city. So was my school. We were in the Kimpo area, 1-dong. At least that's where my apartment was; I don't know the number for the district where the school was, but it was walking distance. I lost a lot of weight in the first couple of months thanks to that walk and a severe disagreement between my body and the local food supply.
My apartment was originally a three bedroom family place. My physical bedroom was where the living room used to be; it was made into a small bedroom, and we used the master bedroom for our living space. But we congregated around the kitchen table most of the time.
When I first arrived I had two roommates, a girl and a guy. I don't remember the name of the girl; I'm ashamed of my failing memory, but there you have it. My other roommate is still a good friend of mine. We email each other two or three times a year to catch up on things. I haven't seen him in about five years or so; he came to visit me when we were in California. It was a tremendous experience, because he's truly one of my favorite people in the world, always ready with a good story or a joke, always a friend. He's British, the first British person I ever knew.
To be continued....
