Web 2.0 Mystifies Me

I managed, a few years ago--and actually even a few years before that--to get a hold of some CSS coding techniques. But let me explain what that means. That means that I copied the template for my Livejournal onto my own computer and changed things until it looked the way I wanted it to. I taught it to myself, back in--I do believe--2007, while I worked at the History Center for the first time. I just fiddled with it until it worked the way I wanted it to, but by no means did I actually know what I was doing.

The web design course that I took in high school--even with all the work I put into designing my website every couple of years, teaching myself important things, using the obligatory dumb google question when necessary--that is just absolutely not cutting it anymore. My website is hopelessly out of date because it's still, predominantly, in html!

As I'm sure you can imagine, as a web-restless individual, and with excessive amounts of time on my hands, this does not please me at all. So I've been examining Wordpress, and how I can turn wordpress into a website for me. The biggest issue is getting a fully integrated blog into my site. I have always really hated the way that I couldn't get my blog onto my site and vise versa. The easiest fix to that is to get a blog install that also upgrades the site to a 2.0 platform... but I have no idea where to begin.

I bought a book about wordpress--mostly because I just like to buy books--and I feel like I'm redoing this whole thing. When I first bought my domain name and website, I was in the early years of high school--coming off of an Angelfire site or something like that, way, way, way back when personal websites were a tool more like facebook or myspace. A lot of artists--especially non professional artists--had sites where they could just show off their artwork. It also became a kind of "show off" to see what you could do with the web too. I used whatever I could get my hands on to design my sites, and I did get good at it, but it gets more and more complicated every day. I don't have the knowledge to back it up anymore.

So I've been frustratedly flipping through this book on wordpress, trying to understand what's going on. I do want to have a fancy website by September, so that I can make a lot of necessary changes to my "web presence". I want an integrated blog (which I will of course update with a lot more frequency, hardeeehar), and an integrated set of purchasing tools... and what that means, is just that I can get this Zazzle plug in to work. It also means getting flash galleries for my artwork, so that I don't get that nasty "popup blocker" notice when I try and look at the art on the site. I feel like some people get error messages when they visit KP because I have messy code that looks potentially malicious to an browser.

Anyway, I also want to get a domain name that better reflects the reality of what's on the site. The site was first named "KagaiPalace", in 2003 or 2002, after the "Kagai Family" in my novels, Demon's Broken World and Serpent of Souls. They were the evil demon family, that used to brutalize the mortals just for fun--back in the day when I was young enough to understand evil as being less complex. The theme for the website was full of black and bright colors, a "tortured", "gothic" teenager's dream. I remember I looked up "evil" in my online romanji Japanese dictionary, and it spit out "Kagai" and that is how these people got their name. A pair of them appeared in Serpent of Souls much later in my life, and they were much more fluid, complex characters. But still pretty evil and manipulative.

Now that you know that, of course, it's obviously not an appropriate name for a web portfolio of my own artwork, in a era of the internet where one does not fear putting out one's full name. I need a domain with my own name in it, on a web 2.0 platform, with a blog. In two months. It's doable. I know that. I could use a vacation for a couple of weeks so that I have the time to just do it. Oh! What excellent timing... the state government is shutting down, and I'll be out of work! Sounds like a great time to do a website.

The Past Six Months

Have been rather uneventful and quiet. I'm now approaching my seven-month mark here in the USA. It's hard to believe. When you first arrive anywhere, you feel like a visitor. When you know the lay of the land, it's a really enchanting place to be. When I first arrived here, I definitely felt as if I--as a visitor--had lots to learn and take from this delightful city, that was also my home.

Of course the longer one remains in visitor mode, the less and less appealing it gets. After a while, that slips away and you simply become a ghost, going thought day-to-day tasks and ignoring the things that used to be so exciting. Constantly worrying about the future, excessively saving money--and then binging later. Being this kind of visitor--a permanent visitor--becomes exhaustively lonely.

The next step in my life is looming over me without a lot of nice things to say. I vaguely remember my terror before I went to Hamline. I remember how exhausted I was with stretched relationships from high school, how anxious I was to leave that place and start new, in a place with fewer restrictions, especially on the types of relationships that were available to me. I had no idea what was possible, and that was the most difficult part. I believed it would be just as difficult, and in exactly the same ways, that all my previous experiences had been. And I didn't have the energy to meet my old life with a new face again.

This is how I feel about Chicago. There are a lot of things I'm going into blind, but there are more things that I think I know a thing or two about. I'm scared of the overly academic mumbo-jumbo that I see written all over the place. I'm scared of the overly difficult questions posed by the people there--an academic tool that I fear will be used to pull me away from the things that ignite my life. I am afraid that I will be tethered to this academic jargon, and pulled away from every day people with it. It is much the same way that my English vocabulary and eloquence fell away after a year in Korea. I know that I am naturally introverted, cautious, and a deep thinker. But I have worked hard to become something above that. I cannot let it atrophy, and I already feel the effects of it here, sitting in my dark town home, far away from the kind of boisterousness that keeps me going.

Then, of course, there is the classic fear, the one I felt before Hamline. "What if, in the end, I just don't fit?" Hamline was a big school with a lot of different people. Chicago is a bigger school with even more different people. But graduate programs are tight knit and close, and with their demands, they rarely wander away. And what about all the oddities in my character: the year abroad, the year teaching, the devotion to the women's center, the irreverence for academic inquiry, and a serious desire only to make a difference in a community? Even as I type these things, I realize that this is an irrelevant question. Many of the people I met when I visited had spent time abroad. Many of the people I met were in similar situations to me.

I also feel a similar anxiousness to my first few years at Hamline. There was a particular moment, when I was bored at work, in my first semester, when I began looking up all the history courses that were offered. And it dawned on me, after reading them several times over, that there were no courses in Classical history. No Rome, no Greece--nothing before the modern era. I choked a little, now suddenly aware that I had come to a place that was not what I thought it was. The same is happening now, as I browse for courses. I see no liberation theology course, no social justice oriented theories. Only courses on serious theologians that I've never heard of before.

Then, of all my fears, there is this one. With three courses considered a full course load, I will have very little time for serious language work. I am so committed to Arabic language. I am so, sincerely, utterly devoted to learning it. But I chose a Christian degree program, with several electives, yes, but with its own biblical language requirements, and all of them with reading goals, not speaking. My biggest fear at this point is that I will be unable to accomplish all of these things--that at the last minute, I will be convinced, once again, that I do not have time for Arabic. I cannot be convinced of that. Fluency in Arabic may be the only thing capable of paying off these enormous loans.

Obviously I will need to have a serious discussion with my adviser right away. My language commitments may cause me to be unable to do the dual degree program that I am so interested in. But I may also be able to do both degrees separately. If I still maintain a commitment to Minneapolis--and particularly to the Somali community, as I have now--it may be more advantageous for me to take a public policy degree at the Humphrey.

There are a lot of unknowns in all of this, and like I said at the beginning, I can see a lot more of the scary ones that I can the happy ones.

I had a dream the other day which spoke to all of these fears. I dreamed that I had to say goodbye to all the Somali ladies, the moms of the kids that I work with. I had to explain to them that I was leaving, but it wasn't because I was moving. It was because I had died. I had come back as a ghost to explain to them why I wouldn't be with there anymore. That is what I am most afraid of, that the part of me who is able to be a member of this hodgepodge, chaotic, and beautiful community--the part of me that worked so hard to not be afraid of such sincere interaction--that part of me will die if I go to academia. Part of me insists that it has to, because I don't want anyone or anything to replace this place in my mind.

So, I have a lot of fears. And very little assurance that they will be answered. Then there is logistics, the nightmare of moving my things, transporting my life, finding housing, paying for it--everything seems too difficult to swallow. But I know that I will get it done soon. I know it will come together in a couple months. I know that I'll feel safer soon. At least I hope so.

New Artwork!

So! I've been up to a lot of things, but predominantly, right now--it's working, watching tv, and drawing. Here are the two most recent images that I've posted. As always, you can see these images on my website at http://www.kagaipalace.com.

 This image is called "Barren Tree". It's mostly a filler image--I wanted to draw more trains, a tree, and it came together through shape. I added some buildings that are more American, especially a few skyscrapers in Midwestern cities.

This image is called "The Mask." I wanted to do some playing with my white space, which I usually use as a border and frame for the inner drawing. This time, I wanted to use white as I used my colors, not as a frame, but as a part of the piece.

You can check it out at its page on Kagaipalace: http://www.kagaipalace.com/images-m-34-themask.htm

Happy Easter!

Easter never used to be one of my favorite holidays, but over the years of "adulthood", I've really started to value it more and more. In the Christian sense, its a holiday about triumph over suffering, pain, and (especially for Mary Magdalene) total loss. When you think everything has been taken from you--even the body of a beloved teacher--suddenly all that pain is conquered by a new life that defies all common sense. In the 'pagan' sense, Easter celebrates the return of spring, and the time when the earth shakes back to life, wakes up as if out of a dream. In a consumerist sense, it's a great excuse for some amazing chocolate, and although a lot of people rail against the "consumerising" of Easter, I take a great deal of childish pleasure out of my Cadbury eggs and chocolate bunnies. Honestly, I don't see anything wrong with that, because the little bit of childish delight over chocolate is in my mind a token of the joy that comes along with renewed life. It's not the whole thing of it, at least, so there's no reason to reject it.

Since it's about new life, Easter is also a good day to set new resolutions, since by now all the new year's resolutions from January have obviously been tossed out the window. I figure it's best to set resolutions for a maximum of six months anyhow, since that's really the length of my attention span. At least for the next few weeks, I want to make an effort to be more present with my time. While I was trying to make a decision over graduate school, I got overwhelmed and let other things take over my life, so that I wasn't using my personal time to actually rejuvenate. Mostly I was just sleeping or watching tv or just fretting over school. So, I guess, as I celebrate new life, I also am making a commitment to it, so that I can be a little bit more present. (Baby steps, though, the real goal is to actually be awake BEFORE I get on my bus in the morning, thus spending the morning preparing for the day instead of desperately trying to cram in more sleep.)

I went to church with my mum at the Minneapolis Episcopal Cathedral (St. Marks) which is just a great church. I'm looking forward to getting more involved this summer, because in addition to that traditional-ness that I like, it's also deeply involved in community service and education.

So over the past few weeks I've been deeply ingrained in a decision-making process, which is almost, but not entirely, finished. I had some serious things to consider, a lot of inspiration, some things that let me down, and what I think will be blessings in disguise.

I took a trip to visit both Harvard Divinity School and the University of Chicago Divinity School in the first week of April. I learned a lot about my situation when I visited the schools, and I gained a lot of insight into why I was so nervous.

The first of these concerns was that I wanted an applied degree. I had originally applied for an academic degree, arguing that I wanted to study Islam so that our public better understood it, and so that I could search out stories that had been untouched. As I looked at tuition bills, course schedules, and degree requirements, though, I really felt like I didn't want to do all that. I did want to know more about the Qur'an, and I wanted to speak Arabic, and I wanted to study the history, but my biggest concern was that I wanted to do it in context, and I was deeply concerned that the degree I was pursuing would not allow me the time or the consideration to put my studies to use in our world today. The work that I do at the Women's Center empowers me and is a huge part of what I believe is healthy community involvement. It isn't the end-all-be-all, but it did teach me that academic inquiry is the gateway to becoming all of myself, not the final goal.

So the first thing that I learned about my trip was the most definitive: I want an applied degree, and I want a Master of Divinity.

At Harvard I felt really excited about all the amazing things that were happening there. It felt really amazing to be around other people who were passionate about the same things as me. But, what I gained from Harvard was a renewed passion and a sincere reality check: when I had my discussion with the financial aid director, it became very clear that taking on the necessary debt would be a very irresponsible thing to do. I left the school knowing that there was absolutely no way, but more importantly, I felt inspired in some ways, because I knew now more than ever what I wanted to do.

So I visited the University of Chicago, and the mood was extremely different. A much more academic school, its goal is really to prepare students to become professors. I struggled through some of the Master of Arts discussion, then went into the Dean of Students office, and said, point blank: "I think I want an MDiv instead." Her response was: "YES! Of course! I knew that as soon as you asked that question in the forum..."

And in some ways, that was really want sealed the deal. I had a discussion with the Director of Ministry Studies, went to an MDiv dinner at her home with the other prospective and current students, and listened to a little bit of what they were doing. I wasn't madly in love with the program or the school, but I had a much more realistic connection with Chicago than I had with Harvard: the program was close, sincere, and devoted to what they were doing. The faculty were close with the students, and field work was a major priority for MDiv students. Financially, the environment was more sound because I knew that I could earn my living expenses, partially because they were more reasonable, and because more students worked. I was also really inspired by Chicago itself and the neighborhood that the school was in. I did not feel as though I was in an elitist place, nor did I feel too 'unrefined' to exist in that world. It had a sense of authenticity that I really felt good about.

When I returned home, my major decision was not between schools. It was between taking the opportunity in front of me at Chicago, or staying another year in Minneapolis working for the community that is important to me here. It was between taking on new debt, or waiting before I incured more. It was about going through an open door, or waiting to see what other doors opened if I waited. It was between taking another year to learn from the community, or going into a place where I can be all of myself at the same time.

I had a lot of questions. Now that I knew I wanted an MDiv, could I find a school that would give me total financial aid? Would I become a disconnected academic who was disengaged from the community? Would I have time for my personal life, my art, and my writing? Could I handle postponing my dreams for another year?


In the end, I chose to attend the University of Chicago for a Master of Divinity. It was mostly for the community, the closeness of the cohort, and their willingness to help me do what I felt called to do. But most of all, it was about potential growth, and the amazing opportunities that I could pursue there. It was not as wide and diverse, perhaps as Harvard, but it also was less overwhelming. It has strength in its specialty, which for me can be a very valuable thing: a more succinct program can help reel me in. Although I was at first reluctant to choose a school I was less enthusiastic about, I thought about other experiences I had, and realized that in the end, I WAS more enthusiastic about my life in Chicago. From there, the decision was obvious.

I'm nervous now about how I will have to change to be a successful graduate student. I worry that I may not have time to engage with real people, or I may become too intellectually obsessed to be approachable by just a man on the street. But, I feel confident that I can navigate away from those things, and that I have what it takes to beat those things. The life of a university student is really who I am, and although I always want to expand myself, stretch my comfort zone, and have a tangible effect in my community, I know that in order to do it right, the core of who I am must be at home. Then I will truly have the strength I need to always become something more, and to really make an impact in my world.

A Novel in the Works

Once again my mind has run off on a tangent with a novel: this time, I've returned to an old, old story that I crafted a bajillion years ago. Over time, these characters have been shaped, and I think I finally have the mental compass to write it.

The story has always been loosely based on the assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand, where seven very young conspirators lined the streets of Sarajevo, their goal to kill the archduke (and heir to the Hapsburg throne) in the name of Serbian freedom. According to most sources, they were supported by a secret organization in the Serbian Military called the Black Hand. The assassination is the catalyst of what began the first world war as countries jumped in to either police Serbia's action, or protect their sovereignty.

I've always been fascinated with the character of Gavrilo Princip, a teenager of 19, dying of tuberculosis, who for a moment held the trajectory of the modern world in his hands. I wonder what made him angry enough to want to kill, and what enticed him to believe that assassination was the key.

This incarnation of the story surrounds Michael and Arie, two brand new adults who have fallen madly in love with each other. Michael spends most of his time in the novel falling apart: he struggles with an authority problem, fails out of school, alienates his friends, and turns to violent means to reassert his identity. He is the one who will mirror Princip and fire the shot. Arie desperately tries to hold onto him, and the farther he slips the more she clings, until her rage as well is taken out in a conspiratorial plot: in a way, he drags her into his mess, but her inability to let go chains her to him.

I really want the novel to be about people who fall apart, and especially young people who have no outlet. I want it to demonstrate what happens when the remarkable creative rage in teenagers is channeled by the wrong kinds of people. I want it to be a love story that has all the right attractions, and all the wrong realities. I want it to be a portrait of a real city through the caricature of this sci-fi city that they live in--imaginative enough to be intriguing, but real enough to say what needs to be said. And real enough that it draws on my own real experiences of city living, loneliness, and moving through different windows of life.

This hasn't been the only thing on my mind lately. Graduate school decisions are 100% prevalent and I'm really struggling through them. I knew I would listen to the voice of fate and the direction I was being nudged, but I'm either being really stubborn, or that voice is just tired of telling me what to do all the time.

Things for 1968 are also going slowly. I feel bogged down by work that is crowding out some of the duties that I prefer. That said, I'm learning a lot from every bit of research I do on this exhibit, and it's really inspiring: I get to know a little bit more about why we are where we are today from this history.

But, since I have a chest cold, I leave this post with a pledge to post more often, and just a line from this novel that I'm so excited about, narrated by Jacques, one of the men who convinces Michael that he should assassinate the "archduke':

"That is one thing our people have never been faulted on: we know a good love story, and when it walks into a room with us we can feel it just the same as when someone sticks a gun against the back of our skull. Although the end reaction is quite different, the first assumption takes us over in much the same way."

March Snowstorm Blues

There's a phenomenon in Minnesota--a phenomenon that probably all the northern states experience, but perhaps Minnesota experiences it in more severity. It is the March Snowstorm. You see, in a typical year (and this year was not typical) the months of January and February are often too cold to produce heavy snowfall, and thus in March, when the weather begins to warm up, and the pre-spring showers arrive, we get blanketed with inches upon inches.

That hasn't happened too much this year, though we narrowly missed a huge storm earlier this month. Right now, however, some warm false-spring days led to rain. All that rain fell for about 24 hours, and then a cold snap plowed through, turned it into tiny little bits of ice, and then turned into huge caricature-worthy snowflakes. Now here I am, March 23, 4 months back in this illustrious country of mine, (I accidentally typed country of money there: Freudian slip?), sitting in a coffee shop in a scene worthy of a Christmas card.

Although I believe everyone who reads my blog is also friends with me on facebook, I have some exciting news about the schools I applied for. I have been accepted at all four!!

That includes!
Harvard Divinity School
University of Chicago Divinity School
Claremont Graduate School of Religion
University of Chicago Humanities Creative Writing Option

Now. I am sorry to say that I have already turned down one of these schools. Although I was really honored and flattered that the Creative Writing program admitted me (I was iffy if even that would happen), they offered financial aid to less than 2% of their applicants. I was not one of them, and indeed they only offer half-tuition scholarships. Thus, I knew right away that financially, I would never have been able to support my education there. Sadly I had to turn them down.

I've planned a very exciting visit to Harvard and Chicago for their new student days, which are conveniently right back to back. I get to stay in Chicago with Janelle, and I'm also really excited about THAT, because I haven't seen her since I first got back.

Right now my biggest concern is money. All of the schools, except for Creative Writing, offered me some form of financial aid. Harvard and Chicago both awarded me scholarship grants for about half of tuition. However, once you add the cost of living to tuition, that aid goes down to about 1/4 or 1/3. Since I am already in debt over Hamline, I am really quite concerned about how I will pay for these schools, regardless of which one I choose. Chicago offered me more money, but also has steeper tuition, although the cost of living may be cheaper in the city. It would also be really nice because I have at least one friend there. Really, though, the Harvard program has always been the most exciting to me, and without having any experience of the schools, Harvard is really my top choice. That may change after I visit. Harvard is the best of the best--that name is known throughout the world. In reality, I'm a little afraid that I'll go there, feel totally out of place among the "best of the best" and choose not to go.

My other big concern is the work that I'm doing here in Minneapolis. I love my different jobs and the opportunities I have to make a difference here, in a community that I understand and love. Moving to a new city, even if I plan to come back, is a big commitment, and I will definitely lose opportunities.

Anyway. It's a big decision and I'm super stoked about my upcoming visits.

March is finally here.

I'm pleased to announce that life is grand. Despite how exhausting the last few weeks have been, I feel like it was all worth it.

I attended the Mahle Lecture in Progressive Christian Thought last night at Hamline. It was fantastic. The lecturer, Sara Miles, wrote an amazing book about how she suddenly found herself a Christian convert in middle age: as a married, lesbian, left-wing journalist. She talks about how she followed the Christian faith not because of the ritual or the church, but because of the physicality of communion, feeding people and being fed, and responding to the reality that everyone is indeed hungry. She shows the Christian faith in all of its guttural grit, absurdity of physics, and reality that makes it really eye opening for someone who grew up "going through the motions."

I grew up in the church and I "did church." I was required to do church, and I did it. When I was old enough, I got a job in the church nursery, because I realized that I didn't like the doctrine and the ritual, but I did enjoy serving the community: forming relationships with the babies and their parents, watching them grow and learn. The rest of it felt very fake to me, but that aspect of community and relationship did not.

One of the things that this woman really stresses in her book and in her lecture was the visceral emotion of Christianity. She is also speaks very potently about the way that the Christian tradition speaks about the life cycle: your god was born from a "humiliated teenage girl", suffered and died, rose up into new life like a seed, and commanded you to eat him. The Christianity that she experiences is full of raw emotion, and it comes from how hard she works for her Food Pantry. This is her primary ministry, and the reason she has become famous. She runs a food pantry in San Fransisco right off the altar of her church: truly, literally, inviting the poor and the disenfranchised, and sometimes the cheaters, and the drug addicts, and the unbreakable widows, to the table of God, to partake in a feast. She was able to write down and show me, the girl who grew up able to recite the entire service, what this stuff meant--not only what it meant to her, but what it could mean to everyone.

I was really pleased to meet her and I really learned a lot from the whole experience. Now that I have some time opening up in the upcoming weeks, I will actually be able to involve myself in something like this. That's the scoop from this side of the world for now...

Its a double snowpocalypse.

Well, Minneapolis is now worthy of the Colbert Report, since he's been really concerned about the occurrences of thundersnow. It's still snowing and we've already got 16 inches in some places. I've been in the house for quite some time. No where to go, anyway. It's President's Day and I've got time to kill.

Been working on my originals--fixing the water damage from the massive collision between me and Korea last year. It's been really exciting. I think you'll all really like what I did with it--at least the one I'm working on now. Anyway, it's my brother's birthday today, so Happy Birthday Aidan, and I'm looking forward to African food tonight!!

Transititions can make you terribly busy.

And I've definitely been going through a transition. It's hard to believe that I've only been in the USA for a little over two months. In those two months, I've done a lot, but I'm really happy with the things I've been able to do in just these two months.

I'm currently working, which is spectacular. I sent out resume after resume, and I'm just now starting to hear the curt "no's", but luckily it doesn't matter, because I've been hired to work at the Minnesota Historical Society on the 1968 Exhibit. Long ago, after returning from Ghana, I worked at the society for the summer and into the semester, and one of my projects was helping out with a planning grant for this exhibit. Although they didn't get the grant that I actually helped with, it's really exciting to be back on the project again--now that it's in its final stages. I'm databasing again, but there's no better thing to be working on a database for. Instead of keeping track of addresses and purchases or receipts, I'm tracking down artifacts, images, and working with great designers to catalog the ideas in their floor plans. This exhibit is a traveling exhibit, and it's going all over the country to show the legacy of 1968. Before I worked on this project, I didn't really realize that 1968 was such a pivotal year in our country's history. But this is the year that Martin Luther King was shot (April), the year that Robert Kennedy was shot (June), the year that Nixon won the presidency, and a Minnesotan ran against him. The year started off with the Tet Offensive, which showed to many Americans, who were experiencing war for the first time in their living rooms, on the television set, that the war in Vietnam was not the rosy picture that Korea or WWII had been. There were riots at the DNC in Chicago, protests at the Miss America pageant, and it was also the year that gold medalists at the Olympics raised their fists in the Black Power symbol.

The 1960s as a whole was hugely tumultuous, but 1968 as a year really shows just how tumultuous it was. And every time I watch Jon Stewart rant about conservative pundits, or show them ranting and how little sense it makes, I think of the rise of conservatism, which was also happening--perhaps less famously--in the 1960s. I think the resonance from fear of hippies, fear of dissidence from within, fear of communists and an upcoming arms race, that ripple effects from these 1960s events are what unknowingly drives these folks. That was, in theory, the original rage. Yesterday I got a chance to look at some new photographs we got in from the George Wallace Rally on July 4, 1968 in the Twin Cities. It was pretty radical and interesting to think that maybe this is where our political madness may have began.

Right now, except for interns, I'm the only one working on the project who isn't of the generation who made this year. So it's really intriguing and enlightening to be able to go back and really see all those pivotal moments that I learned about as history, but are most certain not history, and most certainly still living in our nation's psyche today. (As well as the psyche of our Exhibit Designers.) Anyway, I'm loving it.

The best part about this, though, is that it's a part time job. I spend half my time working on this project, but in the other 20 hours of my week, I have other stuff to do. I'm tutoring for a Karen refugee family in Saint Paul, through a tutoring service that hired me in December. Although some of the bureaucracy of working with a third-party contractor to the public school system has been exhausting and frustrating, I am absolutely in love with my kids and their family. They are kind, full of life, and welcoming. I love, love, love working with refugees and immigrants. As a teacher of English, especially to young children, I can really see the results that I am giving. That's what I loved about teaching the little kids in Korea. The changes and the progress was very, very clear. Working with refugee families is hugely important to me as well. I can be an aid to people who are new to my country so that we can work together to make it our country. For kids it's very much about success in school and English skills. It means a lot to me to be able to help these kids.

So on top of that, there's the East African Women's Center. I volunteered there before my time abroad, and I was so grateful and happy that they wanted me to come back and continue to volunteer. I love every minute I spend there--not always because I'm enjoying every minute, but because every minute feels totally worthwhile and 100% valuable. I'm volunteering with the pre-school, which is an absolute madhouse most of the time, but occasionally I get some of these adorable kids to sit down and read, or listen to classroom rules. They are kids to the core--full of love, full of rebellion, full of understanding, and really confused on why they can't communicate with me. The new kids don't speak English. Some of them hadn't left their apartments until they came to the center. Some were born and raised in camps,  their mothers are without husbands and without sponsors. For some, their behavior totally reflects that, and we constantly have discipline problems. Others just passively sit and pretend to understand what's going on around them. But for a 3 year old, who has just learned how to speak his own language, and then gets transplanted to another country, where people look funny and talk in worlds that he's never heard before--it's just plain unsettling. I can't imagine how confusing it must be. I can't imagine how their little brains are putting this all together, or whether their little brains can put it all together.

What I do know, though, no matter how many discipline issues there are, or how powerless I can feel at times, that the tiny little victories that I can score with these kids make so. so. much of a difference. I try to imagine what it would be like if some of these kids went to kindergarten without coming here first. All I can see is the school system eating them up and spitting them out, their frustrated teachers, with 29 other kids to deal with, branding them as trouble makers and never being able to teach them anything about school. Never giving them a chance to learn what being in a classroom means, or how to interact with other kids, the school system would turn them into delinquents before they even knew what that meant. They just wouldn't have the resources or the time, nor would they be able to work with whole families the way that the Women's Center can.

When I first got back to the states, I got together with some old friends to see if perhaps we could rekindle friendships. After explaining to me that he worked at a store, one of these old friends announced that Somalis are thieves. ("I don't care if that's racist, because it's true--they steal stuff and I have to keep an eye on them.") When I see how people who don't know any Somalis see Somali people, it infuriates me. But the sad truth is that people can't even imagine what these kids and their families have gone through, nor can they understand the challenges they face in the US, after the camps and after the warfare. Here in the USA we like to think that when we bring people here--when we "get them out", we've done everything we need to do. But anyone who's lived in a foreign country for just a little while--or even traveled in a foreign country--understands that culture shock, language barriers, and bureaucracy barriers--not to mention xenophobia--can be a barrier just as crippling. Then people get labeled, because they become frustrated, act out against the system, or make mistakes. Little mistakes in our country are not easily forgiven. What do you think would happen if a new immigrant, a young Somali man, gets on the light rail for the first time, but mistakenly doesn't understand how, where, or even that he needs to purchase a ticket? What happens when the transit police ask him for that ticket? Well, when you think that all Somalis are thieves, there's not exactly any room in your head for "maybe he just doesn't understand."

Anyway, all of this has been a lot to swallow in two months. I've been keeping up at work, for the most part, but in my personal time, I've just been playing video games and sleeping. At the end of the day, when I come home, the silence of my personal life can be a little daunting. Luckily, I have tons of amazing people that I work with all day.

University Application Essays

I've been enjoying the past week and a half at my father's house in Staunton, VA. I like Staunton, with its remarkable architecture, warmer weather, and gorgeous hills. I also really like Trinity Church, where my dad is now presiding. It's a really active church, the kind of community that offers excellent outreach--a daily lunch program for homeless--and a lot of spiritual practices. It's a really well-rounded example of what a good church can be, and I like to see that, because growing up church was always kind of an "obligation to be perfect" rather than a "calling to serve and grow." I certainly got that calling to serve and grow in my religion (convoluted in its development as it is)... but I don't think I got them from my church. Now I get to see a church that actually embodies what I think religion should be. It's neat.

But, my time these days is centered around application essays.

I've just gotten my Harvard Divinity School essays in working condition. They're both ready for the last pass, I think, but only a few others have read them, so the editing process has been slim.

I've been juggling the new year's resolution of a new novel. I feel almost hesitant to commit to it, because I don't believe that I'll finish it. I almost finished Children of the Eaten King (or maybe I decided to title it Daughter of the Eaten King... couldn't decide if one was more important than the other) but I got caught up in the last 2% of the novel.

But I have been turning over so many ideas for the last few years, and I really want to get them out and onto paper. Without a real job these days, I need to feel as though I've accomplished things. Drawings are great--and I am accomplishing drawings--but you can't really draw with that kind of precision for days and days on end. It boggles your mind, ruins your eyes, and causes cramp hands. So I need a second creative outlet.. and I really, really need to recapture my writing.

The current idea I'm turning over in my head is a use of an old character I got several years ago. It's not a human character, but rather a character based on Lake Superior. In this world, a deep, endless lake in the north is an endless attraction for humans. They build cities along it's shorelines, and stare endlessly at it's beautiful horizon. But they won't touch it. They'll never touch it, because it disappears, and no one knows where it goes--nor does anyone know what happens to someone in it when it goes. Airships cross the sky around it as if daring it to reach up and grab them, but only a few ever dare to get near it.

Those are the treasure hunters. They are crews of outlaws, usually, who take advantage of the lake's disappearance. They pilot airships that are half airship, half sailing cruiser--things that can sit on the water for moments at a time, searching below for the ancient cities of the lost people. When the lake disappears, they can fly into the baren landscape it leaves, pick it clean of the artifacts of the ancients, and sell them on the black market in Ariana, a city built by the aristocrats, artists, merchants, and madmen that are inevitably attracted to the lake.

One particular captain of these ships has run across some bad blood with a minor aristocrat in Ariana. In order to pay his debts, he is forced to take on the aristocrat's youngest daughter--a pioneer woman in many ways, but not exactly the easiest woman to work with. A premier scholar in the societies at the bottom of the lake, Jessica has fought her way to the top in a world crafted for gentleman. She doesn't take no for an answer, and often pushes for her goals and her goals alone.

The captain and his crew, especially an older man by the name of Tristan, take an immediate disliking to Jessica. Assuming she is better than them, she snubs her nose at their work, and lauds her own as enlightened. Unable to remove her from their midst, because of the captain's debt to her father, they are forced to put up with her, even though she has absolutely no understanding of dangerous sea life. When she pushes them too far to find a particular artifact, the crew is thrown headlong into one of the greatest secrets of their world: they are afloat on the sea when it disappears. Their discovery uncovers buried secrets about Tristan, and even more unexpectedly, Jessica as well.

I think it offers great tropes without outdoing them. But who knows. I'm itching to write it, but I have to write these kinds of.. previews, first. Now, however, my computer battery has almost completely died, and I'm due back at home for dinner.

Returning Home: Twice

Well, sadly I did not get around to doing any posting on Ellora and Ajanta. But I have a lot of spectacular things to say about it. You'll all have to stay tuned for when I write a book, which is (thanks to a mostly botched Nano) about 23,000 words in the making. This is the first year that I've started Nano successfully and really failed. Ah well. I'll survive, and over the next few months I definitely think I'm going to put some effort into this book. It's a travel memoir so if anyone has an eye for that sort of thing, let me know and you can critique it to shreds.

It feels as though I had two home comings after I left India. First, I came back to Korea. I met with all my friends, and visited all my favorite restaurants. I visited my students, my old school, and met up with my boss. I also went to Taekwondo for the last time, and visited with them as much as I could. I did receive my black belt, which is a souvenir that I am exceptionally proud of. I went to the Jimjilbang and soaked in a cool bath in a sweltering, bejeweled room. I also had a pretty wild night in Itaewon, which oddly enough, I had never actually done before. All in all, it was a dramatic, excellent send off with all the things that I both loved and hated about Korea. It was an excellent last snapshot, and I really had a great time. Oh, and I ate myself SILLY.

Then, four days later, I pulled an all nighter to get on a plane back to the USA. I went to Shisha house and enjoyed several hours of joking and talking about classes, just as we did every night. Smoked a couple shishas and had a couple hard ciders (Fred has an excellent hard cider at Shisha house that I didn't try for such a long time--then once I did I couldn't go back!) Then Kristen and I had an epic crap-suitcase-dumping adventure at 2:30am. After that, I loaded up the taxi, hugged my girl goodbye, and headed for the airport.

Even though I was in trouble timewise, there were no problems at the airport. I had to pay the expected overweight baggage charge, but another couple had it much worse than me, since they had like 12 bags, all of which appeared to be WAY over the limit. They were pulling things out of suitcases and dumping them in plastic bags--all sorts of odd things.

The flight was long but uneventful, until I got to Chicago, and read on the news ticker that hours after I had left, shelling had occurred between the North and the South. That was surreal, because suddenly it was as if I really, truly wasn't there anymore. Not only did it seem like distressing news, but it also seemed as though it was far away--not my country. I didn't have the same perspective on the event as I would have had if I were in Daejeon.

Rather overwhelmed by the amount of conversations I could hear around me, I wandered through the airport, got on my flight, and returned home without any hitches. A nice guy, who helped me get my heavy suitcases off of the customs baggage claim in Chicago, got nailed for having green beans in his book bag.

There were massive tears at the airport in Minneapolis. It must have looked like a movie to everyone else watching.  Then, after pronouncing that I was done crying, (and failing) we picked up my baggage, and went to eat burgers at Big Ten down the street from my house. Then I went to the Eden Prairie Mall and wandered around like a kid in a candy store until my legs and stomach refused to let me continue moving.

I am going to do some backlog posting about India, I think... just to get the memories down. Stay tuned for that, and for some amusing posts about reverse culture shock.

I have bad, bad blogger's shame.

I've been horrible about posting here in India. Internet has been iffy at best, and likes to quit and pretend not to work.

We've been teaching song and dance and drama to the kids these days. Some of the other teachers and I wrote out words for the Waka Waka song for the kids to preform--instead of Africa, this time for India. The kids love it, and so do the teachers. It's a lot of fun. Teaching this kind of stuff is a lot harder for me, though. I'm not used to it, and I'm not used to the kind of work necessary to do it.

Overall, though, it's been a great experience. This weekend, I'm heading out for a trip to Ellora and Ajanta. I'll tell you all about it! (I hope... if there's internet. ^.~)

Living in Mumbai--it's madness.

In the only Jewish studies class I ever took, my professor told me that the Hebrew Testament is full of the distrust of cities. I can see why. Cities have a mind of their own. They eat things and dissolve things, and turn people and buildings and trees and oceans into things they weren't before. Life is more difficult in a city, but it is also so much more interesting. There are things you forget and things you learn, and once you are consumed by a city its pretty hard to fight your way out again.

I can't imagine what these people would say if they came to Mumbai now. Actually, there was once a strong Jewish population here in Mumbai, one of the oldest and least accosted Jewish communities in the world. They were said to have come here after the destruction of one of the temples by Rome (first or second is undecided upon), and since then lived here in relative peace, absorbed by the world of many-faced gods. Now, or so my Holy Cow book tells me, most have moved to Israel, and the population here is almost none.

Mumbai is definitely one of those cities with a power to consume, absorb, elevate, and permanently change. The local trains are grated tin cans that shudder down the tracks, and people hang out the doors (that are never closed) and jump off as it is still moving. They fight to get on, and it is common to be blooded by entering and exiting the train. It's like the new version of a child's coming of age even--the day the boy enters the Men's car on the Mumbai local train, he is no longer in the world of women, where they push and yell, but understand--now he is in the world of men, where you fight and maim and rage just to get on and off and ride along the tracks--he is in the world of men as he travels with thousands of people in the tide of the city.

Women, luckily, we get to stay in the ladies car our whole life, and never have to go through the jarring experience of that violent ride. Though, the fisherwomen and the commuters, and the sellers and everyone else, wearing full saris and dressed like flowers, these women can throw a good punch, catch you at the door of the train, sling a good curse word in your direction, and--as I discovered--steal your phone out of your bag without you even noticing. There's less blood for sure, but probably just as much madness.

There's something carnal yet warped about living in this kind of city. Like it's full of ancient brutishness, but also a shrine to the mad god, part of a trance that the shaman goes on--part of a vision that makes no sense, yet somehow belongs in the grand scheme of a larger, less insane picture.

I was supposed to go to Bandstand today, just to go walking and exploring in my neighborhood. But I got busy with writing. I've been quite bad about blogging, but the internet comes in and out, and there are six of us sharing it. But I have been writing on my own computer. I'm preparing for Nano, and I'm journaling a lot there. I've also been playing an embarrassing amount of videogames, which make my neck hurt, but carry me far far away from this world for hours, and that makes me feel good when I need it. Doing this work is hard. It's hard in a different way from Korea, and it's easy in some ways--I don't always have to be on my toes teaching. But it is hard, and it taxes you. I take so long to get acclimated to a place, and I don't have much longer here. Twenty days, most of which will be working. I do have a couple weekend trips in mind, so I'm hoping to complete them, but I spend most of my energy on engaging with the students at the Khar school. Some of them have amazing stories.

Marc,one of our volunteers, is now working out at a gym that cost him five dollars for 3 months. He works out with Malesh, one of our students and construction/handy staff. Malesh lives, with his little sister, Parvati, at the school. He's learning how to cook. There used to be a group of orphans at the school. One of them cooked, but something happened, and he's disappeared. (I think it was something dishonorable, but it's not my business.) So now Malesh is learning to cook. He cooks good Maggi noodles, and he tells me so. (Like in every country I go to, I am a kind of food. This time, I'm noodles, of the same brand from whence Maggi-cube came). Malesh was found living under a boat a few years back, with Parvati, who was dying of TB. He survived by begging. They were in and out of homes of family, orphanages, hospitals, everything, until they settled in the school. Now he works out with a Canadian man who, at mid life, quit his banking job to follow his passions, and cooks ramen noodles for his little sister, who is no longer dying, and can cling to your shoulders for hours on end.

It's a pretty spectacular story, if you sit down to think about it. But these days, all the stories are like that, and in order not to be overwhelmed, I don't think about it too terribly much. It's odd, and kind of amazing, how people just become people as soon as they're right in front of you. Once you enter into a certain kind of relationship with someone, their story can fade into the background, and you are person to person. When it's teacher to student, or peer to peer, that's spectacular. But sometimes that's done on class lines, or racial lines, or other things--beggar to white girl, or man to woman (not always bad), or servant to master, or sometimes parent to child--you forget certain stories when you shouldn't. Interesting, how humanity can do that, and how much it can sway in either direction.

Taj Mahal and Agra

I was on a train for twenty two hours to get here. It didn't feel that long, in a dirty but comfortable sleeper car, dozing and not eating, chugging along as the train wobbled over the tracks through rural India. It gets cold at night. We met two wonderful Hare Krishna women from Mauritius, who gave us banana chips and were so very very kind. We got danced on by a begging eunuch, and I didn't give him/her enough money. We disembarked with a man who sat across from us, found out the proper price for a rickshaw, and he helped us to haggle for a correct one. The man who drove our rickshaw gave us an epic speech from the bottom of his heart about how he would never cheat us because he was an ambassador of his city. I paid him extra because I was so impressed with his sincerity. Our hotel had no problems--a slight hitch because the room was more upscale than anticipated, but it changed from 8 dollars to 12--so it's not a big deal. Its a beautiful, comfortable place with a garden restaurant.

It is the final day of Navaratri today, and the streets are full of processing Durga statues. As we walked home from our day of sight seeing, we were painted with pink and green powder--powder that will never come out of our clothes, but feels authentic and wild. I love it. It smells like chemicals and gunpowder. It smells like power and devotion.

We saw the sun rise at the Taj. It is extremely impressive. White columns, perfectly inlaid jewels, the entire Quran written word by word across its walls--all perfectly symetrical--no mistakes at all. The men were pushy and disgusting--and not once did I call them out for "Un-Islamic behavior." (I asked if they were Muslim men first.) I thought that would bring on mass giggles, but in fact it actually worked. Telling a man angrily to lower his eyes in the presence of a religious woman had some sway. The second time I yelled I just flat out said "Would you do that to your mother?" And he walked away quite shamefully.

At Agra fort, however, we had a guide. The fort is amazing. I'm short on time so it is not possible to describe how intricate, varying and remarkable the place was. I saw the place were Jahanara lived, one of the women  in my Sufi paper, and the place where her father was imprisoned by his son--to do nothing but stare at the reflection of his Taj Mahal in the face of a diamond. That was the punishment given to him by his stern, conservative son, Aurengzeb, who took the throne after many agreed that Shah Jahan had spent too much money and run the country into the ground--in spending excessive funds on the Taj Mahal.

The guide kept the horny men with cell phone cameras away, but it felt safer for families to approach. We took photos with old couples and babies, and families who introduced the entire extended group. Many were also tourists. The fort had within it multiple palaces and resting places for the kings, queens, and princesses. It had an intricate water system, and some rooms were even air conditioned and heated. Unlike the Taj, which is all white marble, the fort varied in style depending on who had built the rooms. It was magnificent.

We're going to the Taj again tomorrow for sunset, and then we have no other real plans. The train leaves early on Tuesday, and we should be home in time for work on Wednesday. What a magnificent time... I am so glad someone convinced me to come here. I wasn't planning on it at all.

Hello, India.

Trying to do everything about this past week will be absolutely impossible. It doesn't feel like a week. It feels longer and shorter. Longer because it's so different. Shorter because it's been much less stressful and exhausting than a week at a Korean school. (Of course, back then... the weeks went fast at the beginning as well.)

On Sunday, my first day here, the volunteers and I went to Elephanta Island, an island that is known for its temple caves. They weren't spectacular, but they were pretty interesting--teeming with people in the heat, I was dripping sweat, and I had to take things in very slowly, because I was so exhausted. The walkway up was lined with trinket stalls. Some of the most beautiful carvings and works of art were barely ten dollars. The walkway was covered with a woven blue tarp, and everything under it had a blue glow to it.

At school, the kids are wild. I can deal with it, once I act patiently. It's a lot of energy, but it's not as demanding as it used to be, I think. This isn't my first time, and anyway, there are a few of us, so I don't have to teach every class of the day, and rarely do I have to do it alone.

We are right by the ocean. The buildings are squished together. Everything is dirty. Everything smells. Everything is colorful. Everything is exciting. Everything is busy. Autorickshaws are the best. They seat three people, and they are basically bikes--three wheeled motorcycles. And they run crazy through the streets. (Which are on the opposite side, by the way. That's hard to remember.)

Anyway... there's barely anything to say. I've been moseying along. Doing what I've been told to do--taking everything in and trying not to judge it. So far I'm enjoying things, but the heat takes the edge off of everything. Nothing is spectacular, nothing is miserable, because it's just too hot to really make a big deal out of anything.

:D

Well... today is my last day at work.

I've been woefully absent on my blog, but that's because I've had so much to do. And, in some ways, Korea has really become regular, daily life that doesn't really require a 'blog.'

These days I've been training in the new teacher, Lauren, who is really competent. She has more training at this than either Emily or I had, and I know she'll do just fine. She's taught in the States, so she'll have a huge heads up on both of us.

Right now, I feel a lot like I felt right before I moved to college. There's a huge, exciting adventure ahead of me, but I don't know how it will be, and I can't imagine it at all. I don't know if I'll be ready. I don't know if I'll be able to handle it, but I do know that I want to do it, so that's all I have right now.

It's really hard to say goodbye to my baby students. I'm the only foreign teacher they've known, and they are 100% mine. They were really starting to drive me crazy, but they're mine and only mine, so it's hard to pass them on to someone else. As my first class, the one I like to call "Squirrel Kindergarten" left yesterday, telltale tears welled up in my eyes and I looked away, shooing them out before they saw me--because then I would have been DONE.

I try not to gloat. I try not to make it clear just how hard I worked to make these children love me--to be a good teacher, to teach them and help them and do what I thought was right. I try not to tell everyone how hard I worked to keep loving them even though everything around me told me that I shouldn't. Everything around me said: "You are temporary, you don't matter, this is just a business." But I tried my best to make sure that even though that attitude got into me sometimes, that it never corrupted the reason I came into my classes every day. At least my babies. At least for my babies, I felt like I could do the best job I could do.

But there is a big difference between how things were then, and how they are now. The students' parents know me. The students know I can speak Korean, at least a little bit, and that I care about their language. The teachers and the boss trusts me, and even the desk teachers are kind to me. I used to loathe how hard it was. Now I feel proud of the fact that I made it all this way. I dealt with kids with violent learning disabilities, kids with severe ADD, and all kinds strange and wonderful other things. I had virtually no training, and absolutely no warning. I worked hard. And I pulled through, and in the end, I'd say the vast majority of these kids are better off, or at least just not thoroughly damaged. I worked really hard for something positive, and I think I got it.

That said, I am really happy to be turning to the next thing in my life. This was in many ways the hardest thing I have ever done. Luckily, what doesn't kill you makes you stronger, and after these last few days, I am sure that I have not been killed.

On Saturday, October 1, this blog will become Maggie Cube Goes to India! Stay tuned for the next exciting episode....

The fall is sweet, cool, and has a holiday feel.

It's now Chuseok break again. Last year for Chuseok, I went to Gonju to see the old Baekje capital. This year I'm staying in my apartment, packing, cleaning, and just relaxing. I leave for India in eleven days.

It's raining now, and it was raining yesterday morning too. I like waking up to the quiet rain, with the windows open and a slightly melancholy, yet calm feeling in the air. You feel insulated and safe in your house, just next to the pitter patter of the rain.

So I've accomplished most of the things that I wrote about accomplishing. I went to Haeinsa, and it was fun. It was kind of an ordeal, since I made the stupid mistake of getting on the wrong train, and thus going halfway to Seoul before switching. (Only in Korea can a simple mistake get you half way across the country in under an hour.) When we finally arrived, the serenity of the mountain, and the absolute isolation of the temple was really welcoming. The temple was much more isolated than most temples I've been to, either because it was Sunday and nobody was there, or just because it really is not a popular place--despite its place on the UNESCO list. We didn't get to see the actual Triptikana, because we arrived too late to go in, but we saw the building where it was housed. (Kind of a disappointment, but two awkward Korean guys had the same reaction, and we took several stiff pictures with them and their request.)

At sunset, the monks came out of their rooms and started an impromptu playing of the temple instruments, in a small pavilion at the bottom of the complex. They played the drums, and rang the huge bell, and gorgeous, calm sounds reverberated over the whole mountain. It was surreally calm and wonderful.


In other recent news, I had my Taekwondo Test on Sunday. It was VERY Korean. We arrived about five minutes after the test began. The judges filed out of the room, nobody payed attention, and then I was rushed by my teachers around the gym, until they found my spot. I was number 46. The last of the adults to test, and also the last one to arrive. It seems as though this test is very rarely undertaken by adults. For the thousands of kids that were there, I was the last of the group of adults--only 46 of us. I was also the only foreigner I saw. Kristen was there, and saw that there was a school with a foreign student, but that he was younger. (Also, the astute observation that--like me--he did not wear the same clothes as the rest of his school. His taekwondo bok said "KAIST" and mine says "Taekwondo", as opposed to the name of my school.)

We sat in lines and waited. When our line was next, we stood up and did jumping jacks. Then we stretched. Then we walked out onto the floor. There were a million other things happening, but it didn't seem too chaotic. I was shaking, I was so scared--I was sure that because I was different all eyes were on me, and I was the last one, the only one in the line in the back. (The test is administered in groups of ten.) We started our first form, form number 8, and I completed it well. Then we had to do number 6, which was the arbitrarily chosen form. (In the test, you don't know what the second form is until you arrived. I was very lucky because 6 was a good one for me.) I did the forms well, according to my teacher. Then we bowed to the judges and walked over to the fighting stage. I was put in a head pad and a chest guard, and then I spared with someone about my age. She kicked hard, and I was too nervous to really lash out. I don't think I did very well at that part, but watching Kristen's video, I see that the two men in front of me were mostly just standing there, so I guess I did alright. Fighting has never been my strong point. I'm too afraid to inflict damage on anyone.

Anyway, then that was it. My kwangjangnim (taekwondo teacher) was suddenly there, took off my pads, and said "Good job! Good job!" and whisked me away. Then we watched his wife do her second black belt test, and that was it!

It was VERY surreal, and nothing like a black belt test at home. I'm not sure if I passed the test or not. They say I'll know soon, but I have no way of knowing either way. Nobody will give me a straight answer, so I have the feeling that it's probably a no go. But maybe they just don't want to say yes or no and then lose face by that being the wrong answer.

That's been my life the past few weeks. I'm relaxing these next few days and packing, cleaning, drawing, and just chilling. It's going to be great. Oh, and probably will go up to a local temple for a while so I can buy some gifts and enjoy the temple atmosphere.

I have twenty four days left in Korea.

And I have some major goals to achieve.

1. Black Belt Test, September 19
Some of my students will be there, and that's going to be pretty funny. They're also testing, because it's a nation-wide test date, and all the schools with students qualifying with be there. I'm super nervous. I'm really not that good, and I'm going to stand out like a sore thumb, watching people who I probably don't know.

2. Visit Haeinsa Temple
I wanted to do a full out Temple Stay at Haeinsa, but it looks like that won't be possible now--especially with my rigorous Taekwondo training schedule. (Training/playing, I must admit.) So I'm visiting the temple this weekend, hopefully getting in on Temple Stay, but otherwise, I'll just get a cheap hotel, or make it a day trip. We'll see.

3. Have a few really good Jjimjilbang nights.
My favorite Jjimjilbang has been closed for quite some time, but I'm looking forward to its triumphant return with a new set of saunas. I really hope that includes a new set of massage chairs--but the same set of people, who don't complain or look at me funny when I use them. I want to go to Daejeon's popular Rodeo Town spa, which is where doctor fish come around and eat the dead skin off your feet. Hopefully will be encountering that strange phenomenon tomorrow with Kristen.

4. Have a smashing good going away party.
Tentatively planned for Saturday the 25th, so all of you who I know and are on this list should keep it in mind. The plan is to eat at TGI Fridays, so that I can get some serious American food into me before I go to India and eat nothing but vegetarian for quite a while.

I'll be planning snack and pizza parties for my students, and making them little cards... that process is going to be Chuseok, probably. Then the last week I'll be training the new teacher. It seems like the year itself has flown by, but each day and each month has been really slow. I've got both my suitcases sitting out open right now, so that I can put things in them for donation and potentially mailing home. The donation one is full, but the mailing home is mostly full of winter things. Now that it's almost two AM, and I've spent the whole night playing Civ 4, I feel a weird desire to do this kind of organization.

Passport Photos: Achieved!

Torturous task, but you feel a real sense of accomplishment once it is finished.

I went to go get passport photos taken at a small photo shop where I had printed photos before, and where I had my artwork once scanned. However, upon arrival, I discovered that the place was no longer a photo shop, and was in fact a pharmacy in the making. Frustrated, I tooled around on my bike until I found a little place that had the HP logo and the word Photo somewhere in its title. They didn't look open, and had a sign that seemed to say "Be back in 15." I came back in 15 (after trying to explain what I wanted at the post office, which was clearly not the place to go) but the sign remained. So. Nothing.

A few days later, after talking to my boss (she was also quite surprised that the photo shop was gone), Kim teacher told me to go to the baby photo place on the 3rd (or 4th) floor. I went. It was also closed--pretty empty, but I wasn't sure if it was closed for lunch or closed forever. So, infuriated, I just went to the bank and turned in all my coins. (60,000 won, baby!) That was one task completed. However, they couldn't transfer my visa money because I didn't have proper identification. (American ID doesn't cut it, and Korean Immigration had my passport and Alien ID card.) She kept saying: "Use the atm." And I tried to insist that I couldn't do it that way, because I needed the BANK receipt. Sigh. Uber frustration.

So I met up with Kristen and Emily, ate delicious Vietnamese food, and then returned to the HP place. As it turns out, it was NOT closed, but that was the back door, soo... I walked in and he was there, and he could do it, and for only 10,000 won (for six of them!). I collected them today--and he gave me a "wallet size" as "service", but it's pretty silly because I'm not smiling, have my hair shoved back, and couldn't care less about my appearance. But hey! It works.

So that's one visa task down. Next week I need to send the money, call the courier, and actually send the materials in. Then, within the week, I should have a visa for India. That will save me a lot of worry trouble. In the mean time, I continue to research graduate schools, instead of researching India--and doing the reading I promised myself.

Currently working my way through "The Valley of the Assassins, and Other Persian Travels" by Freya Stark. It's kind of... classic Romantic travel, though it is a little later than the Romantic Period. (1920s, I think.) Regardless of how I am SUPPOSED to feel as an academic about Romanticized travel, I do love it. She uses flourishy language, big words, and describes the women like they were in movies. It's a delightful break from over-analyzing and the constant desire in the modern day to not offend anybody.

Trying to arrange some kind of Temple Stay in the next month, but it's annoyingly difficult. Blah.

Rushing through the red tape--in a different language.

This past week has been consumed with visa questions and stuff related to India. It's all a little complicated, and not a little bit of it really frustrating.

In the end I know it'll be worth it, but currently it makes me feel really powerless. At first, the travel agent with whom I booked the ticket had spelled my name wrong. This was causing problems because maybe the Korean government wouldn't take that as proof that I was leaving the country. (Since my Korean visa is expiring on 9/2. They're giving me an extension until 10/2, the date of my flight.)

The India visa process is very complicated. That on its own is causing consternation. I went to get passport photos only to discover that the photo shop was missing. That was pretty disappointing. I'd had some nice photos made there. That's how things are in Korea, though--here one day, gone the next. And I do literally mean, gone the NEXT. Changed into something completely different.

Right now my passport is in the hands of the Korean government. As soon as I get it back, I have to send it to the hands of the Indian government in Seoul. I have to deposit a large sum of money into their account, and then I have to sit on my hands and wait until I get my visa.

In between that time, I have to study for my black belt test, which is rapidly approaching. Today, the sun is out and it's cool--which is one of the best things to happen to us over here in several months. I'm hoping that the weather keeps this up so I can go to the beach tomorrow. There's a nice one about two hours away from us, where I can relax, draw, and recoup from the extraordinary "Korea frustration" that I am feeling right now. It's really hard to give a place any leeway when you're about to leave. Everything is too difficult to deal with, or makes you furious.

The good news, though, is that I'm laughing a lot more with my kids, and I'm a lot more lenient with them these days. We're giggling over silly things, having good fun with coloring and other things, and they seem to be enjoying class more often. Next week, I start another baby class, so I get to give some more students English names and introduce them to the first words of their second language. That's always fun and adorable.