losing the gills.

I feel as though I am making progress. There are ways in which this fish is adjusting to living on land.

I am getting used to the stares. At first they frightened me. Then they pulled at a chord of frustration. Next came confusion. And now they simply elicit a smile.

I am getting used to the sound of Korean words coming out of my mouth. On Monday, I spoke my first word of the day at around three in the afternoon, and it was the Korean phrase for thank you. I said it to the kind lady at the convenience store on the corner that I pass through most afternoons on my way to work. At first, I felt so silly trying to communicate anything in another language. With time, and repetition, I am getting the hang of it.

I am getting used to the fact that my bathroom floor is also the floor of my shower. There is no separation, but simply a drain at what is intended to be the lowest point of the arranged tile. The angle isn’t quite right, as there is standing water in a few key spots if I don’t squidgy it down the drain...but for the most part, it no longer feels like a strange practice. I even managed to get the temperature and water pressure in perfect balance for the shower that just washed the smell from my glorious, frustration releasing run.

But.


There are things I not getting the hang of. Well, one in particular. Aloneness. Lack of conversation. No one to recite and recount my days to. No one to laugh at my cultural mishaps with. In the mornings, when I make an egg, I am usually wishing I had someone to make egg number two for. When I get the urge to leave the house and go for a walk, I am usually wishing there was someone to walk with.

I have been told by seasoned foreigners that I will get used to it. Adjustment will come. But that seems like such an arbitrary thing to have to adjust to. Who in the hell wants to put forth effort into spending excessive and consecutive hours alone? Who wants to get used to perusing through their days without even opening their mouths, other than monks? I have no desire to become a nun.

There are times when I am with people, and moments I am thankful for. I had an “oh so enjoyable weekend” in Seoul a few days ago, with fantastic company to boot. On Monday, after getting released from class early, I enjoyed dinner with one of my best friends currently living. Today, I very much enjoyed my student Ian’s sense of humor. He is one of those kids that pays attention and follows along and also gets in trouble for getting out of his seat and talking more than anyone else in the class. Those kids tend to be my favorites, and I enjoyed conversing with him in his broken english. But my Seoul buddies have lives, and rescuing me from my aloneness would be way too taxing. I don’t think their bosses would understand them leaving class in the middle of the day simply because I had not had the chance to speak to anyone in English, and I don’t like being a liability. I am also pretty sure Ian’s mother would worry if he wasn’t home for dinner.

I also realize that this has as much to do with this fishes heart as it does the dry land she is trying to maneuver through, and after twenty-five years of being alone at the very end of the day, she has yet to find adequate water supply.

All I know how to do in this moment is put some presentable clothes on, walk out of the door to Sun Mart, pick out a new flavor of ice cream, and say “thank you” in broken Korean.