Such is the strength of this marvelous peninsula, that even should we try and insulate ourselves, its rich cultural experiences will find you. They will fucking find you.
After school I am jubilant. On the average day I coast home on a cross between the feeling of a job well done and the comparison I make between the length of my stride and the children's as they mill outside the school in front of various shops and academies. I buy either a large bottle of water, a small carton of milk or an icecream sandwich in the shape of a fish. I smile a lot and bow more than the old gentleman who is constantly skulking around appreciates.
I do a bit of this sort of thing and then I retire to my appartment
Twice this week I have happened upon a woman helping her child piss in the street. Indefinate article 'a'. Not the woman who helps her child urinate in the street, but two different women with needless detail to include different children. In the first case the child was about five and his mother hauled down the front of his pants as he stood over top of a gutter grate in the center of the Y junction that I take a right on to get home. The second time the woman cradled her two or three year old daughter in her arms, the little girl's knees squeezed under her chin as her feet kicked over her mother's forarms. It dribbled after me on the side walk, tendrils slowly breaking new ground as a fresh puddle does on an otherwise dry day, until I took my right at the Y junction.
For dinner I abstain from fish, rice and kimchi but consider pissing out my window. You're growing on me Korea; you're growing in me.
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