Bonjour Ladies and Gentlemen! Comment allez vous??

This was my view for many hours. I am guessing that what you are looking at is Russia. As a former cold war era vet, I appreciate this picture more than you will ever know. Maybe, I hope we really can stop all of our global domination nonsense and actually live in peace. From Seoul to Munich Germany and then it was onwards to CDG. Travelers always have stories, because honestly, when you are traveling by yourself, you find a strange dependency on others that can make people feel uncomfortable, even fearful. It was a journey that began in a taxi, to a high speed train, to a couple of airplane rides, a bus ride, a metro ride or two...to staying with a Lt Col from Sri Lanka, to finally get to my flat. Oh there were numerous nameless, faceless people I never met before...who just didn't their jobs to get me where I am. However, there is one thing I am, and that is happy. Two days into my Paris journey...and I have slept little, my stomach is having a hell of a time adjusting to the French cuisine. However, it took me a microsecond to realize why I love Paris. It is a city that is alive.
I was able to make my appointment with Mr. Jim Haynes. Sunday dinners at his flat, which was a former sculpture studio, is always a must for me. I heard that Jim was featured on NPR, and smiled as one of his guests kept talking about how she just heard about it and decided to hop a plane to meet Jim, who has the world come to dinner. I adore Jim because he genuinely loves people, is a wonderful writer and author and one of the funniest libertines I have ever met in my life.
The Holiday lights are on display along the Champs Elysées. Here are a few of the scenes that people normally ask to look at while in Paris. Outside of these scenes...I hope to share with you some things that are more substantial. The world is hurting, and though I am in Paris, I came because I have missed being here and life is too short to say 'no'. I said 'yes' and figured out how to make it all come together one piece at a time.
The Eiffel tower still stands, and I gladly walked kilometers to get here at the end of a decade of excess, changing dreams, of endings and beginnings...to embrace life fully. I don't know how my journey will continue. I don't have all of the answers. No one does. However, you get up, breathe and choose to keep on going.
Hang in there. Believe in what you are doing...and try like hell to live your dreams. No one else can live them for you.

Seeing the Wonder of a Fairytale

There is the famous story of Anne Sullivan, who was the storied teacher for Helen Keller. During my year in Korea, I have often referred back to Anne Sullivan's struggle to get through the mind of a blind and deaf child, to communicate with her. Keller was violent, striking out at the world and at her teacher because she couldn't understand a thing. Helen Keller is a student that would have challenged the heart and soul of many teachers. As a matter of record, her parents were desperate to find a single teacher that could work with Helen. I have often felt like Anne Sullivan during this year, and yes, it has been a year of miracles.

This is my final week in Korea, and it has caused this liquid salty substance, known as tears, to come to my eyes.

I watched the children perform, sing, tell stories, and participate in an open class that I taught for the parents to observe (ah, no time for stage fright) how I worked with their children on a daily basis. This was an audience you don't want to disappoint. I decided to tell the story of "The Little Fir Tree", which I had vaguely remembered as a child. I had the children come up, one by one to select an ornament and decorate the small artificial tree to transform it for the use of a story that on the surface seems so benign. These little beings would tell their parents what they had selected and would place the ornaments on the tree. I saw nods of approval, pride in their smiling eyes, and most of all the morale of the story is not to say, "I am too little", but to be perfectly content with who you are. The tree wanted to see life, to possibly be a part of a ship or a timber in a house. Instead, the tree was beautified for sick children in a hospital ward, and touched and loved by the children. Smiles began to mask the threatening tears, because it hit me in that moment what these children had meant to me.

I didn't have one Helen Keller, I had two of them. They did not want to be at school. They didn't want to learn English. They were violent, stubborn and fought with everyone. I thought of Anne Sullivan and thought to myself, 'at least they can hear and see'. It took a lot of work to reach them both. They both happened to be incredibly talented, and on this day, I was presented with this bouquet from the most violent student I have ever had. He achieved the most of all of the students, winning a city-wide art contest, a speech contest in Seoul, and he became one of the best students. The other 'Helen' also transformed during the year, she began to achieve her own greatness by being herself.

I have to apologize for the sound quality, it is horrible...but here is the first verse of "I Have a Dream" by Abba...sound totally out of tune...but with the bravado that only children have.
As we joined the students in the third verse, on that little stage, I saw the whole audience join us as we sang. This is going to sound totally like I am a wet blanket...I cried.

I saw the wonder of a fairy tale.

Thankful Impact; the Personal Growth of Guest Blogger Justin Pierce Baldwin Gerald

What can I say about my four-named friend, Justin Pierce Baldwin Gerald? Justin is a dynamo, my favorite feminist, and he loves to stir the pot...but he doesn't run from the thoughts he stirs up in others. This brilliant young man has been a pleasure to get to know. From gatherings of trivia challenges to see how much our expatriate community knows while under the influence to crossing cultural boundaries of our in-the-box thinking...here is Justin Pierce Baldwin Gerald, a man of many talents.
What I am Grateful for
By: Justin Pierce Baldwin Gerald

What am I grateful for in Korea? Education.
I’m grateful for the chance to try and be a great educator for me 800 students, who still see me as something of an ambassador, a role I’ve done my best to fulfill adequately.

I’m grateful to see them grow and change, not only as students of English, but young adults of the world.

I’m grateful for the chance to educate myself. My job allows me a lot of free time, and while I certainly have my fun, I spend a lot of it reading and writing, and, as some know, trying to stir up discussion among interested parties. During my vacations, I’ve tried to stay away from purely party locales – which isn’t to say I was completely sober in, say, Saigon – and done my best to come away from my trips with a greater understand of the world I am a part of.

I’m grateful to be living in a country that, for all its flaws (and every country has them), tends to treat me with the respect I feel I deserve. I’m grateful to have had the chance to educate myself through the extremely varied people I’ve met over the last 21 months, people who speak every language and live in every corner of the globe. New York is diverse, but the grab bag of foreigners here is something I’ve been glad to dive into.

I’m grateful to have learned a sliver of a new language, even though I could have studied harder. And I’m glad I’ve used my time here productively, so I can return home truly saying I grew up just a little bit.

Before I left New York, I told myself that, no matter what happened, my time in Korea was going to be used to kickstart adulthood. The half-year or so before I came here I was a bum. I was broke, living on my dad’s couch, buying DVDs and watching them alone, eating and drinking and gaining weight, and being rightfully scolded for doing so. As I prepare to return home in February – after a few short trips abroad – I am grateful that I’ve done all the wallowing I’ll ever do, and from this day forward, it’s merely onward and upward.

And I’m grateful that I can say that at the age of 23, because most people aren’t lucky enough to have that chance at any age.

The Helping Hand of a Stranger in a Strange Land - Guest Blogger Stephen Cornman

It is my pleasure to introduce Stephen Cornman. Stephen Cornman is an American expatriate teacher and writer in Daegu, South Korea. Atypical of the normal demographic of what we would find, Stephen has also served as a mentor, sage advisor, and friend to our wonderful fresh faced collegues; who realized there was life outside of the bottom of a soju bottle...Stephen Cornman, but you can call him Steve.

The Helping Hand of a Stranger in a Strange Land
By: Stephen Cornman

Six weeks after I arrived in Korea, in the fall of 2008, I hiked up and down Palgongsan, the mountain just north of Daegu, without incident. It was after that, in the always dangerous boarding-the-bus process, that I broke my face.

Upon demountaining, I walked a quarter-mile to the first pick-up point for the bus. I stopped at the men's room, then resumed walking to the bus stop. I hadn’t gone far, hadn’t even put my daypack on my back, when I saw the bus pulling out of the parking lot and up to the bus stop.
I have a tip you won’t see in Lonely Planet Korea: don’t sprint for the bus in clunky hiking boots, on a broken sidewalk (which is the default for sidewalks in Daegu), carrying your pack in front of you. You will break your face.
Running as fast as I could, I caught my toe on a loose brick (which you can see in the photo) and pitched forward at an impressive velocity. I remember a split-second thought: this is going to be embarrassing, almost falling in front of the people waiting for the bus. My next thought was: look at all the blood.

I fell on the left side of my face, broke my glasses, cut my lip a little, scraped my hands, ripped and bled all over my t-shirt, broke my watch strap, and laid open my face next to my left eye. It was the second time in my life that I had driven my glasses into the left side of my face; the first time was 35 years before, in my first, and last, attempt to play ice hockey. If you have to fall on your head, I recommend doing it on ice; it’s cleaner.

I sat there, not in pain, but utterly stunned, feeling humiliated, disoriented (if in fact it’s proper to use that word in East Asia), helpless, and very far from home indeed.

Thankfully, I had an angel. A Korean man in full hiking regalia came over to see if I was okay, wiped off as much blood as possible, using paper towels and his drinking water, stayed with me, tried to tell me where I was bleeding from (though as he had no English...), let me call my boss on his cell phone, and called an ambulance. I got frustrated that I couldn't tell him how wonderful he was being to me. I just kept saying "kamsahamnida" a lot, and shook his hand and bowed from the waist when the ambulance came. He must have taken 45 minutes out of his day to help me.

At the hospital, the doctor determined I had only contused my shoulder (yeah, that's a word. It is now, anyway.) He sent me for x-rays in case I had broken my crown.

As Yogi Berra said, they x-rayed my head and found nothing.

Eventually, I healed, with no permanent scar and no drain bramage.
My point here, though, is my gratitude to the anonymous Korean angel who took a large chunk out of his day, after a hard hike on the mountain, to care for a total stranger, a foreigner with whom he couldn’t even talk. I was simply someone who desperately needed help, and he helped me, beyond what I had any right to expect. Sometimes the Korean people en masse seem unwelcoming to a waegook, but on a one-to-one basis I’ve usually found them to be warm and welcoming. I will always be thankful to the anonymous man who threw me a lifeline when I needed it most.

What's that banging sound outside my window?

A writer's worst enemy, besides procrastination, are distractions. Constantly throughout the day, I heard the hoots and hollering of the neighborhood. Try as I might, I tried to muffle the sound. That is until it seemed they demanded my attention. However, my neighborhood just seems to want me to participate, and as my friend Barbara wrote to me, you live in a bizarre neighborhood. I am thankful for this section of Daegu, that keeps me on my toes because the drummers were getting louder and decided to canvas the neighborhood today.

I grabbed my camera and sprinted to capture the moments only finding to my shock that I failed to load my memory card back in my camera. Sprinting back to my room, slamming the card into the camera, and dashing back down. I felt like a track star with hair flying about half in and out of clothes. I didn't care what I looked like as I watched the finale of the drummers in the middle of a parking lot less than a block from where I lived.

As they wrapped up and I was prepared to turn back towards home a kind familiar sound, crawled all over me and I spun around. Sweet as sugar the liquid notes of a saxophone pacified my disappointment. And I saw this old soul, who I had seen going through the refuse of our lives gathering the cardboard of our waste as she listened while she worked. Her aged frame bent and she continued on. With silent years, a stone face, and eyes that bore the hardness of her years.The sharp contrast to my experience last night in I'll Exhibition Hall, where I thought I heard the Jazz of life, only to realize it is all around us all of the time. What's banging outside your window, your door, your life...just trying to catch your attention?

A Thankful Journey - Guest Blogger Shanavia Rivers

In the continuing spirit of gratitude, I have the pleasure of introducing a friend of mine, Shanavia Rivers from the United States. Shanavia Rivers is an expatriate teacher presently residing in Daegu, South Korea and graciously agreed to share a glimpse of what her time in Korea has meant to her.

A Thankful Journey
By: Shanavia Rivers

“Feeling grateful or appreciative of someone or something in your life actually attracts more of the things that you appreciate and value into your life”

I couldn’t, shouldn’t, and or wouldn’t forget Korea. There is so much I’m thankful for and I have experienced so much here. Stuff I wouldn’t have dreamt of doing. Years prior to venturing here I worked as a nursing assistant, customer service representative, and a bar tender. Once I graduated from college with my BS in Criminal Justice and Forensic Science, I was at an emotional standstill in my life. Not to mention the recession had taken a toll on recent grads. Of course, I was devastated, having spent a lot of money on books, and tuition over the past 5 ½ years. I sure wasn’t content with flipping vodka bottles and helping people into a state of inebriation. I HAD TO DO SOMETHING ELSE! So, I phoned a long time friend whom I deemed “insane “and out of her mind for teaching in Korea for two consecutive years. At the time I was just “inquiring” about what Korea had to offer but I will say by the end of the 23 minute conversation I was convinced that I was going. With the help of a recruiting agency, passport, and a clean criminal record I was on my way in a couple of weeks. On January 1, 2009 I said my “see you laters” to my friends and family (who didn’t take me serious) as I boarded my flight to South Korea. I was nervous as heck. However, once I landed in Seoul I was fortunate to meet Marilyn Campiz, seeing her was major relief. That moment assured me that I wasn’t the only person who thought outside of the box. To add, she was really nice and genuine. We talked for hours on the bus taxi. Only after being shushed by a Korean girl (hilarious). I really didn’t care, I was just thankful to have someone to talk to. Thankful for Marilyn.

“Gratitude is the fairest blossom which springs from the soul.”

A few months had past, and I felt like me and my four walls in my apartment were getting a little tired of talking to each other. So I jumped in taxi and said” Apsan Mountain Bali” I never intended on climbing it, I just wanted to takes pictures of it. After a few snaps, I was approached by a Korean couple, probably around 60 or 70 years old. I didn’t speak any Korean and they didn’t speak English but I knew they were insinuating that I climb the mountain. The old lady even grabbed my arm and proceeded to walk me toward the entrance of the climb. I knew that they meant business. I quickly phoned one of my friends that lived close by and told him to come join me. Of course they waited on him to arrive. So up Apsan Mountain I went. I have to admit, I wanted to quit after the first 10 steps. But the Korean couple made sure that I didn’t give up. It seemed like every 2 minutes they were patting me on my back and motioning for me to keep going. Wow, 4 miles of elevation.
The views of the city at different heights were breathtaking. They made my pictures that I took at the bottom of the mountain look like chop suey. I was in complete awe. Even though the couple made look like a piece of cake, I was determined to make to make it to the top. They were determined to get me to the top.. Once I made it to the highest peak (the top), I quickly phoned my mother (yeah, I couldn’t believe my phone actually worked way up there). She was ecstatic, almost in tears, and she was proud. The view was unexplainable, amazing, and most of all emotional. It gives me chills just thinking and typing about it. At that moment I was so grateful and thankful to have met that couple. I would have never climbed that mountain if it weren’t for them. After that, I started shark diving, paragliding, canoeing, rafting, and doing everything I could. Even though I didn’t understand what they were saying. I bet they were saying “you only live once so do as much as you can”. My stay here has been more than an experience. It has been a journey, a journey that I will never forget. I have met so many people from different countries, ethnicity, political backgrounds, and cultures. From the Korean cashier that helps me every time I come into their store to shop to my GRE math tutor, who tutors me for free; Korea has been more than good to me. I will be leaving soon, Feb 13th 2010 to be exact. Even though my body will be in America, a piece of my heart will remain in SOKO. Who knows I may even come back. We will see won't we!

As we express our gratitude, we must never forget that the highest appreciation is not to utter words, but to live by them.

The Doggy Stroller Story

Often when you go for a walk, sounds are quickly identified. The clicking of heels, the ringing of a bell on a bicycle so that you wisely give way, or the steady sound of stroller wheels rubbing against the bricks. I am one of those people who just can get lost in my own mind, so I don't need to be plugged into anything. This week had left me with plenty to sort through, a list that seems to grow, and as it grows, the walks grow longer. The world at times seems to be a huge fear factory, largely because our own minds are trying to figure out how all of it comes down to our own private little existence.

To be honest, I was trying to think of something to put me in a positive mood. My little cheerleader wasn't at her mother's shop. So I left the little gift for her with her mother, who smiled broadly, but it wasn't the same. I continued to stroll, and suddenly behind me, I heard footfalls that echoed my own. The same pace, with the stray thought of how amazing it is when two strange lives intersect. An appreciation of a moment when you consider the odds of any two people meeting when you consider the population of the world. A monk once told me, that each encounter with another is often undervalued. It is often with presumption that people think they will see each other again. I walked around with the reminder of a friend today and the crushing thoughts that finally were allowed to flow.

The footfalls continued the same pace, and I finally decided to look at my unknown companion. The slight irritation sometimes can fall over people that feel they have been intruded upon, even though you are in a public space. A protective bubble, called personal space is quite small in Korea, I usually try to smile when I feel my western brain start to babble. A smile neutralizes my selfishness. However, this smile was a real gem of one. This was a first for me. I saw a woman pushing her two pampered pooches in a stroller. Walking the dogs, apparently is for the dogs. Even a baby who was strapped on her grandmother's back pointed at the sight. The grandmother stopped and stared. The pooches have trained their owner very well. They have evolved into clothing, ribbons, pedicures, and all of the adornments that these dog lovers will bestow upon their babies.

I kept pace, she went ahead of me, until she saw a little boutique and paused. I paused and produced my camera. A crippled woman walked by as the dogs refused to pose properly, and the owner came out and nodded with approval over the moment.The crippled woman asked the other woman for the dogs names...she hobbled over and called them...and finally this shot came.

A lot of people won't approve of working with dogs or children. They steal the show. Maybe they can steal a bad moment or two. Along the street...a woman pushing a stroller with her posh pups made a neighborhood forget any talk of what may be going on...had a crippled woman get out of her shell to help a foreign woman snap a shot. Not a single one of us knew each other, except in that moment. Just the exchange of real smiles.

Oh warm hues and caffeinated dreams

Sundays have to be the best day of the week. There is just something about Sunday, that has a carefree feel to it. There is no sense of hurry or pressure...it just flows like a quiet stream. Partitioned time just given to do as you will with it. Sundays are the fresh breath of air. That is how I feel about Sundays, however as I got into a taxi, I met the most anxious driver ever. I showed him my destination and a put out feeling absorbed the atmosphere. I saw him gesture to his red analogue clock and suddenly he let out a huge sigh and we set off on a series of long and winding backstreets. I distracted myself by retrieving my camera. I might as well take some shots like a tourist if I found something interesting in the background. It was his job, but he hated driving with a passion at that moment as we narrowly avoided two accidents (and me, not wearing that blessed seat belt) to arrive at literary mecca, Kyobo Bookstore in downtown Daegu.

There is more than the English language section that I come for. It is here that I feel at one with the espresso, the universal language of cafe, and their amazing wine selection. Yes, wine and espresso and literature. The perfect Sunday. Today, just the works of a few missed writers and the detoxification of the taxi ride as I swam in the layers of my coffee.
It felt wonderful to be a literate person again just molded to a chair and wondering if I should have picked up a few more books.
You would not have known this was late October. The leaves are finally turning, with no hint of a chill in the air. The kind of day that begged to be in a convertible with the top down and the wind blowing in your hair...carefree. Those moments that hug you when you replay them in your mind.
As I look up I smile...and remember why I love Sundays so damn much.

I'll take just one please...

Open markets on the streets seem to swirl with a couple of things, a combination of both hope and desperation. Some people avoid shopping for produce along the streets, opting for the promised produce safety of a store. The fruits of their labor, along with the brightly coloured umbrellas trim this thoroughfare. There is just something about these markets that spring up on the sidewalks that I can't resist. It is beyond the carefully sectioned off bowls of fruit and vegetables that are put up for sale...all of it seems a little like some one's life on display. Often the produce you find out on the sidewalks is a higher quality that you find in the supermarkets at a fraction of the cost. I stopped by this older man's stand. Large bowls of apples and potatoes, with plastic green crates all around. The apples had a smell as if they had just been freshly picked. I hovered and picked up one apple, and laid down a note for the dear man. He was grabbing a bowl to wrap up for me, and I shook my head, "No, I don't need all of those apples. Just one apple please." I held up my index finger with the apple and smiled. He looked confused for a moment and then smiled. I was preparing to walk off, but turned and asked if I could take his picture. He nodded with a stoic nature that I found endearing, like he concealed a smile.

As I continued on, I saw this woman working away at her fish stand. I watched her cleaning a fish with her rusty knives. Right there on the sidewalk, working the blades as though they were the sharpest instruments on earth. I was kind of glad it wasn't summer.

The signs of a harvest, and the very real fight to continue to survive. There is this very real drama of life being played out in the streets of the world. making enough sales to support a family, to earn ones keep with what you have. There is no room for the fakes out here.

As those well heeled Koreans walk past, possibly thankful they are not peddling their wares, I watch and notice how many don't even look. This is background noise to them. They walked briskly by, perhaps one will slow down and stop if something catches their eye. Without shame the marketplace exists. They do what they can for so little. There is no shame in that at all. The very real drama of survival is a hard one to just ignore...rusty knives and all.

Those Lines of Time

Those character lines, laugh lines, frown lines...lines of anger, or whatever you want to call them...are there looking back at you in sometimes unrecognizable ways. We say we want to be unchangeable, and part of me wonders if we can just be. The beauty of the creases in a lotus blossom are not as fresh and smooth as I noticed the angry lines that I felt somehow don't portray how I really feel inside. The brow that would furrow with my past life of verbal wranglings over policy, law, and determinations seemed to ask me if I needed this serious angry look anymore. I would rather have lines of laughter and joy imprinted rather than this hardened look that challenges those that would dare to battle me. I realized I had laid down my weapons and put those epic battles behind me. I had stared at two deep creases between my brow as though they were battle scars of deep thought.

And as if I had thought and place intersect, I happened to walk by Suibi Plastic Surgery Clinic, where I lingered. This was like dipping my toe into a pool where the water was extremely cold. No, I didn't just walk right in. I paced. I paced in such a contemplative way, because to me, aging is a part of life. I had an epic battle inside to confront my reasons for why I would entertain having any sort of bio-toxin to freeze my face, to rid myself from my expressive nature. Then there was the matter of the origins of those two lines and what they represented to me. Two crevices of moments in time of profound anger and rages...that no longer existed in my life. They hung there like reminders of a life that no longer served any purpose. I walked inside.

The receptionist did not speak a word of English, but did understand the universal language of one word, "Botox". I lifted my fringe, the camouflage I had been using on my forehead and pointed to the area that was right between my eyes. Her profuse nodding did not encourage me, more like the deep acknowledgement of a fatal flaw. I was quoted a price, and I nodded in agreement, and shown where I was to sit among the pillow laden seating.

I sat there in quiet thought, still pacing inside my brain as I waited for my consultation. I looked around at the use of circles in the office and the quiet little touches of perfection. The calm soothing music of Mozart played in the background, the light muted and neutrality of the colors, and the perfect faces of the staff flashed back at me.

One of the staff members ushered me into the doctor's office where we spoke. Her English was fair enough to discuss the crevices of anger that I wanted to battle with her useful needles. I succeeded in making her laugh, as I think it was wonderful that she did not talk about other areas that she could try to perfect for me...no, those crevices could be attacked and she recommended a course of action.

Back to an area where I waited, had pictures taken and my forehead numbed. 15 minutes later I was laying on my back having my botox virginity taken from me in Daegu, South Korea. While I waited for the numbing to be complete, I thought of an episode of The Twilight Zone that I saw as a child called "The Trade Ins", written by Rod Serling. Vividly it came into my mind, the story of a elderly couple in the future who went to a clinic to inquire about the cost of trading in their bodies. Fifteen minutes passed in a flash.

Three strategically placed injections to deaden the furrows of anger and yet not remove all manner of expression on my face. I still have wrinkles and do not possess the unnatural smoothness that seems too unreal to look at. I was that way when I was young. However, this act was more symbolic for me. I don't want to try to be someone else. I only want to have what is inside of me, be more apparent to the world. I am...just me.

Watch 31. The Twilight Zone - The Trade-Ins in SciFi & Fantasy View More Free Videos Online at Veoh.com

A sign post or two

I had meant to write about a friend of mine a couple of months ago when I met her, being newly repatriated to Korea. She has spent the last five years in France. She was originally studying at a University in a technical area. While in Paris, she found her passion and became a chef, eventually even working at the famed, Le Cordon Bleu, in Paris. My joy, of finally meeting a Korean who knows red wine is served at room temperature! All joking aside, I always find it a pleasure to meet someone who follows their passion in life. So it was an immense pleasure to find her working as a chef in Club That (one of my favorite expat haunts in Daegu). We sat down and spoke briefly during one of her breaks, and I listened as the French flowed with perfection. Five years she managed to stay, but the day came when the visas dried up and forced her return home.

So as I turn from the talk of wine and food, I happened to look up tonight at what appeared to me as the largest net work of spider webs I had ever seen produced. Usually you see the small web with a solitary territorial spider. Perhaps, it has been my state of mind, but I actually stopped and admired it. I observed how all of these spiders came together, linking their webs, not even having to compete with each other. There seemed to be an endless stream of activity generated by the lights. There was no lack or were there shortages that could be observed. On their own, I doubt that such a massive web could have been constructed by just one spider.

No dear people, no one ever achieves anything of greatness on their own...ever.

It is and isn't what appears to be...

I was out during the day for a quick walk around when the familiar site of these dancing girls was heard off in the distance. Each time I see these girls, I just feel incredibly sad for them. It has to be because I have never seen such displeasure in all my life at doing something that should be fun. Here they are, young but lack any vibrancy. There is a mechanical way about them, that lacks any human quality. They seemed to repel everyone around them. I noticed that most of the men that walked by didn't even look at them. They didn't pause or stare. You will see a couple of them in the background.

There seemed to be a sense of shame associated with what they were doing. Instead of having fun, it was like watching 'careless dancing'. Nothing about it was in sync. I decided in haste to film these girls, just to show this total lack.

It was like watching corpses dance. I had wondered to myself, what took their joy away? Life is often that way. Can you actally take something you love to do and then suck all of the life out of it? Or is it that you allow something to take it away from you?

Just a thought...from few minutes out of my day.

Lipstick and rouge, Cafes of Daegu in a cooler season

I am sitting at Cafe Francesco in Chilgok, a district in Daegu that is more like a suburban hideaway in the mountains. There is no harsh reality, no metro to hear the panhandlers play for coins (though I know that most would prefer folding cash). There is a sort of pretense that plays out in the cafes. The absence of generations is evident. The crowds that frequent the cafes are usually the young students that come to congregate, giggle, and yes, be young. There is still a certain kind of sophistication that is blended in the cafes with the effort to emulate those that are around the world. What makes them Korean is that the menus seem to always have the phrase, "I'm sorry, we don't have that today."These cafes are not like the ones in more urban areas, that really have a cross section that filter through. No, the drama here are more like the kind of dramas you would see of the young and uncertain kind. The unknowing and inexperienced kind. Not much changes. No matter where you go, drama is drama. There are days where I do wish I had a remote that would enable subtitles, and others when I could just hit the mute button.

At another cafe, they have a running track that cycles jazz standards, I know because after about 45 minutes the same rotation starts again. It was a short lived love affair, the illusion broken with the third playing of "As Time Goes By". I wanted to say, "No Sam, please don't play it again." Time did go by, and I realized that nothing substitutes for the real sound of a languished saxophone player in a deserted square, playing under a street lamp in the dead hours of a cool Paris night. It is a cruel joy to witness and striking to hear the emotion of someone breathing those notes into life.

There is one thing I have noticed with all of these cafes. There is no Korean identity. Instead, they try to create an environment that is associated with either America or Europe. As much as they try, there can only be one Eiffel Tower. Nothing beats the original, or an original thought. That has been the puzzle for me, here in Korea. Koreans seem to want to be anything BUT Korean. Then I look around and realize now why only the young seem to be attracted to these coffee houses...it is precisely for that reason.

As I sit in a cafe, my thoughts are distracted, noting a map of Belgium, and wondering why the countries surrounding Belgium are spelt in English....

Here's looking at you with lipstick and rouge...kid.

How to make Korean Children Grow Taller... (Here is another insecurity we can use to empty your pocketbook)

It has been a week of new businesses opening up. It has been like a revolving door, watching some businesses fail and within a few weeks, someone else comes to the neighborhood. People haven't given up hope here. With every new business opening, the neighborhood watches to see how they are going to try to attract your attention. So out come the go-go dancers, the big balloons, the huge floral wreaths and they give it a go.

We all have seen so many things that are marketed solely based to deal with the gnawing insecurities that are used to afflict us throughout our lives. Looking good is important to the world. It is often those outward things that are used to gain favor with the world around us. This has made plastic surgeons rich, the cosmetic industry stable, dentists smile, and the diet industry benefit from the blossoming waist lines around the world. So with everyone trying to look like everyone else to have a sense of belonging, why on earth would this also not apply to height? Asians are not known for being incredible tall, and since height has now also been tied to success, why not create a product to make people taller? Outside of shoe lifts and higher heels, one company has done that. I was stunned. Imagine if you could market to short parents...and tell them, you had a miracle product that if used early enough, say around puberty, you could make their children grow taller. Never mind genetics. DNA, what is that? Just put on these special shoes, and within a couple of years, your child will grow. I guarantee it. I just could not believe the endorsements for this product, that actually got it to market here in South Korea. Of course the children going to grow taller during puberty! My son, was able to achieve a height greater than his parents because the tall genes were going to win from my side of the family. Why? Because mothers are always right. No special shoes were needed to enhance my son's growth.

I looked at this shop and watched the video that continuously played. Taller children were walking over to a smaller child on a basketball court and laughing at the child. I marvelled at the tactic, preying on the fears and insecurities of the weak. It's done everyday, from the moment a child has their first confrontation by a bully in a playground to the bullies of the boardrooms across the globe. It's life and it can be tough out there.

The openings continue with two dancing mascots for a local coffee shop. They gladly posed for me. In English, I said, "Smile for the camera!" One of guys said, "But you can't see our faces!" I said, "I may not be able to see your faces, but I still can tell if you you smiling or not." It's all in the attitude. Now, I need to see if I can get some of those special shoes...I would like to grow a little taller too.

"I am Happy"

It is the end of the week, and on my way home, everyday I am chased down by my favorite stalker, "Emily". There have been days where she has seen me pass by and bolts out of her mother's shop chasing me down, often out of breath just to say, "Hello! I am happy!" The weather doesn't matter to Emily. Emily runs, just to ensure I hear her tell me her name and that she is happy today. Even when Emily isn't in the best of spirits, she will look up at me and burst into a smile and chase me down. She stops me and I look over at her mother who smiles and shakes her head.

I am the strange woman that walks down the road, with this understood ceremony that at a certain time of the day, I am obligated to greet this creature, and I realize that even when I am not feeling happy...I must for Emily.

Emily has become my shot in the arm at times. This little girl who doesn't know fear, runs to exchange a few words with me everyday. The most powerful declaration in the world, "I am happy." She doesn't know the other words, like angry, sad, or the anti-happy word of 'unhappy'. She doesn't want to know those words for they hold no meaning for her. All she knows is she is happy, and she is sticking with that game plan.

After a long day, I often feel like the elderly that I see pushing their burdens down the road. Heavy with the years and the load. Many people don't want to look at the elders because in part they don't want to be them. They have the years they have spent, and often just when looking at them, you feel their lives follow them. What knowledge is learned is not necessarily wisdom.

With Emily...I startled her when I asked to take her picture. It threw her off balance, this was new, but there she was wiping away the serious life pondering thoughts from my mind. She doesn't have to think about being happy. She just is. It is often when we think too much, about whatever that may be, is when we get in the way of what 'happy' really means. Emily is happy being Emily. Emily is happy to chase me down everyday that she can to remind me of her own happiness.

"I am happy." For so many, it's an incredibly hard sentence to say.

The Works of Tiny Hands...in Daegu

Often, and I mean very often, I look for signs of life...of hope. In this world that aches and moans and groans about so many things...I look for the signs of happy. It is strange that some people only think that art must be dark in order to hold meaning. Nothing could be further from the truth. I find that a dark mind who only produces dark images, well, it begins to look all of the same. People trying to shock, when the world in its present state is shocking enough. It is easy to be dark in times of darkness. Is it true art? Does art have to be hell in order to transcend heaven? What does it take to lift oneself out of hopelessness? I have many friends who are artists with varying levels of achievement. It frankly doesn't matter about who is deemed great, mediocre, or unknown. What I find is that the experts, do not know a damn thing about art. Art is an individual experience, rendered from a soul of a person. That person shares their medium with the world. The individual taking in the art, be it a viewer, a reader is trying to understand what they are looking at. If there is a message. If something about that item, book, movie, touches an experience they, themselves can relate to OR what type of emotion does it raise within a person. Real art...dark, light, though the eyes of a child is the most telling. They reflect back to the adults how they perceive their world. Some are crudely drawn, others have magic in their fingers, and still others tell stories with their pictures. I happened to find these picture on the side of the building and they made me smile.

The lives of a lot of artists right now, throughout the world are going through a lot of challenges, because of many things. Many are storing their art, some destroying their art, and still others are wondering if they should give up being an artist. Is there ever a good time to be an artist? If you look at the lives of artists throughout, the ones that are elevated, are often done so after they die. Why is that? Perhaps, it is because there is really the desire to not know the artist, just the creation. There are those who say to not write, to not be an artist, to not be a photographer, to not be......you fill in the blank. The reason is simple. People tie success with money. Many are eager to tell you what you shouldn't be. You have to know within yourself who you are.

My point is, BE. If it is within you to be whatever you have chosen to be, you must have the courage to live that life. Filmmaker, actors, writer, painter, photographer, etc....you have to find a way to continue to work and yes, a lot of people are struggling all over the place. So, it is about a new way of thinking for all of us, no matter what our passions are.
For the corporate set, teachers, leaders, followers....etc., etc., etc., so much fear about these changes have grounded a lot of people. People are told, "do what you love" and others are told "do what you can". It is not just words. The pain of growth is real. There are real growing pains. So many people are looking and there is panic, but the panic needs to stop. You can't grow in a state of fear. There are always things to be afraid of, the spiders and snakes of life. You can look at the spiders and snakes all you want. They will always be there. There will always be someone beating a drum that says, "Fear, Fear, Fear".

Whatever you have going on in your own life, I can bet most of you created your own path through your choices, and if the rug has been pulled up through life circumstances and you are crying for someone to fix it, and you take no action...well dear, this is a cash and carry world. Sometimes there is nobody to fix it...except you.

It sucks, but you roll up your sleeves because giving up on living is just not an option. Life IS wonderful. I would rather struggle than be planted in a cemetery. I would rather try to figure out how to make life better than to give up on it. We are a collection of excuses. I was reminded about that by looking at these pictures.
I saw the reflection I had been looking for...what HAPPY looks like. Too many people fill this world with dark formidable images...all of those seductive emotions, like an addiction to pain. When it comes down to it...it is crap. There is nothing wonderful about darkness. You can't see a damn thing, and usually the things you fear in the dark, you laugh about when the light switch is turned on.