Settling In During Unsettled Times

"An individual has not started living until he can rise above the narrow confines of his individualistic concerns to the broader concerns of all humanity."

 Dr. Martin Luther King Junior

The day before I left Nanjing, I went back down to my favorite park, as if I wanted to thank it for all of the simple lessons I learned when I would come down here to walk on the Palace Grounds ruins.  The old palace that once stood here with the ming lions standing guard.  Often I wondered why I just seemed to keep coming back to this place.  Nature had grown over these ruins that had been set aside to simply show that dynasties do collapse, what was once too big to fail had fallen all because there was a simple man who observed the actions of the elite, not caring about the welfare of the people.  A lion, that held the flower of life, the chi ball, displaying the power, which many are not aware that resides in each person.  China, holds still, the belief of the Mandate of Heaven.  If things need to change, then they will. I kept going and decided to go within the city.

As I walked around and looked at the crush of advertising and western images come in from all of the MNEs, telling them how badly they needed their products to have happy lives, I stared.  Microsoft showing their images displaying two different realities, is just one example of how fear is a factor in product marketing.  The false images that seems to just push forward a message that reads, "you are not good enough unless you have our products in your life."  I remembered my messages to my students, reminding them that they are fine just the way they are.  You don't need your teeth whitened, your skin doesn't need a pile of makeup, the clothes you make are your self expression, and your hair is beautiful as it is.  There is a fine line between taking care of yourself and turning into a photo-shopped image that is just like everyone else along the way.

It was early the next morning as I looked at the rising sun at the airport getting ready to leave.  Yes, it was both hard and easy to go.  It was hard, because I learned how I had been so afraid to come here.  I was swimming with my own preconceived notions about how I would 'fit in'.  I had so little knowledge about China.  I was completely ignorant about their lives, culture, and thought about how I watched each myth and preconceived notion shattered along the way.  Whenever I would hear news about human rights violations, I would laugh and think of all of our actions.  We sank to a level of targeting people, which because our 'enemies' would do it, that all of a sudden made it OK for us to do the same thing.  We used to be better than that.  We ignore what we do to each other, and find it easier to tear apart other countries, often not realizing that we are often the worst offenders on the planet.  We use the most resources, and yet have still to stand up to the corporations to demand change.  We stay divided, and yet the one thing I learned in China, that right or wrong...they stand together as a unified people.  Something the rest of the world has to learn how to do.  They don't let religion divide them.  They don't let their differences divide them.  They learn how to change from within.  They work together to solve problems and they have not let money be their god.  There was a lot I learned when I came here to teach English.  I thought of myself more as a student, than a teacher.  Where I was not able to go in the world, students from those parts of the world came to me.  We honored each other, respected one another and made great efforts to understand our mutual desires of wanting to create a world together of peace, collaboration, and to not give into the message of the "world is going to end in 2012."  The world is what we ALL make it.

I knew that I had a bigger pit of fear to overcome, and that was choosing to return to America.  Here with our SUVs, traffic jams and decaying urban environments.  Here the wealth is drying up, but our wealth has been misspent.  Our wealth was never supposed to be about money.  Our wealth was always around us.

As we drove through and I saw vacant buildings matched the vacant faces I would see.  The once grand New York City seemed to look like a has been, pretending to be something more real.  People afraid of each other.  What a contrast to where I had come from.  In Nanjing,  a city of 7 million people and it felt like I could go anywhere.  In New York, I will have to see if people are ready to see more.  Politicians only see the governments and interact on that level.  No, this is a far different view, this is a view from the weeds of life at the street level, where it really matters.  

As we headed towards the Lincoln tunnel, I thought about the inspiration a Chinese man had taken from the words of Abraham Lincoln, a man who had many personal failings in his life.  Yes,  to see Abraham Lincoln so revered for changing our nation, even though it did not want change.  I looked and saw not what one man did, but what need to do as the people of our own nation.  I had been angered by what I saw in our country.  No peace messengers, just war mongering to bail us out of economic depressions.  Stirring up strife in Korea, in Iran, in Isreal, in Afghanistan, Iraq and much of it at the behest of oil companies.  We the people, at the street level have had our heads down.  Good people that look at our large decaying cities wondering what we can do.  We don't seem to be able to put aside our differences long enough.  We erect more walls, gated neighborhoods, being bought off, and some people have gone off and decided to go ahead and profit off of the fear.

I looked up at the windows and wondered how many people even know their neighborhoods in the land of the 'free', home of 'the brave'.  I guess the easy way is just not to look at each other because that is the easy or safe way.  We don't make each other laugh anymore.  More often, we are making each other cry.  However, we all hear and know it just doesn't have to be this way.

I looked at the skyline.  This is America.  One port city that has been here, representing the American Dream around the world.  We sue each other now.  We have to be careful now of everything.  I looked at what they teach our children now, and I thought of all of the lessons I taught Korean children in English who were only 5 and 6 years of age.  They were writing, doing mathematics, science, and having fun.  I stared in horror as I looked at the homework of a child in one of the 'best schools' in New Jersey, the assignment was how to tell analogue time on a clock.  She was in the second grade.  I shook my head.  People, dear people, don't let this continue.  It may be legal, but it isn't right.  It's time to change the dream.  No one person changes our system.  We change our system.

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.

Reflections along the way

I discovered during this journey how much I grew to love teaching. You hope to learn a lot about yourself through the eyes of your students. You see how fearful they can be when you first walk into that classroom, especially when you are not at all like them. It has been an amazing experience integrating with a culture that has just as many complexities as anywhere else.

The curtain is getting ready to close and I know I have less than three weeks in Daegu. There has been so much that I have seen and experienced here, much more than had I visited as a tourist. I have seen the beautiful heart that is present here. I have also seen closed minds with an air of superiority, just as you would see in any other part of the world. Sometimes a foreign view threatens the status quo. The stereotypes that hinge on cultural behavior can only be changed by individuals. I have learned to see through the appearances that are so carefully protected.

I have learned to be humoured by comparing the differences, like going to a movie theater and wanting to ask why all ticket holders receive assigned seats instead of being able to sit where you want. Then again, why ask why? Sometimes you just go with the flow and look at the seating chart to find your seat.

I have also been inspired by the creativity I have seen blossom. The creation of a space station out pieces of vegetation and apples from a six-year-old girl, named Kelly, made me realize I taught them more than English. I was also pleased to hear of one my students winning an art competition in the city. It is with these little touches on their lives, seeing their achievements, how much they have learned and have grown; I realized my own growth through them as well.

So as I watched kindergarten graduation pictures taken this week, for a graduation I won't be present for, I smiled for the camera as well. I was one of their first teachers. They were my first students. You really never forget your first teachers and I won't forget mine. It has been an honor to have been part of their lives.

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?

Gratitude - Guest Blogger Amber Newton

It is my pleasure to introduce you to Amber Newton, an artist and expatriate teacher in South Korea. I can tell you that this woman has a heart of gold. As much as she can possibly do, she does. You can view more of her work here on her blog, Amber Coloured.
Gratitude
By Amber Newton

My friend, Marilyn sends me a facebook message inviting me to guest blog during November, writing about an experience in South Korea with the theme of ‘gratitude’. I agree, because I can’t say no. It’s that people-pleaser, sometimes asset, sometimes weakness part of my personality. Soon it got registered in the “things to do” segment of my consciousness. But what to write about? Over the past three years here I’ve become a different person three times over, and so I know I should have at least been grateful three times. But to narrow down an experience that I’ve had here. A moment? A day? A month? As I scanned my memory of students, friends, coworker, strange sightings on the subway, encounters on the streets and in night clubs, I drew a blank. So I stopped thinking about it, more because my days are busy and I usually need a list to remind me what I need to think about. Yesterday though, it all became obvious. What I already knew came to me in an email when I needed to be reminded of it the most.

I had just got home from Shinsegae department store, the one which is allegedly now the largest department store in the world. As I was leaving it looked as though they were about to do the lighting of the enormous Christmas tree they have set up out front. Carols were blasting, and a crowd was forming. I was hopping into a taxi trying to look the other way. It wasn’t always like this. As I child I loved Christmas more than anything, like most children around the world who reap the benefits of that holiday. As I grew older things became less merry, as Christmas with my family became as much about wondering if my schizophrenic uncle would be on or off his meds that day, or if my other uncle would bring over his girlfriend that no one liked. My family gradually grew apart, the party guest list smaller, and as I started working more retail jobs it was enough to make any teenager critical of consumerism in capitalistic societies.

After the age of eighteen I moved across the country, and there were no more Christmas’ at home. I either spent them alone, with friend’s families, or working as a servant in some rich family’s home for just enough money to spend on a night out as soon as I got back to my neighborhood. Then there was last Christmas, my first one home in 8 years, sitting only with my grandma in front of the TV, after having just spent weeks by my grandpa/dad’s side in hospitals as he died. He was who made Christmas when I was a kid, he loved it more than anyone I ever knew, and now I get tears streaming down my face at the sight of a department store Christmas tree?

I was thinking about the irony of this when I got home and as I robotically turned on my computer to check my e-mails. In my mailbox was an e-mail from my friend’s mom in the Philippines, who I had just sent 5 huge boxes of relief clothing to, in assistance of her amazing efforts to support victims of the recent typhoons. The boxes had arrived, and her words were overflowing with love. She commended the fundraising I did from the bottom of her heart. This gratitude was rooted in her desire to help those in need, and likewise it spread to me because of my desire to help her do so.

Now, even though the religious undertones and commercial mania are lost on me, when I see a Christmas tree I can look through it rather than away, and remember to be grateful for those things I can still do.

Pumpkin Guts...and other pleasant thoughts...

When I first arrived in Daegu, I spent a lot of time immersed in learning about the culture of South Korea. From food, to fashion, religion and to holidays...I was the student. Now as the teacher, I find that as I am preparing to leave the season has changed and I get to share some of my culture with my students. In teaching about Halloween, I was amazed how the children responded. Specifically to the telling of how children get to go from door to door to beg for candy, using the magical phrase, "Trick or Treat". Of course, some omissions about the pranking...which I am sure a lot of you may or may not admit to doing something to a house or two if said candy was sub par or even worse...the total absence of candy or occupants who had left their porch light on.

The ever popular jack-o-lanterns were carved, with pumpkin guts scooped by children that fought over whose turn it was. Sometimes this holiday just brings out the best in children...like greed and rotting teeth. However, what I loved about today, was watching the pure reaction as they oohed over the faces as they emerged. And then it hit me. This is the first time they have had anything to do with Halloween...and it may be the only time they celebrate it. I recalled the same reaction for me, as I have learned and experienced so many things here...like a child holding on to a new experience or discovery and being able to give that experience to someone else...is priceless.

H1N1 Vaccinations Begin in Daegu

I awoke to the sound of a crowd under my window. I noticed the cue was milling about was all older, every single one of them. I ran out the door and finally saw the purpose of this new building that literally was built in about 6 months. They had finally opened for business. In Korea, they don't call this the H1N1 virus, they call it SI. And SI has been a huge scare for the population.

The parking lot overflowed, not with cars, but people.

The normally quite patience I had observed was filled with chatter and face masks.

These shots from my window.

This clinic is about a block away from where I live, the cues wrapping around to the front of the building. Again, only the elder population being vaccinated.

They were arriving by any means possible, congregating to get this vaccination.

I know there has been a lot said about this virus. Even more said about the vaccine.

What I do know is that the cue has come right to my door. Many questions that seem to surface. What seems to be stated is that there doesn't seem to be enough research into a good vaccination. Is this vaccination is truly needed for a flu that seems both mild, and not outside the norm of annual flu seasons to vaccinate populations all over the world? Are populations being forced against their will to take a vaccination that has not been thoroughly tested or is suspect?

What are the consequences for exercising your free will and refusing? Here in Korea, they trust their government, they trust their health care system, and they are getting the vaccination en masse.

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.

Police Line - Do not cross...please

I have to say I have seen rallies, protests, around the world and it almost seems counter culture to really complain about anything in South Korea. Yes, in Seoul, they can have the large turn outs to voice their disputes publicly. Even when they do so, very little in the way of violence ever seems to happen. The crowds are not treated with excessive force, but this display of what I assume where workers on strike near the entrance of a department store was the first time I had witnessed any sort of public display. The thin orange police line tape seemed just obligatory, almost amusing.
A few police officers were posted, just primarily to ensure that traffic continued in an orderly fashion. The absence of riot gear and weapons was a stark contrast to what you see in other parts of the world. A total absence of emotion on both sides. Just one group of people that wanted the local community to know that they were not happy about their present situation.
A man sat passively with literature at a makeshift table, watching the crowd come together with orchestrated chants as some of the members in the crowd clashed their cymbals and raised and lowered signs in unison. To be honest, it sounded more like a pep rally than a strike or a protest. Key personnel would take turns leading the crowd, like a cheerleader, with such order and singularity of voice. What mob mentality? There was no mob to begin with.
Just a peaceful walk during a weekend, watching these voices of opposition, basically saying, "Please listen to us if it matters to you." Yes, it was just a touch surreal. Possibly more surreal to realize that my western eyes had been too used to people resorting to violence just to be heard.

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.

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