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.

English: It does the body good...

I have an odd way of noticing things. Like being on my way out to Mount Palgongsan to teach for part of the day under the shadow of the Buinsa temple and noticing a milk truck with ESL stamped on the side. I snap a picture and laugh at the irony.

It was just one of those mornings that felt like everything was just in time, where I was doing what I had to do, and reviewed the directions once again, trying to reconcile what I knew vice what I had been told. Often, there can be a huge gulf between the two. Often, sadly I have found the things a foreigner is told is often a huge estimation, not necessarily giving you all of the information. Perceptions of time and distance often vary, and many 'details' are presented with little time to make an informed decision. This has forced me to rely on my instincts on more than one occasion. Like the difference in commuting time. I went with my instincts over the information provided to me. 30 minutes was safer than 10 minutes. Also, the number of classes I was to teach swelled within 24 hours from 4, to 6, to eventually being 8 classes. Minor details...just minor...I still had a great time doing this event.

As I watched the children get pumped up for their experience I marvelled once again at how on a Saturday...children and their parents came out to spend an afternoon to interact in English and be excited about it. I saw parents beaming with pride about the performances their children gave over learning. They were giving it their all. They had as much excitement as if they were at a sporting event. At the end of this event, the student and the teachers all posed together for group photos, and out from every pocket, purse, or handbag...came the cameras. 10 - 15 minutes of being posed...as if the teachers were rock stars.

And it is very telling. This is a Saturday in Korea...and yes, they are serious about their future.

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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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.

Don't forget to make a wish...

It is Chuseok in South Korea. It is the equivalent of a Thanksgiving holiday that not only celebrates the harvest, but also a solemn time to remember a family's heritage. An odious part for some, will be the cleaning of ancestral tombs. Yes, there is a lot of bowing, feasting, amidst the large family gatherings that last for about three days. Celebrated on the 15th day of the eight month of the lunar calendar, Chuseok this year ends on the 4th of October.

When I was reading about this holiday, there was one tradition that caught my eye. The family typically gathers in a circle and they together look up at the moon to make a wish for the coming year. This is possibly a modernized tradition. In other regions, a dance called the Ganggangsullae is performed. Traditionally, this dance is performed only with women at night without any instruments. The interesting thing about the history of this dance, it predates the origins of Chuseok by 3,000 years. Young and old women dance in a circle at night under the moonlight, and start rotating clockwise. The lead singer sings a line and everyone refrains the word 'ganggangsullae'. The song progressively becomes faster. They sing about their personal hardships, relationships, and desires. When I read that description, it made me think of every chick flick that had some sort of random dancing with glasses of white wine. However, during this dance, the women would play a variety of games and this dance typical can last until dawn. Make no mistake, this is not the turkey in the oven kind of Thanksgiving that is served up in the west. This world seems to need a lot of wishes right now, but I have to say that Chuseok is one tradition that seems only reserved for the rural communities. A holiday for the harvest, that has seen the decline due to the mass migrations from rural areas. Yet, Chuseok still goes on. There is something wonderful about traditions, though they can be despised, they do hold communities together. The hanbok (traditional Korean Clothing) comes out of the closet during these high holidays, and though not much remains in the way of artifacts and ancient ruins, what does remain are these symbols and traditions. What makes a civilization last and endure for thousands of years, for the hope of lasting many more? There is a lot to be said for Korea's survivability. They are still here, where other ancient cultures are mere myths (any Babylonians around?).

So no matter where you are in the world...take a look at this harvest moon...and focus on what you do have.