Joel and I said goodbye to Gwangju on Monday, and then to Korea yesterday. We had a big collective night out on Saturday night, starting with a large group dinner and a pub crawl that ended with a club (and several of our guy friends dancing on its poles). Sunday followed with its own adventure, and another night out on Monday (and let me tell you, going to a dance club on a Monday night is a weird experience), after which we (somehow) made it to Seoul on Tuesday on an 8 a.m. bus. Several of our friends met up with us in Seoul on Thursday (most everyone had Thursday and Friday off, because of the Lunar New Year), where we went clubbing yet again.
I may never want to see the inside of a dance club again.
Finally, Joel and I did some sightseeing on Friday, met up with a friend for dinner at the airport, and then watched Korea shrink out of sight from an airplane window at about 9:30 p.m. We spent the night in Kansai airport last night, then caught the train here to Kyoto first thing this morning. I am writing this from our boarding house in Kyoto. The place is old and simply furnished, but pretty sweet. There is an Irish guy and a French couple staying here as well, and they seem pretty friendly and down-to-earth.
I was kind of surprised that I never cried over leaving Gwangju, particularly when saying goodbye to some of our good friends. Unfortunately, it's difficult (if not impossible) to give each goodbye the proper attention it deserves, so perhaps it was better to cry for none than for only some, when others may have been more deserving of tears. But I suppose in the end, I knew it was time to go - not because of any one thing, but because (almost) two years is long enough to get to know a place and be ready to move on to the next one.
Also, I really, really miss my mom.
Joel says I complain about every single job I have. I know he is right, but I still maintain that every job had something worth complaining about, as well as things gained. This job taught me that I love children but do not have the patience or optimism for teaching. Joel truly enjoyed our time there and would like to leave the door open to go back if nothing pans out back home; I see the value in that but would frankly just rather not. I know I am qualified to teach at university, and would probably appreciate the extra pay and extensive vacation, but I truly miss my career; I thoroughly enjoy public health, particularly global health, and am eager to get back to it. I also felt my first moment of panic yesterday when I realized that the clock is now actively ticking down until we run out of money and I need to find another one. I am not worried at my ability to do so per se, but we are not sure where we will end up, whether (or where) Joel will be accepted into grad school, and whether I hate my next job, too. But that is life, I suppose.
They say that living abroad grows you in a way that nothing else will, but I don't think I fully understood why until we finally got ready to leave. When you live away from home and everything that is familiar - particularly in a place with a relatively small community of Westerners, like Gwangju - you make connections and spend time with people who would never have crossed your path back home, and I'm not just talking about people from other countries. We met people who had never left their home countries until now and a guy who has lived on five different continents. We met people who had taken only one lover their entire life and people who took pride in living la vie Bohème. I lost track of how many sexcapade stories I heard (and how many times I got laughed at for how sheltered I was). We met Catholics, Episcopalians, Evangelicals, and spent more time (and in conversation) with atheists than I ever imagined I would. We watched people build relationships and families while others set their own lives aflame. We made friends and lost friends, welcomed new faces and said goodbye to old ones, gave our hearts away and received them back full to the point of bursting.
So thank you, Gwangju. Thank you for the kids I taught - both the nice and the nasty - and the chance to see everything that kids can be. Thank you for the lessons in friendship and love. Thank you for the food and the temples and the mountains. Thank you for the chance to study the Korean language and the Korean people, and the constant reminders that I never came close to fully understanding either one. Thank you for the trials we overcame and the temptations we resisted. Thank you for the lessons learned and the forgiveness that came from admitting to mistakes. Thank you for the growth through isolation and the warmth of unexpected friendships. Thank you for the chance to defend my faith and model it through love to those who needed to see it done properly, and for the chance to better understand those who made radically different choices from me as people. And most of all, thank you for the chance to weather the storm with the man I love, to strengthen my marriage through shared trials and triumphs and joys and suffering.
Thank you all for the laughter, the tears, the fights, the drinks, the hugs, the kisses, the dances, the noraebang nights, the cook-offs, the house parties, and the hangovers. I will seriously be on the wagon for the whole of next month.
Here's lookin' at you, Gwangju.
NOW hollow fires burn out to black,
And lights are guttering low:
Square your shoulders, lift your pack,
And leave your friends and go.
Oh never fear, man, nought’s to dread,
Look not left nor right:
In all the endless road you tread
There’s nothing but the night.
-A. E. Housman
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