A stream of conscienceness that flows with direction

I have been asked on multiple occasions since I got to Korea if I'm 'happy'. It's a deceptively simple question. The short answer is yes, but the long answer is better.

One of my friends has a saying: "content without perfection". I don't know if it's hers originally, but I credit her with introducing it to me. Regardless of where it comes from, it seems to fit my situation rather well at the moment.

My life is not perfect. It's quite far from it, though to be honest I really couldn't tell you what a perfect life for me would be. I know that debt free would be a big part of that, but that's something that I'm realistically working my way towards. Not only am I making strides towards it, but I'm doing it on my own, without loans or help from anyone else. There's something about the accomplishment of doing something entirely on your own that can't be replaced by anything else. And though I'm far from removing debt from my life completely, I've managed to remove one large debt to a close friend, and within a few months will have repaid a debt to my parents that's been a long time coming. After these two debts are wiped clean, I can concentrate solely on my student loans, which have been hanging over my head for the past 5 years or so.

And though debt was a large reason I came to Korea, it wasn't the only one. I wasn't happy in Florida, though I did make the best of my situation and developed some close friendships. I moved from city to city when the opportunity arose, partly to further my career, and partly to remove myself from the bad habits and temptations that seemed to be popping up left and right. One of these bad habits I was able to kick last year - I quit smoking as a Christmas present to my parents. Though I still get the urge quite often, if I do smoke now it makes me sick, so I have an even stronger aversion to it now. So I knew I wanted to leave Boca Raton, but I just didn't know where. I thought that Tampa was where I wanted to be, but there were still some residual temptations there that more than likely would have pulled me where I didn't need to go. And of course Korea seemed to come out of nowhere for me, but this place feels more like home to me than Boca ever did.

I tried when I first got to Boca in '06 to wander around, see what was there, and just explore my surroundings. I would get on the highway and just drive, or wander down back alleys and streets on the weekend just to see where they would take me. I rarely found anywhere of note. So I stopped looking. I even stopped going to the beach at night, which was a place I found powerfully peaceful. But here, it's completely different. I find something new literally every day. Just last week, I found out that there's a moving fountain in the river just a few blocks downriver from me, that at night has an LED light show. There's steps on the bank where you can sit and watch, or you can go out on the stepping stones and watch it from the middle of the river. It's beautiful, and I wouldn't have even known it was there except I got off the bus one stop too early. It's the little things like this that I absolutely treasure.

So though I may not have a lot of material posessions, and I live very simply in a simple studio, I am still able to surround myself with things that I love. But that's what seems to have changed - it's not 'things' anymore so much as people and experiences. I got to play in the mud for a weekend and feel like a kid again. I got to eat fresh seafood straight from the sea and find out that it pops and shells explode when they get too hot. I got to give 5 little 4 year olds a giant group hug because they all drew me birthday cards. I get to see mountains every day. I'm learning a new language that's not based on Roman letters, which means I actually have to think when I'm reading something, instead of just seeing it. I got to wander around in a massive underground mall and then splash around in the rain for a little bit before coming home. I got to go to a bar that looks more like an igloo and hang out with a bunch of expats for my birthday. I let tiny fish eat my feet.  

I also get stared at on a consistent basis by strangers, partly because I'm foreign, partly because I'm not a size 10 or below, and partly because I have tattoos. I've realized that I'm priveleged, not because I'm white, or middle class, but because I grew up in America, in an English speaking, free country. I know I was hounded with the propaganda as a child: "You're so lucky to live in a country where your freedoms are protected, like free speech, and freedom of religion". And of course I took those things for granted, because I didn't experience any other way, I just knew it existed. Here, children don't really have the option to rebel against their parents, or their culture. At home, even if you're rebelling, you're usually rebelling with someone else. The punk kids, the emo kids, the goth kids, or whatever group seemed to be different from what was acceptable to your parents, they had friends that shared their beliefs and feelings, however misplaced they may have been. When I dyed my hair black and wore boots and dog collars to school, and painted my face white, there were a dozen or more kids that were even more 'hardcore' than me. I wasn't alone. Here, there are few if any rebels, because there's no haven for them. Everyone is the same, and if you disrespect your parents by getting a tattoo, or wearing inappropriate clothing, the consequences are much more dire than having your keys or your credit card taken away. Life may not be fair for your average teenage American, but they certainly have more options than most of the rest of the world.

I see things every day that remind me how priveleged I am. I don't ever know what people around me are saying, but often my friend Cherita does. She likes to tell me when people are talking about my tattoos and what they're saying. If it's an older person it's usually along the lines of "I can't believe she has tattoos. Her mother must be mortified." If it's a younger person, it's usually one of them asking their friend what their parents would say if they got a tattoo as big as mine (and mind you, mine are not considered big in the American ink world at all). If it's the former, I would dearly love to tell them that though my mother doesn't approve of them and doesn't really like them, she still loves me. If it's the latter, I'd like to tell them that I didn't get my first tattoo until I was 18 and out of the house, when it had nothing to do with my parents or their approval or dissaproval, but it was something I wanted to do for myself. Since then, my ink has become not only a personal artistic expression for me, but a way for me to chronicle my life and the people closest to me. Though they may not like being immortalized in ink, but it's the most personal and most profound way that I can express how important someone or something is to me - to have it permanently applied to my skin, it'd better be darn important.

Ok, so I really didn't mean to go off on a tangent there, but it seemed relevant. I am allowed to do things, and be things, and have things that other people simply cannot, just because I'm American. Because I speak English, my rent is paid for me, my plane ticket was paid for, and I am paid a higher salary than my Korean coworkers, who still have to pay their own rent. It's not fair, but such is life. So as I said before, my life is far from perfect. But I am reminded almost every day that I'm at a point now where I can be truly content. Without perfection.