Mamy and friends

When I walk down the streets in Jinyoung, I notice I'm one of the only foreigners. People sometimes stare but not rudely so. They sometimes greet me with "Anyeoung Haseyeo," double-take at the sight of my skin, hair and eye color. Then, often after I've passed, they remember their little English vocabulary and code switch to "hello." I explored the block of shops and businesses yesterday for exercise. (When we finish the morning English camp, I would love to enroll in a taekwondo or yoga class. Also, Chris told me that the YMCA in Daegu offers Korean lessons on Saturdays. I might look into that as well. For now, I'm too busy.)

Yesterday, I went to church with the Kim family. Hyunsuk found me as soon as I came downstairs and made sure I had a hymnal with English, so I could follow along. Kimchihey helped me during the sermon. I couldn't understand anything, but their constant effort to help me understand brought tears to my eyes, which I tried to hide. I'm truly blessed.

Emma drove me to the hospital this afternoon, so I could have a check up and take blood tests necessary for an identity card. She doesn't speak very much English, and I don't speak very much Korean, so we speak very little when we're together. But I think she likes me or something because I've only been here for one week, and she has treated twice to coffee drinks.

When we stepped out of her vehicle at the hospital, I made a comment about the crazy-loud locust sound. The word is "mamy" in Korean, she told me. The check up was a blur of being pointed to and shuffled around for a wide variety of examinations. At one point, I had a difficult time understanding which articles of clothing I was supposed to take off and leave on for some kind of x-ray needed by the immigrations office. Pretty funny.

The time passed quickly, and we were back on the road to Jinyang and the English Clinic. As I was sitting in the front seat, letting the stimulation of my surroundings seep in, I noticed an unexpectedly, large insect feel its way on the dashboard, like a conductor tapping it's hairy leg to the sound of an inner rhythm. The locust was about the size of a chicken nugget. Remembering their roar, I pictured it attacking me if disturbed, so I pulled myself back against the car seat and sat tensely.

"Emma?" I said. And I tried to motion toward the giant bug without entering the bubble of air that might awaken attack-mode. I kept my distance as much as possible. Emma glanced over to the dash. "Do you see it?" I asked.

"O yea. It's ok," she said, dismissively. Her answer left me unsettled. Really? It's normal for nugget-sized locusts to hang out on the dashboard for vehicles in Korea. Well, maybe it's a cultural thing.

When we pulled over to grab some lunch, she told me to stay, and I told her I didn't want to stay with the bug. I motioned again and shuddered to show my nervousness. She gave another glance and saw it, too. She screamed. We both screamed. As opposed to my defensive tactic, Emma tried to disturb the creature, and I winced with every wack of her wallet. The mamy began it's fierce purr in spurts and huddled into the right corner of the dashboard near the rearview mirror. We both got out of the car, and laughing and shuddering, we somehow drove out the little beast.

Shared experiences pull people together no matter how separated they might feel otherwise. In Khaled Hosseini's The Kite Runner, my latest read, the dialogue between Amir and his father Baba changes when they go to the United States together. There may be conflict because of the move, but there is a sense of unity that didn't exist before. Moments like that one today make my adventure in Korea worthwhile.

To tell the truth, today was a tough day for me. It was fun, but at the end of the day, I longed for someone to speak to who may understand and relate to me. I haven't spoken to Nick in several days because he's gone on vacation and away from the technological medium of communication to which he never imagined he would reduce himself. (Just playing, Nick.)

I want to find a good friend. I accidentally met someone over Skype tonight. I know. It sounds weird and dangerous. Her name was Juyoung, and I thought she was an international student knew from Iowa, but when she asked if I was female, I discovered my mistake. I told her my situation anyway because she said she was living in Japan for the first time. I said I wanted to find some people my age. She said "age is not a problem in being a friend."

On one hand, I'd really like to meet some Americans my age. On the other hand, I think I need to redefine my qualifications for "friend."