Field Trippin at Lotte World

Coming to Korea was the easiest decision I ever had to make.

Packing up my belongings, saying goodbye to a mother, father, and a slew of siblings wasn't as hard for me as it is to some people. 

Sure, I miss them.  My baby cousins were one, three, and seven when I left so it breaks my heart to miss their birthdays, to miss family get-togethers, and to miss being able to relate when they recall funny stories during this period in my absence.

I miss my friends too. 

It is sad because I know whenever I return, everything will have changed.  I would be different.  They would be different.  Our relationships would be different.  Its a bittersweet feeling to know that even without you, the world keeps spinning, revolving, moving, and you realize just how small you are.

I am selfish.  (I call it independent.)  I make decisions for me with little regard for my family, for parents who worry and miss me very much.  (Happy mother's day mom!)

But coming to Korea was the most important decision I ever made so far.  I do not regret one second of it.

And the reason is simple: I am in love with my job, with my students, with the way the sun sets in my back yard.  I am love with me. With life. And the friends I have made here.

Chicken Ass!

I met a cool guy at a bar during one of my last nights in Saigon.  It was past midnight and my travelmate and I were barhopping, just blissfully stumbling about. 

The guy I met was a journalist from England who teaches in China, but has spent a good portion of his early twenties living in Canada.  We had a great chat over some beers while building toothpick teepees and doodling Silver Surfers in my notebook.

As he teaches in China, he came over to Seoul for the weekend.  I met up with him on Sunday and we ended up in Hongdae for dinner time. 

We went to a soju bar because what better way to experience Seoul than a soju bar, amIright or amIright?

I tell him to order something from the menu to eat.
He does.
We order this dish that looks like popcorn chicken, battered and deep fried.
We ask the server what animal it is.
The server takes his right hand, puts it on his waist, and flutters it a little. Takes his left arm, makes it like a tail.

"Oh, it has an ass," I offer.

So that cleared it up.  We were eating peacock.  Wing and an ass. What else could it be?

A few shots of soju later and some unidentifiable beers, we decide that its not peacock, but squid.  Its chewy, tasteless, and rubbery in the way squid tentacles are.  Trust me.

A couple anecdotes more and an empty bottle of soju later, we realize, after prying the batter off one of the popcorn chicken pieces, that it is not squid.  The meat was dark and hard. 

It has to be a lung, a kidney, or a heart. An organ of some sort, I interject enthusiastically while oozing with inebriated confidence.

"Its definitely not an organ," says this English-Canadian-Chinese journalist quite firmly.

At this point, I am beyond baffled and curious as a cute little black cat.

I pull out my travel size comes-with-me-everywhere Moleskin notebook (thanks Anty!), the same one we had already spent a hot, sweltering, Saigon night before doodling into, and demanded him to draw all the animals that we could possibly be eating.

I waved a server over.
Two came. (Koreans have great customer service)
I pointed at the plate of unknown meat.
I pointed at my sketchbook.
I made my face look unsure.

The server points at chicken.
I say "neck?"
The server says "neck, annyo!" and makes his arms into an X (Korean waiters are very hot)
He points at ass.

"CHICKEN ASS!" is what the journalist and I cheer out in unison. 

What has a fluttering wing and an ass? Chicken.

I burst out laughing, my hand involuntarily shoots up to cover my mouth, I hunch over in the booth and continue to giggle until tears form and I am all laughed out.

It was a great memory.

I like good stories.

"We'll take these memories one by one, I guess that's how the future's done."