Fighting the Dead

Today I installed a light.
My arms are sore, weak from balancing,
precarious,
a plate dangling from wires.

Fourteen wires peered out at me.
Sinister, angry, full of shadow.
I could not know what power lay within them,
should they choose to strike,
or remain frozen, lifeless?
My shoulders tense,
forgetting to blink,
autopilot kicks in,
I felt the surge of trepidation.
Would this be the one fatal touch?

They lay at my fingertips a maze,
a puzzle I could not eschew, a task too big,
too domineering,
like the tangled bead curtain that remains between me and the Man's World.
They taunted me with my own fear,
my own dependency on men,
the desire for weakness blurring my vision.

Ah Ha! I am Man.
Should I not believe man is woman?
The vile race goes on in my head.
I feel strong,
I desire weakness.
I am proud.
I want to cry.
Fuck this gender shit.

So what? I don't know everything.
I didn't peer out from the backseat
as my father drove downtown.
So what? I paid attention to my mother's voice
naming the Nasturtium.

I have this dream,
where I am stringing up the Christmas lights.
where I am boosting my car.
BBQing the steak.
Tightening the eve trough.
where I am installing a light fixture.
A man walks up to me and says:
I am so sorry you lost your dad.

What is this? Do I like to dwell in dark twisted thought.
Do I feel my pain has not been named, recognized.
Do I feel that I should be given more credit for the adversity I have overcome?
Do I feel robbed of something, the opportunity for first hand education,
the chance to argue my equality to a man who loves me more than a brother,
more than a mentor.

The concept of man,
will always remain cast in the image of my father,
a metaphysical greater being.
Bigger, older, stronger, in charge.
I cannot argue with the dead.
I cannot gain power points on that which remains
cemented in the fabric of life.
I can not level off
or evaluate with new found perspective.
He remains the shadow lingering above me.
I fight men,
I am simply trying,
once again,
to fight the dead.

Katelyn.

Today things have changed yet again. I find myself alone in this planetary orbit. I figured that was truth all along, but I forget it when things are too easy, when company is too ready, when I get lost in the triviality of the day to day. I feel as though I forgot myself, as though now I am for the worst, but that can hardly be true. How would I react differently, or how would I have changed, or remained unchanged? I feel such tension and nervousness, in my shoulders, and the cold seems more harsh on my hands and feet. I feel frozen in time. I don't feel compelled to run, or do, but even with simply sitting here I feel as though I am hiding, or waiting out some unforeseen evil or injustice to come. I feel as though I may be the best off if time were just to speed past, and get me out of this place of tension, get me past this living in the unknown, in the foreign. But, then I wonder, what do I have to return home to? A lackluster job, or a premature university entrance, the purchase of a car, the reminder of the things I left behind. No, here I have money, and adventure, and travel, and sun, and new experiences, and dreams, and mountains, and goals, and the full completion of something hard and trying.

Tread onward, upward,
gentle Coward.
What are you afraid of?
The night of vast scintillation?
The prying hands of dawn?

The spoken motto,
"World do your worst"
was not spoken only in company.

Fragile.
The slightest hand or wind should topple,
yesterdays braggart, champion, idealist.
What foresight would benefit,
what precautions calm the heart?

a narrow capitalization of greatness.

Tonight I write with a renewed sense of the need for expression. It seems a long time since I felt this. I have been thinking that these thoughts don’t matter, that I can’t achieve anything, that they can’t impress anyone. That it is redundant and repetitive to just write out thoughts that I have rehearsed to myself and others. But, I realize that I need this outlet, so, despite my lack of hope, and the slight despair I feel even before I start, I begin to move my fingers over this keyboard, believing that no matter what comes of this, it could be magic, and it is important. I have to believe this, even if it seems like tomfoolery. I feel like so often I can see through the foolish dreams and self-conceptualizations of others, and I hate to humble myself to that level. The level of allowing myself to dream, despite the harshness of reality.
However, today I am turning over a new page, I am choosing to believe that I can write well, that it is somehow necessary for me, if not for future generations, if not for myself in the future, then simply for the self as it exists right now. I have believed in others for awhile now. I believed that they were great, despite how it hurt to feel less inspired then them, less passionate then them, less gifted then them. I recognize now, that I have to believe in myself as well. I have to believe that these words too, can impact and change and inspire. I can’t give up on my ability to cognate, or process, or reach others. I may have lost sight of a clear future as I once thought I knew it. I may have been somewhat humbled by the greatness of others as I didn’t know there was, but I am great too. I see some, with their self-conception of greatness, and I feel as though they are fooling themselves, I feel as though I want to shake them and tell them it is a lie, a figment of their disillusioned head, but I don’t. I hold myself back, because I recognize that they too need to dream, to believe in themselves. Is it possible that we are all a bunch of little lost Mozarts, and Einsteins and da Vinchis? Is it possible that the truth is not that ‘greatness is limited’, but that greatness is, as of yet, unattained? Maybe I have got to stop thinking that there are only a few great people. In wanting so desperately to be one of them, I limit those around me to the sidelines, almost wanting to show them that they are not special, they are not great, as thought that would help the real greats to flourish, that it would in fact give me a greater chance at flourishing? Is it true that greatness can only be seen against the backdrop of mundane insignificance? A truly great portrait can only be recognized while standing alongside old replicas or childish squiggles? What if we set up a gallery where every work of art was a masterpiece; where each one caught the light just right and was positioned with maximum aesthetic appeal? I mean, I don’t go around a gallery trying to find one piece I like, I stop and take in each one, one’s detail in stroke, one’s mastery of colour combination or contrast. Why can’t I view life like that? People like that? Why not see an unlimited potential of great people achieving great things, and dreaming realistic dreams. I am so tired of my own stagnation. I lost my own dream of attaining anything worthwhile, so I gave up on others abilities too. I saw despair as my only option, my only truth, so I necessarily gave up on others too, and I think they have begun to realize it.

Who ever said we couldn’t both be great? I mean, there were so many greats in history who were great together. Why is it that so many greats knew each other? Writers inspire other writers, poets inspire other poets, musicians-musicians, scientists-scientists, explorers-explorers. I think some greats are very caught up in their own greatness, and I assumed that was a necessary criteria for greatness. The single-minded determination. Which in turn excludes the recognition of others greatness. But, I don’t need to do it that way.

I wonder if I haven’t been lost in the shadows of the greatness of the world for the past 8 months. It was like I got out of college after reading the incredible works of so many authors and intellectuals, and I was surrounded by keen insightful students going so many great places and I kinda got lost in it all. Narrow capitalization of greatness. I was in an academic community driven by competition. I saw the A’s, and B’s of students. Students being told they had potential in one area, or little potential in another; students who had great drive and students who seemed to be going nowhere.

Then I came here and felt like such a tangled piece of seaweed in this gigantic wave of culture and rules and limitations and expectations. I am surrounded by strong independent voices; you don’t get too many weak, passive, voices in the ex-pat community of South Korea. It wasn’t until today that I realized how sick I am of hearing about other people’s greatness and not believing in my own. I still understand that people aren’t going to recognize or call it out in me. But that to no extent means I can’t be great likewise, or that I needent stand with confidence in my own self-conceptualization. Perhaps it is my best kept secret, but it is not a best kept illusion, it is a truth. I want to be able to survive independently, without religion telling me I have strings to pull, or society telling me I am in the ‘a’ bracket. No matter if I am surrounded by people of greatness or stimulus of little.

I was finally awake to the beauty of the sky tonight. I saw the contrast of the whiteness of the clouds against the dark of the night. I saw the brilliant stars making their faces shown through the constancy of the cloud cover. I saw the starkness of the black mountain standing guard over the people who daily live ignorant of its shadow. I felt the cool wind lifting the strands of hair off of my face. I heard the tumbling water intertwining with the sound waves blowing into my ears from the white contraption which provides my mobile life’s soundtrack. I felt the taste of my black tea and milk concoction which keeps my appetitive nature placated just enough to prevent me from deeper longing. I felt the harshness of the smoke being sucked into my lungs and the lightness of my head, a combination of the lack of oxygen concentration and the recent reintroduction to dreaming.

P.S. The beginning of this dialog may sound really harsh, as though I go around labeling people as dumb or brilliant. Well, I have little defense. I am prone to this illness of categorization. The attempt at making sense of this world and the story I am trapped in. Please forgive me.

Sincerely,
katelyn.

The Mundane

The Mundane. It is no longer a mystery to me how people can sink quietly into the trivialities of the mundane. I write as confession. It only took me six months and already I stand aloof and unmoved by the depth of dark clouds over a frosted mountain summit. I do not feel much. I have known two great joys in my life, one was that of youth, driven by a greatness of future and a passion for change and reward. The other was that of intellectual discovery, steeping myself in the thoughts and ideas of others who mirrored the hopes of a life in contradiction to the superfluity and monotony of the status quo. These great joys have passed me on, now I find myself unable to keep my dreams and ideals intact while faced with the demands of life on the ground. I have become the life I despise. I pass hours, weeks, with little stimulus, I have not gained, conquered, opened, any doors into new lands. I stare at the sky unmoved and uninspired. I want so badly to feel the passion and the pain of searching, once again. My search, which was of such great desperation and sorrow to me, has finally come to a close, but the ending is no destination at all. I feel as though the dark tunnel has not produced a light but a dire land with a foreclosure sign on its front door. The god of ambiguity and unknown depths has transformed to a tired hand, unable to stir the supernatural, unable to break through the grey smog which chokes our hemisphere.

on the roof

Today I sit on the roof. I am hoping some worthwhile thoughts come to me. Something to rid myself of the hidden discontent which I am sure is lurking below. I was up here only a week ago, but already the view has changed drastically. I look out to the South and see a moderately barren hill, out of what was recently a mountain in full foliage. I look out all around to a dusty cloud cover, where I am unable to make the distinction of strata and toxin. The roof has also gotten more trashy since I left it, I wonder if it was a party I missed out on, or just a collection of lonely beers at dusk. It is 4:30 and already the sun is beginning to set. I guess there is no day light savings switch here, so I will get less and less daylight. Kind of a sad thing, because day is so nice; and dusk is best when I can enjoy it sitting with a coffee and not looking out my classroom window.

Today I was thinking about fear. It seems to me that I don’t have much cause for fear. I have lived such a protected and fair life. No one has robbed me, no one snuck into my window while I was sleeping, no one has purposely neglected to pay me or help me find my way home. And yet I fear these things on a regular basis. Being in Korea, I have enjoyed this blissful concept of a crime-free society. Now, I am quite sure that it is not entirely crime-free, but, for my own psychological wellness, I have chosen to embrace this theory without qualm. I decided that maybe I could even have a psychological revolution of sorts, where I dismiss unhelpful fear entirely. But, this is not to be the case.

The other day I watched the film, Boy A. It was really well done, and left the distinctions and convictions for the viewer alone to make. However, it showed such a ghastly side of humankind, and I don’t want to believe it. I want to dismiss the possibility of that corruption existing in North America, and even more decidedly, in South Korea.

In continuation of my new thought to dismiss fear, I decided that not only could I embrace South Korea as entirely safe, I could also stretch this plexi-glass over the whole of Asia.

I talked to this girl about traveling alone the other day. She said she loved it, and then prefaced it with the fact that traveling in Thailand alone is like waving a money bag in the face of a pirate. That was not so supportive of my plexi-glass.

I was also thinking about comfort levels. How when I got here I had so much new flying at me in a segment of waking hours that it was all I could do to not crawl into my bed every evening. Today I found myself relatively comfortable exchanging with people in my free time. It is like I no longer hold my free time as a extremely needed psychological stabilizer, I am able to give it up for some comaroderie or chatter. I still find the opening lines quite borderline monotonous, but if I make it through those I usually find the time well spent. Okay, let me explain more what I am referring to. You know the meet and greet stuff;
I walk into the staff office and greet another teacher: Hello, how are you today? Well, it’s _________ today eh? (insert day of the week). I guess the countdown is on. What do you get up to last night? (The British rendition of “So, what did you do last night?”) Cool, yeah, me nothing much. I made supper and relaxed a bit.
Man, I feel like I just exposed my soul. I feel naked, now you all know that I follow a script every morning. And, let me be honest there is little adjustment made. Haha. But, occasionally the conversation gets past this intro script and interesting, even cognitively stimulating conversation takes place. This is what I hold on for. This is why I attempt the painful script day in and day out. I go out for supper every now and again with the people around here. Those outings are getting better. Slowly, the intros are shorter and shorter and the interesting stuff gets longer. I am hoping that I can actually go beyond interesting eventually and get to the captivating. I used to have those so often. I feel like community and relationship have lost their glimmer at times.

I have never really sat down to evaluation transitions. I transitioned to college three years ago and although little transition was required every year, I stayed pretty much intact. However, the process of a major uprooting such as South Korea takes a lot out of a person like me. I say person like me, because it has become my theory that the nomadic extrovert not only is good at, but thrives on the meet and greet exposition. They do not see it as the ticket to meaningful interchange, but as the show itself, a winding course of networking and faces all culminating in a rotating light show! I myself do not consider this a show, but rather comparative to 12 weeks of social marathon-ing.

I also think that there is an alternative route for me. Now, I am treading on pretty thin theory surface here, so ignore me, but I think that people can also decidedly commit to the label of weird and live a life without these introduction steps. Or, perhaps this is the illusioned moral highroad for the nonconformist; a thing to be avoided.

Otherworldly-Bubble

So today is the first day I publicize my blog to the world. I have compiled some of my stories and thoughts from Korea up to this point. I continue to adjust further and find both negatives and positives from my experiences here. I have been running more as of late and that has been really freeing for me. I have never felt running was enjoyable until now. There is something totally liberating to get out of the school and just start running under the deep blue sky with a cool breeze on my face. It is usually getting dark by the time I get out, but I feel really safe in Korea, so I get the benefit of the evening cool, with the safety of day. I have been running to Sigur Ros, which is another surprise to me. I never took that as my kind of running music, I have always been about the high energy, whether it was Autumn to Ashes, or M.I.A and The Ting Tings. However, there is something so trippy and otherworldly about running under the Korean sky. I constantly keep shaking my head and saying to myself 'Katelyn, you are in Fricken Korea!'. Everyone says this doesn't go away the whole year you are here. But, it feels kinda like a drug trip, everything is so different and feels 'otherworldly', like you are looking at life through a bubble.

So, not to give the impression that I am on a countdown or anything, but i realized the other day that I have only 48 more weekends in Korea. So weird! I know I just got here, but when I think of it that way, it really seems so short, and I am reminded that I really need to live in the present. I can't live for the weekends, or life will just be over to quickly. I will live for only 48 days, which is a jip from a whole life. I keep thinking back to the words of those old men I spoke to under the Regent bridge. "Live life, don't get old." That is my plan. So I am slowing down life and acknowledging even the minor moments as equal moments on the great scale of existence.

Hope existence is treating you well.

Small and Finite

I am doing well. I got internet in my room on Wednesday, so now I have been trying to get this blog updated and running and also pics posted, so I have not been doing as much reading. It is weird, cause I know that it is good to do these things to keep people informed, but at the same time I feel like I am not spending time valuably because I am on the computer. ha! Well, I guess that is a good mentality to have.

This weekend I am going on a work retreat. Except here instead of calling it a retreat they say picnic. ha! A work picnic, except it is not a picnic at all, we are going to this home-type building by a lake-type thing and having a drinking party. Should be interesting! I have fallen more into the groove here at work. I don't find it overwhelming anymore, so that is good, just long days still, and sometimes I really lack the enthusiasm I know I should have to be a good teacher. Sometimes all I want to do is be a grump with the kids, and get easily annoyed. These are such weird things for me to be thinking about, or writing about, because they are not apart of my ideal world. I want to spend my time thinking about relationships and cognitive dynamics, not my annoyance and enthusiasm levels. I guess in some ways this is more real life than my contemplations have been at Prov. I don't feel like I was really confronted with how flighty I often was in my self-psychology. I mean I loved it! I loved thinking and analyzing myself in that way, but I just see now, that most of life is just doing motions and not really going to that place. Either it is the sadly forgotten, or the fools luxury.

I climbed the mountain behind my house twice this weekend. It is so amazing!!! I went up the first time with Nash and it took us three hours, we kept stopping to take pictures, and we found this great little rock outcropping that looks over this valley, and it was so beautiful and spiritual, so on Sunday, after getting nothing spiritual from the church (well, expect for community, which has actually been very beautiful, and also somewhat spiritual) I decided to run up the mountain and meditate on the cliff. It only took me 40 min! I ran almost the whole way, I think the oxygen levels here in Korea are wacked! I can run sooo much further than I could in Canada. Anyways, I just had this intense time of sitting there and looking out over the country that is Korea and all the 1000's of houses and apartments probably I could see over 100,00 people all milling about for miles and miles and it all seemed so futile and mundane and then I looked out over the vastness of these lasting mountains, that have been there for generations and generations and I felt so small and insignificant and the divine felt so big and permanent, and I realized that despite all my theories of the importance of interdependence of human kind, that cannot alone be the meaning of life, because there is something so grand outside of ourselves and life is so futile. I sobbed and wrote and sat in silence. It was powerful and healing.