I have been sleeping with the windows open, feeling how time slowly pushes us into fall. Change has always been a joy of mine. It is life’s movement, keeping me on my toes and pushing me to look at what lies ahead. Rarely though, have I considered change’s ability to evoke images of the past. Thus, it was quite a surprise to wake up yesterday and be reminded of Seoul. It is a pleasure to have these experiences at my disposal to reflect on, but like everything else, our memories are complex creatures to understand and grapple with.
I feel a smile spread across my face as I think of what a time in my life this was, and maybe it is by comparison that I realize how even more aligned this chapter of my life is now. My mind then stalls: we can look back and miraculously be blind to the real emotions of what it actually felt like to live and breathe in that space and time. The same can even be said of the here and now I suppose. There is also the matter of our senses and their ability to place us squarely into our bodies; today be damned. I lay in bed and smelt the air and could feel nostalgia personified in all of its sweet- and sourness.
I see Seoul in the leaves changing and the Sun hitting my skin as it sets. Fall, with its slight chill and sudden crispness to the lungs, sends me back. I’m jetting back in time, and across oceans, to the lost little human dodging car mirrors in Busan, my little broom closet of a room, and the joy of free fried chicken samples on my walks through Sinchon. At times, it feels like I remember all of those days like an accordion; time stretching and contracting, while notes land on specific moments.
We spend so much of our youth and even college years hoping to get through it all as quickly as possible. We struggle through shitty jobs and stunted friendships in the hopes that on the other side of it all–-real adulthood—we will finally come out complete and satisfied. We run so fast and then we look back and realize we cannot ever go back, and even if we could it simply would not ever be the same.
I wonder if travel might be our great teacher and life’s way of telling us to shut up and slow the fuck down. My earliest experiences of traveling gave me a nibble of this insight and it stuck—the feeling of being present and the cultivation of one’s curiosity should always come back with you, preferably inside of your carry-on if you’re flying Spirit. It should be the choice you choose to make over and over again and the muscle you never grow tired of flexing. Being present does not lessen the blow of waking up to the fact that you cannot recreate or relive what has passed, but I see now that it has left me satisfied. There is no decision that I would change because I do not wish that I did anything different (which is astounding considering how many pairs of glasses I lost in Korea). I’d say no moment spent doing what interests or excites you can be a total waste; it’s simply a matter of shifting your perspective–-something time beautifully grants us.
Case in point: Like every fool ever, I also met someone while studying abroad. Part and parcel with being in the present, I tried thinking beyond the boundary that I might not ever see this person again. It might seem like the world’s worst consolation prize but whatever we had did last beyond our five months in Seoul—though maybe it was not always in my best interest, I can say I am a better person and lover because of our time together. Let’s just say life has a very funny way of placing people, and lessons, into our lives. Speaking frankly, I have noticed as a queer person, that oftentimes we have very few roadmaps or guides for how to navigate challenges with relationships and self-love. I just do not see enough people choosing themselves, and thriving because of it. Even when we do get so-called representation, it’s a bunch of White gays harping about how the boys with muscles won’t give them the time of day (hey, “Bros”), or it’s Black people being killed (hey, Netflix and Jeffrey Dahmer). We have all been conditioned to yearn for Prince Charmings who secretly adore us, even if they spend the majority of their time acting as though they don’t (hey, “Sex Education”), and to never feign any kind of depth to our emotions insofar as to maintain a semblance of being desirable.
I’m in the driver’s seat now (or director’s chair I guess), seeing what all the books and movies either skirt around or don’t seem to touch on at all. With time, relationships and our ties to one another grow layered. So much so, that what we originally knew can become unrecognizable like a sentence with words now jumbled up after a game of telephone. Beyond our interactions with each other, we have our own journeys and personal growth to account for. The person I am today, with my slightly more developed frontal lobe, is far less likely to blackout two times in one night, only to snap back into life on an elevated surface in a club, making out with a Russian woman.
Let’s just say the character development is developing!
Again, we can never truly go back, but at least we can sift through the layers and savor the sweet bits. Even the not-so-cute times become brain fodder: poems, songs, and anecdotes that show a glimpse into why the person you’re talking to today is just a touch crazier (and wiser) than they were before the stories originally took place.
We have to live to have stories even remotely worth remembering, and they better be just a little cringe if you plan on retelling them.
With time and distance, even the things that confused and hurt us can become worthy of cherishing. Again, these memories become complicated; it’s like someone you care about has made a drawing and though it’s a bit messy and hideous you still care for them and want to encourage their own journey. Maybe you even find yourself inspired by parts of what they have created. I’m realizing these thoughts will go where they wish to, and they similarly take me where I need to go. As much as I want perfect images, that is far from the life I have or could even hope to live. Yes, my greatest lessons and joys have been some of the messiest, and though I wonder now how I even survived I see little crumbs of why it all happened.
Survival tip: Sheer determination, boatloads of tea, and Mom’s Touch’s Chicken Burgers.
Thinking back on the winding path of the last few years, I’m most fortunate for the faces and memories that haven’t faded. We can thank social media or pending societal collapse, but there is love that was forged beyond all of those soju bottles. I know there are things we carry from our times together, even if maybe we are still yet to see those things come to the surface. As my mind is carried to the past, by way of October’s cooler air, I’m also thrust into the present. I sit on my porch swing and read and think of all the things that brought me here and how I now have this memory to add to the file cabinet of my mind as well. Wholeheartedly, I wonder what other sights, sounds, or smells will inadvertently tie me to today, tomorrow, and yesterday. They say if you love something you should let it go, and I’m starting to think that’s all we can do with time. We cannot chase it or wait behind with it, but instead, in realtime, we let it leave and return to us with its comportments in tow.
Soju and Maekju
Soju and maekju
Is this bar number two
Are these choices wise inside my head
You say this is all new
Soju and maekju
I’m lost hoping I’ll find you
Look into my eyes
and give me some kind of clue
Soju and maekju
I think I hate you
Just as this tear dries
You say stop feeling blue
Soju and maekju
I think I’ll have another too