jibin'

I'm about to commit a serious faux pas, though I suppose sooner or later it was bound to happen.

I should be thankful, I suppose. Korea's English bound society, in which the optimistic may hope the language be used at least minimally as a lingua franca in the region, but which will perhaps more realistically continue to be used by entrepreneurs every time they set up shop labelling it UGLY Bar or Sea Cruiser Restaurant, has granted me a job with what in English teacher talk is known amongst the cynical as TENOR, teaching english for no obvious reason. My role as a teacher is a solid one, though I can, all too easily, in an instant, make it entirely superflous. It only takes a tiring afternoon and an all too warm odd situational classroom, such as the combination bank/post-office, to turn me into a dull, lifeless teacher. And as my co-teacher muttered under her breath to one of our students today I was merely a window-dresser - I think she meant window-dressing - and though I prefer not to think that she said that on account of the colour of my skin I'd have to agree that sometimes I am. I sometimes simply stare at her. There are things I don't understand. Some might list it as cultural misunderstanding. Why Matthew, you simply don't understand that there is a hierarchy upon which this society is built, and that hierarchy plays into all roles of life. Fine. I accept that, but there are basic human needs which sometimes, and perhaps more often than not, twist those rules to facilitate life.

Let me admit that I don't have much compassion for a co-teacher who when faced with a boy who has a learning disability and needs to go to the washroom forces him to ask in English. The whole situation smacks of imperialism. What can I do but plead for this boy to simply be let go for a minute but then be told that he must say it in English? It's an embarassing situation for both the boy and myself; I've been upended, if we are to stick to traditional hierarchical roles, by a teacher my junior.

Now, being on the outside has certain advantages. Not knowing the language allows you to barge into the bank at closing time and dumbly stare at a teller holding out foreign money until two other tellers open their own wallets and exchange your money into won. And negotiating a cell phone is merely a matter of being fluent in gesticulation and perhaps one or two words such as text and phone card. Slipping on the moving sidewalk and tumbling to the grating is a release from all the bowing and politeness that is like a fine sheen of wax between you and others. Pushing myself up before I reach the lower level of the supermarket is a brief jolt to the reality of life. Complaining, I did it for the first time today, to the teenager who weighs the hand of bananas when it already has a price on it and tries to charge me twice the discounted rate, feels good, and I begin to walk away after a slight pause when I hear him say, "I'm sorry. My mistake. Thanks for shopping at Lotte Mart".

jeremiad

Merciless are you sun!
Yet the month is but May
A tireless rotation of the earth
On its invisible axis -
To call simply a praxis
Would be insensible -
For the practice of turning
Is not practice at all.

Weary do I walk under the trees
My hands dirty
The jug jug of broken fingernails
And T.S. Eliot reminding me of
The indignity of the city.
But here no wrappers lie,
Though the fog curls around the house
Like a cat and promptly falls asleep,
Suffocating, thick, and pale.

Concrete releases its heat
A reverse sun upon sunset
Warmth on a spring night
Along the bank of the river
Smooth, silver, in the half sunset
Glinting yellow on children's faces
And the bowers fragrant purple
Now baked.

We languish in the park.

Oh that my head were
A spring of water
And my eyes a fountain of tears!
Oh, that I had in the desert
A lodging place for travellers!
For this too, is a heap of ruins
A haunt of jackals.

you say tomato, I say tomato

The 9401 from Bundang into Seoul makes its first stop at Hannam, opposite Gangnam and the express bus terminal, on the north side of the Han river. On Sunday you can usually get a seat on the bus. It's comfortable and if you pull the curtains against the sun you can fit in the perfect nap between leaving Seohyeon station and arriving at Hannam. If you stay awake you might notice the bus speeding along the bus lane passing cars, in a line of buses, speeding into the city.

You'd see the green and red of the buses in front and behind you bob like the ferries at the harbour, light, lilting with each lift of the road, not noticing how much your own bus tilts and drops. You'd hear the indicator buzz and see the bus driver's white gloved hand touch a switch signalling it off. The bus lulls then speeds up and the buzzer sounds again. He lets it ring before tapping it off and then speeds up promptly, his hand over the buzzer. Buzz. Tap. Buzz.

Outside the hills rise green. Trees planted after the war still seem unnatural. They rise in straight lines before disappearing completely and the grey white of apartments flock, rising out of the ground like a dazzling thunder of geese, sudden and startling. Then the bridge begins. Metal flashes over us and flicks through the window, reflecting light grey, almost invisible. The river lies beneath us, flat, broad, and shallow. Today it runs silver and clear.

I always look away before the bus finishes crossing the river. I never mean to and I look up again for a glance at the river but it's gone and the bridge finishes itself before stone, then pavement and with a flick the road widens and bends left.

The roads here are wide, as if the city is expecting a military invasion. At Hannam the road is twelve lanes across. The roads might be useful in the near future. On May 18 South and North Korean diplomats made two train trips across the demilitarized zones at both the east and west ends of the peninsula. The western line runs from the recaptured city of Kaesong - home of Division 39 - into the south. The eastern line passes near the old, destroyed villa where Kim Il Sung vacationed as a child.

The train lines don't affect daily life yet.

Most people still take the 9401 to Jongno to do their Sunday shopping, and I plan on seeing Changdeokgung palace. I get off near the overpass look around, collect grime on my shoes, and cough in the darkness of an impromptu parking lot before asking an attendant directions to the palace. It's not far from Anguk station. The palace wall is long but most of it surrounds the secret garden, a large swath north of the palace buildings. Less than half the original buildings remain; the Japanese razed most of the palace grounds on their retreat. Their successors created the secret garden. One path leads back from the palace into the green, towards the pond in which a bent pine stands surrounded by low lush bushes. The sun sparkles through the top branches. It's hard to imagine the city outside the palace walls or anything beyond the city.

I pass through the gate of immortality before the long walk along the exterior walls of the palace to the exit. The city is an affront that crushes the silence and stillness. Cars pack the streets, rumbling.

I want to take the bus home to the mountain. I want the stillness of the palace to follow me. I want the perfect nap between Hannam and Bundang. I board the 9301 to Hanam from outside the Seojeong Arts Centre hoping to catch the 9401 from Hannam. I query the woman next to me.

Yobusayo Hannam buse kayo?
Ne.

Excellent. I doze off and wake up an hour and a half later in the city of Hanam, outside of Seoul. I get off the bus at the terminus. No one is there and the bus driver doesn't care that I'm lost. There are too many buses to count and none of them will take me to Bundang. This is not Hannam by the bridge. It's 10.30pm when I realize this Hanam is not Hannam.

I wonder about the troubles the North Korean army will have if they attack Seoul. After crossing the border by train, secret tunnel and air strike they might be confused. With no street names and with conundrums like Hannam and Hanam the army, instead of crossing south of the river to conquer Gangnam and destroy the rich suburb of Bundang, might find itself stranded at the end of line 9301, in the hills outside Seoul, in Hanam.