Euphoria is only a Cinema away

Note to reader: This is a mammoth entry and I wanted everyone to know I just spent an hour telling this story only to have the computer erase it when I tried to post.
Last week, I had to miss my 2nd Korean lesson to visit the Immigration building and apply for a bank card. I emailed the teacher, caught up with the homework, but, without a teacher's guidance, it is difficult to gauge progress. After my first class, I was filled with a craving to improve. It reminded me of guitar lessons when I was 16. I would go home and play- sometimes even ignoring the Bulls' game. With Hongul (Korean), I am flooded with motivation in every occurrence in my daily life. I used to revel in BS'ing folks- not in any deceitful way, but just making small talk to every cashier I encountered. I love breaking people out of their ho-hum, dreary routines- reminding them that they're human and not merely an extension of the machine they operate. I recall working at Target and treasuring those rare moments when customers would notice my vitality and say something, anything. This is not possible here. Well, I guess to some Koreans just the sight of me takes them out of their routine (remember, we're one in a million here) but that doesn't suffice. The most difficult adjustment thusfar is walking into a gas-station, grabbing a drink, saying hello to the cashier, paying, saying thank you, goodbye, and nothing more. It doesn't seem like much but taking away a person's ability to chat removes a large chunk of the personality we define ourselves by. I'm a forced mute. This hurts because I often said, before I left, that I was searching for that isolation, that inescapable fear that comes with being a foreigner without the native tongue. I think this will eventually build character- not to mention my ability to communicate through gesture. I have no certain plan, no restrictions (except maybe the Middle East) to where else I might traverse and I'm comforted knowing this is as limited as communication can and will ever be. For now, I stick to the necessities (hello, thank you, goodbye), but my need to move beyond these most basic functional phrases will keep me doing the homework, attending the classes with the alertness of a detective and attacking this language with the diligence of a Korean. I held my own in class; not understanding a word the teacher (sun-sang-neim) said, but following my classmates' lead and just gauging the book. It's amazing that I actually participated with competence while I was panicking on the inside. I learned how to point to a door, a desk, a clock, ect. and say, "that is a....." and how to address something nearby and say, "this is a book, etc." The last ten minutes of class was something special. The teacher went around the class and had each student sing a song from their native country. The British sang the Beatles' "Yesterday," the Canadian- some Bryan Adams song, the Russian and Tai- some beautiful songs I couldn't understand and I gave them some verses from Tom Petty's "I Won't Back Down." I figured a song with such defiance in the face of seemingly insurmountable odds aptly represented my mindset in class.
Late Saturday was a trip to the movie theater (they are all on the top floor of some gigantic mall) with my co-worker and friend, Ryan. He ordered us two tickets for "Million Dollar Baby" and the cashier brought out a map of the theater and gestured for us to pick our seats. Assigned seating at the movies- absolutely genius. The movie was good, maybe not quite deserving of it's titanic reviews, but moving at parts. As much as this movie summoned the human sympathies, I was far more affected once I left the theater. For those two hours, swallowed in the darkness with nothing but a lighted screen to focus on, I forgot I live in Korea. We walked out of the theater and my initial thought was,"man, there are a lot of Asians at the show tonight." All at once, it hit me; a feeling not unlike my first panoramic gaze upon Seoul's urban brilliance. I was stopped in my tracks, overtaken by the surreal realization- neither good nor bad- just the awe of living in Asia. Ryan said he had a similar experience his first time at the movies and, fortunately for me, he said it still happens to him after movies, after lengthy hours in his apartment, or simply after spending hours in the conversations of foreigners. I can't wait for my next "moment of realization." It makes me feel significant, it knocks me upon my fat head and, while I may at times become buried in apprehension, put my head down and run out of a restaurant before ordering- moments like these make it worth every travail.