The most common question people asked me for the last ten or
so days was: “How do you feel to finally be leaving Korea ?”
My answer was always a mixture of things, a joke, maybe some
generic bullshit along the lines of: “I’m sad but excited for blah, blah, blah,”
or a pre-rehearsed line about being ready for the next step.
There was just no time to articulate my thoughts. It seemed
that all of a sudden everyone was talking about the end and there was camping
and cigars and whiskey and rooftop barbecues and hugging and retrospection and
Gwangju and “peace out, homie” and gifts and kisses and fried chicken and all
sorts of madness.
It wasn’t until I boarded the plane that I finally
understood. The six hours prior had been a chaotic swirl of sanitizing and
packing, two activities I possessed neither the skill set nor patience for. I closed
down every account in either the name “Daniel” or “Lorenzo” and sent all of my remaining money. This brilliant
action left me won-less for a cab or an airport bus, forcing me to make it to
the subway along with everything I had acquired over the last three years. This
had been packed into two suitcases, a backpack, and a travel bag, weighing a
grand total of one hundred and fifty pounds (or sixty-eight kilograms for you
metric cats). During this ordeal, one moment permanently etched itself into my
mind. I found myself sprinting up a hill, an hour behind schedule, dragging the
cumbersome lot of my things through the streets of Itaewon on a day where the
temperature and humidity were both well into the eighties. Comparing myself to
Jesus lugging the cross up Calvary Hill would be both inaccurate and blasphemous,
though to say the image didn’t run through my head would make me a filthy liar.
Along the way, two random Korean men and a Korean woman offered to assist me in
carting my bulbous load to the airport. I don’t know if I would had been able
to survive without them.
Once I had finally made it on the subway, I was bombarded
with texts and calls. Desperately, I tried to think of something to say that
was poignant and significant, but after a week of ritualistic binge drinking
and watching the sun rise, I found myself emotionally and physically depleted.
I was but a pathetic, white, sweaty shell awaiting transport with nothing at
all to say back.
The revelation struck aboard the plane. My Korean brother
had called me right before take off. Like with everyone else, I had no idea
what to say to him. As it turned out, neither did he. All he could really say
was: “My feeling is confused.”
And he nailed it. That
is exactly what I had been feeling.
For the last three years, my identity had been the title of
this blog: “Foley in Korea .”
A lot of people gave me credit for giving up my established life in the States
and living halfway across the world, but here’s the dirty, little secret: moving to Korea Korea .”
This novelty became a source of confidence and pride to me, and quickly became
a major aspect of who I was.
Along the way, it became more than that. I found meaning in
teaching, fell in love with beautiful women, studied Korean traditional sword
fighting, spoke the language, found a family, and partied like I’ve never
partied before. Still though, no matter what I did, the “in Korea ”
distinction lingered and propelled me to continue my wild lifestyle abroad.
And now, after three years, I have decided to strip myself
of that distinction, as I no longer wish to rely on it. I am no longer “Foley
in Korea .”
I am just “Foley.” And, as my brother so eloquently put it, I find this fact very
confusing. Though I will surely see everyone whom I loved in Korea again
(seriously, count on it), I now face the challenge of re-establishing my
identity in my birth country.
However, I don’t come back empty handed. No, I’m not talking
about the twenty kilograms of kimchi in my suitcase. I’m talking more about the
memories, experience, and choices that have made me the man I am today. Though
I am no longer “Foley in Korea ,”
I am “Foley who once was in Korea ,”
and I believe there is something to that.
To my loyal readers, or first timers, I want to thank you immensely
for choking down this narcissistic rant and any and all of my blog posts before
this one. Your support made living in this land possible. And to the Korean Peninsula
I’m going to leave you with this, a photo I can’t take
credit for. This is my favorite non-female sight in Korea ,
a view from my rooftop, a collection of my friends and Namsan Tower
Much love everyone,
Dan Foley
July 2nd, 2013
