Five more weeks. That’s it. No more, no less. In five weeks, to the day, I will be on a ferry crossing the East China Sea between two of Asia’s great capital cities: Seoul and Beijing. One will be the beginning of a dream. The haze of a coming sleep barely noticed behind closed eyes. A thought peeling from vividness, becoming more and more real, but not quite. The other will be the end of an experiment. The last number entered in a spreadsheet of incomprehensible data giving meaning to everything that came before it. A deep exhale screaming of wild success or surmountable failure born from pieces of an idea held together by questions. The twinge of a smile crossing your lips as you lay in the dark knowing that, for better or worse, you did something great.
In between there is time. There is always time. To think, to reflect, to plan, to hope, to excite, to realize. Time to yourself to understand where you were, where you are, and where you’re going. And I’m going to need as much of that time as I can get. Twenty-four hours should do the trick.
Last week I gave my notice. I was nervous about it for so many reasons. I hate confrontation. I’d also heard bad stories about vengeful principals firing foreign teachers instead of allowing them to finish out their sixty days; of withheld pay due to teachers having left the country before payday, etc. But I had faith in my manager. She’s been amazing so far, and I trusted her. And she came through in fine style. She managed to control my traditional and often angry principal, and said she would do her best for me while I was still here. I will do the same for her.
Since then everything has been wonderful. I’m noticing everything I’m going to miss when I’m gone, and appreciating where I am all the more. Last week was graduation and at one point they were showing a powerpoint of all the 6th grade graduates, their names, and their goals. I couldn’t read it because it was too fast, but I knew almost every single picture. I knew my kids. Not three months ago, when I passed a young person on the sidewalk, I would cringe not knowing if I’d seen them in class the day before until they said “Hi, Teacher!” Now I’m the first to say hello. I know my kids, and that’s not an easy feat when you have a thousand of them (no, that’s not an exaggeration). I know my friends. I know my streets. I know my pool, my restaurants, my servers, my cooks, my kitchen, my city, my subway, my Seoul. And as much as I’m ready and wanting to leave, I’m going to miss all of it. Every missed train, every botched order, every last drink that made my stomach cry, every night I spent wondering what the fuck I was doing with my life. It’s pretty amazing what I’ve done here, how I’ve lived here, how I’ve been successful here. And I still have five more weeks!
Yet I can’t wait to leave. The trip I’ve been planning for going on three years now, though it’s changed form countless times, is just five weeks away. Three months of travel, starting with a twenty-four hour ferry ride from the docks of Korea to the coast of China. Then it’s Beijing to Paris on the train. The Pacific to the Atlantic without flying. Think I’m crazy? YOU’RE SO STUPID!! If everything goes according to plan, I’ll be staying with my step-sister in Beijing, meeting my dad in Paris two months and eight countries later, then (hopefully) touring Italy with my mom. After that, who knows. All I know is I wouldn’t be ready for Beijing without Seoul. I’m so happy with what I’ve done these past six months. I might not have enjoyed every moment, but no one does. I might have hated my job with the passion of a thousand exploding suns, but everyone does at least once in their life. I might have wanted to kill myself at some points (figuratively speaking) but we all do. But what I never, ever did, was regret coming here. And I never will.
