Leaving

When Joe told me he was going to be stationed in South Korea on a hardship tour - alone, without me, for a year - I was devastated. Then I looked up South Korea on a map, because I had no idea where it was. I'm not even sure I knew there was a South Korea. Everyone knew about North Korea, of course, because of the movie Team America: World Police, but I don't think I ever made the logical connection that having a North meant there was also a South and probably a war.

Four months later, after a lot of stress and uncertainty and paperwork and a little bit of crying and a good-bye in an airport and a move into my first ever single-girl apartment, I was on a plane to that little country at the end of an Asian peninsula.

We had heard that families usually weren't allowed to accompany their soldiers to Korea, that people just did their one year and went home. It turned out, though, that after a bunch of paperwork, Joe was approved to bring me over...he just wasn't approved to bring our stuff.

So I pawned off our pets on our parents and carefully packed two thrift store suitcases with what I estimated to be my 70-pounds-each weight limit. (I turned out to be pretty wrong, and that was expensive.) I felt like I was setting out on an Oregon Trail adventure: I was taking into the Great Unknown only my two suitcases with only my most precious and necessary belongings. I had clothes, pots and pans, silverware - sadly, I lost most of my wedding-silverware butter knives to airport security in Atlanta - our blender, our crockpot, our DVD collection, and - wow, did I really fit all this stuff into those suitcases? - a keyboard and a mouse and a set of computer speakers for when we'd order a new computer for me. (Fun fact: The clothes I brought got worn to shreds while I was over here, because it's super hard to find American sized clothing in Korea. One of my friends and I pretty much had each other's wardrobes memorized and noticed whenever the other got something new. It was funny.)

I was so incredibly happy to be on that plane over here. SO HAPPY. Almost every day, I've been consciously thankful to have had this great chance to be with Joe in Asia when so many other families weren't coming over.

Unless you count a cruise to the Bahamas, Korea was the first time I'd ever left America. I remember the layover in Japan, where for the first time I saw signage where the primary language wasn't English, and the long bus ride from the airport, the first time I saw rice fields outside the windows. I remember having no idea what to expect from this country.

I've fallen in love with South Korea. I never would have guessed that I would feel such fondness for a country not my home, that I would find another city as vital, fast, fragile, stunning as New York City. But South Korea is optimistic and hardy and hopeful and strong, and Seoul at sunrise is breathtaking.

This is where I lived, what I saw every day. I'll leave in the morning. And then, the day after that, when I'm gone, the sun will rise and everything will look like this again. Where I am, it'll be night. The rainy season will come again, and the rice will be sown, and another field will be sold for more apartment buildings, and in ten years, you won't even be able to recognize Waegwan.